Chapter 5
BIANCA
At five minutes after three, just before she left, Freda came over to the sink and stood close beside Jeff.
"I'll see you at the apartment," she whispered. Then she took a quick look around again to make sure no one was watching and brushed her hand along his thigh. She grabbed him and squeezed him. "Yor keep that thing right where it is until you get home, y'understand? A couple of the other waitresses got an itch for you. So you watch out, y'hear?"
It was three-thirty before Jeff got through washing the last dish and scrubbing the last pan. Then Roy, in a black mood, because Freda had refused to go out in the alley with him, handed Jeff a broom.
"Sweep up outside in the club before you knock off," Roy said as he put on his hat and coat and left.
Jeff took the broom and went through the swinging doors that led into the club proper. It was dark and deserted now; everyone had gone home. The only light came from a work-lamp just in front of the dias, where the band had played.
Jeff worked his way toward it with the broom. He halted a moment when he came to the piano. It was a baby grand just like the one he used to play. He felt a fluttering inside his stomach and his red fingers stroked the side of it, affectionately, as he might caress the warm body of a woman.
Alone in the silent darkness he reached down and started to open the keyboard cover so he could run his fingers over the black-and-white ivories.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice fringed with a faint French accent cautioned from somewhere in the darkness behind him. "You get that piano out of tune and Mr. Bruno or Danny Casino finds out-you'll be out of a job."
He drew back his hand from the piano, quickly, and turned to see a girl coming toward him from out of the shadows. He couldn't make her out until she got within the border of light thrown by the worklamp. Then he recognized her.
She was one of the waitresses. Freda had introduced her to him. She said her name was Bianca and that she was French. Tiny, and with an almost non-existent bustline, she looked French-except for her short-cropped red hair. Instead of the short skirted black and white uniform she and Freda and the other waitresses had worn earlier, Bianca now had on a short, colorful karate-style kimono that was belted tightly around her wasp-waist and reached more than halfway up her thighs.
She might not have looked so damned sexy, if she hadn't been wearing wide-mesh black stockings the tops of which didn't quite reach the bottom of her kimono and they hadn't been held up with white, lacy leg-garters. Her white spike-heels gave a nice turn to her slim legs and ankles.
"I-I thought everyone had gone home," Jeff said, half-apologetically.
"I was back in the dressing room," Bianca told him, as she came closer. "I guess I dozed off."
She came nearer until he could smell the exotic French perfume she was wearing. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes. "You really Freda's cousin, like she says?"
He hadn't seen her this close up before. She was cute as a kitten with just the faintest trace of a Parisian accent.
"Sort of a distant cousin," he replied, surveying her quickly.
"I wish I had a cousin like you," she said frankly. "I wouldn't leave you out of my sight." She hesitated and took another step toward him, her eyes still focused on his face. Maybe I could adopt you?"
He smiled and remembered the last thing Freda had warned him about-that a couple of the gals had "the itch". He wanted to be loyal to Freda and started to resume his sweeping.
Bianca grabbed the broom and held it near the top of the handle. She had a suggestive way of moving her hands up and down on the handle; at the same time moistening her slightly pouting lips with her tongue.
"Would you rather sweep than talk to me?"
"I've got to get my job done."
"I've got a job I'd like you to do," she said as she relinquished the broom to him and began to loosen the tie of ther kimono. "Wouldn't take very long and I think it'd be a lot more fun than sweeping.
The belt was undone' now and she let the kimono fall open and permit him to see just enough of her body to whet his appetite and show him that she had nothing on underneath.
"Think you'd like to tackle the job?" she asked as she turned and let the kimono slip off her shoul-der and fall to her waist, baring her back to him. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled as she began to walk away.
He stood there at the side of the piano and looked after her. He thought a moment of Freda. He was indebted to her but he didn't really owe her any loyalty. He didn't owe anyone but himself any loyalty. Not any more.
