Chapter 1
Lisa Traynor adjusted the napkins on the carefully arranged table and stepped back with a little smile of approval. All she had to do was light the candles when she heard Mike's car in the drive, and surprise him with the first private dinner they had enjoyed in months.
She had already slipped into Mike's favorite dress, the dark-red one that dipped low between the high, thrusting cones of her breasts, the curved neckline just covering the prominent nipples. Mike called it her "peek-a-boo" dress, for her movements caused the dainty berry-tips to peek out in arrogant invitation, attesting to the absence of any bra.
Married ten months, Lisa still searched for ways to recreate the romantic atmosphere that had surrounded their courtship, and she was finding the task increasingly difficult. It was almost impossible for them to enjoy the intimacy of marriage with Lisa's teenaged sister popping in at the most inopportune moments.
Carol didn't mean to be a pest, Lisa reminded herself. But the two of them had been so close after their parents' deaths that the girl took certain privileges for granted.
Mike had hesitated when Lisa first suggested the arrangement, but he had to admit there was no other solution. There were no other close relatives, and Carol was not yet fifteen.
"We'll just pretend we have a daughter," he told Lisa. "In about four years, she'll marry some long haired kid, and we'll have more privacy than we know what to do with."
The arrangement had been anything but satisfactory. Mike had to be careful in his dress and speech, and Lisa had to observe certain ground rules of behavior that placed a decided strain on their marriage from the very beginning.
"Damn it all!" Mike had complained, only last night. "I'd like to come home just one time, and screw you right in the middle of the living room floor."
"Carol can't help it," Lisa had argued. "After all, Mike, this is the only home she has."
They hadn't really fought about it. It never went that far. But Mike had given her a perfunctory goodnight kiss and rolled over with his back to her. She had lain awake for more than an hour, her pussy throbbing with hunger, before drifting into a restless sleep.
Tonight would be different. It wasn't all she wanted it to be, but it would give them a chance to be alone for a while. Carol had gone skating with Jimmy Blalock, and the pair was going to catch the midnight show at the drive-in.
Lisa didn't like the idea of giving Carol so much freedom, and she was reasonably certain that the handsome Jimmy was not the young innocent he pretended to be. But, she was willing to risk almost anything to make Mike happy. It was a foregone conclusion that Carol was going to drop her panties for some boy, sooner or later, and she could do a lot worse than Jimmy Blalock. More than once, Lisa had found her nipples stiffening under his bold stare, and her crotch dampening when she noted the size of the bulge in his tight jeans.
She heard Mike's car crunch the graveled driveway, and she hurriedly snapped the table lighter and lit the two tall candles, moving to the door before he could open it.
She had to stand on tiptoe for his kiss, tightening her arms about his neck and shoving her breasts hard against his chest. He gave a little grunt of surprise, then let his hands drift down to grip her firm buttocks, pulling her hips in to meet the immediate swelling of his cock. He sucked the dainty tongue that snaked into his mouth, and moved her pelvis with his powerful grip, working the plump mound of her labia against his outlined prick.
"Damn!" he murmured, rubbing his lips against hers. "I think I'll go back to the office and come home again." He shot a quick look beyond her, his brow furrowing. "Where's the warden?"
Lisa winced, but she kept her tone light as she said, "We're all alone, darling. Carol will be out 'til around one o'clock. But you'd better come inside, unless you want the neighbors to start talking."
Mike Traynor followed her inside, doffing his hat and running strong fingers through the wavy black hair. He was a tall man, but with a physique that detracted from his height. Strong features gave him an appearance somewhere between handsome and rugged, and his voice, a hearty baritone, matched its owner. As one of Lisa's girl friends had cattishly commented, he was one hell of a man.
He spied the candlelight through the dining room door, and his generous mouth curved in a pleased grin. Without touching anything but her chin, he tilted her face up and brushed his lips against hers.
"Remind me to tell you, sometime," he murmured, "that I'm glad I married you."
Her fingers went unerringly to the hardness between his thighs, curving and squeezing. "You can tell me right after dinner," she said impishly, "with that. In fact, you can tell me several times."
"Greedy!" he teased, his eyes narrowing as the fingers continued their fondling. "Keep that up, and we'll have dinner right here."
