Lance discovers Hell has an eighth level - which may not be so bad, after all.
Betrayed Ch. 07
by Cherysse St. Claire ©
Chapter Seven: The Eighth Level?
Angie kept my arm locked in hers, preventing any attempt at escape. We
caught a cab back to my place. She was even more appreciative of it than
Dianna had been.
"Girlfriend, you live like a queen!" she exuded.
Realizing what she had just said, she giggled.
"Oops! Well, you know what I mean."
She made a beeline for the master bedroom. Her practiced eye did not miss
the jewelry armoire or vanity. She nodded her approval, checking my
dresser drawers, one by one, noting the lingerie and Dianna's corset. She
moved on to the vanity, nodding her head and smiling at the MAC products,
then stepped to the armoire. Her eyes bugged out when she saw the
diamond-and-ruby pieces.
"I'm not even gonna ask," she exclaimed slowly.
I knew what she was implying and nodded my head. She exhaled loudly, then
moved on to the closet. She stood silently, taking in the suede suit, the
red sequined gown — and the coat. She shut the door silently, then turned
to face me.
"Well," she observed, "it's not as extensive as I would have guessed, but
Jesus...."
Her last word came out almost in a whisper.
"I'm kinda new to this," I admitted. "That's why my wardrobe is so
limited."
"Define 'new'," she interrogated.
"Uh, this past weekend?"
"Two days?" she questioned. "Wow, you're just a cherry at this."
"Um, not...exactly..." I corrected.
Her eyes bulged. Then she smiled a Cheshire smile.
"You don't waste any time, do you?" she smirked. "I was right about you,
Lisa. You do know how to use it when the time comes. We are going to
become very, very close friends..."
"But, Angie, I can't..."
"...and no one in the office will ever have to know our secret — if I
don't want them to. Now, Lisa, I want you to get dressed for me. As much
as I might want to see you in that red sequined number, I think the suede
will be fine for now."
I stripped off my male attire, swapped the pink panties for the
freshly-washed lavender bra and panty set, then slipped my boobs into my
bra. Angie re-tightened the corset's laces, cinching them down as far as
they would go - crushing the breath from me. She also directed me to swap
out my suntan stockings for a jet-black pair.
I professed my relative lack of skill at applying makeup. My captor
insisted on doing my 'look' for me, right down to re-applying my eyelashes
and fingernails. During the course of our makeup session, she was
delighted to discover my prosthetic male eyebrows, peeling them away in a
flash, then penciling in the dramatic high, thin arches I had affected all
weekend. Angie was doubly delighted to discover my camouflaged ear
piercings. She pursed her lips and shook her head expressively.
"You are just full of surprises, Lisa," she intoned mirthfully. "It really
must kill you to have to hide all this just to come to work. Just looking
at how beautiful you can be, and knowing how drab you have to be to get by
in your stifling male persona is killing me."
When her task was complete, my face did not present the full-blown
drag/stage look my girlfriends had given me Saturday night. Still, it
reflected a dramatic/exotic Latina flair, right down to the dark claret
outline of my lips with the more vibrant red filler, all covered with a
coat of shimmering gloss. I could not detect a shred of difference in the
look and feel of my glamour-length crimson talons from what they had been
all weekend. Under Angie's direction, I re-applied my jewelry, then
spritzed myself with perfume.
"Looking good, Girlfriend," she assured me. "Now, let's see it with the
hair. Wait a sec; let me work with it first."
When Dianna and I had decided to keep the wig, we had picked up a
professional wig block, styling brush and pick and, of course, hairspray
("A showgirl's best friend, Sweetheart," Dianna had claimed). Angie now
attacked my shimmering mane with the latter three. In less time than I
thought possible, she had 'pumped up the volume' — literally as well as
figuratively — to compliment the dramatic flair of my makeup.
"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," she crowed, then paused and winked.
"I'm also a secretary. Now, let's get this puppy on you, Sweetie. I can't
wait to see."
The elastic mesh cap went over my head first, holding my own longish locks
in place. Angie carefully positioned the wig as Mimi had done, cinching
the elastic Velcro tabs in back. I then did a credible job mimicking my
friends' efforts to anchor my new mane to my own hair with bobby pins.
Angelina's smiling face was next to mine, meeting my gaze in the vanity
mirror.
"Oh, yeah," she murmured. "Now put on the shoes. I want to see The Strut."