He followed Bianca into the shadows and when he caught up with her, his arms encircled her from behind. She had drawn the kimono up over her shoulders but parted it now so he could cup her naked breasts. They were very tiny in his palms; the biggest part of them seemed to be their spiked nipples. He teased the points to hardnes then let one hand sweep down over her stomach through the black tangle and into the narrow, moist crevice in the middle.
His educated fingers brought her a happy song that hummed through her being. She began to breathe heavily and her sensuous little body squirmed a-gainst his hardness until he was ready to take her on the spot."
"Not here," she whispered. "I know a good place." He followed her through a curtained doorway into the darkness, then to a small room at the far end of the corridor, flanked by the dressing rooms. At one side of the room was a big soft pile of material. She said they were drapes and curtains that had been recently cleaned. But when they came back, Bruno decided he didn't want to use them so they'd been discarded.
Bianca threw herself down upon the pile of drapes, lay back and struck a sexy pose, which with her seemed an art. Holding one leg straight with her red-lacquered toes pointed downward, she bent the other leg at the knee and drew it back so that her robe slid down, baring her thigh to the groin.
As he knelt beside her, he was reminded of another time when he was with a girl-not in a pile of curtains and drapes-but in a pile of hay. He was very young then, making his first tour of one night stands through the tall country, playing piano for a small four-piece combo. One of the local gals-a tall thin blonde with breasts that hung low and heavy-kept bothering him all night long with little innuendoes and flirtatious smiles and an occasional glimpse of her cleavage and more of her long, slim legs than she showed anyone else. He bothered her too; just sitting there making pretty music. Finally during a long break, toward the tail-end of the evening, she invited him into a nearby barn.
She sprawled out in the hay just as Bianca was sprawled out now, she opened the front door of her dress and took out her very white breasts. They smelled squeaky clean and the nipples tasted of warm milk. It wasn't until he took off her ruffled pants and she parted her legs and he was warm and snug inside that she whispered, "You don't have to be careful."
She told him she was going to have a baby by some guy whom she was going to marry as soon as he got back to town. But she was hurting and admitted she couldn't wait that long for a man.
It was a nice feeling to be able to go all the way without any worries. So nice that he returned to the barn and the pile of hay once more with her before the night was over. It was the first and last time, to his knowledge, he'd ever had a pregnant woman.
Jeff just thought of the incident in passing. He didn't dwell on it very long. Bianca saw to that. As she lay there she invited him to open her kimono and let him view her little girl body.
If she had told him she was thirteen or fourteen, he would have believed it. She was that im-maturely developed. Her breasts looked like small lemons tipped with top-heavy, bright red nipples. The rest of her body seemed to have only enough flesh on it to cover her small bones. Yet she was so tiny it made her look ever more desirable.
"You like French girls-no?"
"I never really noticed any difference," he confessed.
"Oh-then you have never had a real French girl make love to you," she said as she worked her arms out of the sleeves of the kimono and let it fall behind her. "French girls do not have much up here." She took his hands and put them to her breasts to show him. "Ah, but French girls know how to make love. You like Bianca to show you?"
"Why not?"
Bianca placed her hand on his chest and pressed him back onto the pile of soft drapes. She kissed him. letting him sample the fire and agility of her tongue as she unbuttoned his shirt and ran the tips of her fingers across his chest, scraping her long red-lacquered nails across his nipples.
He felt her hands unbuckling his belt. There was no fumbling or awkwardness in getting it un-fastened, nor in opening his zipper, nor unsnapping his shorts. When it was done, she peeled back the whole business and he was naked from his chin all the way down to his knees, where she had rolled down his trousers.
She told him to close his eyes but it was more as if she had ushered him into paradise. Because what happened next was sheer ecstasy. He could never tell when her fingers gave way to her lips, or her lips to her tongue, or her tongue to the sharp, sensitive ends of her nipples. She employed each of them inturn, he knew. Because each brought him a new and delicious thrill. But in what order, he could only guess.
She worked him to such a pitch that he writhed on the pile of drapes beneath him and as she'd draw back to change-over he'd follow after her in blind groping. Then when he couldn't see how he could possibly control the passion she had built up in him, when everything inside him would explode with just one more brush of her tongue ... her fingers ... her lips ... her nipples ... she drew back from him.
