Chapter 10
"You look a little wiped out, Penny," Betty told me, peering anxiously at my face.
"I-I'm O.K. I think. It's just that Cokes are really my drink. Liquor, and all this lovin', seems to have gotten to me a little."
"You need some food, Pen," Fred said firmly. "And some hot coffee. And maybe a little clit-licking, just to recharge your batteries," he teased me.
I covered my tender pussy defensively. "Oh, I dunno about that. I never thought I'd hear myself say no to getting my cunt sucked, but right now..."
Betty bounced up off the bed, full of energy again. What a woman! "To the kitchen," she cried, pointing dramatically to the doorway. She grabbed Fred's cock with one hand, making him get up.
"I'll show you how an expert cook can whip up a tasty breakfast, working with just one hand!"
We ate like we were all teenagers! Bacon and eggs and toast and cups of fragrant coffee disappeared like magic. I felt great again -- and not the least bit sleepy, to my surprise.
"Fred, earlier tonight you said something about being able to write a better play than the one you went to see. Along with teaching and playing with your toys, and fucking Betty's hot box, don't tell me you write, too," I asked him.
"I'll confess. I do. Horny fiction, with kind of an Alfred Hitchcock twist to the stories. I use a pen name, since I don't think the school board would approve of their science teacher being a writer on the side. They want total dedication to the school." He made a wry face. "But the extra money comes in handy."
"Fred, don't you have the Angel Cole story finished? Dictated on the tape, I mean. We could lay around in th den and let Penny listen to your groovy voice telling us a horny tale. It might even help stir up some action," she grinned, reaching for his long fuck-tool.
"Betty, Betty," I kidded her. "I thought I was always horny, but you!"
She laughed happily, feeling his cock begin to grow. "Love it. Just love to fuck!" She tugged him to his feet, with his handy fuck-handle. "The heck with the dirty dishes!" She stopped me as I began to clean up the table. "This cock in my hands is much more important. Let's go to the den. There's a lovely big sofa in there."
"I wonder why," I laughed.
Fred put a long, tape on the player and then joined us, sprawled out on the sofa. Betty lay with her face in his lap, tonguing his cock into more and more rigid life. She eased one of my legs open as I sat next to them, and her nimble fingers brushed over my clit and down into my moist hole. I lay back and closed my eyes, feeling my hips quiver as her fingers teased my cunt. Fred's voice began his latest story...
Harry cursed the red lights that were delaying the pleasures he knew were waiting at the end of his trip home. Angel would be lying on the lounge by the pool, her swelling breasts more revealed than covered by her pitifully brief bikini. Her image shimmered in the heat waves rising from the street. Harry felt that familiar pressure behind the zipper of his custom slacks as the Lincoln slid silently through the thickening traffic. Heading west on Sunset, Harry flipped the visor down, punched the stereo into life and tried without success to relax. It had been a rotten day, ending in another one of those endless sales meetings Old Man Johnson loved. It was bad enough for Harry to have to watch the faces of the salesmen as Johnson chewed them out for not meeting their quotas, but the worst of it was his always being held up as the shining example of The Master Salesman Who Never Misses. "Security Services is going to close this branch tighter than a virgin's legs if you jokers don't get your dead asses in gear and bring in the orders like Harry. Always THREE at a time. If he can do it," Johnson had raved on, "why can't you?"
A light changed suddenly and the tires screamed in protest as the Lincoln stopped halfway into a crosswalk. He heard a sharp whistle and Harry looked up, startled. He raised his eyes from the deep V of a well filled blouse to the grinning face of a stunning blonde. She reached into his window and moved Harry's hand from his crotch to his knee. "Naughty, naughty," she ginned. "It's not wise to play with yourself in traffic like this, Jack."
The light flicked to green and Harry gunned the heavy car across the intersection. Damn! Why should a kooky blonde upset him? He wheeled the car through the gates guarding the rolling hills of Bel Air and drove up the winding road to home. "The truth is, Harry," he muttered to himself, "people have always scared you. And you are one lousy salesman. You couldn't sell an Eskimo an ice axe in a blizzard. Before you met Angel you were a nothing..."
At the end of the driveway he slipped the switch on the Security Services panel under the dash and eased the car to a stop in the garage. Grabbing his case, he hurried up the walk, the heavy door closing silently behind him. Inside, he made straight for the huge picture window overlooking the patio below, his eyes searching for Angel's slim form on the pool lounge. There she was! Just as he had seen her in the traffic haze on Sunset. The golden rays of the sinking sun touched her blonde hair with red fire and played lovingly over a body Harry still couldn't believe was his to enjoy. Two fingers, hidden under the crotch of her bikini, were moving in tiny circles.
