Chapter 6

Traffic was heavy, the drivers hot and irritable in the combination of California sun and L.A. smog. No one liked it when Georgie pulled the car over close to the lane of parked cars suddenly and Carol opened the door to get out.

"Half an hour?" Georgia asked.

"Maybe more like an hour, this time. His apartment for some reason. If his fucking parents are home I'm going to speed out of there before they even know they've seen me."

"I'll be in that cafe, over there. You know the one. After I shop a little."

"Okay." Carol slipped out just a small thin card-case, or something that looked as if it would carry credit cards. "For the bread." She put her purse in the glove compartment. "Lock up the car, okay."

"Sure."

"In an hour, then."

Carol got out of the car, quickly, moving through the parked cars to the tall apartment buildings. Taking a minute, she checked the numbers, then entered one. The elevator was behind a small gate. As she approached the desk a boy detached himself from one of the chairs near the door. Silently he fell in beside her. The man behind the desk looked up absently, nodded at the boy, and they passed through the gate.

They said nothing as they waited for the elevator. Someone was already in the small gilt box as the door opened. They entered; the boy pushed the eight button then stepped back. They said nothing. The man got out at six. A woman got in, asking, "Is this going down?"

"No, up," the boy said.

The tension was destroying Carol, but she said nothing. Carol and the boy got off at the eighth floor. The boy moved rapidly down the hall; Carol almost ran to keep up with him. At the door, she put a hand on his arm.

"Bruce? You're alone. I mean, your parents aren't home?"

"Of course. Did you think I'd tell you to come here if they weren't?"

"The thought occurred to me." No, she thought, it's been torturing me.

He was closing the door behind her, putting his key away.

"No," he said. "They're not here. They were all teary-eyed about leaving me on my fifteenth birthday. But they figured I am a big boy now." He grinned. "And they gave me an extra hundred this weekend, in case expenses came up"

She grinned at the thought. Her parents never gave her more than $10.00 at a time (unless she was shopping with something particular in mind) and that until she made her own money at a part-time job, at 17. But then she, unlike this boy, wasn't a successful male fashion model at age 12, either; with prospects of commercials by the time he is 16.

He stretched, sitting on the couch.

"How about right here, in the living room. Gold rug and all."

"It's luxury, after the back of that shop."

"Yeah, you can stretch out, too, and I can watch easier." He hesitated. "Could you take off all your clothes?"

She stopped, looked at him.

"I'll give you the extra hundred. If you take off all your clothes."

"Well, I...." Before she had always just worn a dress, no underwear, and they had hiked it up to her belly. She felt nervous in this apartment. "Are you sure there's no one here, or coming here later?"

"No one," the boy said. "Nobody is here No one is coming." He reached into his pocket. Flipping open the wallet he took out three bills. "Here. One for the regular, one more if you take off all your clothes, and fifty because you're nervous, and I don't want you to go away. Okay?"

"Okayyyy." God, two-hundred and fifty dollars. She took the money, and slipped it in her card holder. After she had put it on a table, she began to unbutton her dress.

"Are you wearing a bra?" '

"No." She unbuttoned the dress and pulled her arms from the sleeves. It dropped to the floor; she stepped out of the small pile of cloth, then bent to unfasten her sandals. When she straightened, she blushed. Only a thin creamy chemise was her protection from nudity. Her nipples were clearly visible, the patch of hair at her crotch dark against the thin material.

"My God!" he said. "God, that's as exciting as I had thought seeing you nude would be. But, go ahead, take it off."

She clipped the straps over her shoulders, and wriggled to get the clingy material away from her skin, and down to the floor.

"Ooa." he said, "how nice, Carol," She smiled suddenly, and relaxed.

She bad creamed and scented her body before she left th house. Standing there, she was aware of the faint sweet scent surrounding her. Her skin was smooth pale, creamy to the touch, she knew. And the muscles beneath them were lean and strong.

Years ago she had decided that while the years took their toll on many woman, she would not be one of them.

Father Time had battled her, but her urge to stay young, in looks at least, had kept her dieting, sleeping well, avoiding drink, exercising-though she hated it, and a slave to a regime of care that would frighten some women who declared themselves above that sort of stuff.

Yes, and most women her age were wrinkled, sagging, fatted, slowing, and dull. Not her! Her breasts were as proud and high as they had been at 16. Her belly was nearly flat, her legs and arms sculptured tiny.

Unconsciously she caressed her breasts with her hands, tracing their shape with a light touch, testing their weight. Her hands traveled the smooth clean curve of her waist, flared with her hips, and settled on the flat strength of her thighs. For a moment she toyed with the huge bush of hair which guarded the entrance to her pussy. Then her hands lifted and she brushed her loose hair from her back and shoulders and lifted it.

