Chapter 6
Okay, he thought, parking the MG back in the Allison garage and nodding at the chauffer-mechanic. Okay, if Rush Scanlon was going to be kept for awhile, it might as well be top drawer. He was miffed a bit at missing Lei. She had been so easy to talk with, to be with, and the sex was only part of it.
He carried the suitcase in through the kitchen, and saw a cook who ignored him as she busied herself at an electronic stove. Passing through the living room, he saw no one, and for want of better directions, took his luggage up the stairs and into the room he had shared with Lorna and Jan.
In the bathroom, he ran his cordless razor over stubble and patted lotion onto his face. In the joint, no shaving lotion was allowed; too many guys would drink it.
It shouldn't be tough, getting to the mast of the wrecked Bianca. If Lei couldn't get him into the club after hours, he could volunteer to go for booze-maybe during one of Lorna's orgies, after seeing to it that the stuff ran out.
He opened his suitcase on the bed and took out his other pair of slacks, his other shirt and some clean underwear, and thought he'd have to do something about some new clothes. Maybe they went with the stud job here?
He'd just drawn on the new shorts when the woman's voice froze him into position, hands on his flat, hard belly, chest shoved out in a habitual breathing exercise.
"I like that," she said, stepping into the room.
"And you look like more than just pretty, you look efficient. Are you?"
"I used to be," he said. "Name's Rush Scanlon."
She was a striking looking woman, not too tall, but so leggy she made anyone think she was tall; willowy, slim and graceful. Her hair was worn hip-fashion, loosely down her back; it was a rich brown, like pale chocolate. Her eyes were hazel, shielded by long, curling lashes the color of her hair.
"I'm Cleo Ramsey," she said, her eyes licking over his body. "Nee Allison; I was stupid enough to get married."
Her breasts were high, small but proud, and her hips rolled slightly as she advanced upon him. A' full mouth smiled at him, but the gesture was more like a hungry grimace, he thought; the teeth were small and sharp.
"Hi, Cleo. I didn't know there were any other Allisons. I've already met your mother and sister."
"I'll just bet you have." She was almost touching him now, and he caught the musky scent of her perfume, her woman smell. "Lorna and Jan are out on the Bay. Now I'm glad I flew in early, Rush Scanlon."
She was so direct, so much the feline in heat, stalking him. But he wasn't a rabbit. He said, "Hell-I'm glad, too." And pulled her to him, not roughly, but so she would realize there'd be no nonsense, no teasing around.
Her mouth was mobile, warm, and her lips moved avidly over his as her tongue accepted the lance-thrust of his; her breasts snugged to his chest.
When she pressed her pelvis to him, he could feel the cushion of her pubic hair and the outline of her thighs. Her hands slid down the small of his back and cupped his buttocks; she slammed him savagely into her body and ground her crotch violently across his.
Rush found the zipper in her dress and whipped it down. Cleo shook her hips and the dress puddled about her feet. She wore no bra, no panties, and she kicked her dress away. But when he would have picked her up and carried her bodily to the bed, she resisted him.
And dropped to her knees before him, sliding his body while she clasped him about the buttocks, then the upper thighs. Her naked breast passed down his belly, then over his rod, and she was kissing his upper chest, his belly, and running her tongue into his navel.
Cleo was murmuring endearments into his flesh and licking his skin, while her fingernails moved up and down his thighs, over and around his buttocks. He spread his feet and stood solidly for her, taking her long, golden brown hair into his hands and rubbing it across his trembling belly as she at last took the head of his staff into her lips.
Tenderly then, all the violence gone from her, Cleo tasted of him, found his flavors with her tongue, with the inside of her mouth and just the slightest caress of her teeth. He moved slightly, stroked gently into her mouth and she took him deeper, deeper, suctioning upon him now.
She loved it, he thought, craved it in her head as other women yearned for it in their cunts. She pulled on it and rolled it, and as he stroked steadier, deeper into her mouth, Rush could feel the clinging velvet of her throat.
Cleo held to his legs, pressing her breasts against his knees, swinging them back and forth across his knees, one at a time because now his feet were planted far apart.
And he clung to her hair, to her head, bracing it for the driving rod he was feeding into it and out, into it and out. Man! The pressure was terrific and the suction was bringing him swiftly to a release. The good feeling raced up his legs, swelled along the insides of his thighs, then moved on to his scrotum, to his pelvis, and he gasped as it made his cone leap.
She knew he was coming, and held even more tightly to him, refusing to let him back it out of her frantic mouth, her fevered lips and tongue. He let it go, reached far back into her throat and let it spurt freely, powerfully. His knees went weak and his buttocks clenched, and he held to her head for support, for the ecstasy she was still bringing him as she drained him of every droplet, of all his power and all his maleness.
When she had it all, she took her mouth away and came back up his belly to his chest, nipping and licking, and rose slimly to her feet to press against him, to fit her mobile, still hungry mouth to his and urge him with gentle nudges backward toward the big, inviting bed.