My heart was pounding, but no longer from apprehension. I was into it now.
I slipped my feet into the mules. The skyscraper stilettos arched my legs,
thrust out my boobs and tush, and made me feel invincible. I conjured up a
mental image of Dianna flowing across a room in that effortless way she
did. Then, I willed my body to emulate her.
"Oh... YEAH!" the lovely Latina extolled. "Girrrl, that is pure poetry in
motion. Two days, my ass! You were born for this. I'm gonna have to work
hard just to keep up."
The excitement — and champagne — had caught up with me.
"Angie," I pleaded, "I hate to break up this mutual aberration society,
but I really have to pee."
She laughed, nodded, then sat down at my vanity.
"You go ahead, Sweetie," she encouraged. "I'm gonna take advantage of this
fabulous collection of cosmetics and touch up my face."
While I was doing my business, I sorted out the tangle of emotions from
the afternoon. Once I had gotten over the initial shock of discovery and
Angie's blackmail, the whole thing had been an incredible turn-on. I could
not deny I had always been attracted to my beautiful secretary; now, more
than ever. She had given every indication she felt the same way. Where was
she going with this? My instincts told me this was going to be more than a
casual get-together.
Was this being unfaithful to Dianna? No; she had told me there would be
times she would not be able to tell me in advance about having sex with a
man. She would share it with me later, when she saw me again. I could do
the same now, and everything would be all right. Would Dianna be as
jealous of me having sex with a GG as she had been about my 'date' with
Daniel? Would Angie want to penetrate me as Dianna did — in this case,
using a dildo? I wanted to be prepared....
The bathroom was fully-equipped; whirlpool tub, separate shower stall,
double sink. toilet — and bidet. When I had toured the place, I thought it
was a quaint appendage that would sit forlornly in the corner, forever
unused. Now.... The sensation of being thoroughly cleansed by the powerful
jet of water was stimulating and unnerving at the same time. My insides
tingled from the experience, not to mention the anticipation of what was
to come. During my stay in the bathroom, I swore I heard my companion's
voice, talking to... someone.
In my absence, Angie's 'touch-up' had rendered her face and hair as
dramatic as my own. She beamed at me as I emerged from the bathroom and
held out her hand to me.
"Ready?" she asked.
Déjá vu.
"For...?" I reiterated.
"A celebration!" Angie gushed. "The cab will be here in a few minutes.
There is no way two zorras like us are gonna sit at home, looking like
this. I want all of Chicago to see us tonight. I have never felt so
alive!"
I had to admit; I felt the same way. I gathered up my suede clutch, added
cash, my Driver's License (embarrassing if I had to show it, but at least
it was legal), perfume, compact, and another tube of K-Y. Angie noted the
lubricant, as well as the condoms already in the purse, and beamed.
"Planning on getting lucky tonight, Girlfriend?" she cooed.
"The thought crossed my mind," I admitted coyly.
Angie winked.
"You just might be right," she ventured. "I'm really turned on right now
and you are so hot! This keeps getting better and better."
The cab ride was short, depositing us in front of Ruth's Chris Steak House
on Dearborn. Well, okay; the bar is kinda nice and I might be hungry
enough for a small filet later, but.... Angie wrapped my arm in hers and
hurried us inside to escape the evening chill. We made our way into the
bar. I was musing to myself how long it had been since I had a really good
frozen strawberry margarita. My first had been with Susan, at Fat
Tuesday's in Key West. You remember those historic firsts in your life:
your first kiss, your first date, your first love... your first full-blown
coronary seizure. There, seated at the bar, were Rob Nelson and Jim Grant!
"If we turn around right now," I murmured to my companion, "and leave the
way we came, they might not notice us."
Angie pouted.
"What fun would that be?"
"But you said no one from the office had to know!" I cried.
"If I didn't want them to," she corrected. "Be nice and you will be fine.
I was asked out for a special occasion tonight — and I'm not about to say
'no' to our bosses. They asked me to bring a friend for a foursome. I
can't think of any girlfriend I would rather have by my side tonight — or
one more perfect. Let's go, Mija!"
She tightened her grip on my arm and pulled me forward.
"Angie!" Rob beamed. "You made it in record time. Was traffic that light?"
My girlfriend shook her head, beaming her most radiant smile.
"Nothing to it," she chirped. "We were just over by North Pier. We
actually waited longer for the cab to arrive than it took to get here.
