Chapter 15

He was off by himself, fully dressed now because it was almost dark. He was out on the desert, looking at the final western light in the sky, where the sun had set beyond the tall peaks of the Coast Range.

It was a good time, a time of peace, quiet, tranquility. And he felt wonderful. He'd showered, shaved, had a stiff drink and he felt as strong as he had all day. He was fully charged, ready to go, and he felt so damned purged, so healthy. He was aware of everything, as though his senses had been stirred after having slept longer than Rip Van Winkle.

He supposed it was the old variety routine. The spice of life had been his all afternoon and it had brought him back into the living world. He was no longer a drone, no longer an inhibited bank cashier who was afraid for his job. He was a man who was ready for anything, afraid of nothing, willing to face the unknown.

He chuckled out loud and the sound startled a rabbit who had been feeding behind a cactus not ten feet away. He watched the little ball of fur scurry away among the creosote bushes. Yes, he felt like a rabbit, too. God knew he'd tapped an apparently endless reservoir of sex in his loins. He could take on another body right now and give a good account of himself.

He turned back toward the house, which was a hundred yards behind him. Yes, it was a place built for erotic pleasure. The architect, whoever the bastard was, had made certain that there were plenty of private places, plenty of sexy views and intimate shadows. Almost nobody could be in that house for long without becoming horny. God knew it had worked for him and Joyce. Joyce.

It was time they had their time together, even though it was only Saturday night and they still had twenty-four hours before the party was over. Yes, he was cured. He wanted his wife. After he had his wife he would want to go out and play with his new friends again ... but that was part of the new package of goodies that had become their sex life.

He walked slowly back into the yard, picking his way among the plants that helped give privacy to the rear of the patio-pool area. As he got to the pool it was almost completely dark and the underwater lights were on, giving the pool a sexy glow from the bottom up.

In the far corner, where there was an iron table and chairs, the maid was placing empty glasses on a tray. The maid. Yes, Kitty was her name. Helen had said she was French. He went in her direction, casually, aimlessly, not knowing exactly what he had in mind. He only knew he felt sexy, horny, and that he could go another round with anybody in the house.

"Hi."

She jumped and the glasses rattled against her tray. "Oh, excuse me, sir," Kitty blurted, her accent very French and very sexy. "I did not see nor hear you."

He smiled and looked her over. She was tiny, hardly five feet, but she had all the curves and hollows and bumps in the right places. She was still wearing the black satin mini uniform that hardly came down over her crotch, and there was a tiny white apron at her front.

"Kitty, you're a fortunate woman," he muttered, still looking her over. Somewhere between 21 and 24, about his own age, and there was a wise look somewhere in the back of those startled dark eyes.

As he spoke he took the tray from her hands and put it down on the table. Then he stepped close to her. "Tell me, can we be seen from the house?"

Her dark head swirled back and forth. "No, no, sir. You see the lights, they have been designed so that from the far side of the swimming pool one cannot be seen. There are clever shadows and lights that point somewhat toward the house to keep those inside from seeing over the pool lights if...."

"I understand, I understand," he smiled. "I feel very sexy, Kitty. Tell me that doesn't frighten you, because I wouldn't want to do that." Wow, he thought, he was moving in like a tiger, ready to drop her as soon as he got the girl backed into a corner.

Her dark hair swirled again and it was just light enough for him to see the white of her face, the gleam in her eyes and the half puzzled curve of her lips. But the curve went up, not down. "No, Mr. Babcock, I am not frightened. I have been with Mr. and Mrs. English for almost a year now and I have seen ... how would the young people say it? Yes, I have seen it all."

"Wonderful." He laughed in what he thought was a low and sexy way. "Then you don't mind."

He lifted the skirt of her little black uniform. "I've been wanting to see what's under here ever since lunch."

As it turned out, there was nothing under the skirt.

That is, nothing but Kitty and Kitty's little dark pussy, which was an incredible ball of fur wrapped tightly at the place where her legs were joined to her body. Jim stared at it for a minute and then he looked into her face.

"You're a servant, I'm a guest. But at this moment that means nothing. Do you get my meaning?"

Kitty nodded. "Yes. Darla and Mr. Kenneth told me that you are very nice, that you would never want to take advantage of a woman. You play the game of sex very fair, they said. Yes, I understand your meaning very clearly."

He grunted in approval and then he put his hand on her twat. She recoiled for an instant, a shocked gasp escaping her lips. "But you are so fast, faster even than the master. Mr. English likes me and he has had me come to him many times, even when I have not wanted to. But he has never gone straight to the ... how you say, straight to the heart of the matter so quickly."

Jim chuckled. "It isn't your heart I'm touching, Kitty."

She flushed. "Yes, I know. Do you not think I have the nerve ends?"

"Then you like it."

"You do not need to keep asking me that."

He wiggled his fingers, pushing her back until the edge of the table caught her at the hips. Good, he was in position to whip out his prick and pour it to her in less than five minutes elapsed time. It would be the fastest piece of tail in the West-French or otherwise.

But he hadn't reckoned on her own speed. He brought both hands into play the instant the table edge stopped her and in less than five seconds the French girl was going off. He stared in amazement as she flooded her juices over his fingers and he heard the stuff spattering to the concrete of the patio. "For Christ sakes!"

"I am so sorry, sir, but I am ... what you would say very French. That is why Mr. English keeps me. He cannot always um ... get it up is, I believe the American expression. So he likes to give me my pleasure simply. As you just have and, if I may say, I enjoyed it. Thank you very much."

Jim stared as she whipped her skirt down, picked up her tray and glasses and disappeared in the direction of the house.