Chapter 3
Chipper is gone, again.
Rufe has just gotten back from the airport.
And Cynthia is unhappy.
She truly enjoys Chipper's company.
The fact of the matter is that, except for his homecomings, he is a perfectly normal, more than adequate regular bed partner.
And a fairly skilled lover as well.
So that yes, Cynthia has that reason as well for enjoying his company, and for feeling as she does at the lack of it. And it shows.
So that Rufe and Carlotta could almost feel sympathy for her. Almost.
Maybe, Rufe thinks, they're being too hard on her.
After all, it's not her fault she was born at a certain level of wealth, that she grew up thinking a certain way, and that she is as she is due to forces beyond her option or control.
Still, the same thing could be said of cockroaches, could it not?
Same principle, after all, merely a different context.
So that Cynthia, who has and has had at her disposal the data of the real world and thus every opportunity to know better, to do better, certainly rates no special consideration from the likes of them.
Besides, she's going to enjoy getting what she deserves.
Because this is hardly punitive, their intentions toward her.
Rufe wants her and Carlotta wants Rufe.
And we are talking strictly bodies here.
As people, these people don't mean all that much to one another.
Their desires are physical, visceral. Rufe could be a total ass hole, for all Carlotta knows.
And the same could be said by Rufe of Cynthia, and with much greater justification, possibly even much greater accuracy.
But it doesn't matter at all.
Because there is the truth which lies in insight and there is the truth which is of the body.
And only this last do they want to know, any of them.
Only what the body can see and taste and feel. The data of the senses. And the rest is bullshit.
Because the mind is the center of all conceit, of all deceit.
And self-deception is the most constant of all deceits.
Ah, but the body!
It knows what it knows, through direct evidence.
And this is the knowledge which Rufe and Carlotta desire.
And the knowledge in which Carlotta will attempt to interest Cynthia.
Because Carlotta knows what Rufe does not.
Which is that there have been many, many lonely nights which started out that way but ended up far differently.
Thanks to Carlotta.
Thanks to Carlotta's invited visits to Cynthia in the master bedroom.
Where a good time was had by two.
While Rufe lay there in the darkness, wasting his body and his cock, jerking off as though he were some skinny schoolboy dreaming of what was actually happening, unbeknownst to him, a few doors down the hall.
But Rufe caught on quick, almost from the moment Carlotta mentioned her willingness to intercede on his behalf.
Of course.
It had to be, all along.
And he should have known it.
And more the fool he, for not having seen it right there, under his very nose.
Oh well, better late than never, he supposes.
And now, they lie there in the darkness together.
The hour is late and there is no urgency, no need to do it all in a single night.
And the ice breaker was terrific, the shower afterward delightful.
"I suppose this means I'll have to be doin' without for a few nights while you do your convincin'," he says.
"Thass where joo wrong," Carlotta replies. "Chee de one gonna hafta do without.
"So when chee see I ain't showin' up, chee come to check eet out or come lookin' for me, an' thass when chee fine out."
"Find out what?"
"Fine out tha' joo are worth esleepin' weeth all by joorself, 'steada bein' a playthin' chee juse weeth Meester Cheeper. "Wheech chee shoul' know arready, rl'?"
"Right."
And he says nothing more. Obviously, Carlotta has the situation well in hand.
Curled up with her, they sleep.
How can Carlotta be so heartless, so unfeeling? Cynthia wonders, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, as she lies there in the darkness.
Surely she must know how badly Chipper's absence is being felt.
Especially this time, when he was planning to spend an unprecedented two weeks in a row with her, only to have this idyllic arrangement shattered by his suddenly having urgent business in Europe.
Damn him! she thinks.
Because the only urgent business Chipper ever has is that which is of his own making.
Even if there's a crisis, it's usually because he wants one and has gone out of his way to see to it that it happens.
But in this case, it was simply the capping of a deal, an opportunity too good to be missed.
So that now, he is gone, wheeling and dealing for fun and profit.
And she knows he will derive a fabulous amount of both from his present effort.