He popped open his eyes and looked at her in dismay. "What the hell-?"
She was lying back on the soft drapes; hands back of her head; legs spread apart."
"I'll come back to you," she told him. "You'll get a double thrill. But first do Bianca...."
He wanted to plunge right into her as she lay there. It took a lot of self-control for him not to. But the promise of the thrill she'd bring him when he was done with her, was strong enough to do what she asked him.
He leaned over her. He used no special technique, the way she had. He simply did what came naturally. He kissed her open mouth and her tongue, like a serpent, shot into him. Then he ran his hands over her little girl body from the tops of her rolled down black mesh stockings to her breasts. He kissed her breasts. They fitted almost completely into his mouth. He lashed her nipples with her tongue until the pink buttons rose to buds, and she moaned her delight. Then he began kissing her body. Her stomach; the indentation that was her navel; her smooth belly; the curves of her thighs. He nibbled at her tender flesh and kissed her intimately, eagerly.
Bianca began to thresh about on the bed of draperies, uttering little cries of pleasure. It goaded him on. His tongue stroked the warm, wet treasure of velvet, until he found the hard button of her sex. Her knees jerked and folded involuntarily at the touch. Jeff kept it up until he felt it happen. A twinge, a moment's warning-and then Bianca cried out. She shut her eyes tight and Jeff knew she was taking off into a place of undreamed of delights. He reached up for her nipples and pinched them gently, as she blazed into ecstasy. He could feel the spasms that shook her belly and thighs and he drew back from her slowly and let her burn herself out.
"Now!" he heard her threaten finally and her eyes were wild with passion.
He lay back and she covered what she could of him with her tiny white-hot body; searing his flesh where she touched. She did all the things she did to him before-kissing, caressing, watching his changing expression in between. She slowed down then speeded up, always watching his face as it twisted in agony of delight with each sensation she brought him.
All at once, he stiffened; she wrapped both legs around his thighs and glued her mouth to him. Fireworks exploded in his belly and in his thighs; and his breathing became harsh and pleasurably tortured as a series of convulsions racked his body ... one ... two ... three ... tremendous blasts ... the fourth was a little weaker ... then they began to diminish rapidly ... to finally leave him in an ecstatic heaven of complete exhaustion....
It was a long time before Jeff found strength to resume sweeping out the club ... and even longer before he felt he was capable of going home and accepting the challenge that he knew Freda would have waiting for him....
Freda didn't disappoint him ... and her didn't disappoint her, in spite of his session with Bianca. In fact, Jeff even without those eight years to recharge his batteries, always had been a multiple repeat guy. With the same gal, twice, sometimes had been his limit. But where he could change off with someone else-he rarely found any difficulty in making it several times throughout an evening.
He rapped the prescribed three times on the door, as Freda had told him; waited a few seconds then heard Freda's voice ask, "That you, Jeff?"
"Expecting anybody else?" he tossed back.
She quickly unlocked the door and swung it open. Except for a pair of shiny black high heels, she stood before him stark naked. "Do I look as if I were expecting anybody else?"
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. She threw her arms around him and pressed her naked body against him, unmindful of his rough clothing.
"What kept you?" she asked.
"I had to sweep up."
She smelled his clothing and grimaced. "You were with that little French whore."
He neither confirmed nor denied it.
She showed just the faintest trace of jealousy. "Why her? She's just a horny little bitch. She's-" Freda caught herself and looked up at him, sheepishly. "What the hell am I battin' about? What right have I got to tell you who you can lay? I'm soundin' off like I was your wife or somebody."
He smiled and picked her up in his arms. She clung to him as he kissed her lips: her tongue chasing his around the inside of his mouth.
He carried her to the bed and held her with one arm, while he threw back the covers with the other. The sheets were clean and fresh smelling.
"I put new ones on the bed-especially for you," she said as he placed her atop them.
