Chapter 11
The next evening found Dean at the gallery, dressed in a tie and jacket he had borrowed from Tom, and drinking tequila martinis. The show consisted of paintings by several students of the art school, and Dean found it largely uninteresting. He had long ago decided that painting itself was an obsolete medium, and the exhibited work was not nearly so good as those paintings he had admired before coming to this decision. But he knew it was necessary to feign interest, so he circulated among the crowd, inspecting each piece of artwork with a critical eye. Each time he finished one martini, a Mexican in butler's dress appeared beside him to deal another from the tray he carried among the guests. It wasn't long before Dean's apprehensions about the evening's undertaking were calmed, and he began to socialize. He bantered with a number of affluent-looking older women, but, though they were delighted with his knowledge of the art, and properly sympathetic about his lack of finances (which he somehow managed to mention in the midst of each conversation), they hardly seemed interested in contracting him for any sexual services. He was beginning to doubt the wisdom of Tom's plan, when he felt a gentle touch on his elbow. He turned, and found himself face-to-face with a slender, well-dressed woman of about thirty-five. Her pale, pretty face was framed by luxurious waves of raven hair. "Excuse me," she said, "but I couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation. I gather that you're an artist who finds himself shall we say inconvenienced, for lack of funds. I thought I might find some way to assist you. My name is Dorothy Curtis. And you?"
"My name is Dean Ryder," he replied, surprised by her forwardness. For an instant, he regretted giving her his real name, but he decided not to worry. If there was a manhunt going on for him, he hadn't heard about it yet.
"What do you do, exactly?" asked the woman. "Are you a painter?"
Dean lit a cigarette to compose himself. "No, I'm a sculptor. But I haven't had the money for materials or a place to work since I've come to Mexico. I guess that's what you heard me talking about just now, Miss Curtis."
The woman smiled. "That's Mrs. Curtis," she corrected him. "I'm a widow. Now, as I said, I might be able to help you. I'll be frank with you I'd be willing to provide you with a place to work and with money for materials, if you're equally willing to provide me with shall we say intimate services. Or perhaps your artistic integrity forbids such arrangements. You're a very desirable man, Mr. Ryder, and I'm a lonely woman. But I'm not crying on your shoulder. I'm offering you a lucrative bargain, and I want your answer. How about it?"
This was just the chance Dean had been waiting for, and Dorothy Curtis was eminently more attractive than the middle-aged matrons he had imagined selling himself to. He paused thoughtfully to give the impression of being somewhat more innocent than he actually was. Then he smiled charmingly. "No, Mrs. Curtis, my artistic integrity can't afford to forbid such arrangements. The answer is yes."
"Fine," she said. "My man will pick you up in about half an hour. I don't think it would be a good idea for us to be seen leaving the gallery together." She extended her hand, and he took it in a polite handshake. To the casual observer, it must have appeared as if they had simply been enjoying a polite conversation about twentieth-century painting. Then she turned and threaded her way through the crowd to the door, disappearing into the dark street.
Dean obtained another martini and continued to peruse the paintings. He drank it slowly as he walked around the gallery, keeping an eye on the door. Finally, a dark man in a suit and tie walked in from the street. Apparently, he had been furnished with Dean's description, for, after glancing over the other patrons, he caught Dean's eye, and beckoned him to come outside.
Around the corner, a black Mercedes sedan was parked at the curb. The Mexican ushered Dean into the rear compartment, then took the wheel and drove off. Dean sank into the plush upholstery, noticing that a partition of opaque plastic cut off the back seat from the front, making it quite private, especially at night, when no one was likely to be able to see through the tinted windows. Even before his eyes had completely adjusted to the darkness, he sensed the presence of someone sitting beside him. "Mrs. Curtis?" he ventured, "is that you?"
The dim figure replied in a voice husky with desire, much different from the polite tone she had employed at the gallery. "Yes, Dean, it is," she said, "and I have two requests to make of you: One, that you call me 'Dolly,' not 'Mrs. Curtis;' Two, that you kiss me. . . . " Her voice trailed off as she leaned toward him on the big seat. He found her shoulder and pulled her to him. Her mouth was soft and open, and she smelled faintly of tequila and vermouth. The shoulder beneath his hand was bare, and as he moved his fingers downward in exploration, he found that she was entirely naked. Her breasts jutted eagerly to accept his touch. They were warm and firm, and the nipples were already stiff with expectation. He flicked his fingers across them, and she shuddered with pleasure. He ran his hand down her firm belly to her thighs, which opened to admit his probing. The lips beneath the thick curls of pubic hair were already hot and slippery. He pushed his finger inside her, and she moaned and squirmed in pleasure, biting his lips and tongue. Her hands kneaded the firm, muscled flesh of his back, then dropped to his crotch and squeezed the hard pole of his erection. "Ooh . . . that's nice," she breathed. "Take your pants off!"