She snatched her hand away in mock shock. "Oh, no! All that meat would play havoc with my diet."
As Mike went in to wash up, Lisa called, "You had a couple of messages from the answering service. They're on the hall desk."
It wasn't until they were seated, and Mike had exclaimed over the succulent roast beef, that Lisa asked, "Who is S. Gentry?"
"Just a client," Mike answered. "Maybe a very special client. If I can close this deal, S. Gentry will give you that redecorating job you've been screaming about. I'm suggesting a fifty thousand dollar, double indemnity policy. If I can swing it, I'm a cinch for the yearly bonus."
Lisa gave a happy squeal, jumping up to circle the table and plant a juicy kiss on his grinning mouth. "When will you know for sure, Mike?"
"Maybe tonight," he answered. His tone altered. "I've got to run over there after dinner." Hastily, he added, "I won't be long, honey. We'll still have time for a real ball when I get back."
Lisa found it difficult to hide her reaction. Retreating to her seat she watched him pat his lips with the dainty napkin and push his chair back. There was no point in arguing about it. She knew that the insurance business was a dog-eat-dog competition, and a successful agent, which Mike was, never put off an appointment when the prospect was hot.
Dutifully, she saw him to the door, accepting the swift kiss with only a trace of coolness. Not until she had closed the door did she permit her feelings to show themselves.
"Damn!" she exclaimed, one hand clutching a ripe breast, and the other diving to the pulsing cleft of her hungry sex, pressing the plump mound through the thin fabric of the red dress. "Damn! Damn! Damn!"
Behind the wheel of the purring Olds, Mike Traynor stared out at the lights of the passing traffic, his hands moving restlessly on the wheel. On the seat, his hips stirred, thighs parting to relieve the pressure on his heavy balls.
He congratulated himself that he hadn't really lied to Lisa about where he was going, and he didn't believe she had suspected anything unusual about his appointment. Insurance agents often made calls in the evening, and it was perfectly true that S. Gentry planned to sign the application for a policy that would bring a most welcome bonus check.
All he had done, Mike grinned to himself, was avoid certain facts that would have resulted in a scene. He hated arguments. In fact, he and Lisa might not be saddled with her sister, Carol, if he hadn't refused to argue against the idea.
He didn't dislike the kid. It was just that she seemed always underfoot when he and Lisa wanted to do something. Too, he found the girl's deliciously curved body becoming increasingly disturbing, especially when she wore that skimpy red bikini for her afternoon swim.
Damn itl She wasn't a child any longer, no matter how Lisa insisted that she be treated like one. It was just possible that she was still a virgin, but Mike had his doubts about that. In the age of liberation, girls seldom retained that badge of innocence beyond their early teens.
Perhaps that Blalock boy was tapping the girl. He was, Mike grudgingly admitted, a handsome devil. More than once, he had caught Lisa staring at the lad's bulging crotch, and her expression had been one of a hungry cat who has just spied an unguarded fish market.
Come to think of it, S. Gentry had given Mike much that same look at their last meeting, but he had failed to recognize it at the time. Somehow, it never occurred to him that a person of S. Gentry's position would be interested in a mere salesman.
Mike never tried to kid himself that he was anything but a huckster. No matter what fancy labels they pinned on the men who spent their time persuading others of an often non-existent need, they remained hucksters, pure and simple.
S. Gentry probably needed the fifty thousand dollars about as much as a third arm. Mike had run a credit check on the name and blinked at the results. S. Gentry could probably buy the company without really denting the capital assets accumulated by three generations of industrial genius.
The initial contact had been by telephone, followed by two short discussions over an afternoon cocktail. Now, he had been invited to the Gentry residence for what he hoped would be the final meeting. All he needed was the Gentry signature, and he could get back to Lisa in time for an unhurried session in the bedroom.
He braked the Olds at the end of a tree lined street, the headlights illuminating a monstrous wrought iron gate between two massive stone columns. A smaller gate, set in the high wall that extended in both directions, opened, and a uniformed guard emerged, walking briskly to the car. A small flashlight played over his features and danced unobtrusively over the car's interior.
"You're expected, Mr. Traynor," the guard said in a cultured voice. "Just follow the drive to the house. Do not leave the car until someone meets you there. The grounds are patrolled by guard dogs, and they are quite vicious."
