Chapter 15
It was an orgy in B-flat minor. A symphony in sex. A party with no holds barred. A party without an end.
Alice Bradford was the first to arrive. She was surprised to find a party in progress, but lecherously game for anything. She'd worn a bright orange dress too tight and garish to diminish her girth but with the quick consumption of drink, its poor taste was the least concern of the men. Sinclair, in fact, vociferously proclaimed to Bill that he preferred women with large buttocks, because: "It gives a man more to hold on to." He grinned. "And her titties ... did you notice when she bent over that cocktail table?"
Bill staggered under the impact of a fresh drink. He said, "Sinclair, ol' boy...." He hiccupped. "...you haven't seen anything, yet."
And then Darla arrived. 16-years-old, kissingly sweet, embarrassed by the sea of strange faces, but quickly taken in by the warm greetings and the hasty approval of the men.
"I didn't know you were having a party," she said shyly. "Mrs. Trumball just said you needed a babysitter."
Edie interceded. "You are going to babysit, honey." She put her arms around the teenager. "And these are your babies," she said, nodding toward the men.
Darla laughed uneasily. Bill gave her a wink. "You gonna change my diaper?" he asked. Everyone laughed in unison.
"I feel funny ... I mean if I know'd you were having a party ... well, look at what I'm wearing."
Bill appraised the short hip-hugging blue skirt she wore. "It looks pretty good to me," he said, with a glance at the prominence of her cute rear. Then his eyes rose to short-sleeved powder-blue blouse she wore. Between the buttons, he glimpsed the shadowed underside of her breasts; the little hellcat wasn't even wearing a bra! "You look good enough to eat," he said, his eyes still boring into her breasts.
Shyly, she drew back. Harrigan swept the teenager to his side. "Not so fast, Bill. If you eat her, she'll be all gone ... we don't want that, do we?" He kissed the top of her head, then as an afterthought, he said, "Maybe your parents won't go for this, huh?"
More in keeping with their desires, she shrugged and said, "I don't tell them everything, you know."
"You better not tell them anything," Harrigan said with a slight twitter.
Again, she shrugged. Alice Bradford handed her a drink. "Honey, if you're gonna have a good time...." Then, too drunk to continue, she stumbled off without finishing whatever it was that she had been about to say.
Finally, they introduced the teenager to Keith. His eyes shone with immediate interest. Darla returned his smile and after a short conversation, the two youngsters departed to the kitchen, carrying a portable record player between them.
Meanwhile, Alice Bradford, still under the impression that she was behind in the drink marathon, had more and hastened herself toward oblivion. She consumed a water tumbler of bourbon in three maddening swallows. She declined another glass and stumbled dazedly into the living room.
Here, Sinclair guided her into a dance. Bradford added to the affair by taking Edie. Bill sagged to the davenport to watch the spectacle, and it was quite a show. Sinclair was having the time of his life. He held Alice Bradford in a death-like hug, rubbed his shirt front against her heavy breasts, allowed his hands to drop lower and lower; finally, reached the swell of her gargantuan buttocks. She swooned against him, too drunk to thwart his advances; anxious, in fact, to have him become even bolder.
Edie and Tom were dancing equally close, and Bill had never seen Edie look more dazzling, more vivacious. She'd worn a silver sheath made of glistening satin. The dress shimmered with every movement she made and hugged the hot litheness of her body like a second skin.
Watching her dance with Bradford, his mind cried out in protest at the possessive way in which Bradford held her. But another part of his body, something from hell, yearned for the maddening pleasure of seeing Tom Bradford or any man, really covet her, to become obsessed with desiring her. He didn't understand this feeling, nor did he really try. Instead, he thought of himself as a small boy who has discovered the miraculous gratification of self-touch: It felt good; don't try to figure it out.
When the dance was finally concluded, Bill staggered onto the floor and cut in on Sinclair and Alice Bradford. Alice was pleased, Sinclair frowned. Another record dropped on the turntable of the stereo, and Bill danced her away. She instantly melted into his arms and rubbed suggestively against him.