Rob, Jim, may I introduce my girlfriend, Lisa...."
It suddenly occurred to us both she had never asked my femme last name.
"...L-Layne," I stammered, lucky to find voice at all. "P-pleased to meet
you both."
I extended a trembling hand in their direction. Both men were off their
stools in a flash. Jim shook my hand with a gentle touch — as a man would
shake a woman's hand. Rob turned my hand over and kissed the back of it.
He stood transfixed, staring into my eyes as though turned to stone. Jim
just grinned at his partner's distress. At last, Rob shook his head as if
clearing it.
"I'm sorry," he intoned, embarrassed. "Where are my manners? It was rude
of me to st.... I mean, I couldn't help mys.... Damn, Angelina, you were
right. She is absolutely captivating.
Okay, that helped a little. I was still shaking like a leaf in a Force
Five Nor'easter.
"You poor girl!" Rob stated compassionately. "Why don't you women ever
wear coats? You look great, but even if you take a warm cab, you can catch
your death of cold getting into or out of it."
"When some nice Sugar Daddy buys me a fur," Angie hinted, "I'll even wear
it in July."
"Consider it done, Baby Doll," Jim breezed. "Call it a 'perk' of your new
position."
"Angie is getting a... promotion?" I asked hesitantly.
"Yes," Rob replied with a grin, "for services rendered. Didn't she tell
you? We will announce it officially to the whole company tomorrow. She is
coming upstairs to become an Executive Personal Assistant. That's part of
the reason for our celebration tonight."
"Um, congratulations," I offered lamely.
"Thank you, Sweetie," she responded sprightly. "I couldn't have done it
without you."
I wished she would stop dropping hints like that. So far, they didn't seem
to realize who I was. As long as they didn't, I might still have a job the
next morning. I gathered up all my courage.
"Well," I observed, "if this is a celebration, perhaps we should have a
drink. Would it be too much trouble to order me a frozen strawberry
margarita? Make it the big one; I need it."
Ten minutes later, I was already half-way through the frosty, forty-eight
ounce concoction. It went down so easily! After all, it was just a big
Slurpee — with about a gallon of Cuervo. The others were sipping leisurely
at their cocktails. There had been not a single untoward comment or
reference, regarding me. The two executives, particularly Rob, were
actually warming to me as they would to any attractive woman. Fortified
with liquid courage, I was beginning to respond in kind.
"So, uh, Mr. Nelson," I began.
"Lisa, please call me Rob," he interrupted. "This isn't office hours and
'Mr. Nelson' is way too formal for the occasion — and present company."
"Okay...Rob," I corrected myself. "I just wanted to express my personal
pleasure in your choice of promoting my friend Angie. I know she deserves
it and she will be a valuable asset to you and Mr... uh, Jim."
"Thank you, Lisa," Rob responded. "Angie's promotion is richly deserved.
The men in the Major Trades Group give her rave reviews, particularly
Lance Layton. Perhaps Angie has mentioned him to you? She thinks the world
of him."
I stiffened — hopefully imperceptibly — at the mention of my alter ego,
nodding my assent.
"Lance is the real reason we are celebrating tonight," Rob continued. "He
really put us on the map today. He's the best of the best, and loyal to
the core. Did you know he threatened to quit, and take his whole group
with him, because some blue nose in Employee Relations got a bug up her
ass about Angie's sartorial splendor? He was willing to piss away a
six-figure income, plus stock options, for his secretary's honor. I wish
all my people had that level of personal integrity. Jim and I have been
wracking our brains all afternoon, trying to decide on a suitable reward.
Angelina has even offered a suggestion or two, haven't you Angie?"
She smiled from behind pursed lips and nodded. Her eyes twinkled.
"From what I hear," Rob went on, "Angie is lucky to have a good friend
like you. Your unselfish support of her career advancement is just one
more indication of that. The truth is, she won't be working for us."
"She... won't?" I asked haltingly. "Then who will she be working for?"
"Our Executive Vice-President," Jim answered.
"Really?" I questioned with genuine confusion. "Angie never mentioned you
had one. Who is it?"
The two men looked at each other — and grinned.
"Why, you of course," Rob stated matter-of-factly. "Dear Lady, after your
performance this morning, you could write your own ticket anywhere on
LaSalle Street. I'll do anything I have to do to keep you."
He gazed at me with a whole lot more than professional interest.
