Chapter 6
DAN MCKAY TURNED THE SPRAY OF WATER OFF and stepped from the shower stall. There was a full-length mirror and his dark eyes went to his reflection as he slowly dried himself with a large towel. He liked what he saw, as always, and he didn't think that this could be considered even a mild form of narcissism.
At twenty-eight, his body was in just as good shape as it had been at eighteen, and he'd seen many men his age already growing flabby and developing pot bellies that they'd never be able to lose.
And it certainly wasn't as if he received any actual sexual pleasure from the admiration of his physical attributes. Besides, Dan thought, meeting his dark eyes in the mirror, pausing with the towel pulled tight across his buttocks, he wasn't really standing there admiring his physique.
He was pleased with what he saw, that was for damned sure, but only because his near-perfect physical condition better enabled him to give and receive erotic pleasure. That he had a far more than adequate manhood-hanging limply at the moment-to go with his broad shoulders and muscular chest, arms, and legs, was just another fortunate truth that he deeply appreciated.
Still, Dan thought, continuing with the drying process, he wouldn't have all that many years to take such pride in his body. As always, the thought frightened him somewhat. There would come a time when he'd no longer be able to depend upon his looks and his body to make a living. Not, he had to admit, that Sharon hadn't been making most of the living for them both since their marriage.
But that didn't make him a damn pimp or anything like that. Hell, she liked the sex with other men just as much as he did with the other women. She'd been making her living off men before he'd married her, as he'd been making his living off women, so why should he start worrying about their rather strange and unusual arrangement at this late date?
Because he was letting his emotions enter into their relationship, of course. He was thinking about her confessed or professed love for him more and more all the time. And his love for her? Shit! If he didn't watch it he'd be turning into one of those true-blue nine-to-five husbands who jerked themselves off while dreaming about all the new and strange pussy they were missing!
Dan tossed the towel aside, snapped out the bathroom light, and went into the darkened bedroom. Sharon was already in bed, seemingly asleep, the sheet covering her nakedness. They both habitually slept in the nude when it was comfortable enough, the controlled temperature in the expensive apartment making it that way now, and Dan was careful to crawl under the sheet without disturbing or touching Sharon. But at the same time he welcomed the familiar warmth emanating from her lovely body.
He was tired. Bushed, really. Betty Denning had certainly drained the energy out of him that afternoon. The hot bitch didn't know when to stop. He'd pleased her, though. As well as any man could. Or any ten men. Was the sex-crazy woman with the stacked colored maid right then? The husband? Both?
She'd never really agreed to bring Thelma in for their mutual enjoyment; and he hadn't pressed her on the subject. He'd spent most of his time, when they'd paused for conversation, in giving out with double talk and outright lies. He'd seemed to have snowed her with his line of crap, though. Mostly, he was sure, because all she was really interested in was his prick. And his tongue. She would've probably agreed to pay for his services if he'd had the nerve to be truthful and come right out and make the request.
Realizing that he was staring into the dimness, Dan closed his eyes. He was physically tired, he needed rest and sleep, but mentally he was far from sleep or even being sleepy. Maybe if he got up and went to the kitchen for a beer. But he might wake Sharon up. He carefully turned over on his side, facing away from his lovely wife, deciding that he might as well just stay right there, as quietly as possible, and let his thoughts ramble until his brain got as tired as his body.
Maybe he was just getting kind of tired of the life he and Sharon had been living. Maybe he was even getting a little weary of all the sex. After all, he had been making his living screwing girls and women for quite a few years. Since before he'd reached sixteen, actually, and he'd hate to have to even try and guess the number. Or guess the amount of money he'd made and spent, for that matter.
Raised in the slums of a large city, where screwing was just as natural for most of the kids as eating candy and/or taking a leak, he guessed he'd been a greedy little devil even before puberty. Where sex was concerned, anyhow. He couldn't even remember the first time he'd managed to get the liquid representing manhood to shoot out. Onto the ground or into a girl. It sometimes seemed as if he'd come out of the cunt with his penis rock hard.
That was sure as hell stretching the imagination, but his many sexual experiences had started at a very early age. He'd been a pussy-chaser right from the time he'd first thrilled to slipping his pecker into a hot female box. Maybe, however, if he'd kept his stiff poker out of one particular snapping snatch his life would've been different. His hot young stepmother had invited him to climb aboard, though. In fact, she hadn't been living in the crumby apartment for more than a week before she'd had him on and in at every opportunity.
