Chapter 5
Buffy was well into her second dream when the doorbell rang. Angrily, she pulled a pillow over her head to block the nagging sound. The drone persisted. Unable to ignore it, she threw back the sheets and went to answer it.
"I wish you fucking guys would give me a break," she sneered while donning a satin robe. The previous night, she had been with John Raferty, another of the cops in their group. In his squad car, he drove like a maniac with the light flashing. Buffy clung on for dear life. Her reaction amused John, who was a pro at high-speed chases. Her heart raced to the danger point, her mascara ran and her carefully coiffed hair was a mess by the time he exited the fast lane and pulled into a dark alley. Buffy was still trying to regain her equilibrium when he unzipped and demanded head. Though not in the mood to suck cock, her arrangement with John, as with all other cops in the group, overruled all else. Grumbling, she stooped over his crotch with an open mouth. John took his sweet time cumming. She sucked him for twenty minutes before letting go. Afterwards, they returned to her place, where they fucked for two solid hours.
She dropped a hand over her tender pussy and winced. She could still feel John. His hard-on wouldn't die. That twenty-four-year-old cop shot his load, then kept on pumping. They assumed every position. She was on top of him, he on her or next to her, or behind her. The solid push of his dick evidenced his perpetual excitement. At four in the morning, she collapsed, hot and sweaty. John must have let himself out after a short nap.
The bell reverberated throughout her home.
"All right! All right!" she yelled, praying it wasn't any of the others looking for a quick piece of ass.
Known as the most temperamental and conceited of the Babes, Buffy marched to the door. Despite the discontented demeanor she projected, the men loved and wanted her. The faces she made, the hissy fits she threw, the complaining or whining never stopped them from whipping it out. The gravity of their lust dumbfounded her.
Cops sure were unusual, she decided. How she deigned to cater to their fantasies was anybody's guess. Fucking on demand wasn't exactly her style, but it paid the bills and kept her a pampered creature.
The ringer of her bell must have been leaning on it, for the sound caused a splitting headache. Snarling, she threw back the door and prepared to tongue-lash the offender. The moment she glared at her caller, however, Buffy nearly fainted. Instead of finding a cop that dared wake her up, she was confronted by a younger, blonde replica of herself.
Her sister, Bonnie, with arms folded and hip jutting, arrogantly snapped gum. "It's about time," she sarcastically sighed after looking bored. "I thought I'd be out here for hours."
Buffy noted the two large suitcases flanking her. Her stomach immediately soured. "What's this all about?"
Bonnie barged in, stepping around her. She dropped her suitcases loudly on her ceramic floor. "I left home. Mom and Dad have gotten to be a real pain. I can't live with them, and don't have a job, so I decided to move in with you."
"Didn't you think to ask first?"
Her nineteen-year-old sister wasn't listening. "They treat me like a child-enforcing curfews, shoving rules down my throat. I couldn't stand it, and needed to get out of there."
Buffy hadn't regained from her initial shock when her sister traipsed up the stairs, into her bedroom. The blood draining from her face, she hustled. Laying on the floor was a tube of K-Y and a pair of handcuffs. She adroitly kicked them under the bed.
"I don't think your staying here is a good idea," Buffy said, clearing her throat. "It'll be an imposition. You'll only get in my way."
Bonnie frowned. "As if! With all the space you've got here?"
Buffy's four-bedroom, three-and-a-half bathroom, two-car garage dwelling deflated that argument. "I like my privacy."
"Don't get your panties in a bunch, sis. I'll hang low. I only need a pad to crash. Most of the time, I'm out with my friends."
Buffy gritted her teeth. The little bitch was giving her a tough time.
Bonnie sailed into the bathroom and deposited her purse on the vanity. Without seeking permission, she opened the drawer and prepared to transfer some of her contents into it. Next to Buffy's hair dryer was a ten-inch dildo.
Bonnie picked it up and made a face. "What's this?"
