Chapter 2
Beth Calhoun's apartment was on the fourth floor of a new high-rise building which lofted twelve impressive stories at the corner of Belmont and Western Avenue. It was about twenty-five minutes from the apartment to the agency, and with lovely warm June weather now prevalent in Chicago, there were times when Beth Calhoun felt like walking to and from work, just to thrill to the feeling of being her own mistress, earning her own living and being free. But in the apartment next door, fate was taking a hand to change her life into something that even a nightmare couldn't have conjured up. And the two people who were going to affect her young life were, at the moment, fucking.
Al Barker, thirty-five, with a wispy moustache, very dapper and quite personable, wearing just his socks, was slowly and luxuriously thrusting his stiff prick back and forth inside the moist, warm and tight lovesheath of Belle Crandon, a brassy twenty-six-year old blonde cocktail waitress who worked in a North Michigan Avenue cocktail lounge. Al was a two-time loser, and he was still wanted out in California and Nevada for forgery and the confidence racket. As for Belle, she was almost am amateur whore, having married at seventeen and having had her husband walk out on her six months later for another girl. From this she had gone on to various jobs in restaurants and bars, occasionally finding a fried who would pay the rent on the apartment in exchange for fucking privileges. She had stumbled on in the lounge where she now worked, been smitten with him by that peculiar chemistry which often attracts opposites, and now she was part and parcel of his nefarious scheme to make a killing. It consisted, as he had just told her, of finding some "sap, probably a dame, who has access to money orders or checks or negotiable bonds, you know, Belle Baby. Now we sort of work on her, get a good stack of those orders, and then we spread the paper around in other towns. We'll make a killing before they can catch up with us. And who will get the blame? The sap, naturally."
Belle had been enthusiastic. This was her chance to make a lot of money without any danger, and to have this good-looking, black-haired cock-smith grateful to her for her help. That was why, wearing just her nylons and garter belt, she arched her big, melon-like titties against his chest, as she kissed him hard and thrust her tongue between his lips, her fingernails digging into his shoulder-blades, whispering, "Oh Al, it feels so good, oh screw me hard, give it to me, darling!"
Al Barker dug deep to the balls inside Belle Crandon's quaking cunthole, as he muttered, "I'll give it you, you, you sweet bitch, I really will. And you wait till we get that dough and go off to South America. I'll get you a villa, and you can have a whole staff of servants for about twenty bucks American cash, and lead a life of luxury. You just stick by me and give me nookie when I need it, just like now, and I'll take real good care of you!"
"Oh, will I ever, Al lover," the blonde cocktail waitress panted. Her hair was bobbed and frizzy, and the dye showed a little too plainly, perhaps making her look a little older than she actually was. Its natural color was a light brown, but it now came out a kind of dark gold with metallic glints. But of course the hair around her cunt was dark brown and thick and shaggy, and Al Barker was feeling it now against his balls as he moved slowly back and forth, just stirring his cock a little inside the tightly churning lovesheath of his pass ion-partner.
He was thinking that she was a damn good lay, but nothing really super. When he got a good heist, he could always dump her and find a real young squirmy bitch who didn't need to dye her hair and whose titties were even firmer. Belle had big size thirty-eight D bubbies, but they were just a little soft and starting to sag. Give her two or three years of really high living, and she'd have a pot on her. Her skin wasn't too bad, though, soft and pink like a baby's. Her calves were just a little too stocky, and she had plump thighs. They would get fatter, too. Right now she was at her peak. Maybe she could earn about fifty bucks for a good hour-long fucking session if she were still plying her trade. But he was practical enough to take what the gods of fortune gave, and not be too critical right now. Later, once he got his hands on some real dough, there would be time enough to pick and choose pussy.
Now her stockinged legs wrapped over his bottom as she began to arch her cunt up to take his digs and to kiss him hard on the mouth and to pant hoarsely, "Oh God, make it last a long time, lover, I'm going to bubble all my juice up if you keep on fucking me and work it out-oh Al, I'm so hot when you screw me-you just drive me cracy! Even the Johns I used to lay could never get little Belle here worked up the way you do just by pushing your big hard cock into my little puss-oh lover, frig me, too-tickle my button and make me burst!"
He knew that she liked to talk dirty when she fucked, and he accommodated her. He could thus express his contempt for her while at the same time enjoying a good screwing and working her up to really putting out. She didn't have too much variety to offer, although she could French, but then, all whores knew how to do that. She wouldn't let him bugger her, and that was one thing he always wanted to do to a broad. Another thing she wouldn't let him do was give it to her from behind while she knelt on all fours on the bed, wriggling her big ass. But she didn't like that either. Most of the time they did it the "Missionary" way, with him on top and her legs wrapped around him the way they were right now. Of course, that was nice and thrilling, but a man wanted variety when he poked pussy. And a young bitch who was just being broken in, maybe around nineteen or twenty, would be glad and happy and wild to try everything in the world to please him, because he was her first guy. He would really like to take a piece of cherry and polish it into something really first-class in bed.
These ideas excited him, and of course Belle, beneath him, thought she was the inspiration for his sudden digging back and forth. He put his forefinger between them and found her clitoris, and began to rub it back and forth while she moaned, bucking and twisting her big bottom, the cheeks contracting and yawning spasmodically as she groaned and sobbed with her delight.
And then suddenly the cataclysm hit her, and he began to feel the cuntwalls grip his prick and tax all his self-control, until he couldn't hold it back any more. With a bellow of delight, he thrust a last time to the balls and felt himself explode, and they rocked back and forth until at last Belle was on top of him, panting and sobbing in her bliss.
Thus Al Barker had cemented his union with the amoral cocktail waitress who was to play such a vital part in the destiny of unsuspecting Beth Calhoun.