Chapter 8
Juliette was lying a little apart from the rest of the men and women. She was on the floor along with the rest of them, but she was content to do her own thing. Now and then one of the politicians would try to replace her hand with his own, but Juliette slapped it away. After a while she allowed a very handsome and very young man-who looked less than eighteen-to nurse the breast she wasn't sucking herself. He just sat there naked, with his cock as hard as a rock, and sucked and sucked. After a while Barbara came over and took his cock in her mouth. She sucked on it enthusiastically until the young man shot off. He never looked at her once, nor did he speak to her. Barbara moved on, crawling on all fours.
The red-haired girl named Elaine apparently believed in sharing. She had a man on each breast, a cock in her mouth and one in her pussy, and to accomplish this four-way trick she was on her hands and knees. When the action between red-haired Elaine and her four admirers reached the most urgent point, another man joined in by licking her all up and down her slit, which caused her to hump harder and more furiously.
Iris was occupied with a fat man who wore the entire top part of his attire right down to the necktie. He was on top of her, and his face was very serious as he went in and out of Iris. Above the hubbub and laughter and music and tinkle of ice, his voice was loud and clear. "Oh, you darling little whore, you! I love you! Love you, do you hear me?"
Iris' voice answered, equally clear: "You silly bastard, you don't have to love me just because you're fucking me. Can't you screw just because you like to?"
He shook his head and kept telling her he loved her.
Serena sat between two youngish-looking men. She was giving them both hand jobs, and at the same time she was chatting animatedly with a good-looking type who had a studious air about him. He shook his head now and then, as if he disagreed with whatever it was she was saying. I couldn't hear what they were talking about, but I wished I could.
Plump Rhoda, a vision of sexual beauty in the buff, was stretched out on the carpet with her legs wide apart while a tall, skinny man with a mustache lapped her dripping pussy. I couldn't believe what I saw. Rhoda was holding a magazine in one hand and her eyes moved back and forth across the page, as I assumed she was reading it.
"Takes all kinds," said Dell and laughed as if he had said something original. He had one hand in his pocket and it suddenly dawned on me that he had a hole in that pocket. I had never been in exactly that situation before. Once, about two years ago, I stood on the deck of a ship waving to friends who had come to meet me. My traveling companion nudged me and gestured toward the youth, who stood close to my right. I had seen the boy around during the cruise, but hadn't met him or spoken to him. It was obvious he was whanging himself off, oblivious to everything, including the mass of people on the shore, and his nervous mother who kept tapping his shoulder and making strangling sounds. But knowing the boy was beating his meat and not knowing the boy was somewhat different from standing next to Dell and knowing he was doing the same. I mean, we'd known one another for several hours and had talked.
Unabashed, he went into action that was pretty furious and gave me a happy grin as he humped forward and remained like that, with his hips thrust forward and a long, whistling sigh of pleasure coming from his nose. Then he said, "There's no two ways about it, and I'm not a freak, either. I can do it for myself a lot easier, and it feels better than when a woman does it for me."
I said, "It takes all kinds," but I didn't laugh at my own joke. I was thinking about Juliette and doing a lot of wondering.
Dell wasn't looking at Juliette, though. His eyes were glued on Barbara during that last surging roil that led to his gush. She was standing over in a corner in a half-apologetic attitude, her shoulders slumped and her face a study of sorrow. A couple of men were halfheartedly hitting her with whips.
The rest of the room was a mixed bag of men, most of whom appeared to be waiting their turn. I wondered if they really were waiting for a chance to get one of the girls and have at it right then and there, or if some of them preferred the privacy of their own room. Dell might have read my mind.
"Those girls are going to be busy all night long," he said as he slipped his dick out to take a long, pensive look at it before he wiped it clean with a tissue. "I hope none of the little chippies try to knock down the party. Lots of those guys don't want to participate in an orgy. They're too shy, maybe, or for all I know, they might be ashamed of the size of their dongs. But I've got my way of keeping tabs on those hookers, and I told every one of them they better not try to sneak in a quickie without keeping it on the tally."
I asked if he meant what I thought he meant.
He looked downright grim. "You're damn right, sweetheart. Here's the way it works for the girls: they get fifty dollars a throw. The party doesn't get a dime of their money. But every one of those men have to ante up that extra ten I told you about. The party needs the money. You've got to remember this is an election year. Lots of big shot politicians ride to office on sex, honey. I thought you knew that."
I said I hadn't known.
He wiped his right hand on another tissue, then held it out to me, palm up. "And that'll be a hundred from you, Ms. Evans."
"For what?"
"Why, for coming along and getting a chance to learn about this business. Didn't you ever hear that old saying about there being no free lunch?"
I reminded him that I had paid for my dinner, which was not inexpensive, and that I had also paid for my share of the plane fare. I kept looking at the palm of his hand, which was still shiny and wet. So I told him to hold out his other hand.