He still couldn't really understand why his old man had gotten so angry with him. Sometimes it seemed that he could still feel the belt lashing his naked ass. His jerking and jolting ass, really, because the old man had walked in and started using the belt just as he'd been getting his gun.
What a crazy scene that had been. His father yelling for him to get out and stay out-right after he'd hauled his bleeding tail off the frantically wriggling female flesh and the bed-and yet his father's eyes had been focused upon the parted thighs, the eagerly awaiting cunt of the hot young wife and stepmother. He still figured that his father had buried his own stiff rod in the wet hole just as soon as he'd hurried from the bedroom.
He'd been a couple months short of his sixteenth birthday. His mother had hauled ass for parts unknown with a piano player when he'd been five-sometimes he thought he could remember her pretty blue eyes-and his old man had left him with neighbor women while at work. The things he'd seen some of those women do! His father still drove a truck for the sanitation department in that city for all he knew. And his mother just might still be with the piano player his father had mentioned.
His ass had healed quickly enough. He'd holed up with a friend, and that friend's sister when the parents were asleep, for two days and nights. He hadn't gone back to school.
He'd hitchhiked to Chicago. In that windy city he'd made out just fine. He'd allowed quite a few queers to go down on him to get a stake, of course, but that hadn't really changed his basic sex drive in any way.
He'd been repulsed by the idea of touching a male, he still was, but he hadn't rolled the homos like so many young guys did. He'd felt kind of sorry for them, really, only willing to accept their pleasure-giving and their money until he could do better. Better meaning, of course, making arrangements to put his ever-ready prick in a woman where it belonged.
In any female orifice, that was, because he'd already been introduced to all the various methods-including total participation on his part. The latter, the best he could remember, had first taken place when he was fourteen. Not that he'd gone around bragging about that. His tough friends, whether they did it or not, denied using their mouths and tongues-and nobody wanted to be called by the name that went with the game.
It had been kind of rough for the first few weeks in Chicago. He'd automatically kept on the move, fearful that his father might change his mind and get the law to looking for him, but apparently the old man-and his father hadn't really been old-had thought too much of his new bride to give much thought to his son.
Lottie, the bride, the stepmother, had only been twenty-four. Why his father had bothered to marry her, he didn't know. Unless he'd loved her. Whatever the hell that really meant. Lottie had been a slut, a bitch in heat, and he guessed that had helped sour him on the idea of marriage. That, and the way his mother had deserted him and his father. Along with all the cheating wives he'd screwed over the years, of course.
Most of the money he'd gotten from the queers had gone to pay for the kind of sex he really liked. Chicago had been swarming with whores eager to take his money and his eager young body. In that order most of the time, but he'd soon discovered that many of the whores had wanted to "mother" him. This "mothering" didn't keep them from going to bed with him, of course-or some of them from wanting him to pimp for them-but as time passed he'd learned how to have a home most of the time. Or a place to screw, sleep, and eat.
He'd never pimped. And he'd never had a job. He'd sometimes helped clean the rooms and the apartments, learning to cook from the more settled prostitutes, and several had even taught him table manners and some of the other nicer things in life. Many of the whores had been very intelligent, really, and he figured that the time he'd spent with them might even be equivalent to the high school education he'd never finished.
Living with whores had soon turned into a regular way of life for him. That he was being "kept" by the women didn't bother him. He figured that he earned his way by being right there and ready when they needed and wanted him. Some were older, pushing thirty, but most were in their twenties. A few had been in their late teens. Most did their hustling away from where they lived, taking the Johns to hotel rooms. When this wasn't the case, he hadn't stayed around very long.
It hadn't taken him long to discover that most of the whores also had sex with other women, often other whores. This had fascinated him. After the first time he was invited to join, and immediately threw himself head-long onto and into the entangled female bodies, he'd never missed an opportunity to enjoy that kind of way-out fun and pleasure.
Taking care of two females at the same time, one with his mouth and the other with his prick, had become something of a speciality for him. Once he'd lived with two young whores for almost three months, seldom taking either one of them without the other also being there, and those two young gals had called themselves in love with each other.
He'd been almost eighteen then. A good-looking man, everybody had said, and by that time he'd had a fairly large bankroll. He had money in the bank, had good clothes and knew how to wear them, and he'd become something of a pool shark and a very good poker player. He couldn't screw all the time, though sometimes it'd seemed as if he'd tried, so there'd been plenty of time and opportunities to get out and around.