"Anything. Anyone who can make us one hundred fifty-seven million dollars
and change in the morning, then show up that same evening, looking like a
supermodel for her date with me, deserves her chair in the Executive
Suite."
My internal clock may have been a little off, due to the effects of stress
and alcohol. As nearly as I can figure it, about one-point-five seconds
elapsed between the time Rob uttered those words and I sensed the first
taste of bile in my throat. Strawberry-flavored bile is not cute.
"'Scuse me," I barked, even as I was bolting for the bathroom door.
As I dashed away, I thought I heard Rob inquire: "Was it something I
said?"
The First Commandment states: "Thou shalt worship no god before Me."
Fine; I won't burn in Hell as long as God is a porcelain throne.
***
I heard her voice directly behind me as I knelt.
"Sweetie? Are you all right?"
"Never better," I gasped. "Purging is 'in' these days. With the right
spin, I may make the cover of next week's People."
I felt her right arm wrap gently around my tummy as I coughed. Her left
hand held my forehead. No one had performed that simple, loving act for me
since my mother. I adored Angie at that moment — even as I despised every
fiber of her being.
"What did I ever do," I wheezed, fighting for breath, "to make you hate me
so much?"
"Huh?"
My stomach finally decided it had done enough somersaults. My breathing
returned to normal. I got to my feet, turned around, lowered the seat, and
collapsed on it.
"You set me up," I cried. "You outed me — to our employers! I'm done in
this town. I'll be lucky if I can get a job trading baseball cards in
Buffalo. Why, Angie? Why?"
She just stared at me as though I had sprouted a third eye in the middle
of my forehead.
"Excuse me?" she exclaimed indignantly. "Did I set you up? Of course! How
else could I have gotten you here under these circumstances? As for the
rest, were we sitting at the same table a moment ago? I could have sworn I
heard Rob Nelson offer you a Vice-Presidency. How, exactly, does that
classify you as 'done in this town'?"
"By this time tomorrow, everyone in the company will be convinced I'm some
kind of freak!"
The raven-haired Latina continued to stare. The corners of her mouth
twitched a bit, then curled upwards.
"Oh," she stated matter-of-factly. "Is that all?"
Angie reached down, hiked my skirt up around my hips, then slipped off my
panties. My damn clitty, not understanding how indignant I was about what
my companion had done to me, sprang to full, painful attention. My
companion then unzipped and wriggled out of her own tight skirt — she
wasn't wearing panties - straddled my thighs, then slowly sank onto my
lap, impaling herself on my rigid rod. Her eyes momentarily glazed over.
She trembled and gasped a sigh of contentment as I filled her drenched
pussy.
"Mija," she intoned, "you need a reality check. You are a freak. Your
instincts have consistently made our company profitable and you a valuable
asset, when the other traders guess wrong as much as they guess right.
That makes you a freak. Today, your instincts caught the commodities
market flat-footed, made this company a ton of money, and likely
positioned it as the premiere commodities brokerage in this city, if not
the country. That makes you a freak. In spite of it all, you are the most
intelligent, kind, loyal, funny, down-to-earth man I have ever met,
working in a world of arrogant alpha assholes. That makes you a freak. If
that isn't enough, you are also the most drop-dead gorgeously-feminine man
in this whole damn city. It goes without saying how freaky that is.
"I could have any man in this city. Do you doubt that? Don't! All I have
to do is wiggle my cute, curvaceous ass, and he would be all mine! I know
how the game is played and I don't mind fucking my way to the top. I've
already had Jim Grant - often. I don't love him, but he's a great lay, and
it doesn't hurt to get in good with the guys who can make your career. I'm
gonna have him again tonight, too — and you are gonna have Rob Nelson.
"I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, which Jim revealed to me over
'pillow talk'. The reason Rob never got married has nothing to do with the
long hours he puts in on the job. He is gay - and has an
industrial-strength Jones for beautiful T-girls. When I saw you like this,
I couldn't wait to put you two together. Did I 'set you up'? You bet your
sweet ass I did — and for good reason! Now, you may have 'missed the memo'
a few minutes ago, but he was hard as a rock the moment he saw you. He
wants you so bad, I can taste it. You heard him; he will do 'anything' to
keep you. What he really meant was, he will do anything to HAVE you.
"Do you deserve this Vice-Presidency on your own merits? Of course you do!