Dean undid his trousers, and he had scarcely pulled them to his knees when she leaned over and sucked his cock in almost to the root. He reached up and played with her breasts as they swung tightly with her movements, and stroked the firm flesh of her buttocks, reaching deeply into the warm cleft to tickle her anus. Feeling his touch in this sensitive spot, she bore down harder and faster, until Dean lifted himself off the car seat and spurted his fluid down her throat. When he had refastened his pants, Dean sat back, and she snuggled against him. "That was just the beginning," she said. "You'll be able to hold it for a long time, now that you've come once. We're going to my house now. I think you'll find it very pleasant there." Dean answered her with a deep kiss, wondering what the voluptuous widow had in store for him, as the Mercedes slowed and turned sharply into a driveway. Dolly quickly pulled on a simple dress before the Mexican opened the door for them.
The house, which Dean surmised was on the outskirts of San Miguel, startled him at first. It was an American ranch-type home, such as one might expect to find in a well-to-do suburban neighborhood. "Dean," she said, as they stepped into the plushly-carpeted living room, "this is my manservant, Manuel." She indicated the swarthy man with a nod in his direction. "Manuel," she told him, "this is Dean, our new friend. I want you to make him feel at home here."
Manuel smiled graciously at Dean. "Encantado de conocerlo," he told him.
"What did he say?" Dean asked her.
"He says he's pleased to make your acquaintance," she explained. "Manuel speaks almost no English." Dean returned the other man's smile as Dolly padded barefoot around the room, adjusting the lamps to a pleasingly low level. He noticed Manuel's eyes narrow as he watched the movements of her body beneath the thin dress, wondering if the manservant shared some intimacy with his mistress.
He was soon to find out, for when Dolly stepped into the bedroom, she motioned for both men to join her. She drew the dress over her head and cast it to the carpet. Then she reclined languidly on the huge, king-size bed, inviting Dean to lie beside her. He was momentarily self-conscious in the presence of the other man, but he overcame his reservations momentarily and removed his clothing. He stretched out on the bed, and she immediately pressed her smooth, warm body against his. In a moment his cock sprang to erection against her thighs, and she ground herself against him, rolling the stiff organ between them. Dean stroked her buttocks and the sensitive portions of her back, meanwhile covering her lovely white neck and throat with hot kisses. She writhed against him with desire, then whispered a command in his ear. Her warm breath there made his entire body tingle. "Eat me, darling," she said, "I want to feel your tongue in my cunt!"
Dean disengaged himself from her embrace, and moved back to kneel beside the bed as she moved forward until her legs were dangling over the edge. Then he buried his face in the hot, hair-covered flesh between her thighs. The sharp smell of her sex enveloped him as he licked her avidly, feeling the lips grow constantly wetter with her excited discharge. He thrust his tongue deeply inside her, then withdrew it to nibble at her pink clitoris, which pulsed between the lips like a small penis. He stretched out his hands to play with her breasts, pinching the hardened nipples as he drew out her clitoris with his lips. She locked her legs around his back and writhed on the bed in ecstasy. Then Dean rose to his feet. Holding her legs wheelbarrow fashion on either side of him, he thrust his cock into the gaping, dripping cunt. Dolly's head rolled from side to side as he fucked her. Her eyes were bulging with lust as she watched the movements of the young man standing between her thighs and felt his huge cock penetrating everywhere inside her.
Dean slowed his thrusts, then stood still, his cock half-embedded in her. He knew Manuel was supposed to participate, and he quickly devised a way to bring the Mexican into play. Manuel had long since undressed, and was standing beside the entwined couple, clutching his erect cock. Dean motioned him onto the bed, then he pulled Dolly up and made her stand facing away from him, toward the bed. She knew immediately what he wanted, and leaned forward, supporting herself with her hands on the edge of the mattress. Dean, holding her by the hips, entered her with one thrust from behind, while Manuel, kneeling in front of her, shoved his large, brown cock into her willing mouth. He twined his hands in her dark hair to hold her head immobile as he moved his hips slowly back and forth, drawing the length of his member between the soft vise of her lips. Dean matched his rhythm to that of his partner, and the three of them swayed together on the big bed as one. Steadily, the two men increased speed. Dean reached around and massaged the young woman's clitoris, and she came, sucking with avid abandon on her manservant's prick. Dean slammed mercilessly into her again and again, and felt his own outpouring streaming into her as he saw her mouth fill and overflow with the Mexican's gushing sperm.
Later, Dean was shown to his own room, where he sank immediately into a deep sleep. When he awakened the next morning, he found that his window commanded a view of the entire town and its surrounding countryside. The room was large, and a great portion of it was entirely bare of furnishings. Dean guessed that Dolly planned for him to use the extra space for a studio. Over a breakfast of scrambled eggs laced with hot chiles, she confirmed and expanded upon his speculation. "Well, Dean," she inquired brightly, "do you think you could enjoy staying here?"
