Chapter 7
"What took you so long?" Edie asked when he returned.
He closed and locked the door and set the bourbon on the end table. Necking with the babysitter had enabled him to blot away some of his earlier bitterness; instead, he felt guilt. He decided to make a joke out of it. "I was necking with the babysitter. What else?"
"Naturally you went to a motel," she said, picking up the joke.
He continued with the banter. "Didn't have time. She wanted to do it right away, so I pulled down her pants back of this roadhouse...."
"Liar." She grinned.
"I am not," he said, and because it amused him to talk this way, he went on, saying, "And she has the prettiest boobies I ever laid my eyes on."
"You mean your hands."
"And my tongue."
Edie picked up the bourbon bottle and carried it into the kitchen. He followed, removing a tray of ice cubes. "I'm sorry," she said, "but you're not a very convincing liar." She rubbed against him while he emptied the ice cube tray. "Furthermore, I'm sure that I can do you more good than a snotty-nosed kid. Agreed?"
"She wasn't bad," he said, wondering if he was irritating her. "A virgin?"
"Not since 12. Said a brush salesman broke her in."
Edie dismissed him with a grin, then removed her robe. "How do you like my outfit?"
"I'm speechless," he said, and he was. She wore black spike-heeled shoes that startled him with the beauty they enhanced to her legs. He had a bug about shiny patent leather; she could walk all over him with those shoes and the feeling would be ecstatic.
"What about the rest of me?"
He gazed at the three-quarter length nylon bed jacket she wore. A pronouncement of evil surged in his loins. Edie wasn't usually this wanton, but he liked the change in her. "Nice," he purred. "Real nice."
They moved to the living room. He lowered the lights and turned on the stereo. Sitting beside her, he wished that she were this wild more often. It wasn't that she didn't satisfy him in bed she did but it was with smiling compliance rather than the hot animalism he so much preferred. But she was determined to please him tonight, a sex bitch out of the darkened Amazon, and he decided to utilize her mood to the fullest possible advantage.
They gulped down several drinks, and then he suggested taking pictures.
"Whatever you want?" she said.
He brought out the Polaroid, loaded it, and plugged in the floodlights. She giggled over her fourth drink. "Are these going to be obscene or vulgar?" she asked.
"How can you talk that way about art?"
She giggled some more. "I feel this drink."'
"You're supposed to." He set the dials on the camera.
"How do you want me to pose?"
He thought briefly, then said, "We'll try for a silhouette shot." He instructed her how to stand in front of the lights.
"What about my hair?"
"It looks good the way it is." He leveled his camera.
"Should I take off my bed jacket?"
"Not unless you're ready to be raped." He looked through the camera's viewing window. The pose was hot stuff. With the lights behind her, the black-on-white silhouette was breathtaking. Her breasts, not monstrously enormous, were delicious mouthfuls. They stood up proud and erect. The light filtered between her slightly parted legs and the corn silk femininity that was there; it drove him to new passions.
He snapped the picture and, a minute later, viewed the result. She joined him in his inspection. "Not bad," he said proudly. "Some more?"
She gulped her drink recklessly. "Why not? We've got all night, no work tomorrow right so let's have a ball."
For the next hour, he captured every pose imaginable. He clicked close-ups of her bare breasts, lewd face-fronts with nothing on all of them too naughty for commercial acceptance. Nothing that he dreamed up was in the least bit objectionable to her if it was, she hid her distaste most expertly, he thought.
When the last of the film was used, he set the camera aside and undressed. He had two more quick drinks more in the desire to forget her cheating than in the anxiousness to imbibe and then he pulled her roughly into his arms and they danced.
The music was slow and dreamy and he told himself that perhaps he could recapture the magic of their love; but there was no re-kindling of that feeling, nor bridging of the gap that her cheating had created. What he felt, instead, was raw lust. Her breasts bounced against his naked chest like two squirming apples. The rhythm of the music was completely lost in the orgiastic, drunken shuffle; endearments were nil.
He dropped his hands from her back and seized her buttocks with punishing roughness. She stifled a small cry, writhed against him, and made him ready. Then she broke from his grasp, stood several feet away, and commenced a slow undulating motion with her hips.
An unlit cigarette dangled loosely from his mouth. He was speechless. He had never seen her do anything like this before. Her tease was maddening and the visible throb of him was ample evidence. He advanced on her and she backed away. She wanted to tease him further and he let her.
Her ritual matched the slow sleepy rhythm that came from the stereo. All she wore was those wildly exhilarating patent leather shoes, and her dance was intercourse without a partner, the kind of self-abasement that a teenager might bring to herself in the privacy of her bathroom. She caressed her body, sent her hands gliding up the flat white of her stomach, up and up until they came inches short of her beauteous breasts. He ached to see her touch her breasts; instead, her hands reversed their movement and traveled downward to the provocative taper of her hips.
She continued this for several minutes, then, demonstrating that she had to bring carnal satisfaction to herself that she couldn't hold off any longer, she cupped the pink-tipped fruits and squeezed. Her eyes swam, her lips parted. Bill touched himself. Edie did-likewise, dropping one hand, seizing herself and driving her hand deeply between her legs.
He had to have her and now. He came beside her, drew her down to the carpet and stretched over her. His lips found the sensitive hollow of her throat and, soon after, the erogenous depths of her inner ear. And while his mouth teased her to glorious feelings of excitement, his hands were also busy; his fingers twining themselves through the vaporous hair between her legs, exerting pressure where pressure belonged.
There was no love. Love was gone. Last night he had punished her with sheer brutality; tonight he reviled her in shame. None of it was intended to satiate lust; instead, it was calculated to deliver vengeance.
Though she frowned, he forced her to assume a position on all fours and rode her to the very brink of climax. He pulled roughly on her breasts, she moaned in both pain and pleasure. If her role as a female dog disturbed her and he was certain it did she was careful not to express it.
But this was only the beginning of her defilement, and his excitement made it all the pleasanter. He pulled her to her feet.
"What now?"
He led her to the window, turned on the lights. She backed away. "Bill...."
He grabbed her roughly and held her close. In front of the window, in a standing-up position, he plunged inside of her and hoped the whole City of New York saw her. She wanted to get away from the window but the pressure of his body made it impossible.
"Bill, you're hurting me."
He shoved it deeper.
"Bill. ... "
But he didn't stop. And then maybe because she wanted to get it over with she stopped fighting and let herself enjoy it. Her hands raked his back and she pumped herself up and down on his stabbing maleness.
He almost lost the ballgame, but once again he was able to stop her short of her goal.
When he withdrew, she flashed him a look of hurt. He smirked.
"Bill, why are you acting this way?"
He didn't answer her. He pulled her down across his lap. This had been fun earlier in the day with the office girl and now ... He smacked her buttocks with the flat of his hand. She screamed and tried to roll off his lap. He gave her another whack. Her bottom turned a blushing pink. "Bill, for chrissakes!"
He gave her another one, a resounding slap that stung him as much as it did her. She clawed loose and slapped him in the mouth. He liked it. He slapped her back. Her eyes enlarged. He stood up and pushed her down to her knees.
"Bill...." There were tears in her eyes.
He seized the sides of her head and pressed her face against his groin.
"Bill?...."
"Do it, Edie. You know...."
"Honey, can't we do it the regular way? Can't we?"
He flashed her a contemptuous smile, then reached down and guided her mouth toward the pulsating flesh of his body. "This is the regular way," he said, and then he sank himself deeply into the hot wetness of her mouth.