by Troy Conway
Her open mouth caught my lips.
When we started to break apart, Laura joined us, offering her own ripe lips to my mouth. I felt her wet tongue slither between my lips for a few seconds while her hand found its way down my front to where my libido had its living quarters.
“Mmmmm-hmmmm!” she breathed, squeezing.
“Being randy is dandy,” I managed to gasp, “but don’t you think we ought to get down to business? After all, I have to earn my keep by killing, you know.”
“Now, don’t be a spoilsport,” Midge smiled up into my face, shaking her head as her nimble fingers began sliding combs and hairpins out of her golden mop. Her yellow tresses started coming loose. On my other side, Laura Ogden was grinning wickedly.
“Which one of us gets him?” she was asking.
“Me,” stated Midge, cudding my left leg between her thighs, her right arm hooked about my lean waist. “I need him more than you do. I’ve been cooped up on that isl—”
She broke off, looking guilty. I leaned to kiss the tip of her nose. “There’s plenty to go around,” I assured her. “I have a thing going for me. Priapism.”
Laura blinked. “What’s that?”
“I’m a phallic perpetual motion machine. I never run down or out of fuel. I just keep chugging along.” Midge let her eyes go wide. “That on the level?”
Laura murmured, “How can it be? Act your age, Midge.”
“I’ll prove it,” I promised them. “Who’s going to be first?”
Midge whispered, “Me!”
Laura shrugged, a wicked glint in her eyes. “All right, you take Midge. I’ll—er—keep busy while you’re wriggling navels.”
Midge was shaking her shoulders back and forth. Her bold eyes were fastened on my face so she could read my stupefied admiration as I stared at her jiggling breasts, her smoothly mounded belly and the fluffy golden fleece at her loins. A tiny voice whispered in my mind that she was coming on strong—too strong to be natural.
She let the robe trail to the floor. Her thighs were soft, untanned, and the curving calves and dimpled knees added to her amoral attractiveness. Maybe she was a nympho, I told myself. I had had experience with nymphomaniacs in my work as founder and teacher of L.S.D. I could sympathize with them, since in a sense, with my priapism, I was a male nympho myself.
I drew Midge by a hand toward a sofa. I said, “This isn’t going to be any quickie bout, honey. You deserve only my best efforts.”
Midge beamed as I kissed her soft shoulder, then ran my lips down her spine to the cleavage of her buttocks. While I was doing that, my fingers were busy yanking off my turtleneck sweater, unbuckling my belt and sliding down my pants. My hands carried my jockey shorts right along with them.
I heard Laura gasp as she stared.
I might be going under the name of Albert Frame, but it was as Rod Damon, founder of the League for Sexual Dynamics, that I made my appearance. I took a step forward and began my tick-tack task. My tongue slid around on creamy skin, as Midge oohed and shivered. My fingertips ran all around her softly fleshed hips. I knelt down behind her.
“I’ll build a jump suit of kisses for you, Midge,” I murmured, using my lips in that manner which the Hindu erotologists named the Coral and the Jewel, “all over your divine flesh.”
My teeth and my lips joined in the tribute I paid to her beauty. Each plump cheek was a meadow on which to browse like a lamb scrabbling for goodies. Midge was shaking pretty much by the time my Coral and Jewel kisses had gone down her thighs to the backs of her knees. My mouth could feel her trembling.
I turned her and kissed up her body in front.
Her head was flung back, her eyes were closed and her red lips were parted to aid the hurried breathing which shook her breasts. On either side of her rounded hips, her hands had formed fists, to help her control her emotions.
When I got to the golden fleece, she could not restrain her wail of ecstasy. I burrowed deeper, she screamed thickly as I played the part of Eunus to Phyllis, as Ausonius has related in his Epigrams. I formed the delta, the psi and the lambda with my tongue and her flesh.
I was not finished, but Midge was. She shook and convulsed, bending above me with her head down so low her long blonde hair brushed across my spine. Her voice screamed out the intensity of her pleasure.