Buffy snatched it from her and hid it behind her back. "Never mind." She couldn't think quickly enough. Her place was a battlefield of sexual gizmos. Having her younger sister stumbling into them drove her batty. Who knew what lay in the next room? Buffy hadn't been conscientious about picking up after herself. "If you need cash, I'll go get my purse. We'll look for an apartment."
Bonnie, temporarily shedding her cynical attitude, shook her head. "I want to stay with you, Buffy. We used to be close."
Buffy remembered nothing of the sort. She and her sister fought like barracudas, with fangs bared and claws spread. Bonnie laid territorial claim over anything that wasn't bolted down. Stealing make-up, clothes and shoes were par for the course.
"Let me be blunt," Buffy said in a no-nonsense tone. "I don't want you here."
"Come on, Buffy. Don't be a stingy bitch. Mom always tells me I ought to be more like you: self-sufficient, clever, poised. She always makes that comparison when she wants to make me feel like a misfit. Ever since you landed that big modeling job, she brags at her bridge club."
Modeling job? Buffy suddenly recalled inventing that profession to throw her family off the trail. She didn't exactly want them to know she was a plaything to a bunch of cops. The fact she hadn't produced a single magazine she supposedly graced failed to be an issue. The kinky aspect of her lifestyle, they would never understand.
She lacked the strength to argue with her. "Look, I'm exhausted and need a few more hours of sleep. I've had a helluva night. Why don't you take the guest room? There's plenty of closet space for your things. You are forbidden to explore. The place is a wreck and I haven't had a chance to clean."
"I could give you a hand."
"Never mind. Fix yourself something to eat, then hang out on the deck until I get up." She heavily sighed. "Have I made myself clear?"
Bonnie nodded. "You're a doll, Buffy. Thanks a mil."
Buffy crossed her fingers that Bonnie's stay was merely temporary.
Stacy drove to the hotel early that morning. She obtained little sleep. Thinking about Wes trying to reenter her life gave her nightmares. Though blond, lean and visibly appealing, Wes represented a particularly difficult phase she survived. He was a user. Women, blinded by his charm, obliged him with favors. Taken by his hard-luck stories, they lent him money yet never saw repayment. His penchant for gambling at sports bars left him insolvent. Wes disappeared before he reimbursed them.
Stacy, unfortunately, numbered one of the vulnerable few. Wes dazzled her with his easy smile and prowess in bed. She accepted his tales of misfortune and invited him to live with her. For several months, she enjoyed the best lovemaking available. He pleased her like no other man had or could. Even the cops, whom she sincerely adored, didn't deliver the same satisfaction.
His reappearance from obscurity meant one thing: he was broke. Stacy was better positioned to pay and be rid of him. Financially set from the arrangement with her cop lovers, she yearned to close that door to her past once and for all. Wes was an expense she couldn't emotionally afford.
She went to the cash station and withdrew four hundred dollars. That amount, she reckoned, would sufficiently buy her freedom. Hopefully, Wes's expectations were within her range.
Images of them, naked and sweaty, populated her head. Stacy vigilantly attempted to block them, yet they filtered through. Wes was an agent of pleasure. He maintained his body for high performance. He also had a knack for spotting weaknesses in others and parlaying them to his advantage.
With her, he definitely succeeded.
Stacy preferred to believe she had grown as an individual and was no longer susceptible to his sensuality. The men were her life, their gratification and care a large part of it. She had nothing left emotionally to invest in Wes.
She longed to be done with delivering the four hundred dollars and her parting message.
Her distress over accomplishing that mission caused her inability to sleep. Tossing and turning, she rehearsed her farewell. Although Wes might insist on calling it a "loan," Stacy knew it would never be repaid. She didn't care. She simply wanted him to vanish and never return.