"We should have done this a long time ago," she whispered, with her face in the hollow of his neck. "A long, long time ago."
Bill responded. He ground his pelvis against her. She returned the movement. "Feel good?" he asked.
She answered, "That last drink ... I feel dizzy."
Suddenly, he dropped his hand to the hotness of her rear. "You feel good, too. I'd like to feel more if...."
"Why don't you?" she said thickly.
And he did; and no one cared. His hand slipped between their bodies and cupped the abundant hotness of one of her breasts.
"That feels good," she giggled.
He squeezed harder. She made a face. "Did I hurt you?"
She missed the tempo of the dance badly, leaned back in his arms and looked into his eyes. "I like to be hurt," she cooed, "if ... if it s the right kind of hurt." She shoved her pelvis against his.
He started to make another pass, but suddenly Sinclair cut back in. "I'm the guest," he said smilingly, "and the guest always gets first choice." He pulled Alice into his arms and waltzed away with her.
With a disgruntled sigh, Bill shuttled off to the kitchen. On his way, he looked over his shoulder and saw that Edie and Bradford were locked up in a no-motion dance, and looking quickly away, Bill continued his path to the kitchen.
Darla and Keith were at the kitchen table, sullenly sitting miles apart, both of them framed in awkward silence.
"That's a helluva way to sit," Bill said with a generous grin. He drew Darla's chair closer to Keith's. "He hasn't got yellow fever, you know."
She grinned. The boy colored.
"And you," Bill said, grinning widely at Keith, "you're s'pose to make with the hands." He placed one of Keith's hands high on Darla's leg. Keith quickly withdrew his hand. His complexion turned to a deep crimson.
Bill shrugged, reached down and pushed Darla's short skirt up high on her thighs. She smiled demurely, but made no motion to push it down. Bill looked at the boy, then at Darla's bare thighs. "Have fun," he said, and then stumbled back to the living room.
The scene that greeted his eyes filled him with excitement. Sinclair had Alice down on the sofa. He was kissing her, running his hands under her orange dress. Edie and Tom Bradford were cloaked in the darkness of a corner, locked in a kiss, rubbing against each other, finding their way slowly to hell. Edie was struggling, but only to get closer.
Bill sprawled himself on the floor and turned to watch how Sinclair was making out with Alice. Alice's orange dress was drawn above her knees. Sinclair's hand was pressing upward between her thighs. She groaned, and Bill felt bubbles of hotness building inside him. He could see Alice's pretty white panties, hear her moan softly to Sinclair's touch, and for a crazy minute, he imagined that he was Alice, that
Sinclair was groping up his leg, reaching ultimately for the moon.
Up and up, went Sinclair's hands; finally, he reached the zenith of their mutual excitement. Suddenly, her legs spread widely. Now Sinclair pulled her panties aside.
"Peeping Tom!"
Bill looked up sharply. Edie and Tom had been watching him from the corner. They were smiling at him; Edie's lipstick was smeared over her chin. Her dress was sliding off of one shoulder.
"If I wanna watch," he said drunkenly, "I'll watch." He turned on his buttocks to face them. "And if you don't mind, I think I'll watch you two. Think you can do any better?" he said, motioning toward Sinclair and Alice.
"We can sure as hell try," Bradford said gleefully. He twisted Edie back into his arms and guided her hand to his trouser front. She started to withdraw her hand, then changed her mind. She grasped him and moaned, instead. Bradford, in turn, kissed her, slid her dress upward from its hem, then ran his hands lovingly over her bare thighs.
Suddenly, Bill had to have a girl in his arms. He jumped off the floor and pulled Sinclair off Alice. "My turn," he yelled.
Sinclair grimaced, climbed off and stumbled toward the kitchen. Bill quickly filled the vacancy; Alice left her dress stranded where it was: to the visible lower line of her cotton panties.
"I'm hot," she complained.