The sales case slipped unnoticed from his suddenly moist hand. He leaned against the frame of the window and let his eyes roam over the soft hills and valleys of The Attraction of the Month, a billing he'd come to resent after he had fallen in love with her, but it had gotten him out of his car and into the Sunset Strip joint where he had found her dancing nude. He'd caught her act for three nights in a row before he'd summoned enough courage to send his card to her via a waitress who'd made a small mint whisking his untouched drinks on and off his table while his eyes stayed glued to that unbelievable bust and neatly trimmed pussy.
He still didn't understand why she had dated him, nor why she had agreed to marry him. It all started... how long ago? About a year now -- and in that year she had never lost the fascination for him that kept him there at the window listening to his pulse pound in his ears and feeling himself grow harder by the second. It must have been a case of marvelous timing, Harry mused. She had to have been fed up with the grind of club dates, the endless propositions, the lewd catcalls and horny remarks. Here in the Bel Air mansion he'd bought at her urging she seemed content, always ready to make Harry's nights something he looked forward to with the eagerness of a teenager anticipating his first lay. "If here's a fly in the ointment, it's the cost of it all," Harry sighed to himself. This house, her clothes, her Rolls -- the money disappeared like water poured into a sieve. "Good thing I'm a master salesman," Harry grunted, "or I'd sure as hell never make it."
"You're late tonight," she murmured without opening her eyes as Harry's fingers pushed the bikini aside, and two pink nipples began to harden under his touch.
"Aren't you even going to peek to see who this is?" Harry asked.
"Who could get in here to play with me except you?" Angel smiled. "And I know that touch." Her thighs parted and her hips shifted forward as Harry's fingers slid into the dampness between her legs. She raised her mouth for a kiss she broke off much too soon, for Harry. "You shouldn't get us started this way. It's the last Friday of the month, you know."
"Oh, Christ! So soon!" Harry slammed his frame into the chair beside her, in disgust. "MUST you go see your mother EVERY damn month?"
"Harry, you know how sick she is and my visits are about all she ever has to look forward to. We've been over this so many times. You know I have to go. She won't live much longer."
"Bullshit! She's tougher than the two of us put together. What will I do with myself while you're gone?"
"Go bowling like you always do."
"Gripping a damn ball isn't like sliding my fingers into your..."
"Harry, let's not argue." Angel stood up, slipping the bikini off and pulling him to his feet. She pressed her nude body against him, rubbing his crotch with her supple fingers. "Let's go do it! I'm tired of playing with myself, waiting for you to come home. Then you can help me pack that lovely black case you bought me. The gold initials always remind me of you. A.C. Always Coming," she teased.
"The monogram should be A.G.," Harry grumbled. "Always Going!" Catching her expression, Harry sighed and said, "O.K., O.K.. I'm sorry. Let's go screw my bad mood away. It's just that I've built my whole world around you, Angel Cole. You know how miserable I am when you make these damn trips."
The headlights punched two holes in the cloudy blackness of the night as the Lincoln wound slowly along the curves of Crescent Drive. Bel Air was all up and down -- like in life, Harry mused. Funny how things fit together at certain times, and how the piece of a puzzle fall into place all of a sudden. Before Angel came along, Harry was low man on the totem pole with Security Services. The sophisticated alarm system was really good, but also damned expensive. Only residents like those in Bel Air had enough to guard to make installation worthwhile. The system of finding and selling his prospects he'd developed out of urgent necessity and sheer chance. He was the first to admit to himself that he was no salesman. He just saw to it that circumstances made the prospects sell themselves. Harry now did his selling at night, and on his bowling excursions when Angel visited her mother. Odd that the company never seemed to notice that Harry didn't sell that many alarm systems. His fame came from selling them in groups of three, and that happened because Harry would simply break into a house close enough to its neighbors for the word to spread, steal just enough to anger the owner but not enough to make headlines, wait a day or two and then call on all three homes with the story of Security Services Company. His commissions hardly made a dent in the bills Angel racked up, but the sale of what he stole brought in enough to get by.
The fence he'd met by chance. The man had sat at Harry's table at the tourist trap where he'd met Angel, and their conversation had led to his cheerful admission he dealt successfully in certain kinds of merchandise. When his need arose, there was the answer to Harry's lack of sales ability!