She pulled into the parking space in front of Wes's room, its number locked in memory. He had reluctantly left her car the previous night in a last ditch effort to change her mind. Putting on an aloof mask, Stacy firmly sent him to it. She brooked no sympathy for Wes. He tried to kiss her, but she eluded his lips. Wes finally got the message and took his leave.
She glanced a final time at the money in her purse. It was clearly a payoff, buying his extinction. He would either consider it an insult or be contented by her intuition. Though unable to predict his reaction, she envisioned that the latter would be the case.
Her heart pounded as she neared the door. She knocked and, to her utter surprise, found it open. Wes left it ajar. Upon its swinging back, she saw him sitting up in bed. Having caught a few hours of rest, he was the picture of health. His face had a robust glow in the morning light. His strong Polish features, smacking of virility, appeared relaxed. His blue eyes sparkled at her. His arms were folded behind his head, his legs crossed and a sheet pulled up to his lap. The sight of his smooth, bare chest brought palpitations. It had been a long while since she'd seen him undressed. Wes was exceptionally built, dedicated to contact sports. Evidence of his vigorous exercise was plain to the eye.
"Good morning," he said, pleasantly nodding at her. "Are you going to serve me breakfast in bed?"
Stacy was shaken by his casual comment and stance. Wes, projecting confidence, made her job more difficult. "Sorry to disappoint you. My stay will be brief."
He grinned. "Oh? A quickie, eh?"
She ignored his sexual references and strode to the foot of the bed. The temptation to drink in his partial nudity flickered. She refused to surrender to the impulse. Conducting their transaction and departing was her basic plan. "I scraped together some cash." She removed the stack of twenties from her purse and held them out to him. "This is all I have. Take it."
Wes's expression went unchanged. "Is that what you thought I wanted?"
"That's been our usual arrangement."
"I'm disappointed, Stace. I hoped for something better."
She frowned at the bills in her hand. "This isn't enough?"
"I don't want money," he huskily said. "I want you."
She went stiff. His masculine allure swept at her in waves. "I'm afraid that's not an option."
"You're still pissed about me running out on you."
"That's not true. I have a new life and am quite happy with it. I see no point in reopening old wounds. They've mended."
He sighed. "Then I suppose that eliminates the possibility of a reconciliation."
"Exactly."
Wes extended his hand for the money. Stacy leaned over to give it to him. The second she was within reach, he seized her wrist and hauled her into bed. Stacy gave a startled cry as she landed next to him. His grip was non-negotiable. Beside him, she brushed his bare chest. His breath warmed her face. She couldn't help but shiver.
"Be honest with me, Stace," he croaked. "You still want me, don't you?"
"No," she said through clenched teeth.
"You're lying. I can read you. The torch continues to burn."
"You're deluded."
"Am I?" With his free hand, he whipped back the sheet. He sported a big hard-on. She couldn't take her eyes off it. Eight inches of raw power stood between his legs. He motioned to it. "I see you haven't forgotten the best part of me.
"Release me, Wes."
He ignored her plea. "It's been lonely for you, Stace. It wants to be inside you. It misses your mouth, your pussy, your ass.. . "
She shook her head. Her pussy automatically tightened with need, the lips moistening in anticipation. "Don't do this to me."
"I won't force you, baby. That's never been my scene." He didn't let her go. His fingers were steel, securely wrapped. He dismissed the-likelihood of escape. "Contrary to popular belief, I didn't come back to empty your bank account. As you've matured, so have I. I've gained a more lucid understanding of what I once had with you. I took a whole lot for granted."
Stacy shivered. His hefty cock dominated her attention. She couldn't avert her gaze, no matter how she tried. "It's too late, Wes. Things are different."
"In my book, it's never too late." He steered her hand to his dick. Stacy bit her bottom lip as he gestured for her to take it. Lamely, her fingers curved around his pulsing shaft. She swallowed roughly at the recognition of its fierce beat. He covered her fist with his hand, disallowing her from leaving him. His thing was trapped in her grip. "We can put it together, if you're willing."