Whereas she, as usual, gets the short end of the stick.
She is the one who must wait. They also serve who only stand and wait, goes the saying.
But she wonders how many are happy doing it.
She is certainly not one of them.
And now, she has nothing.
She states up at the starry night through the skylight above the bed.
She is alone in the immensity of the universe, and with none to comfort her.
Damn that Carlotta!
She knows that the first night is always the worst!
Knows and doesn't care, really.
Because, if she did, then surely she would be here.
True, no specific arrangements were made.
But after so long, she did not think it necessary.
Still, she can see Carlotta's point.
All the other times, Cynthia said something.
So that this time, when she did not, since she did not, what was the woman, who is, after all, nothing but hired help, what was she to assume?
"I have to take the limo in for servicing real soon," Rufe says. "So whenever it's convenient."
"Today would be fine, Rufe," Cynthia replies.
Okay, okay, Cynthia says to herself, I was wrong. And now, having said that, where do we go from here?
Only one thing for it, obviously. Cynthia slides out of bed in the darkness. In darkness, naked and on tiptoe, she goes down the hallway to Carlotta's room. Where- Cynthia experiences no shock or anger. Her reaction? Of course!
How long could these two hot items be under the same roof, night after night, and this not happen?
It had to be.
Had to be, and probably has been, for years.
That, or the two of them missed many a good opportunity.
Which does nothing for her right now, of course.
But, now that she knows the score, she knows along what lines to assert herself.
And, satisfied on that point, goes back to her own bed.
"Unless-" Turning to Carlotta.
"I go' no place I gotta go today," Carlotta confirms.
"Well then, there you are, Rufe."
"They said they could take me at two-thirty.
"I expect to be back by around six and I'll leave the number of the place with Carlotta, in case I'm needed."
"Oh, I'm sure that's not necessary, Rufe. "Why don't you just run along? "Carlotta and I will simply have to muddle through without you, for a change."
"Yes, ma'am." And he leaves.
"Come, Carlotta," Cynthia says, "you and I have things we simply must discuss-in the proper setting, of course."
And Cynthia leads the secretly amused Carlotta into the master bedroom.
Where she undresses in silence, and Carlotta follows her lead.
When they are naked, Cynthia pulls back the covers and bounced onto the bed.
Carlotta promptly seats herself on the opposite side.
And they slide onto the bed together, reaching for each other.
"How could you have left me alone last night?"
Cynthia murmurs, their boobs pressing together as she locks her embrace around Carlotta.
"Joo din' axe," Carlotta replies, simply.
"Plus, you had something else to do-and someone else to do it with, right?"
Carlotta pulls back slightly before replying, "Thass rl'."
"So. Are you and Rufe uh... serious?"
"He serious abou' gettin' laid an' so am I."
Tinkling laughter from Cynthia, as she throws her head back.
"That makes three of us in that category, then," she replies, relieved that there is not a servants' romance going on here.
"So," she continues, "I have an idea.
"How about you and I have our little get-together right here and now and then, tonight, I get to see what you see in Rufe, okay?"
Carlotta shrugs, saying, "Joo de boss."
"Oh please, Carlotta, don't think of me in that way.
"Rather, think of me as someone with whom you share a common interest."
"Okay."
Cynthia stares meaningfully into Carlotta's dark eyes.
Carlotta returns her gaze without expression. But breaks into a knowing smile, as Cynthia slides down her body, until she is in perfect position to suck her big tits.
Suddenly, Cynthia reverses herself in the bed, using her mouth, glued to one of Carlotta's nipples, as the turning point.
So that now she is reversed above her.
And they can suck each others' tits.
And they do, until four big nipples are all hard and perky.
And now, Cynthia continues to glide over Carlotta, from the top down.
Until she bridges her, face hovering over her crotch.
Cynthia lowers her head and her hips at the same time.
So that, as her lips make contact with Carlotta's cunt, her own pussy finds Carlotta's mouth.
So that now, they are eating each other, tongues working away on engorged joy buzzers, clear, hot pussy juices beginning to lacquer their chins.