He couldn't mount her right away, and he owed her something. When they reached the bed, he put her gently upon her back and crawled over her, but only to kiss the delightfully rigid nipples on her small, lovely tits, to suck them slowly and with a lingering pleasure. Cleo's body writhed beneath his, and her hands were never still; they raced over his flesh, found his half-limp cock and clung to it for awhile, until he worked on down her silken belly.
He moved on into her nest, probing with his tongue, knowing he was good at this now, plunging between the humid lips, reaching first into the passageway and passing over the shuddering walls. She heaved up at him, her lithe body snaking from side to side, but with her pelvis lifted to him, her slender thighs spread wide for him.
Her clit was long, nubbled and nearly rigid; he tongued over and around it, and pulled it into his mouth to bite gently, to suction first lightly upon it, then with more power and more strength.
"Ooh!" Cleo gasped. "Oh, man-how you can do it! Go, darling-oh yes, like that-just like that. Oh, you're killing me-"
Her thighs clamped around his head and her legs swung up to cross over his shoulders. Her pelvis heaved and bucked on his mouth, and she gyrated lasciviously there, wiping the wealth of her pubic hairs across his chin and cheeks.
Rush stayed with her, feeling his cock lifting, coming back to life. When she hit an orgasm, he did not let her go, but continued to pull upon that shivering clitoris, to let it go only so he could lave her passage for a moment, then to come quickly back and nip that long nub into new spasms of ecstasy.
She was sweating and arching her back; turning damp down the insides of her clenching and unclenching thighs, but she hung with him, hitting two more bucking releases before she suddenly went limp and passive.
Rush wiped his mouth on her belly, and nuzzled back up to eat tenderly of her nipples again, all the while his hands were setting those sleek hips into position beneath him. He got the head of his rod against her damp cleft and with one driving thrust, buried the entire length of it into her.
She flinched; he felt a ripple contract the walls of her pussy, and shoved that tiny bit farther up inside her body, so that her vagina locked him in like an oiled satin glove.
Then Rush laid it to her, slipped it strongly and deeply into that clinging passage, and still Cleo Allison lay there as if she'd dropped dead. But he knew better than that, for he could feel life stirring within her cunt, and slowly, sweetly, the motion, the aliveness, spread down from her womb, out across her haunches and her belly and her pelvis.
Cleo started to screw him back.
Hesitantly at first, with a sort of fluttering motion, an off rhythm beat that threw him off stride; then she picked up the swing of it, came vibrantly awake and twisting upon his staff, on the pistoning strokes of him.
With a flip" of her sleek ass, a gyrating motion of her mound, she was with him and of him, meeting him with an arching of her back and a strong hiking of her belly. Cleo had inherited her mother's lust, her mother's adeptness at making love. But she was different, as Jan was different, yet somehow of that racy blood, that blaze of breeding.
She was great; she stayed with him, mounting to a nicely graduated pitch of concentration that turned into a controlled frenzy. Rush poured it to her then, pulled out all the stops and hammered his prick into her as if there was only one thing in all the universe, and the secret lay deeply within her vagina.
"Ahh, you beautiful bastard!" Her breath pumped hotly at his ear, and her arms were beside his body, supine except for the hands that had found his buttocks again, and were hooked into the cheeks.
"I'm coming!" she called out. "Ah, I'm coming!"
Cleo shuddered, and the inner sheathing of her pussy spasmed; her entire body stiffened out beneath him as he continued to drive it up her, and just as she started to collapse, just at the very moment she began to sag, Rush stabbed her deep and mean.
He fired his own load, pinned her helplessly to the bed and pulsed it into her trembling slot. His weight held her, and his rod impaled her. Cleo crumbled under him, fell slowly and gently apart beneath him, dissolved around his stilled piston and oiled it generously with her juices, with the attars of her being.
By the time she was able to move, to struggle from under him, his rod had softened, and he allowed it to slip out of her without a contest. Rush rolled off her, rolled over onto his back and breathed deeply, with great contentment. Lorna and Jan, and now Cleo; he had screwed his way through the Allison family, and found them all jewels of passion. If there were any more Allison girls, he'd be happy to meet them.
"Wow," she murmured. "You're a lot of hombre, Rush Scanlon. My husband should only be so good."
"Your husband is a lucky man," he said.
She found cigaretts on the night table and lighted two. Drawing on hers, she said: "Thanks for that, but dear Kemp doesn't think so. He's too interested in a boy; a fag, dammit."
Rush was silent, lying there smoking. Cleo lifted herself on one elbow and said: "He's not really queer-Kemp, I mean; he just plays both sides of the street."
"But you don't like it?"
"Not like that. If he just dug other women-and he does-it would be okay with me. I mean, I play around, too, and that doesn't get me up tight. But fags do. Dammit, I don't like getting aced out by a lousy swish."