"Wes, I don't think I can do this."
"Your eyes are telling me a different story." He moved his hips, sending his cock through her fist. The skin rubbed her palm. His eyes grew heavy. His Adam's apple rippled. "This is almost like fucking you."
His baking heat had her quivering. She breathed harder as he ran himself through her fist. He clamped her hand, forbidding her to break the thread of continuity. She gazed at the top of his bulbous knob. The cum slit opened and a small pearl oozed.
"Wes," she sobbed, consumed by guilt. Lust pummeled her. She knew she shouldn't be masturbating him, yet did. What deeply bothered her was the uncertainty of whether she could have finished him off, despite the clasp he maintained. She didn't think she wanted to remove her hand. "Oh, Wes."
"Yeah, baby," he muttered, commanding that she complete the job. "Play with it. Ahhhh. Don't you wish you were sitting on it, fucking my brains out?"
She withheld her answer. The lump in her throat precluded a response. His throbbing increased. The creamy drop that seeped from his tip dribbled toward her locked fingers. She shuddered as it touched her. "Oh, God."
Wes jerked through her vise. That solid growth, sliding through her clasp, quickened her heartbeat. The oils of her palm lubricated him. "I want to fuck you so bad, Stace. I want to jam your pussy with my big cock."
Stacy was glad to be sitting. His wild expression, horny vibrations and crude words made her weak with want. Her knees couldn't have supported her weight.
He sent her on a roller coaster of sexual chills. It all came flooding back to her: riding that thriving mass, completely surrendering to it, letting it fuck her. She recalled their sweaty moments of coupling, barely staying attached to him. If it weren't for the fact he was eight inches deep, she might have slipped away. His handsome face, marred with contortions, came through the haze.
Stacy pulled on his hardness, savoring his pulsations. She wanted to keep going until he exploded-taking him beyond that numb stage. Masturbating him had hypnotized her. He briefly had her under his spell.
Yes, she remembered, there was a time when she loved nothing more.
"Do it, baby," he invited. "Oh, yeah. Do it."
His hand imprisoned hers, keeping her on task. She relished its might. Often those hands had encompassed her ass, impaling her on his big thing. When her pussy couldn't readily make allowances for his size, he kept cramming himself into it until her muscles eventually complied. His animal grunts when he had finally stayed embedded turned her on.
His dick burned in her grasp. She could see how close he was to shooting.
"I'm gonna cum, baby," he hoarsely informed her. "Gonna cum."
Stacy didn't have time to prepare. His geyser of jism suddenly flew at her. He spurted in the air, on her hand and arm, and some even landed on her bare thigh. She regretted wearing shorts to the motel. Some of the cum soiled her clothes. Helplessly, she let it splash her. Its scalding temperature caused her to wince. His animal cry and savage appearance added to the excitement.
She whimpered as it splashed her skin. There was no escape from his creamy splatter.
Wes's discoloration eventually corrected itself. He released her hand. Stacy did not immediately let go of his cock. His load dripped from her fingers. When she loosened her grip, his plump shaft landed with a thump on his stomach. White goo seeped from the tip.
Shaking, she rose from the bed. The twenties she attempted to give him littered the floor. She had dropped them the moment he grabbed her. "I hope you enjoyed that, Wes," she said after collecting herself, "because that's all you're going to get. If anything between us mattered, then take the money and kindly leave me alone."
He sighed. "I'm afraid I can't do that."
"Why?"
"Because I've come to claim what was originally mine. You belong to me."
"Not anymore." She started toward the door. "Get it through your head. We're through. I have other priorities, none of which include you."
Wes shook his head. "I'm still in your head, baby, and in your heart. Nothing can alter that."
Her lips thinned. "I'm sorry you still feel that way. Good-bye, Wes."
She turned and walked straight out the door. His laughter reached her from the car. Not even the roar of her engine could deafen it.
She obtained the impression she hadn't seen the last of him.