I let her fall back onto the couch. On a foot and one knee, I lunged forward, my palms sliding up her underthighs to catch her buttocks. Together, we formed the el asemeud of the Arab world, with her thighs pressed backward against her breasts by my weight even while my hands gripped her shoulders.
Five minutes went by, ten minutes.
Midge was a blonde bomb exploding in a series of catastrophic convulsions as I went on being Rod Damon. My pride had been stung a bit by Laura Ogden; I was determined to show her and Midge that my every word was a true one. I think Midge fainted after a time.
At any rate, Laura was grabbing my arm and trying to yank me free. She was cursing, sobbing and yelling that I was killing her friend. I think she was jealous, because when I whirled on her and her eyes fell to my groin, a red flush tinted her cheeks.
“Get those slacks off,” I panted.
She tried to slap my face but I am an expert in judo, karate and other assorted forms of mayhem which include the art of self-defense. I brushed her right wrist aside with my left, with my right hand I grabbed her French-knit sweater and yanked.
Laura screeched, “You’ll ruin it!”
She tried to fight but I was far too strong for her. I had the cowl-neck sweater up and half off one arm before she realized what I was doing. My lips went to the wobbling breast nearest my mouth. My weight bore her back onto the hook rug.
Her hands tried to push my head away.
This left my own hands free to work on her slacks. I got them down her milky thighs, I pushed one leg free. It waved around in midair before I could tighten my grip on her bumping hips. The fight went out of her as I went in.
She panted as her eyes blazed fire at me, but her female flesh was betraying her. She had watched me with Midge, she wanted a piece of the action. Now she had it and she knew damn well what to do with it. Her hips lifted and swung, looped and rolled. She was touching the floor with her heels and the back of her head. She was engaging in the feminime response known as “the juicing of the orange.”
Her position—cramped between me and the floor, on her heels and head—prevented her from fully enjoying this movement in which the orange half is likened to the female organ and the squeezer bulb to the male. So I caught her up in my arms, lifting her off the floor and walked with her to a straight-backed chair. I planted my rump and let her rest on my thighs so her toes could touch the floor for support.
She had her eyes closed all this time. When she felt my arms drop away to free her hips, she opened them and glared at me. Her lips were contorted grotesquely as she panted words at me.
“Damn you! Damn you! I’m going to drain you and then I’m going to kill you! Do you understand that? I’m going to kill you and—”
She was making talk to help delay her orgasmic reaction to her situation, I figured. I was wrong. I found out later she meant it.
Right now I just let her do her diddling dance while watching her heavy breasts swing and sway before me. Her face was a mirror reflecting the inner turmoil of her all-girl parts. Laura Ogden was engaged in a tail-wagging tantrum that lifted her psyche up and into the Elysian Fields, so anything she said was not to be believed.
I had her figured for the kind of a female who talks and talks and talks even while engaging in erotic exercise. Just goes to show that even a sexpert like myself can make a mistake now and then.
Finally she slumped against me, soft and warm and wet with sweat. My arms cradled her gently. She moaned, knowing my manhood was still in its criomediac condition.
“Well? Believe me now?” I asked gently.
“I do,” said Midge, standing beside me, starting to push Laura off her perch. “Co
me on, come on! I want another whack of that!”
“It’s time for business,” Laura stated.
“Buttonhole business,” Midge snapped. “Now climb off!”
She pushed Laura so that the brunette had to step down to maintain her balance. Instantly Midge was taking her place, swinging a leg over my lap and dropping right on target. She smiled in delight, settling herself with a wicked wrench of her hips, then leaning forward to kiss the tip of my nose with her parted lips.
“No rush, honey,” she breathed. “You took the bite out of me. I can go nice and easy now. No sweat.”
We went nice and easy for a while. Then Midge began to pant and buck and jump. “My God, you aren’t for real,” she sobbed, going into a violent climax.
“You can say that again,” Laura snapped tartly.