With a little salute, the guard waved to someone Mike could not see, and the gate swung open. Mike waved his own hand at the guard and slid through the gateway.
He was impressed. The guard had not even asked his name. Mike hadn't seen such security since he had spent three years in the army. It was one thing to read a list of financial assets, and something else to see the physical manifestations of that wealth.
Suddenly, the fifty thousand dollar policy seemed ridiculously small and insignificant. By the time he reached the Gentry mansion, he was almost ready to turn the Olds around. Instead, he halted the car beside a floodlighted fountain and stared at the house.
He had seen only one like it, that he could recall. Then, after a soft, voiced guard had conducted him up the marble stairs and across the wide veranda, he remembered where he had seen the mansion's counterpart. It was a near-duplicate of the huge Tara in Gone With The Wind.
Inside, his hat claimed by a courteous maid, he voiced the comparison, and heard her reply, "Yes, sir. Mr. Gentry used Tara as a model when he built it."
He followed the girl's trim hips down a richly carpeted hall to a closed door. The maid rapped gently.
"Send Mr. Traynor in, Yvette," S. Gentry's voice came faintly through the thick panels. "Then you may retire for the night."
The girl opened the door and Mike entered, hearing the door close softly behind him as he stared about the dimly lit room, appreciating the original paintings, the antique furnishings, and the soundless air conditioning that made the flickering fire in the huge fireplace seem oddly appropriate. He moved toward it.
"Don't be surprised, Mike," S. Gentry's voice came from a huge chair before the fire. "It's one of my many idiosyncrasies. What good is money if you can't humor one's self?"
She was seated with her long legs curled beneath her, reminding Mike of a graceful cat. But, the comparison was quickly erased by a rush of mingled desire and surprise.
S. Gentry's clothing consisted of a single red scarf, draped artfully over the thrusting curves of her prominent breasts, and falling across the lush sweep of her thighs. With the instinct of a male who has observed the habits of the opposite sex, Mike knew that there was no other article of clothing. Just the scarf.
"Sit down, Mike," she said, "and don't look so shocked. It doesn't become you at all."
Mike sank into a chair across from the woman, unable to take his eyes from her body. He could feel his cock stiffening, ridging along his left thigh, and a wave of desire washed through his balls with a force that was almost sickening in its intensity.
He had been quite conscious of Satin Gentry's beauty during their previous meetings. But, she had been fully dressed, and they were surrounded by other people. Now, they were alone, their privacy assured by that simple command to the cute maid, and Satin was wearing only a thin silk scarf.
"It's just that you're so unbelievably beautiful," he murmured, finding his fingers walking nervously about the edge of his briefcase. He placed it beside his chair and wondered what to do with his hands.
Satin Gentry laughed, a musical trill that Mike could feel as well as hear. The sound rippled along his engorged prick and vibrated his loaded ball. He knew he was being teased, but he was helpless in the woman's presence.
"Any woman can be beautiful," Satin observed, "if she has money. But beauty isn't enough."
He cleared his throat, touching his tie. "I thought all women wanted to be beautiful."
She lifted her shoulders, the twin points beneath the scarf trembling with the slight shrug. "Some women, admittedly, would consider beauty an end in itself. But they generally end up as objects of admiration or desire. They lose their individuality. I'm not so easily satisfied."
Mike caught the hidden suggestion in her remark. He shifted his weight in the chair, his cock sliding against his clothing and throbbing with fullness. His voice was husky as he asked, "What is it you want?"
Again the shrug. "Power," she murmured. "Influence. But I want it on a very personal basis."
"From all I've seen," he said, "you already have both."
Satin did not respond. Instead, she stared into the flickering flames of the huge fireplace, long lashes sweeping down to veil the dark, green eyes. Her fingers, slender and graceful, the nails perfectly manicured to a glistening pink, traced a small circle on her naked thigh, just above the dimpled knee.
"Do you want to discuss the policy?" Mike asked carefully. "I have all the figures you requested."
She continued to stare into the fire, ignoring his question as she demanded, "Would you like to make love to me, Mike?"
