Chapter 7

The door closed. The flames crackled.

After a long time, Maggie sat down at the writing table. She drew a long yellow pad to her and wrote across the top in four columns: CHARACTERS. MOTIVES. CLUES. QUESTIONS.

Strange, she thought, how real life differs from its written imitation. And yet, how like. How dreadfully like!

An authoritative knock at the door sent her pencil jabbing furiously on the paper and her heart into her throat.

She opened the door, expecting to see the reporter.

Emma Crane pushed her way into the room and said irritably, "My knees are driving me crazy! Andrea's asleep or something, and the help in the kitchen are scared of their own shadows." She paused to dig savagely at first one knee, and then the other. "Have you got something I can put on them? I'm nearly going crazy. It's not mosquito bites. I don't know what it is." She sat down and pulled back her white skirt, disclosing scarlet blotchy patches on her knees. "Look!"

Maggie looked and had to resist a wild desire to giggle. "Chiggers," she said. "Nothing serious. I'll get some alcohol."

"What the hell are chiggers," Emma said blankly.

"Little tiny red bugs," Maggie said as she went into the bathroom. "They're thick in the woods this time of the year. You'll be all right by morning."

She went to the bathroom, found the alcohol, and took the bottle back into the living room. At the door, she stopped abruptly and looked at Emma standing at the writing table.

Emma looked up, saw Maggie, and her flat dark eyes flickered. "Oh," she said. "Writing a story?"

"No," said Maggie. "It's not a story. Here's the alcohol."

Under Maggie's glowering look, Emma had the grace to depart rather hastily, clutching the bottle of alcohol. Her red bracelets clanked. Her scarlet fingernails looked as if they'd been dipped in blood. Of the people who might have killed Duncan Crane, Maggie reflected coolly, she would prefer it to be Emma.

She returned to the writing table and a curious, transient memory began to tease her. Not so much a memory as a memory of a memory-something she once knew and now could not remember. The vague impression floated just out of reach, tantalizing, maddeningly elusive.

She pushed it away and began to make notes. Andrea and the amethyst. Andrea and the wisteria. Andrea.

Finally, she gave it up, put on her pussy shirt, and went to bed. A few minutes after she began to drift off, the dream started.

The dream seemed so real. Patrick Riley stood by her bed, naked, holding his thick cock in his right hand. She smiled at him, totally relaxed and ready.

"Cute shirt, " he said quietly.

"I call it my pussy shirt," she replied.

"Lift your shirt and play with your tits. Make your nipples hard."

"Why do you want me to do that?"

"Don't ask questions. Just do it."

She threw the light blanket back and pulled up her shirt, baring her tits. His eyes grew round and his tool began to grow larger and thicker as he stared at her voluptuous body.

"Your tits are pretty big for such a small woman. What size bra do you wear?"

"Thirty-four, double-D," she whispered. "They're pretty firm. They sag only the tiniest bit when I stand up."

"Very impressive. How does it feel when a man fucks your tits and cums all over them?"

"No one has ever fucked my tits."

She wished a man would. She closed her eyes and pictured his long cock sticking out between the big mounds so she could lick the head while he fucked them. Who was she kidding? A plain old fuck, even a quickie, would make her ecstatic!

"You don't know what you're missing. Make your nipples hard."

She wet the tip of her index finger with saliva and began to rub her nipples, first the right one, then the left one, back and forth. "Okay, my nipples are getting hard. They're beginning to get as big as the end of my finger. Stroke your cock."

"I'm stroking it, but not very fast. Do you like it when a man cums on your face?"

"No one has ever done that, either."

"You lead a very placid life."

"Dreary is more like it," Maggie said woefully. "Would you like to fuck my tits and cum on my face?"

"I would love to. Would you wipe up my cum with your fingers and eat it?"

Maggie smacked her lips flagrantly. "Ummm, I can taste it."

"Spread your legs and show me your pussy."

She spread her legs wide and let him look at her pussy. "My bush is real thick," she said quietly. "like a forest. I never trim it, so it grows wild and free. It's real long down the middle of my pussy. So long I can curl it around my finger."

"I like a thick bush. Some women cut their muff back to a little topknot or a thin strip of hair. Maybe they do it so the lips of their pussy will show. I don't know. It looks ridiculous. They should either shave it completely or let it grow."

Maggie chuckled. "The lips of my pussy are so long they stick out beyond my bush. I think I have the longest pussy lips in the world. They cling to a cock like sticky tape and roll in and out so lasciviously."

Oh, fuck, she screamed in her mind, why can't I have a cock in my pussy right now, making the lips roll in and out!

Her hand crept between her legs. She gently eased her index finger between her cunt lips, simultaneously soothed and aroused. His lusty attention sparked her desire, and she knew she had to continue.

She opened her legs wider and worked her finger into her slick hole. She had never done it like this before, so rough and so wanton. His smile of pleasure made her moan with sensual delight. She began to work her finger faster, eager to achieve an orgasm while he watched. She wanted to feel his hot seed on her tits as she climaxed.

"Your hand is in the way," he said. "I can't see your clit. Describe it to me."

"This conversation is making me very horny," she said quietly. "I have to cum soon."

"You can wait. Describe your clit."

"It's hard to describe. A clit is a clit. My hood is sort of long. When my clit is aroused, it sticks out far enough to see. A tongue loving it makes it get fairly big."

"Do you like to jack off?"

"Yes, but I cum better when I fuck or when my clit is licked."

"You jack off a lot, don't you?"

Too often! But I have no choice. What else can I do, without a man in my life ? Without a cock to ride on a regular basis?

"Yes. And I'm going to do it right now. I can't wait any longer."

"Make believe I'm licking your clit."

"I'm wetting my finger in my pussy," she whispered. "Now I'm rubbing my clit. Ohhh, God, it feels good! I'm going to cum, baby! Ahhhhhh, I'm going to cum! Oh, yes, baby, it's here! I'm cumming! Oooooo! Aaahhh!"

Her orgasm peaked abruptly, then began to subside as quickly. Self-induced orgasms always disappointed her. She never got the deep flush of color across her chest. She never hung on the edge of ecstasy the way she did when a man licked her clit, or fucked her. Hell, she didn't even break a sweat!

"Lick your finger," he said. "Taste your pussy."

She had never thought of licking her finger after jacking off. She automatically lifted her hand and licked her finger clean.

"How does it tastes?"

Maggie giggled. "like my pussy, silly!"

"Have you ever tasted another pussy?"

"No. I don't know any women who eat pussy."

"You should seek one out. Women are expert clit lickers."

"Well, that stands to reason. Women are the ones with clits, and they know how they want it licked. But I don't think I could do that."

"Do you like to get your clit licked?"

"Of course. It's one of my favorite ways to cum."

"Then you could do it. A tongue is a tongue. When it's used properly, the gender of the licker doesn't matter. You just spread your legs and enjoy."

"I meant, I don't think I could seek out a woman who licks clit. I'd be too embarrassed to ask and I can't just look at a woman and tell. Besides, I'm not sure I want a relationship with a lesbian."

"Not all women who lick clit are lesbians. Some are bisexual. I think most women are, but they won't admit it."

"Do you think I'm bisexual?"