He reached out to steady the bowling bag as the Lincoln leaned into a curve. In the bag was Harry's kit. Not sales literature, just sturdy tools to open a window, a small bag for the jewelry, and a .32 automatic -- just in case! He glanced in the rear view mirror. His expression was strained, and tiny beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. He suffered through every job as much as he had his first, his heart pounding and his mouth dust dry. If there were any other ways to make the money he had to have... Angel, he thought, what I go through for you!
Rounding a sharp curve, Harry suddenly stood the Lincoln on its nose. Completely filling the narrow road ahead was a station wagon with a flat tire. God! Would he never get though this night! The headlights shown on a woman standing helplessly beside the wagon, and while Harry Cole watched, she clutched a sheet nightgown around her and kicked the flat with a foot encased in a big furry slipper.
"Can I help you?" he called. He hurried up to the woman and then did a classic double take. Her gown hid nothing. Under it she was completely nude!
"Oh, thank fortune you've come along," she answered, pushing back a strand of hair in a distracted fashion. "I never expected this to happen. I ran out of cigarettes and just on impulse I decided to drive over to Dorothy's to borrow some. It's terribly flat, isn't it? Do you know where the tools are?"
"Yes. Well, no. But I'll find them." Harry could hardly tear his eyes away from her fantastic body. Her robe had come untied and fallen away from her figure. In the glow from the headlights, two round firm breasts jutted out into the cool night air. Dark circles surrounding two hardening nipples that seemed to grow bigger as Harry watched. Her waist was still slim for a woman her age, and flared out into rounded hips that tapered down into legs that were trim and smoothly muscled. The dark patch of hair between her legs glowed as the moon edged from behind the black clouds. She did not seem to notice him staring at her before he turned abruptly to rummage in the back of her car, but was he wrong about something? Hadn't he had just the flash of an impression that she had tugged at the cord around her waist as he opened the door of his car?
"What the hell," Harry muttered as he tried to fit the unfamiliar pieces of the car jack together. "I'll never get onto the job. Crazy women running around the hills, getting flat tires and driving master salesmen crazy with their big boobs..."
He grumbled steadily under his breath as he wrestled with the heavy tire, then eased the jack down and turned to stow the tools in the car. He nearly knocked her down, she was standing so close to him. Now there was no doubt in his mind that she knew her robe was open. She was breathing heavily, her huge breasts outthrust, her nipples rubbing against the edge of the lace trimmed gown.
"I sure, don't know what I'd have done if such a nice man like you hadn't come along. I'd like to pay you for your trouble, but my purse is at home. Perhaps there's another way..." She opened the gown wide and thrust her ample hips forward. "Don't you think my body's pretty? Wouldn't you like to hold me and kiss me all over and put your cock..."
"Lady," Harry interrupted. "I don't want to be paid. Honest. Just let me put the tools -- hey! -- what the hell are you doing?" She was almost Harry's size, and as he discovered, a hell of a lot stronger. Still clutching the jack in his hand, he was thrown off balance against the open tail gate as she pressed against him, fumbling crazily for his zipper.
"I've GOT to have a man. Tonight! Oh! You've such a gorgeous bulge in your pants. There! See? You do want me. I'll confess. The tire didn't go flat. I let the air out. Mmmm, you're built so big? Here, let me help you push it in my pussy."
"For Chrissakes, lady! Let go of me. This isn't the time or the place for that sort of thing. Suppose another car came along. Take it easy, will you? Stop biting me. I'll never get another one to replace it. Dammit, you want me to belt you with this jack?"
She started to cry, her eyes wild and round and wet in the moonlight. Slowly she made an effort to pull herself together. She closed her robe, sobbing, and tried to help Harry stuff the tools into the car.
"Please. Get in your wagon," Harry sighed. "Go on to Dorothy's and get your smokes, or whatever the hell else she'll do for you."
"Yes. I will. Thank you. Dorothy's not like having a man. But I... well, I could do worse I suppose. She's sometimes pretty good in bed and she has a tongue that..."
"I don't want to hear about it," he said firmly. "Just get in and go on."
She sniffled her way into her car and drove slowly up the road, turning off into a small side street in search of Dorothy and relief. Harry floored the gas pedal and roared into the night. This was one evening he wouldn't forget for a long time.