And now they are tongue fucking each other.
In and out, in and out go their tongues, servicing hot, juicy cunts, even as they glide back and forth over excited clits.
As Cynthia places her hands on the backs of Carlotta's legs, forcing her cunt more and more vertical.
So that the target gets better and better. And Cynthia does a better and better job of eating her.
So that now, there is no longer any gap, any awkwardness in their mutual excitation.
They are going to take each other all the way, and they both know it.
And they are both highly motivated to do the best job they can.
Cynthia wants to convince Carlotta that, in the sack, they are equal.
Carlotta, who has already succeeded in her mission, is out to convince Cynthia that whatever she has going with Rufe, it will in no way affect their relationship which, while undefined, is nonetheless valuable to her. While Cynthia wishes to convey this as well.
Especially in view of the fact that she fully intends to sleep regularly with Rufe, whenever Chipper is out of town.
Just as she has no intention of using him for any future homecoming ceremonies.
Which are something between Chipper and herself and should never have involved any of the household staff.
She knows this now.
Because there is no question in her mind but that Rufe is giving Carlotta better than he ever gave her, better than he was in fact ever allowed to give her.
So that there is no question now in her mind but that she has short-changed Rufe and thereby given Carlotta an opening to "move in on" him.
Odd, she tells herself, how she never realized how she was also short-changing herself at the same time.
This should never have happened, she tells herself, never!
She is the mistress of this household and, as such, should have arranged things in such a fashion as to insure that she would have the upper hand in all things at all times.
And now, it's too late.
Rufe and Carlotta found each other, as was inevitable, if only she had not been too blind to see it.
It is one thing to go out and literally buy sexual partners from Bruce and quite another to treat her own servants as though they too have been bought and paid for with precisely that in mind.
Ridiculous, she has been.
That, and abusive of both of them.
And the mere awarding of additional payment to them for services rendered hardly compensates for her failure to treat them as human beings.
But she forgives herself.
We live and learn, right?
And now-aah!
This is absolutely delicious!
The giving and the getting, the having and the knowing.
But above all, the flood of sensations which inundates her, which permeates the two of them, taking them to the height of pleasure, there and beyond.
So that now, they are both coming, sharing their series of multiple orgasms, twinge after exquisite twinge of unadulterated pleasure causing them to twist and writhe against each other, even as the powerful contractions of their pussies milk each others' tongues of all the pleasure they contain.
So that now, they are transported into a shared sexual paradise.
And there is nothing, nothing, nothing separating them, one from the other.
But that is a temporary state of affairs.
And now, no sooner do they land softly back on earth than Cynthia is pondering just what she can do to prevent Carlotta's sleeping with Rufe and vice versa.
And she herself doesn't understand why she should want to do this.
After all, what harm does it do? Except to leave herself out of the action. Bingo!
Hey, nobody ever said she was unselfish, she tells herself.
But now, she gets an even better idea. She had Carlotta alone just now. Tonight, she will have Rufe alone.
So then, why not?
Why not go ahead and make it a threesome, say, tomorrow night?
Certainly, there can be no harm in it, and she could gain a whole new perspective on how she feels about the latest developments in the household, developments over which she exercised no control but for which she is nevertheless responsible.
Stupid of her, really, she supposes to have paid no attention.
But then, she didn't know intelligence was required in these matters.
Apparently, she is going to have to be as sharp in her own home as she tries to be everywhere else.
No rest for the weary, right?
And now, recovering her breath as she dismounts from Carlotta, she is determined that there will be no more activities of any kind within her domaine of which she is unaware.
The only problem is how to present this policy in as gentle and tactful a light as possible to her two charges.
No problem, as she sees it.
In bed, she is just one of the gang.
So there's no reason to include her out.
And if that doesn't work-never mind.
She will cross that bridge if and when.
Right now, she feels as though it is up to her to establish a domestic situation which is acceptable to herself, utilizing present staff. She gets up off the bed.
Carlotta starts to leave the bedroom, but Cynthia says, "Let's take a shower together, okay?"