The question was so abrupt that Mike found himself unable to answer for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat before exclaiming, "My god! Any man would leap at the opportunity."
The green eyes drifted almost casually to claim his wide-eyed stare, mocking him with their icy depths. "Why don't you take off your clothes, Mike? I never like to discuss sex unless everyone concerned is prepared to translate words into action."
Speechless, Mike fumbled with his tie, climbing to his feet to slip out of his coat. Satin's half-closed eyes watched his movements as he discarded shirt, shoes and socks, finally unfastening his belt and slipping his trousers down and off, freeing the swollen length of his enormous cock.
He was proud of that rearing organ. Not many men could boast of a prick that long and thick. Reaching out from the mass of dark curls and the twin spheres beneath its broad base, it rose in a slight curve to the purple-hued glans at its tip.
Mike waited for her gasp of surprise, and was disappointed when her only response was a casual glance at the erect organ. Her eyes drifted back to his face, a little twinkle of amusement sparkling in their shadowed depths.
"Rules, Mike," she said, measuring the words, her lips hardly moving. "You must do exactly as I tell you. Otherwise, the game is over. Understood?"
Mike's head nodded. His throat was suddenly very dry, and he felt awkward, standing before the woman like that. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms, to possess her with animal savagery. But that glacial stare blocked his approach, and reduced him to complete obedience.
Satin uncurled her long slender legs, easing them to the rug, the dainty feet bare against the soft fabric. The perfectly shaped toes moved voluptuously, the carefully trimmed nails matching the pink of her fingers. Exquisitely curved calves kissed each other below the rounded knees, and lush thighs pressed velvet flesh beneath the colorful scarf.
She watched his prick jerk upward in excitement, the thick ventral vein throbbing, and a drop of sparkling lubricant seeping from the staring eyelet.
"Have you ever kissed a woman's feet, Mike?" she asked in a throaty purr. Her hands rested on the arms of the deep chair, relaxed and self-confident.
Afraid to risk words, Mike shook his head, staring at the delicately shaped toes as though seeing them for the first time. His prick gave another savage leap, and the drop of jism was joined by another, the slippery liquid spreading shinily over the huge pear of his swollen glans.
"Make love to my feet, Mike," she whispered dreamily. "I want to see how inventive you can be."
He wanted to resist. But desire pulled him down onto his knees, and the mere touch of his naked shins on the fluffy rug increased the heat in his aching loins. He started to lean forward and her cool voice halted him.
"Lie down, Mike. Never mind the rug. Make yourself comfortable. We're in no rush."
Mike lowered his belly to the softness, his prick pressed into this thick nap by his own flesh. Elbows supported his torso as his face hovered above the designated goal.
"Don't use your hands," she warned. "Only your mouth."
Tentatively, he pressed his lips against the top of her left foot, behind the toes, opening his mouth just wide enough to permit the extrusion of his tongue. Slowly, he dragged the tip of that wet muscle across the warm flesh, tasting the slight saltiness and delicate sweetness of her body in that one small contact.
He slid his tongue into the warm slit between her great toe and its neighbor, wriggling the tip to effect the insertion, and spilling his saliva into the narrow fissure. His lips pressed closer, and he worked his tongue in and out between the digits, feeling a little tremor of response to his labored caress.
His own reaction caught him by surprise. He had entered into the game at Satin's command, hoping that his obedience would result in greater liberty. Now, lying naked at her feet, he found himself enjoying his role, and plunging his tongue through the gap with more furious thrusts.
He licked his way to the rounded tip of her great toe, fastening his lips about it and sucking it into his mouth, his tongue dancing over the smooth curve and flicking at the neatly trimmed nail. He drew the small shaft deeper, discovering that he was beginning to slide his lips up and down in a motion that was undeniably recognizable.
He waited in vain for the tide of revulsion, feeling only a mounting hunger for the lovely creature whose toe he sucked with eager nursing. Locked beneath his taut belly, his cock jerked with each deep tug of his eager mouth, and he felt the warm sticky jism spread toward his navel.
"Work your way up my leg, Mike," Satin whispered encouragingly. "Up to my knee. Remember, just your mouth." She let her knees slip apart as Mike released his grip on the toe, kissing his way to the slender ankle and licking slowly up the firm calf, twisting his neck to the reach the delightful curve.