Is that enough — in our world? Sweetie, we are not gonna leave anything to
chance. Here is what you and I are going to do. We are going to pull
ourselves together, fix our faces, fluff up our hair, then go out and make
nice with our dates. We are going to enjoy our dinner, laugh at their
jokes, flirt with them, then let human nature and hormones do the rest.
"Tomorrow, we are going to pack your things, move you upstairs, get you
settled into your new life as an Executive Vice-President — and I am gonna
be right by your side, just as I have been every business day for the last
two years. I know how hard you have fought for me in that time. Don't even
dream I won't fight just as hard for you now."
I just shook my head in bewilderment.
"I guess I can chase away the butterflies in my stomach," I began
tentatively. "I may even be able to screw together enough courage to go
back out there. I suppose I should count my blessings; I didn't stain my
suit or blouse. Hell, if you pump enough alcohol into me..."
I stared at the bowl between my thighs.
"...excuse me; back into me, I might even be able to enjoy myself. But
where, oh where am I gonna find the courage tomorrow to put on a suit and
tie, ride up to the top floor, shake Rob and Jim's hands and sit behind my
new desk, as though tonight never happened?"
It was Angie's turn to shake her head, incredulously.
"You really weren't paying attention out there, were you?" she scolded.
"The man said, anyone who could do the things you have done today deserves
HER seat in the Executive Suite. 'Lance' wasn't invited to The Show; you
were. You are a star, Baby Doll, and I have hitched my star to yours.
Together, we are going to ride this right to the top."
"Angie," I inquired seriously, giving myself the once-over, "I really need
to know. Doesn't all this bother you? I mean me, this way. Wouldn't you
rather work for someone more... I dunno, manly? Do you really want to come
with me?
She stared at me without expression for a moment, then glanced down to
where my 'clit' was buried to the hilt inside her pussy. It was really wet
down there. She gazed into my eyes, a smile curling the edges of her
mouth. She leaned forward and kissed me deeply.
"Do I want to come with you?" she cooed. "I guess you missed that memo,
too. Twice. We'll have to do something about your breath, though. I've got
a pack of those little mouthwash-thingies in my purse."
***
We pulled it together (did we ever!) and slinked saucily, arm in arm, out
to meet our dates. I hoped my smile was somewhere near as dazzling as my
girlfriend's. I exuded bravado I didn't feel. This time, I got it right.
We drank cocktails with appetizers and champagne with dinner. I got it
right with Rob, too. I sat on the inside of our circular booth, next to
Angie. Rob was on my outside; Jim on hers.
The conversation — and confidence — flowed more naturally as my
blood-alcohol level increased. I was snuggled up to Rob just as tightly as
Angie was to Jim. After dinner, my arm was linked through his. I touched
the back of his hand lightly with my free hand to make a point during
conversation. Angie and I did laugh at their jokes — which were
surprisingly good and well-told for two guys from the Executive Suite.
Who'd a thunk it?
We walked out of the restaurant with my arm still through Rob's. My head
rested lightly on his shoulder. Was I surprised when he kissed me? Not
really. Was I surprised I sucked his tongue into my mouth like a vacuum
cleaner and held it there? Well, uh... yeah. What scared me most was, I
liked it. Did I think of Dianna? Immediately! I knew what was about to
happen; at that point, it was inevitable. I knew it was the one thing she
still felt uneasy about in our relationship. I knew all the noble things I
should be doing at this moment. I should politely thank Rob and Jim for a
lovely evening, call a cab and go home (I wasn't sure how hard a time I,
Lisa, would have retrieving the Benz from the secured garage at work, even
at this time of night). I should call Dianna, go to her, find her wherever
she was and tell her I loved her truly, madly, deeply. I also knew none of
that would happen beforehand. Angie and I were going home with our two
escorts, 'to let human nature and hormones take their course.' I could
have told myself I was doing it for my promotion or even doing it for
Angie's. If I repeated it often enough, I might even begin to believe it
myself.
Rob's condo in the John Hancock Building had a magnificent view of the
lake to the East and Lake Shore Drive to the North, with the Drake Hotel
in the foreground and Oak Street Beach just beyond. Rob had me up against
a wall with his hand under my skirt almost as soon as the four of us were
in the door. I guess he just had to check out my bona fides. He seemed to
like my 'bona' just fine; his lurched hard inside his pants. Playing the
ever-so-accommodating 'date', I unbuckled and unzipped his pants, then
sank slowly to my haunches, sliding his pants and boxers down as I went,
allowing his tortured tube its freedom. God, did it ever spring at the
chance!