He'd started hanging around cocktail lounges just after his eighteenth birthday. He acted and looked older, he had learned to enjoy drinking in moderation, and he was getting ideas about latching onto some rich female. Besides, he'd decided that it was about time that he drifted away from the whores and their rather narrow little world.
His idea had backfired at first. Discovering so many lonely females around the drinking establishments, some of them real beauties, he'd temporarily forgotten his profit motive. In fact, he'd become something of a big-shot, spending the money he'd so carefully saved, even renting himself a nice little apartment in which to do his entertaining.
That had lasted about three months. Until he'd checked his bank balance one day and discovered that he was practically broke. But he'd enjoyed himself. Maybe more than he ever had in his life. Until he'd met Sharon, of course. And he'd also learned one important fact that was always to come in very handy. Most whores wanted to be treated like ladies, which he'd fortunately had enough sense to do right from the beginning, and most so-called ladies enjoyed being treated like whores.
It was so crazy, in his mind-so twisted-that it took him quite some tome to figure out the screwy set-up. But when he did, and just before he was broke, he'd been able to latch onto a meal ticket. The gal had been more than a meal ticket, really, because she'd financed a trip to New Orleans-where they'd lived high for three or four weeks. At the end of that time she'd been broke, she'd gone back to her husband-as far as he knew-and he'd managed to make a connection with a wealthy widow who'd also enjoyed being treated like a whore.
He'd gotten his practice for his new career with the woman with whom he'd visited New Orleans. She'd been about thirty, though looking much younger, and her husband was quite wealthy and seemingly rather dull. Very dull when it came to sex, because the one basic position had been the limit of his imagination or whatever and it turned out that the gal's erotic fantasies had to do with oral activities.
He'd worked her over with his mouth and tongue, despite her rather feeble protests, and when he'd actually gotten his lips and tongue on her clit she'd practically gone crazy. Over the sensation, him, the lengthy screwing session, and not so long afterward, his prick. Looking back, remembering, it seemed as if that greedy gal had had his cock in her mouth all the way to and during their stay together in the Mardi Gras city.
The wealthy widow had taken him to Houston. She'd had a large estate, with servants, and he'd stayed with her until she'd caught him in bed with the Mexican maid. He hadn't known about the Lesbian relationship between the widow and the maid: and hadn't found out that the widow was jealous until he'd calmly invited her to join in on the fun.
That scene had been similar to the one with his father and stepmother. Except that there hadn't been a belt lashing across his naked ass. The widow's fingernails had done a hell of a lot of damage to his back and shoulders, though. And he'd had to dress and leave with a hard on. But he'd been interrupted during his second session with the hot little maid, so he hadn't actually been aching.
From there, after the jealous widow, he'd kind of bounced from female to female. Earning his way with his mouth and his prick, and the always increasing expertness in the way he used them both, he'd seen a lot of the country-and a great deal of the world. It had been a very pleasant life, really, but he guessed that nobody was ever really satisfied. He did have to take a lot of senseless shit off some of the dames; and from time to time he'd encounter some bitch with habits that were disgusting even to him. And that was saying a hell of a lot when considering just how liberal he was where things of a sexual nature were concerned.
During his travels, when he was twenty-two and the male companion of a woman in Seattle-that was what the libidious gal had sometimes called him even when he was buried to the hilt-he'd had a rather brief conversation with a man that had eventually resulted in the racket he'd started working with Sharon.
The man, he'd had a few beers with the guy in a barroom one rainy afternoon, had been capitalizing on the fact that most husbands covet the wives of other men. The handsome young fellow, who'd said that he was married to a gorgeous young woman, had simply moved into various neighborhoods and allowed his willing young wife to make herself available.
The sexy and sexy-looking wife would flirt and show enough flesh to get a married man interested, playing it in such a manner that the wife or wives didn't know that she was screwing the husband or husbands, and the legal husband remained in the background. After being hooked on the sex (the young wife apparently being an uninhibited sexpot) the cheating husbands gave gifts and money quite freely.
Dan opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. The plan or scheme had remained in the back of his mind for about three years. He'd looked all that time for the right woman, the right partner, and Sharon had worked out perfectly. Just a little too perfectly, he guessed, because his emotions were involved. Should he tell Sharon? Should he wake her up right then and tell her that-well, that he felt a kind of love for her? Or should he run like hell?
"What's wrong, honey? Can't you sleep?"
Dan realized that he'd been moving restlessly. They'd gone out to dinner, at Sharon's request, and then he'd suggested a movie. The show had been rather boring, but he'd enjoyed himself just sitting there holding his wife's hand.