The house Harry had chosen looked like a good prospect -- both for the break-in and the sale on his return visit. It was sprawling. Well-kept. The tall trees around it swayed in a freshening breeze. Harry cast an anxious eye toward the sky. The clouds were beginning to move. He'd have to make it to the cover of the dark edge of the house before the moonlight might reveal his approach. He listened intently by the high wall. Good. No dogs. Over the top. It took but a moment to force the French doors to the dining room. Harry stood in the blackness, listening to his pulse pound in his ears. The heavy bowling ball bag kept trying to slip from his sweaty grasp. Angel, he thought, if only you knew the risks I take for you.
What the hell would he say if the lights suddenly came on and he stood facing the irate homeowner? "Good evening, Sir. I'm with Security Services. Our plan is to prevent just such occurrences as this, and it will take but a few moments of your time to show you how your house can be wired so no one but you can..." Christ! He was cracking up from the strain. Better concentrate on finding something for the fence to peddle and get the hell out. He cursed the pounding in his ears and the sound of his labored breathing. Aha! Pay dirt! A beautiful silver table set. Heavy... but, into the sack. Out of this room, now. Up the stairs to the bedrooms. He puffed his way up over the top step and paused, trying to adjust his eyes to the even deeper gloom of the hall. There was one door slightly larger than all the others that lead to the various bedrooms. Must be the master suite.
Lugging the sack of silver and the bag down the hall, he reached out to ease the suite door open. He stopped his hand in mid-air. Shit! Not only was someone home and not only was someone not asleep, but it sounded as though the greatest orgy ever held in Bel Air was going on in the room. Heavy breathing was punctuated by a squeaking of bedsprings in a pounding rhythm that went on and on with a steady intensity that brought great beads of sweat to Harry's face and pushed his pulse up another dozen notches. God! Now what? Well, nothing to do but wait. They had to collapse and fall asleep sometime.
But no! He would have to choose the home of the Stud of The Year! The rustling and the moaning in the bedroom began to get to him more and more. He eased his burden down on the thick rug and squatted beside it, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. It didn't help. I've heard about weirdos who can get off just listening to others make out, he thought to himself. A little more of this and I'm going to join the group.
The pace was picking up. Now the headboard was crashing against the wall with a steady pounding that Harry was strongly tempted to match with his own hand. "Will you get it off!" Harry pleaded. "Enough, already!" As if in answer, the sounds stopped. Then a deep male voice laughed, "Oops! Sorry. Guess it's not as long as I thought it was. Put it back in, honey."
"Please. Yes. For my sake," Harry urged. "Put it back in. Clamp down on it! Get him off and over and out, honey." His plea was answered. The pounding commenced again, increasing in tempo. Then a wild cry echoed down the hall. The abrupt silence was deafening. Thank you, whoever you are. Now go to sleep. I've got to get to work and get out of here.
He waited until he could wait no longer, then took a deep breath. Angel, this is for you! He pushed the bedroom door open, gently, and stood looking at the dark shadowy outlines of the naked lovers on the rumpled bed. The trees scraped against the window as the breeze freshened outside. A stray beam of moonlight escaped from behind a cloud and gently, lit the room with its sleeping forms and its watcher. At that precise moment, Harry Cole's life smashed into a million pieces! Screaming insanely, he leaped on the bed and fired the .32 into the sleeping forms. Again and again and again. The hammer kept clicking on empty chambers, but Harry didn't hear the sound.
"Well, Sarge, what have we got this time?" the bored police lieutenant asked, shifting an unlit cigar to the other side of his mouth.
"I dunno, Sir. Hard to figure it out. We've got this dead couple here on the bed, all shot to hell. And this guy just sitting here on the rug. Won't say a word. Won't loosen his grip on that black traveling case. It's got some initials on it. See them?"
The recorder clicked off automatically. Betty eased her mouth back from nibbling on Fred's cockhead and smiled up at me.
"Isn't my man one hell of a writer?" she asked.
I looked at the goose bumps covering my skin. With my imagination, it was hard to shake the picture in my mind of Harry Cole standing on the bed and pumping one bullet after another into the body of the woman he loved so desperately.
"When women cheat, I guess they ask for all the trouble they get," I said quietly.
"Men too," Fred commented quietly. "How much better to swing in the company of the one you care for, than to go off alone in search of... what?"
"But Harry didn't have a woman like Betty in his life, Fred," I told him. "He wasn't as lucky as you. I want to be a Betty, not an Angel."
"But you are an angel, darling," Betty smiled. "And you taste heavenly!"
I looked at her flushed face nestled between my legs and reached down to hold my cunt up and open to her tongue. I needed to come. My goose bumps had goose bumps.