She smiled at him again, shaking her head. Raising her hands toward the ceiling with a laugh of pure animal delight in her being. With a quick turn she spun around her tits bouncing with the sudden movement. Again she shook her head, crazily, letting the hair tangle and fall where it wished.

Bruce was smiling at her, his mouth wide, those perfect teeth gleaming white. Leaning forward with a practiced gesture of grace he seemed to sniff the air. Something like an animal on the hunt, Carol thought.

"Sit down," he ordered suddenly, "right there, on the floor." She sat quickly, sinking to the floor with a graceful motion. "Spread your legs, you lovely, lovely lady. You beautiful bitch."

"Fifteen, eh? she asked. "Are you sure? You sound more worldly than half the middle-aged men walking around."

"Don't tease me," he said, grinning. "Let me see you, cunt."

"You see me. Don't you want to say, 'let me see your cunt'? "

"Picky, picky. That's why that old bastard Smith keeps you on as secretary, doesn't he? Doesn't he really trust your judgment? You pick boys and test their cock, or related skills, and tell him which ones are hardy enough to stand the rigors of this field."

"Bruce!"

"Just teasing."

"Well."

"Spread your legs, girl."

"Why?" She giggled.

"Why?" He pretended surprise. "Why?" He laughed. "Because this big black mean old mouth is going to eat up your pussy, pretty girl."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" She spread her legs as wide as she could. Then, slowly, she reached down to touch herself, but his hands stopped her. "No. I'll do that."

He stretched himself flat on his stomach and pulled himself over close to her. His face was barely an inch from her suddenly wet cunt. He sniffed again, closing his eyes.

"You've a lovely smell, bitch." he said. "Lovely."

"See how wet you made me?"

"Me? I did that?"

"Mm-huh. You did."

"Well, let me clean it up."

He slowly opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out at her. It was long, thick and bright pink. Almost as pink as the lips of her pussy.

Wriggling his tongue he barely touched her cunt, teasing the drops of liquid from it. His tongue moved from side to side, touching the swollen lips, quivering.

He began slowly to enter the hole. She was leaning back on outstretched arms, her head thrown back, eyes closed. His tongue probed into her cunt, licking, exploring, retreating gently, then heading forward again. Oh, she was thinking, oh, he does do lovely things with is tongue.

When his tongue was almost completely lost in the slick walls of her cunt, he quickly pulled it out. Leaning over, he bit her thigh, quickly. Her leg bent, in reflex. His head turned and her other thigh jumped as he bit it.

His nose nuzzled in the hair at her vee of flesh, and he was sniff rag again. He made a strangled sound, then darted his tongue again into her pussy.

He wriggled that tongue, coaxing still more wetness from her hole, sucking it up. His mouth closed over the whole expanse of her, and he took his tongue back. With his lips he coaxed the fluids into his mouth.

Carol still had her head back, waiting. She knew if she relaxed she would have a quick, shuddering climax And he would wait, holding off, and let his load explode into his pants when he knew she was off.

Her hair, on the back of her neck and down her back, teased the flesh. She tried to take her mind from the delicious tongue to concentrate on the slow tickle of her hair.

Almost without warning, too soon, she felt the sensations build in her. She cried out and he paused as if listening. She brought her head up, to watch him, and saw the slow, careful teasing his hips made on his cock. As if plunging into a pussy, in pantomime, he wriggled and bunched his ass.

Even under the cloth the working of his muscles was evident. His cock: the strong tool which he had resolved, he said, to never stick in a woman. But this brought his pleasure, this careful practiced licking he gave her. And it gave him pleasure to pay her-or maybe it just soothed his guilt over his lack of desire to fuck.

Crying out again, she climaxed: her cunt muscles closing on his tongue, full in her. Again his mouth closed over her. He sucked the juice from her as it flooded her cunt, eagerly. She saw him stiffen and jerk suddenly.

Bruce relaxed then, his tongue back in his mouth, kissing her now-red lips tenderly. After a moment he pulled away from her to get up.

"Well?" she asked, knowing this was part of the ritual. She had to ask him how it was.

"I felt like some bright, orange light exploded in my gut. My belly is all warm inside, illuminated, and God, I just feel warmth radiating from my belly to my whole body. From my cock, to my whole body."

"Good. Sounds as if it was good."

"Yes, good."

"Good."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Bruce."

"Carol?" She stiffened. Again? What was bothering him now. It was his habit, she knew, to ask her about jobs, or problems with his career after he had come. Though usually he waited until they were settle in a cafe, drinking coffee. But, well, here there was no one to bother them.

"Yes?"

"Friday, on that jeans job."

What happened now? She wondered if this would be a variation of an old problem. Rarely did anything else new, or unusual come up. Someone had made a crack about his age, or his size.

"What happened, Bruce?"

"Well, you see..." he said, and began to tell her about it. She sat up as he talked, and began to put on her chemise.