I'm learning, she tells herself, as Carlotta joins her under the spray in the large, glassed-in shower enclosure which occupies one corner of the huge bathroom, whose main feature is a sunken onyx bathtub in the midst of the marble floor.
Really, Cynthia thinks, as she observes Carlotta's voluptuous curves in the process of cleaning herself up, I have to say that I have been far, far too conservative in my use of both Carlotta and Rufe.
And this is an error she intends to correct in a big way.
"Sorry about the delay, Rufe.
"Got three men out today."
'"Sokay, Rudy. Take your time. All counts toward twenty, as they say."
And Rufe goes back to reading his magazine.
He has not realized, until just now, how oppressive is the atmosphere of the penthouse, how stagnant the air, how really mausoleum-like it actually is.
The penthouse is actually a kind of prison.
With Cynthia a bird in a gilded cage who, for whatever reason, voluntarily remains there.
The occasional shopping trip.
The even more rare trip to her friend Helen in New Jersey.
Ridiculous, really, when one stops to consider that there are all kinds of beautiful, wonderful places in the world and that she has absolutely no reason not to go to each and every one of them.
But no, she remains in her ivory tower.
Maybe, he reflects, maybe it isn't really her fault.
Probably a good deal of the blame can be laid at Chipper's feet.
How much money does one man have to make before he feels that he has enough?
Or, if not enough, then at least enough to spend a reasonable amount of time at home or in the company of his wife.
Or why not take her with him on his trips, for heaven's sake?
Because that beautiful woman is going to waste.
Just as, before now, he was going to waste jerking off alone in the dark at night.
And he finds the analogy very valid, the more he thinks about it.
Is she merely using the absence of Chipper to thus imprison herself?
If so, she is using the same lame excuse as he himself did, accepting a fate as a servant, a piece of living furniture, when, really, nobody actually asked him to, told him to, required that he do this.
He just assumed.
Is that her problem?
She is merely assuming?
Maybe this thing with him, or with him and Carlotta is exactly what she needs to break out of her shell.
"Doin' it now, Rufe!" Rudy shouts to him, from beneath the limo, now on a hydraulic lift above the garage floor.
"Take your time an' do a real good job now," Rufe cautions.
Really, he is not even curious as to how Carlotta made out, what is happening back at the penthouse.
Just to be away from there for a few hours is relief enough.
There's a whole world out here! he tells himself.
Out here, back in Jersey, wherever.
And to limit himself to the penthouse, to Carlotta or even Carlotta and Cynthia, well, he's simply not sure it's worth it.
This job oughtta be worth something, he cautions himself.
And he has to admit it-it is.
He needs this, by way of income.
But then, dammit, let it be just that, a job.
And not a fucking way of life!
Too much, they want from him, the Harringtons.
To live and die for and in the penthouse and its doings.
Hell, it's almost like, like-no.
He won't go back to that, to use that as a crutch, as the vehicle for his self-pity.
He is not, dammit, being treated like a slave.
Not in any sense of the word.
He is a wage slave, perhaps, but that's just an expression.
The same could be said of millions, perhaps billions of people, regardless of color.
So no, his being black has nothing to do with this particular situation.
A white chauffeur would have the same problem, if he were in this same situation.
And it isn't that Cynthia is a bitch.
Perhaps if she were he could flare up in rebellion, could fight her every step of the way, could thwart her.
But she gives no offense, other than her condescension, so casual, so natural as to be taken in stride, to be accepted as unobtrusive, just a part of the job, comes with the territory and like that.
And if he needs some time off, he is certain that all he need do is ask.
So then what, what, what is it, exactly, that bugs him so about the penthouse?
And he thinks he knows.
Chipper.
There is the driver, the creative force, the dynamic, hustling, bustling person, the only real live human being there! So that such action as there is in connection with the penthouse, such genuine living as there is to be done in that household-is done out of sight, is done elsewhere.
Where he is not, where he cannot go, cannot be.
So that he is slowly petrifying in the penthouse, month after month, year after year.
And he doesn't know how much longer he can stand it.