I lifted my eyes, staring over a bare white shoulder at Laura Ogden. Except for her high-heeled shoes, she was standing there before me stark naked. She made a very interesting sight.
Especially since she had a gun in her hand.
The gun was aimed at me—the best part of me.
CHAPTER TWO
I blinked a couple of times, but the gun was still there. It did not weave; it was as steady as a rock. My first instinct was to push Midge away and make a dive for the Smith and Wesson.
I managed to control myself. Laura Ogden did not look as if she could possibly miss at such a distance. She was five feet away. And the thought of a .32 bullet ploughing into my flesh was not at all appetizing. So I kept my hands on the white hips I was holding and made back and forth motions with them, causing Midge to whimper and move her haunches the way I wanted.
She came to life, straightening up and swinging her hips like a hula dancer. I was still looking at Laura, trying to read her expression.
“Why the gun?” I asked.
Midge was startled. She turned her head, saw Laura and the blue-steel revolver. “No, Laura—not yet! Not yet, goddamnit!”
So my blonde boussole was in on this scheme to get rid of me. It did not lessen my desire, knowing this, but it did change the trend of my thinking. I had two women to overcome, not just one.
“Why?” I asked.
“You aren’t Albert Frame.”
“Of course I am!” I asserted, my heart sinking.
My premonitions, built on the puzzled looks Laura Ogden had given me and the speed with which Midge Priest had thrown her nakedness at my maleness, were coming true. The girls, with some sort of feminine intuition, had guessed at the truth.
Laura Ogden gave a wicked smile. “Then if you are, Albert Frame has changed his habits, his entire personality.”
The longer I could keep her talking, the better off I would be. “How come? I thought you’d never seen me before.”
“I never have. I was only told one thing about you by our mutual acquaintance. That the real Albert Frame is a fag, a queen, a fairy. He could no more be aroused by women than this gun. Catch wise, mister? It was our only way to know the real Albert Frame.”
Midge was whimpering, “Not yet, Laura. Oh, not yet!”
The Thaddeus X. Coxe Foundation is a pretty thorough organization, generally speaking. This time they had goofed by not discovering one little fact about the man I was pretending to be. If I ever saw Walrus-moustache again, I would suggest a few improvements to be made in his methods of interrogation. Especially when I was involved in the situation.
It didn’t look as if I’d ever see the Old Man again, however. So if I was going to get out of this squeeze, it was up to me.
“Our mutual friend lied to you,” I said.
“Why should he do that?”
“He—ah—was jealous of me. I—ah—stole his girl friend.”
Laura hooted. “Our mutual friend is a girl, dummy!”
“Right! She’s a lesbian.”
“Nice try, whoever you are, but it just won’t wash. Hurry up, Midge! For God’s sake, haven’t you had enough yet?”
“I can never get enough of this wonderful man. Laura, do we have to.kill him? I mean, he’s like a treasure. And what a treasure! Oooooh! Ooooooh!”
Midge was catapulting into a frenzy.
I took advantage of the fact that Laura took her eyes off me long enough to stare at her spy buddy, to tighten my fingers in the naked hips flailing away at me. I dug my fingertips deep into soft female flesh. Then I hoisted her off and flung her through the air at Laura.
The brunette squawked in surprise as Midge slammed into her. Both girls toppled, slamming onto the floor. I was right behind them, diving off the chair in a long, low arc that brought me down on top of naked girl-flesh with a resounding thump.
My left hand went for the gun. I wrapped fingers around it, I yanked at it. Laura had her finger wrapped about the trigger. The gun went off almost in my face. Luckily, the barrel was pointing at the far wall at the time. My hand wrenched, the gun came free, and I hurled the Smith and Wesson through the window. The glass pane gave way with a satisfying crash. The last I saw of that revolver, it was headed for a clump of bushes.
Midge kicked me in the belly and the wind went out of me.
