Chapter 3

Dean took a hard turn on the cloverleaf, revving the Porsche high in third gear. He liked the way the squat little car hugged the road without leaning in the curves, as if it were running on a track like a slot car. He pulled onto the freeway heading for home, shifted to fourth, and glanced at his watch. One-fifteen. Marty would probably be waiting for him. He looked around for cops and noticed that there was hardly any traffic on the road. He pushed the Porsche up to an easy eighty and stayed there until he came to his exit.

Dean lived in a loft in an industrial section on the edge of downtown. The rent was cheap and it was convenient to sleep and work on his sculpture in one place. There was rarely any trouble with the landlord, except when people in the neighboring apartment buildings complained about his loud parties. Then there was the time when beer had leaked from a huge keg during one of those parties and seeped through the floorboards to the studio below. A steady stream of beer had ruined the unfinished painting which stood on its easel directly in the yellow stream's path, but fortunately Dean had been able to settle with the artist without the landlord hearing of the matter. All in all, it was a good place to live.

As he pulled into his reserved parking space against the building, Dean noticed a black Volkswagen at the curb with two people sitting in it. He locked up the Porsche for the night, and heard the doors of the VW open and slam shut. Turning around, he saw two girls coming toward him; one was Marty, but the other one was a stranger. Good-looking, too, he noticed.

"Dean, this is Angela," Marty announced when the three people were face to face, "I hope you don't mind my bringing her along."

Dean looked Angela over and smiled. "No, not at all," he answered. "C'mon upstairs."

They trudged together up the three flights of wooden steps to a dark hallway, where Dean dialed open a small padlock on a huge double door and ushered them into his loft. He stepped in behind them and flipped on one of the banks of fluorescent lights which dotted the ceiling.

The girls looked around at the artwork which covered the walls and the floor of the long room. Angela whistled in amazement. "Wow," she exclaimed. "This is really far out!" She pointed to a huge, black, wooden hand on a pedestal in the corner. The index finger of the hand was resting on the push-button of an equally out-sized spray can, also black. She walked over to the piece to examine it more closely, and Dean watched her as she walked. She was of medium height, with a lushly rounded body topped off by flaming, red hair, which fell in waves far down her back. Her blue shirt was tucked into a tightly fitting pair of bell-bottom jeans, and she was wearing sandals. The shirt was styled like a man's work shirt, but it was delicate and transparent except at the pockets, where the double thickness of cloth masked her breasts. He could see the large globes bobbing firmly as she walked. He watched her for a moment, entranced, and then he turned to Marty. She was examining a huge collage of metal objects that hung on a far wall. He walked up behind her and put his arm around her shoulder.

"What do you think of my stuff?" he asked her. After all, if what Sheila had said about the gallery was true, Marty's opinion was quite important-and perhaps necessary.

She continued to stare at the collage. "I like it," she told him straightforwardly, "it's very environmental and effective."

Angela came and stood beside them. "Gee," she exclaimed, "that's huge! I mean it covers the whole wall!"

Dean turned to her and smiled knowingly. "It is the wall, baby. That's why it's environmental. It's actually part of the room."

"I see what you mean," said Angela. "Man, you've got everything in it-exhaust pipes, garden hose, sheet metal, electrical connections, even part of a kitchen sink!" They all laughed.

"Yeah, even the kitchen sink," Dean repeated. "How about some music? Anyone have a request?" He walked over to a big hi-fi console which stood beneath a smaller collage against a neighboring wall. He patted it with his hand. "It's pretty old," he explained, "and not even stereo. But it puts out a fine sound." No one spoke up with a request, so he put on a few jazz albums. Then he walked over to the panel of light switches and made several adjustments. Instantly, the room was bathed in flashing red and blue lights which pulsated alternately from fixtures around the ceiling. Dean looked across the room at the girls, who seemed pleased with the effect. He motioned to them with his hand, and they followed him through a curtained doorway into the living room-bedroom which was partitioned off at the rear of the studio. The red and blue lights were flashing in there, too.

Dean took a large jug of red wine from a refrigerator near the door. "Just the thing for a warm night," he told them. "Why don't you two make yourselves comfortable?"

In answer, Angela and Marty seated themselves on the bed. Dean reclined on his elbow between them, and opened the bottle with a snap of breaking foil. He took a long swig from the bottle, then held it out to Marty, who drank deeply and passed the wine on to Angela.

Dean reached under the bed for an ashtray, found it and lit a cigarette. He lay back on the bed. "Tell me," he said to Marty, "what do you really think about my work?"

She took a cigarette from his pack and lit it. "I think it's really fine," she told him, dropping the dead match into the ashtray. "Is that good enough, or do you want me to get technical?"

Dean grinned. "No, you don't have to get technical. I'll be honest-the reason I want to know is because Sheila said you might be able to help me show my work at a certain gallery."

Marty was amused. "So she told you about my old man, did she? Well, we're not really on the best of terms, you know, but still he takes my advice once in awhile."

"So you might be able to do something for me?" asked Dean, unable to conceal his eagerness.

Marty put out her cigarette and lay back beside him. Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "I think so. That is if you can do something for me, something like this afternoon. . . . "

Dean gestured with a toss of his head at Angela, who was taking a long gulp of the wine.