"Maybe I was thinking about Betty," he said, turning over on his back. "I thought you were asleep."
"Maybe I've been thinking about Floyd," Sharon said softly.
"And getting hot?" Dan asked, failing to keep the sudden anger from causing him to raise his voice. He was angry at himself for getting so sentimental, knowing that Sharon was just giving him back tit for tat.
"I masturbated this afternoon not so long before you returned from having your fun with Betty," Sharon said calmly.
"That certainly doesn't mean a damn thing! Hell, you could probably play with yourself all the time a man didn't have it in you and still be hot!"
"You're changing," Sharon said, sitting up in bed, causing the sheet to slip down to Dan's waist. "You're changing more and more all the time, Dan."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know," Sharon said, falling back onto the mattress and the pillow. "Maybe you can tell me. You're always making cracks, seemingly to try and hurt my feelings, and it's almost as if you don't even like me. Are you getting tired of me, Dan? Am I beginning to get on your nerves for some reason?"
"No, I'm not getting tired of you and you aren't getting on my nerves. I'm just not sleepy. I'm sorry that I've been making cracks, I'm sorry that I raised my voice just now, and-and I'm sorry if I've been making you unhappy."
"I'm happy enough," Sharon said, turning over on her side and pressing her warm nakedness against Dan. She trailed her fingers over his almost hairless chest. "I want you to be happy, Dan. That would give me more happiness than anything else."
"Just as soon as we get a good stake we'll take another long vacation," Dan said, feeling his nipples springing to life under Sharon's caressing fingers.
She flicked her tongue against his nearest hard nipple and slipped one hand down along his flat stomach to his manhood. That instrument of lovemaking immediately began to lift against her fingers.
"Let me," Sharon whispered. "Stay right there and let me help you get to sleep, honey."
Dan chuckled. "I should argue when my pecker's as hard as a rock!" He clasped his hands behind his head as Sharon swiftly trailed her parted lips and darting tongue down to his stiff shaft.
She took her time about engulfing him, however, and he only lurched slightly to the moist circle of heat. He knew that she wanted him to last and last, that she was in the mood to finish him in that manner, and he remembered the times she'd told him that he was the only man she could do it to without gagging.
He'd believed her, seeing no reason why she'd lie, at the same time trying not to picture her going even part of the way like that with another man. He'd never seen her doing anything with a man-and she'd never seen him with a woman. Sometimes he wondered what his reaction would be to seeing her with another man; just as he sometimes wondered what she'd do or say if she were to see him with a woman.
It might be interesting to find out some time. Maybe in that way he'd know for sure just how he felt about her. If it turned out that he could watch her having sex with another man without feeling jealousy, then maybe he would stop baiting her with the wisecracks. And if it turned out that he was jealous? Well, he could always leave her.
Suddenly Dan wanted to forget everything, wanted to blot everything completely out of his mind, and he knew one sure way that he could do just that. Sharon, busily and greedily lavishing her moist attentions upon his jutting erection, had scooted her own lower body down toward the foot of the bed.
"Swing around," Dan said softly. "Let's make this a duet."
Sharon heard and quickly obeyed, pivoting without faltering in her rhythmic pleasure-giving motions, and Dan eagerly grabbed her delightfully smooth buttocks and pulled her crotch down into place. Her sleek thighs clamped against his cheeks and he parted his lips and slipped his tongue into the moist warmth, pulling her ever closer as he plunged his tongue in and out of the palpitating tunnel.
Then, as Sharon began to wriggle heatedly against his face, bearing down hard and making little moaning sounds that spilled from around his throbbingly expanded cock, Dan settled his tongue upon her slippery clit and expertly licked her to and through a spasmodic release.
Quite suddenly, surprising them both because of the unusual swiftness, Dan arched upward, driving deep, and shuddered through a spurting climax that triggered-with the help of his again very active tongue-still another series of shattering spasms for Sharon.
"That was wonderful," Sharon said, shortly after they'd broken contact and their breathing had returned to almost normal. "Do-do you think that you'll ever tell me what I want to hear, Dan?"
Dan hesitated. Should he commit himself? Did he want to give up the racket and find some kind of a dull and boring job? Because that was what it would mean if he told his lovely wife what she wanted to hear. Besides, he did want a chance to screw the beautifully stacked colored girl across the hall. And Betty again, for that matter.
"I'm sleepy," Dan said. "Let's talk some other time."