He moistened her left knee with his open mouth, flattening his tongue to caress the dimpled prize, his breath fanning the beginning of an incredibly beautiful thigh.
"Stop, Mike," she demanded, her voice soft, but firm. "Look at me."
He raised his head, tongue sliding across his parted lips, his eyes shining beneath half-closed lids.
"I'm going to take the scarf away," she said. Her mouth curved in a faint smile. "Remember, only your mouth."
Mike gasped as the thin silk floated to one side, revealing firm creamy mounds with their dark pink aureoles, and the lighter-hued berries of the succulent nipples. His gaze lowered to the sweet curve of her belly and its deeply indented navel, then to the rich thicket of black curls at the junction of her exquisite thighs.
As he stared, Satin slid her lushly rounded hips forward until her buttocks rested on the very edge of the chair. Her knees parted, and the dark hair separated to expose the delicate vertical crease of her labia. She increased the angle of those lovely thighs, and Mark saw the cleft open its meaty lips, displaying the moist pink entrance of her vagina.
With a groan of surrender, Mike crawled forward, fitting his head between her thighs and burying his face in the jungle of black curls, filling his nostrils with the heady musk of her splayed cunt, and plunging his eager tongue into the slitted lips.
His mouth tightened about the pliant opening, drawing the yielding tissues between his gently nibbling teeth. His tongue, extended until it ached with strain, reached into her tasty pussy, caressing the sensitive vaginal walls and scooping out the delicious juices that seeped from far back in the shuddering channel.
He caught the pronounced button of her clitoris between his teeth, biting just enough to make her ass convulse and surge upward as his stiffened tongue swirled over the miniature phallic replica, feeling it swell and throb in response to his salivary envelopment.
He fucked her with his stroking tongue, driving it in and out of the nerve laced labial circle until she cried out with the magnitude of her climax and filled his slurping mouth with her tart effluvium, her ass bucking the convulsing cunt against his sucking lips as he gulped in greedy swallows.
"Enough!" she cried in a strangled voice, and he broadened his tongue for one slow sweep upward through the slippery valley, withdrawing to stare angrily at the silk scarf she pulled across her breasts and crotch.
His prick and balls ached for release, and he fought back the raging desire to fling himself upon the voluptuous beauty, driving his formidable cock into that seething cauldron stirred by his swirling tongue into a slippery corridor of exciting promise.
She was still panting, and the flush of orgasm lingered on her slender neck and the upper slopes of her lovely breasts. But her eyes were cold as she said, "You may put on your clothes, Mike."
Without comment, he climbed to his feet, dressing with nervous movements and pushing his engorged cock into its restraint with a little grimace. He adjusted his tie, slipped into his jacket, and sat down.
"About the contract," he said, amazed at his ability to ignore what had just transpired. "I drew up the policy for fifty thousand dollars."
She waved a relaxed hand in dismissal. "Later, Mike," she said. "I'll call you. Suddenly, I'm very tired."
Mike clutched his briefcase with irate fingers, lurching to his feet and struggling to control the anger that boiled through his brain and body. He walked unsteadily toward the door, only to find that Satin was at his elbow.
She had discarded the scarf, but seemed totally unaware of her impelling nudity. She touched his arm.
"I'll see you to your car," she explained. "The dogs are quite vicious, you know."
Mike glanced at their reflection in a tall mirror, seeing a handsome fully dressed man and a beautiful naked woman against the background of luxurious appointments. He wanted to laugh and curse.
At the door, opening it, she blocked his exit. "About the policy, Mike," she said quietly. "Rewrite it, if you will, for a hundred thousand."
His mouth opened and closed, and Satin gave him a faint smile.
"One more thing," she murmured, her hand dripping one finger into the moist crevice of her pussy. She drew it out and slowly lifted it to Mike's lips, waiting until they opened, and easing it inside with a soft chuckle.
"You've been a good boy," she said, removing her finger and tapping his lips gently. "The next time, I'll let you fuck me."
Dazed, happy, unsatisfied, and with aching balls, Mike Traynor hurried across to his car, turning to wave at the naked woman in the doorway before sliding behind the wheel of his car. He was grinning broadly as he wheeled away down the long drive.