Rob was not huge; certainly not like Daniel. But he was nice and thick and
meaty and stood straight at attention in my face, which was not only a
huge turn-on but an incredibly rewarding compliment. I kissed him right on
the tip to show my appreciation. He lurched again. I gazed upward into his
eyes — and saw The Look. I hadn't seen it all that often. Once upon a
time, it had been in Susan's eyes. Lately, I had seen it in Dianna's. If
you have ever seen it, you know how it makes those butterflies in your
tummy start a'fluttering and makes you do goofy things; sometimes
consciously, and sometimes on auto-pilot....
I sank forward on my knees and rested my hands lightly on Rob's thighs. I
had one serious lollypop staring me eye-to-eye. The tip of my tongue
traced a delicate path along the underside, from the sac all the way to
the tip. A series of little flicks around the head caused the whole of it
to jump numerous times. I traced back along my original route, laving his
balls upon arrival. I sucked each one in turn while lightly massaging his
firm buttcheeks with my long nails. I turned my head and traced back
towards the tip with my tongue along the upper crest, gently lapping off
to each side, first one, then the other, returning to my point of origin.
My second kiss lingered a moment, with my lips ever-so-slightly parted. My
tongue flicked the tip yet again, spreading the pre-cum which, by this
time, was flowing substantially. I parted my lips a bit more, taking the
head only into my mouth, giving it a more playful tongue-bath, round and
round, first one direction, then the other. One hand lightly grasped his
shaft; the other, his balls. I gently stroked the first, while massaging
the second, ever-so-deftly scraping the sensitive skin with the tips of my
nails.
I took more of him into my mouth, stroking him faster at the same time. I
could feel him tremble, feel his hands on my head, holding me, easing me
forward, urging me to take still more of him into my mouth, deeper,
deeper. I released his balls and reached around once more, massaging his
buns. I traced the length of his crack with my middle finger oh-so-slowly,
from the ilial crest to his scrotum, then back to massage his little
puckered hole. He jumped when I hit it with the tip of my nail.
By this time, I was inhaling his raging member up to my hand. I removed my
hand, placed it on his other butt cheek, and inhaled him even deeper,
until my nose brushed his pubic hair. His pre-cum was flowing continuously
now. I sucked my middle finger into my mouth next to his cock, getting it
nice and slick with saliva and Rob's natural lube. I found his love button
again and, with excruciating care, slipped my finger into it, making
certain I did not damage the delicate tissues with my fingernail. He went
off like a bomb, blasting hot jism into the back of my mouth and down my
throat. Knowing how sensitive a man is after coming, I resumed my light
tongue-flicking on his frenulum, holding his butt cheeks firmly to prevent
his escape. I honestly thought the sensations would drive him mad — but
his erection did not go down a centimeter.
Shouts and shrieks from the direction of the bedroom told me the action
was going hot and heavy in there. That was okay; I was up to my tonsils —
and then some — in action right here. It might have been minutes, tens of
minutes, an hour. I lost all concept of time and space. My entire universe
was the cock in my mouth and I was going to explore every last one of its
mysteries.
My universe picked me up and carried me bodily to the sofa, draping me
over the upholstered arm such that my back rested on the overstuffed
cushions and my hips were raised. Bless his heart, he accepted my offered
K-Y. He thrust into me so easily, as though I had been accepting cock in
my pussy all my life, instead of eleven days. I wrapped my legs around his
thighs and matched his thrusts with my own, closing my eyes, arching my
back, and focusing my entire will on simply being.
Something brushed against my hand. I opened my eyes, to be greeted by yet
another hunk of angry man-meat. I reasoned that, in the heat of passion,
slippery concepts such as 'gay' and 'straight' had less meaning than
slippery lips or a drenched pussies. I had not reached the point of doing
multi-million-dollar trades on the commodities market by being slow to
recognize obvious cues. I opened my mouth and accepted Jim Grant up to the
hilt.
I was being pummeled at both ends — and not-so-quietly going out of my
mind. My own shrieks were muffled by the bulging 'cock gag' filling my
mouth. My love nest was stretched and on fire from Rob's thunderous
assault. My own clitty had found a gap between my panties and skirt hem
and exploited it, standing tall. My attention snapped back from my mouth
and love nest to the gently touch of a hand on my cheek. Angie's face
hovered just over my head, upside-down, as she leaned over the near end of
the sofa. Her smile, like her name, was angelic.