Dean nodded enthusiastically. He could not have wished for a better deal. "I sure could, Dolly," he told her, "I sure could. I hope you don't mind my asking, but where'd you get a house like this?"
She smiled. "No, I don't mind your asking. My husband, Bob, used to teach painting at Wayne State University, in Detroit. Then, one day, he inherited quite a lot of money. He always wanted to go to Mexico, and this was his big chance. When we moved down here, we found that we could live like royalty on our money. So Bob bought this house and took up teaching again at the art school, just because he liked it. Everything was wonderful for a while, but then he began to drink heavily. He always wanted to be a great painter, and it frustrated him that he seemed able only to instruct, rather than create."
Dean lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. "So he drank himself to death?" he asked.
"No," said Dolly. "I guess he would have, but his mind went before his liver. He became very defensive and belligerent, and he would pick fights with other people over the most trivial matters. One night, he was in the bar, drinking as usual, and he deliberately provoked this guy, another American, into a fight. Bob was a big man, but he was no match against this guy's knife. It took four of those little Mexican cops to carry his body out of the bar. After that, I got the money and the house, and I couldn't really see any reason to leave Mexico. But sometimes I get lonely. There's always Manuel, but I like to have creative people around me. That's why you're here. Manuel understands perfectly, and he's a very devoted friend, nothing more. Does that answer your question?"
Dean exhaled a mouthful of smoke, and she leaned across the table and kissed him on the mouth. "Now," she said, "perhaps we can talk about something a bit more pleasant."
Dean smiled. "Like what?" he asked.
"Like maybe you would like to go on a shopping trip to the art supply store. How about making up a list of the things you'll need? We can drive down there, as soon as you're ready." She reached into a nearby drawer, and produced a notebook and a pencil, which she pushed across the table to Dean.
In a single day, Dean's room was transformed into the best-equipped studio he had ever worked in. He took long walks in the nearby countryside, and made sketches and small prototypes of sculptures he planned to do. At least once a day, he would find himself in the young widow's bedroom, either alone with her, or in the company of Manuel. Together, the two men found numerous ways of pleasing the erotic tastes of the lady. Dean discovered that she loved to be penetrated in her bottom. One warm afternoon, he and Dolly were lying on her bed, cuddled together spoon-fashion, her warm buttocks pressed against his thighs. Dolly frequently indulged in the traditional Mexican siesta, and had little difficulty persuading Dean to join her in observing this relaxing and sensuous custom. They had both been pleasantly asleep, and Dean awakened first. As he stretched his limbs, he felt his cock begin to rise in tight little jerks, rubbing against the backs of her thighs. Impulsively, he lifted her uppermost leg a few inches, raising his knee to hold it there. His fingers probed between them for her cunt, and he massaged it gently, drawing lubricating juices from her vagina, which had begun to respond to his touch, even before she was fully awake. "Umm . . . " she murmured, "that's nice!" Soon her sex was fully opened to him, and he slipped the head of his prick between the slippery lips. His hand reached around to massage her full breasts, and she moaned softly with pleasure, backing up to him until he was buried to the hilt inside her. At first he remained motionless, enjoying the tight press of her flesh around his throbbing organ. Then he began to move slowly back and forth, inserting and withdrawing his cock as she squeezed him deliciously with her cunt.
Just then, Manuel appeared in the doorway. Seeing him, Dolly extended a sultry invitation in Spanish. Manuel needed no urging. In a few seconds, he had shed his clothing and joined the couple on the bed. Dean continued to fuck her from behind as Manuel lay down face-to-face with her. The Mexican began kissing her mouth and fondling her breasts, and she felt his cock harden insistently against her belly. "Dean," she murmured hoarsely, "I want to fuck both of you at once. Fuck me in the ass, so that I can take Manuel in my cunt."
Dean complied immediately, spreading her firm buttocks with his hands and placing the head of his cock against her anus. The tiny opening seemed for a moment as if it would not give way, but he gave a tremendous thrust, and his cock, well lubricated with vaginal juices, slid up into her. Dolly uttered a small cry of pain, then relaxed as the big cock slid fully into the very depths of her body. She reached down and directed her manservant's cock to her vagina, but it was difficult at first to find room for him, with Dean's cock lodged behind it in her anal canal. Little by little, the woman's crowded vagina gave way, until the two cocks were rubbing in and out, separated only by the thin wall of membrane which divided the two passages. The three of them hunched back and forth, slippery with sweat in the afternoon heat, until they all had come with an intensity that left them sprawled, contented and depleted, on the big bed.
And so it went: Dean provided Dorothy
Curtis with those pleasures so dear to the sensuous individual, while she kept him and supplied him with the time, space and materials necessary for his art. It was a profitable arrangement for both of them. Dean found himself endowed once more with a wealth of creative ideas as the burden of his past eased itself off his shoulders.