He kissed her nipples. They blossomed forth into full flower. He put his hand between her moist, hot thighs. She responded at once; moving against his fingers.
"Take your things off, Lover," she said to him. "I want to see what that French bitch left for me."
He got his clothes off quickly and showed her. It was considerable. When he got into bed, she pushed him back against the pillows and looked down at him. The red-eyed dragon appeared for an encore.
"I can't stand anybody who's all the time bragging," Freda said. "Like her ... All the time she's telling everybody what great lovers the French are. That only French girls know how to make love."
"They aren't bad," he teased.
She reached down and took hold of him and stroked him, posessively; making him harder, more sensitive. "Did ... did she French you?"
"A gentleman never discuess his affair d'-amour."
"She did ... I know she did. That's the only kind of lovin' she knows. Her and her little tits and her pouty lips. I'll show you whether French girls are the only ones who can make love that way."
This wasn't her forte; so she held him with both hands and kept stroking him as if mustering up enough courage to do it. Then she closed her eyes and suddenly she had enveloped him with her lips and as she got more used to it, she began to lash him with her tongue with a savage fury.
Whether Freda's technique was better than Bianca's vast experience, Jeff was not about to argue. He just knew that it caused him different sensations, but the end-result would have been the same, if he had allowed it to continue, but as he felt himself rapidly approaching a climax, he reached down and lifted her head away from him.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, disappointedly. "You don't like the way I do it?"
"YOU get too much satisfaction the other way to make it so one-sided," he told her.
Her eyes widened and in a wild display of appreciation, she kissed her way upward across his stomach and chest to his mouth, and hugged against him emotionally. "No one ever showed me that much consideration before!"
Then she lay on her back and parted her legs as he climbed between them. Why he suffered a guilt complex he didn't know. But he just felt that it wasn't fair not to do to her what he'd done to Bianca. Placing a hand on each of her thighs, he spread her legs farther apart.
She ran her tongue over her lips as if suddenly her mouth had grown too parched for her to talk. "What-what are you going to do?"
"Just close your eyes," he whispered and started to lower his head.
"Oh no!" she cried out, remembering the feeling he'd caused her when he did it THAT WAY last night. "I couldn't take it."
She struggled against him and tried to close her legs ... push back his head ... but at the first stroke of his tongue, she moaned and went limp and helpless. For several moments she seemed unable to move. Then he felt her lift her buttocks off the bed and start to grind against him ... faster ... faster.
"Oh, Jeff ... Jeff, darling ... I love you ... Oh...."
He knew it was her passion talking as she clawed at the bed sheets at each side of her; turning her head from side to side on the pillow; her eyes and her teeth clenched tightly. She'd never in her life been this high before!
"Jeez!" she screamed as he pushed her to the edge of madness. Then he felt the fury of the spasms that racked her as she held herself against him and began to throb.
She sobbed passionately, unable to control her panting. Then she put her hand under his chin and lifted his head. "Now you, darling ... now you...."
She kept her legs spread wide apart and he crept up over her. Like a pony going into his favorite stall, he entered. He could still feel her pulsating against him as if she were enjoying one, long, never ending climax. She wrapped her strong legs around his hips; her arms under his armpits; her hands locked behind his back as if by some miracle the perspiration from their bodies would weld their flesh together into one being.
She squeezed and relaxed the scalding, rubber-like walls of the cavity in which she was holding him. She could feel the all-consuming tempest building within him and wondered if with just these soft, warm, unhurried caresses she could bring him relief. But she abandoned the thought when she felt him begin to move against her, unable to wait.
Whichever way he wanted it, was all right with her and she had little difficulty in following the tempo he set. Deep into the well of fire she drew him, holding him there while she ground her pelvis against him, trying to bring to him the absolute maximum of sensation that he had brought her. He didn't try to hold back this time, because he knew she'd already climaxed. But she fooled him. When he peaked, she peaked for a second time right along with him; matching the intensity of his releases with those of her own, tilting the world just enough for them to both slide off into a nothingness of sensuous pleasure.