"Is that enough 'roughage' for you, Baby Doll?" she cooed, "or would you
like it rougher? You're close to popping, aren't you? And it's such a
bitch to get cum stains out of suede...."
Her head disappeared. Moments later, I felt my skirt raised even higher,
up to my waist, then soft suctioning on my clitty as slick lips and a wet
mouth descended its length. I had no idea how long it lasted, nor where my
endurance came from. The cocks at either end of me thundered their release
in quick succession. I milked every drop from them with mouth and rectal
muscles. When they were at last spent and limp, I focused my attention on
the last remaining member of our 'party'.
There is something to be said about telepathy. Perhaps it was just the
recognition in the glance of one pair of perceptive eyes to another.
Strong hands had the gorgeous Latina impaled on my clit before she knew
she had left her perch on the floor next to the sofa. She was open and
drenched, but neither so much to deny her pleasure from my aching member.
Take pleasure, she did; openly, vocally, enough to raise the dead. Then
too, the lips teasing her nipples and the mouth sucking her tongue out of
her head had much to do with her passion. When she came, she convulsed
violently, spasmodically. I couldn't see her eyes; rather, I sensed from
the feel of her they rolled up into her head. But for the mouth covering
hers, they would have heard her in the next ZIP code.
I thanked them — for everything — and bid them a sweet slumber. They
begged me to stay, but I demurred, claiming I would have a busy day
coming. They mandated it start late, in view of my efforts 'above and
beyond the call', and that I contact Angie before I do anything else. She
took me aside and kissed me so deeply, I thought she would suck my head
inside-out.
"Will you be all right?" she asked, with a voice tinged with concern.
I tilted my head sideways and gave her a screwball look.
"Depending on your definition," I replied, "I may never be 'all right'
again. I think I will recover. From there, I guess we'll just have to take
it one day at a time, won't we?"
She kissed me again. Her smile banished the night's shadows.
"Good answer, Lover," she trilled. "In case I haven't told you in the last
ten minutes, you are magnificent. Call me?"
I had to laugh.
"No," I intoned solemnly, "after this, I'm afraid I'll just have to walk
away from it all and take up the solitary life of a long-haul trucker."
I trapped her fist before it impacted my shoulder and kissed it.
"Yes, I will call you," I continued. "I have to. If I don't, how will I
get the job done?"
"Damn right, Missy!" she exclaimed.
That reminded me of something really important that needed doing.
Getting a cab at that time of night was partly luck, but mostly a matter
of where you were calling from. No cabbie gave a second thought about
picking someone up at the entrance of Big John. My driver was a little
less enthusiastic about the destination in Lakeview, but Ulysses Grant was
always a strong persuader. If I looked to him like a hooker headed home
from a hot 'date' — well, that wasn't completely inaccurate, was it? It
never occurred to me not to tell Dianna everything, whatever the fallout.
I wasn't going to make the same mistakes that had been made at my expense.
The flashback to Jeff Goldblum and The Lost World was almost automatic:
"No, this time you're making all new mistakes."
As the cab rounded the corner, I spied a tall figure walking down the
steps of Dianna's building and heading in the opposite direction. There
was something about the fluid motion of his body that tugged at my memory.
I dismissed it, paid the driver and hurried up the stairs. Fortune was
with me. Dianna's building was older. The closer on the front door was
hydraulic, not pneumatic. In the February cold, the fluid inside must have
had the consistency of axel grease. I caught the door before it latched.
Hooray! I wouldn't have to ring. I hurried up the stairs and tapped at her
door. She opened it, crying. Her tears turned immediately to a look of
genuine horror, as though she had seen a ghost. From the disarray of her
bed and nightgown, I surmised the departing figure had not been a
coincidence. Well, I hadn't been pure as the driven, either. Still, the
thought he had hurt her hurt me — and made me angry. I did not want to
start off on the wrong foot by demanding details which were none of my
business.
"Y-you should have called first," she sniffed.
"I should have called hours ago," I professed, pushing her down on the bed
and kissing her deeply. "Now, I'll have to make it up to you the best way
I know how. This time, it's my turn to talk."
Did I say it was getting deep before? Call Streets and Sanitation; this
time, I'm gonna need a plow...