"You're supposed to be," he answered, pushing her dress up still further. Then he looked over his shoulder to watch Bradford making out with Edie. And was he; oh, was he! And Edie was eating it up. Her arms were secured around Bradford's neck, her legs were spread in wanton abandon; and Bradford found the smooth path between her thighs, upward to the last defense: those shimmering, buttock-hugging panties.
From another part of the apartment, Bill heard Harrigan stumbling around in search of the bathroom. He was sick; he also wanted another drink.
Bill returned his attentions to Alice; to his disappointment, she had passed out. It was a king-sized disappointment at that; he had managed to get her panties completely off, thought she was ready for blast-off, but then she'd blown a picture tube and lost consciousness.
Crawling from her, he paused to gaze at the passionate nightmare that Edie had fallen heir to. Bradford's hands were inserted in the waistband of Edie's loving panties. She craved the slow circular massage of her buttocks; Bradford obliged. Completely.
In the kitchen, Darla was demonstrating the Watusi for Harrigan, his son, and Mr. Sinclair. The drinks had made shambles of her inhibitions; her pony tail was combed out, flung wildly over her shoulders; her hips gyrated as though a man were inside her; and her breasts threatened to bounce and jiggle right out of her thin blouse. The male audience was awed.
Bill chased Harrigan and Sinclair out of the kitchen. Had to leave the youngsters some privacy, he muttered. How the hell were they gonna learn the facts of life with everybody bothering them? Then, he coaxed Darla to sit on Keith's lap. "Now kiss her," he ordered Keith.
The boy did, and Darla retuned the kiss in wanton demand. Bill stood back and grinned. He reached between them and felt the teenager's breasts. No bra! She pushed his hand aside.
"Heck, I wanna have some fun, too," he said. He again squeezed his hands between their bodies and began rubbing the young girl's throbbing breasts. This time she did not push his hand away. He fumbled with the buttons, unfastened her blouse. He felt her nipples, sensed them harden under his touch. Then Keith's hand joined in the fun. His hand entertained Darla's left breast; Keith's, her right one. She groaned in ecstasy. "Mmmmm, does that feel wonderful." She kissed Keith more ardently.
Again, Bill stepped back to examine the product of his urgings. The two kids were really going at each other's bodies now. Keith was giving her blushing young bubbies a real play; his other hand had found the warmth of her bare legs. He pushed her skirt higher. Then Darla's hand went to work. She sought the boy's zipper; her tongue flicked out in Keith's ear. Proud, very proud of his efforts, Bill stumbled back to the other half of the party.
Someone had lowered the lights. Sinclair was back on the divan, had succeeded in arousing Alice from her morphia. She was removing her dress when Bill walked in.
Minutes later, the two of them Alice and Sinclair were completely naked, thrashing at each other's bodies. Bill fell to his knees to watch the spectacle; if they knew he was watching, they didn't care.
Sinclair was a world beater and an Alice beater. He joined the unholy rhythm of her body and gave it his most. Bill was wild with excitement; he had to fight with himself to keep from touching them. And then suddenly, he wondered where Edie and Bradford and Harrigan had gone to.
He found the three of them in a back bedroom. Edie was sitting up on the bed, naked. Bradford was pouring a drink into her mouth. Harrigan was running his hands all over her body, across her breasts, down the smooth flat of her stomach, finally to the bushy darkness between her legs. Edie was so drunk that she didn't know what was occurring. They pushed her gently and she fell back on the bed.
Bill quickly tore his clothes off and joined them. Harrigan and Bradford also removed theirs. The three of them came at Edie's lovely naked body like hungry parasites. They fed on her breasts, nipped the delicious insides of her thighs, coveted her with kisses that were born in hell.