Rush blew smoke at the ceiling. "People will have names for me, too-like gigolo, or kept boy, or pimp, or whatever."
"I like stud," Cleo said. "What the hell; it's honest."
He liked Cleo, and grinned at her. "More or less. It's also temporary, and I understand that."
She smiled back. "I hope you last a long, long time, mister. Meanwhile, what would you say to a late lunch, or early dinner, whichever?"
He went with her to the now deserted kitchen. It seemed that Lorna Allison liked her help to be out of the house before the games started. There was a steam table along one wall, and Cleo led him there. There was a plentitude of goodies for them, and they both piled their plates with a variety of meats and vegetables and seasoned rices.
They ate, and Cleo told him Lorna and Jan ought to be back soon, that the sailing on the Bay had been a spur of the moment thing, and Jan's idea. "They don't expect me this weekend," she continued. "But it won't shake them any to see me. This time, I might just stay. I mean-Kemp and his damned fairy love. It's too much."
Rush kept eating, and topped off the good meal with coffee, pouring a cup for Cleo also, as she mused about husbands and fags. She had a good face, he thought, an open and interesting face. She had a hell of a sex drive, too; he doubted if any one man could keep her content. That probably went for her mother and sister, too. A powerhouse family, the Allisons, and the money backed them up, made it easy for them to do just about anything they wanted.
Rush Scanlon might be able to do a lot, with just the two hundred big ones, the gravy from the heroin. It would be good to see how far that would go. It wouldn't be spent on big cars and booze, but on more substantial things; like a ranch up in the mountains to the north, where nobody would bug him, ever.
Cleo shifted in her chair, and he looked at her again. She really had a pair of legs, so long and lithe, and her thighs were beautiful, exposed the way they were by her robe falling back. His own terrycloth robe bulked on him, and he was barefoot, rubbing his toes into the kitchen rug. Carpets in the kitchen, yet.
Cleo snapped her fingers. "Yeah, Scanlon. Of course! I don't know why I didn't pick up on your name when you first said it, but you're that Rush Scanlon-the fighter. Oh man, I used to get all hot and bothered just watching you in the ring."
He felt funny, that anyone would remember him. He said, "You have to be a real fight bug. That was awhile back."
"Not so long. Hey-why'd you stop fighting and-oh, oh yeah, I remember that trial bit, too. They socked it to you, Rush."
"Two years," he said. "I did every damned minute of it in Soledad, the hard way-counting the seconds. So much for the title and everything that goes with it."
"I'm sorry, Rush."
"I'm sorry, too. More coffee?"
They were sipping coffee quietly together when a car pulled up behind the house, and he thought, Lorna, Jan; then he wondered just what the hell he could do with a third woman. The idea excited him, because that kingsize bed could hold them all, and wouldn't that be a real last, Lorna and her two girls?
The back door opened and he turned his head lazily in that direction. It wasn't Lorna and it wasn't Jan.
"How about that?" the big, handsome guy asked. "Told you she'd run straight to mama. Only mama isn't here and she's showing her ass to this character."
The fag hipped on by and picked up a fork to explore things on the steam table. His hair was long and he wore false lashes, and his pants were skin tight. "Oh doll," he said, "don't bother with her; she's such a bitch."
Cleo said, "Kemp, you bastard. Let me alone."
The big man grunted. "I'm not bothering you, sweetheart. The weekend will be more fun with your mother, and possibly your little sister. They're not so square."
"Cubist, doll," the fag said.
"Besides," Kemp said, "you have a character here, Cleo. Not too cute, and kind of small, but a character."
Rush set his feet in the carpet. It was a little like bracing on the stool in the corner, looking across the ring and waiting for that first bell. But the situation was different here. Cleo reached the table and put a hand on his arm.
"Don't, Rush. Please don't."
"My, my," said the fag, from the far end of the steam table.
Kemp Ramsey laughed. It was a big, confident laugh, to match the man, and Rush gauged him, looked him over for fist tracks around the eyes, or the puffiness of lips that told of scarred over cuts inside. He didn't find anything, nor did he see an off center nose, or a folded over ear.
Besides, the big man was heavy around the gut, and walked wrong, kind of leaning back off balance. One good, solid shot would knock him flat on his big, confident ass.
"Hello, dear," the fag said, insinuating himself between them, putting his filled plate down on the table. "Nobody ever introduces me; I'm Giles Griffith, and if I eat all this, my figure will just be shot."
Rush grinned and broke the tension within himself. The big slob could wait, but he probably wouldn't. Kemp would no doubt push it some more, lean some more, and sooner or later Rush might have to take him apart-but carefully, carefully. Soledad prison wasn't all that far up the highway.
The kitchen door slammed open and Lorna bounced in, followed by a windswept Jan. They yelled things at Cleo and Kemp, and Lorna even kissed the fag on the cheek, but Jan came straight to Rush. She sat on his knee and kissed him hard.