"What about her?" he asked?

Marty smiled. "Oh, I wouldn't worry. Angie's been around. So have I. It's cool."

Dean looked over his shoulder at Angela, then back at Marty. "Okay," he agreed, "it's cool." He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth, and she responded, thrusting her tongue between his teeth and stroking his back with smooth, cool hands. When they finally broke apart they were both breathing heavily. Dean reached for the wine, took a long drink, and felt the warm tingling it brought deep inside. He looked back at Angela, who returned his gaze with one of desire. They leaned toward each other and kissed with passion equal to that of the kiss he had shared with Marty a moment before. Then Angela broke away.

"It sure is warm in here," she said. "I think I'll take a few things off." True to her word, she began to unbutton the blue shirt. Dean watched raptly as she drew it off her shoulders, and her long red hair fell against the soft whiteness of her breasts.

Marty, too, was busy undressing. It didn't take her long, because, as Dean had noticed earlier, she wore absolutely nothing under her leather minidress. When she had tossed the dress aside, she lay back pulling Dean with her. He felt Angela pulling off his shoes and socks as his lips drew a hot line of desire from Marty's sensitive shoulder up to her throat. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, massaging the nipple with his thumb and feeling it grow erect to his touch. Marty reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt. He helped her with the buttons, then shrugged it off. Angela's hands were around his waist from behind, undoing his belt and fly. Then she was kneeling by the bed, tugging at his cuffs. He raised his hips to help her, and the pants slid off. Marty broke away, and Angie took the opportunity to come forward and lie over Dean, her creamy breasts pressing hard against his strong chest. They kissed deeply and she ground her hips against his, simulating the movements of intercourse. Then she slid back and hooked her fingers in the elastic band of his shorts, drawing them down off his legs. Momentarily, he felt her tongue lapping at his scrotum and snaking up his cock. Dean shivered in delight and reached over for Marty.

Without hesitating, Marty threw one long leg over Dean and crouched so that her cunt was over his mouth. He took her by the hips and began nibbling at the pungent morsel presented to him. His ardor increased as he felt his rampant penis sliding in and out of Angie's soft lips, and he licked, sucked, and bit until Marty squirmed over him in ecstasy. The room pulsed with loud music and flashing lights. Dean lifted his hands to Marty's gorgeous breasts hanging above him and stroked them with rhythmical, circular caresses. There was the chill of fresh air on his wet cock for a moment, as it was released from the delicious prison of Angie's mouth; then she brought herself up over it and impaled herself on the throbbing organ. The three of them moved as one on the big bed, twisting and heaving in a hot dance of sensuality.

Finally Dean could hold out no longer. He began to come, shooting his sperm far into Angie's receiving cunt. As the spasms shook his body, he dug into Marty's buttocks with his fingers, urging her on as he drove her to her climax with his doting tongue. Angie continued to rotate furiously on Dean's still hard prick, and finally, she, too, reached her crisis; she ground her hips back and forth over Dean's arched body, squeezing the last drops from him as she came. She screamed in delight, then they fell all together to the bed to lie side by side, the man between the two women, all naked, sweaty, and satisfied.

Dean stretched his arms out under the heads of both girls. He looked over at Marty, who lay with her eyes closed, breathing heavily. "Is that the kind of help you meant?" he asked her.

"That's it, all right." She smiled at him. Angie had taken Dean's limp, shiny cock in her hand.

"Look at this poor fellow," she joked, "I think he's gone to sleep."

"Marty looked over at Angie conspiratorially. "Let's see if we can wake him up," she said, "I'm still expecting a visit from him!"

Slowly but surely, Dean's prick rose to a firm stand again. Marty spread her thighs and he knelt between them. As he lowered himself to her, he felt Angela's hand directing him to the mark, rubbing the head of his cock against the moist, hot lips of Marty's cunt. Marty sighed in pleasure as he slowly inserted it, inch by inch. When he was completely inside, he paused, then began moving around in circles, rotating inside her. Marty threw her legs around his waist and clasped them tightly, so that he was held close against her. Dean felt the wet shock of Angie's tongue lapping at his balls and probing his anus. Marty opened her legs wide again, supporting herself on her heels, and drove against him faster and faster, until they exploded together in a blinding flash of pure pleasure.

"Well," remarked Dean as he put away the wine bottle and lit a cigarette, "it's been a long night. Do you two have to go home, or can you sleep here?"

"I'll stay," said Marty sleepily.

"Me, too," agreed Angela. "It would be a shame to break up this cozy scene."

"I really don't think I'll be making it to work tomorrow," laughed Dean, "so we can sleep as late as we like."

Later, the lights and the music were turned off, and the room was peaceful. The only sound was the sleepy breathing of three people. Dean turned to Marty, whose eyes were already closed. He kissed her gently on the neck. "Marty?"

"Hmmm?" she answered dreamily.

"How about the gallery?" He felt Angie cup his genitals in her hand and curl up against his back, spoon-fashion.

Marty opened one eye and gave him a tired smile which he could barely make out in the darkness. "Tomorrow," she whispered. "Tomorrow."