In mere minutes, it became a French circus; a wild, uninhibited tangle of naked bodies that defied the most perverted of dreams. Harrigan forced himself between her outstretched young thighs. Bradford, meanwhile, rolled the pair on their side and crawled close to the promising darkness between Edie's buttocks. She was helpless to the surging passions within her body and, sensing it, Bill straddled her face and coaxed her to kiss the most treasured parts of his body. And suddenly, he did not have to coax. Her hot liquid mouth engulfed him, sent him into heated spasms of wonderful delirium. But a moment later, he passed out...
When he came to, much of the party had died. Sinclair was in the living room, attempting to revive Alice Bradford; but it was to no avail. Edie and Harrigan were both asleep on the bed; Harrigan's lips were resting placidly on Edie's left breast. They were snoring.
First splashing some cold water on his face, Bill ventured into the kitchen. He had thought that the two youngsters would be making out like crazy. He was wrong. Darla had passed out on a hassock in the corner; her clothes, except for her blouse, were still intact. Keith, a little groggy, sat sullenly quiet, stared blankly at space.
"You make her?" he asked, trying to shake him out of his doldrum.
The boy shook his head dismally. "She fell asleep. I didn't get to do anything."
Bill attempted to rouse her. She gave him a glassy-eyed empty stare, a wordless smile, then twisted irritably away to rest her head on the table. He shook her but she did not respond. He even went so far as to push up her skirt and playfully rub the narrowing of her panties, but she never moved. "Too much to drink," he said. "Can't handle it."
The boy stared longingly at her still-exposed panties. He drew his knees together, reluctantly locking away his desire. "Well, I guess everybody else had a good time," he brooded. "Everybody 'cept me."
Looking down at Keith, he felt a keen sense of pity for the lad. His mind searched for an idea. Then: "Well, you're not going home 'til you do have a good time." He fought to remain upright and, still hazy, he led the boy to an unoccupied bedroom and told him to wait.
In another minute, he returned lugging Edie in his arms. She was naked and he dumped her on one of the twin beds. She never stirred.
Keith shot him a questioning glance. He backed away. "Hey, that's your wife!"
"Who the hell did you think she was?"
"I dunno, but...."
Bill staggered against the youth, blinked his eyes, and regained his balance. "Pretty, ain't she?"
The boy was too embarrassed to answer. He wanted to leave. Bill held him. "Take your pants off."
"But she's your wife."
Bill grinned drunkenly and began to unfasten Keith's trousers.
"Honest, Mr. Trumball, I...."
"Don't argue," he said. "Just get your clothes off."
"What's she gonna think?"
"She's not gonna think anything." He pointed to her. Moonlight spilled across her breasts. Her legs were spread wantonly in wait. "She's too drunk to remember anything."
"But...."
"Just get ready. I'm gonna get Darla and...." He staggered back to the kitchen, propped the teenager on her feet, and led her slowly back to the bedroom. He let her fall across the other of the twin beds. Keith was still reluctant to remove his clothes. Bill surged against him and pulled the boy's trousers down. He pushed the lad toward Edie.
"Honest, Mr. Trumball, I don't think we should...."
He wouldn't listen. He yanked down the boy's shorts, shoved him roughly toward the bed. The boy turned to make a final plea, and Bill noticed how surprisingly well-built he was. He'd be good for Edie. Real good.
Giving Keith another shove, he turned his attentions toward the unconscious babysitter. The boy seemed immensely relieved that he wasn't watching; his guilt feelings vanished under the spell of his desires; he went at Edie like a hot young bull.
A minute later, Bill had succeeded in undressing the prostrate teenager. He lay between her silken thighs. From the darkness across the room, he saw Keith springing up and down on his wife. The excitement of watching was tremendous. Unconsciously, he began to imitate the boy's movements, thrusting himself in and out of the young girl's body, going faster and faster, faster and faster.
In sleep, Edie and Darla responded with soft moans. Involuntarily, their sleep-ridden bodies twitched with pleasure. And now it was faster, still. And deeper. And suddenly the immortal rhythm of forbidden love was blackness; and blackness was a cloak of alcoholic anesthesia. He was falling through space. Falling, falling, falling. ...