Tears were streaming down her face and she was sobbing like a sick calliope. “I ha-hate to d-do this, ho-honey,” she wept, but her bare foot kicked me again, right smack in the solar plexus.
I felt like being sick, but I didn’t dare. I had to overcome these females or let them kill me. I lunged, grabbing Midge where her pain would be the worst when my fingers tightened. I made contact. I made pain. Midge screamed, both hands on my wrist, trying to dislodge my grip on her femininity.
“Laura! Stop him! Oh my God, get him off!”
Laura tried. She leaped and her hands plunged for my male equipment to pay me back in kind. I raised my left knee. Her face ran into it, hard. She shrieked and forgot my manhood to put her hands to her face. I saw blood streaming from her nose just as I launched myself at Midge. The blonde was scrambling to her feet, and I got a fast look at her jellying white buttocks and a long pale leg an instant before she whirled and kicked.
I was too weak to avoid that foot. The wind was out of my lungs, my muscles felt like water. My neck would still work, so I turned my head. But not fast enough. Midge rammed her heel into the side of my jaw.
The leg muscles are a hell of a lot stronger than the arm muscles. I could let Midge hammer my jaw all day long with her fist without minding it too much. Her leg was something else. Her bare heel was like the fist of a Jack Dempsey; it rocked me back on the floor, half out of my skull. I gasped and flopped, trying to get up.
Laura was as mad as the proverbial wet hen by this time. With blood flowing from her nostrils, she landed with both knees on my middle. This time I went flopping like a gaffed fish, unable to breathe, unable to stop her hands from clawing at my delicacy.
I heard Midge yell, “Not there!”
Something hit my thigh and I was dimly aware of Midge wrestling with Laura, trying to prevent her from really ruining me as a man. Laura was sobbing, panting harshly; Midge was weeping with the tears running down her cheeks.
More wrestling sounds, more panting. Then Laura must have quieted down, because when she spoke, it was in a more normal voice.
“All right, you win. But we’ve still got to kill him.”
“I su-suppose so. But it’s such a waste!”
There were some more words. I never heard them. I was floating in a kind of stupor right about then. Midge’s heel had really popped me. I felt myself being lifted by the heels and dragged with my head dragging along the floor, out of the living room and into the kitchen.
“He’s heavy,” Midge panted.
“Yeah. We’ll just push him through the cellar door and let him go the rest of the way by gravity.”
“Don’t you have any heart at all?”
“Sure I do, but he’s out cold, he won’t feel anything.”
Somebody opened a door and I felt a draft. Then the girls were pushing me through the open door.
My head felt a stair tread, then I was turning over slowly and starting my downward fall.
“One more time,” Midge gasped.
“Wander wherever you will—here we come!” Laura snapped.
My body seemed to take wings. It practically flew down the stairs. By the time I hit the cellar floor, I was far out beyond the world. I had passed out.
I thought I was dead when I opened my eyes. I was in utter darkness, there wasn’t a light anywhere. And all my senses were reeling. I hung between earth and heaven for what seemed an eternity. Heaven was a place of celestial music with angels flying around, I told myself in a dim corner of my mind, so I was not in Heaven.
And Hell was a red flame of fire, with devils holding pitchforks. I gathered that I was not in Hell.
Limbo, then! Limbo is a place of exterior darkness.
But did Limbo smell? Of gas?
I could suddenly hear the hissing sound. The stench was even stronger. I groaned and rolled over. I was on the cellar floor and my wrists and ankles were tied. There was a gas burner somewhere around here, probably used to heat water, and the valve was open.
I crawled across the cellar. The stone floor was like ice on my naked flesh, but there was a little starlight outside—it was night, right enough—and the starlight plus my night vision enabled me to make out dim shapes.
I was trying not to breathe, of course. I was sick enough without taking in any more gas from the metal bottle somewhere outside the cottage. I made it to my knees, which were not tied. I crawled around that damn cellar for what seemed to be forever, but which couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.
My head found the water heater by bumping into it. I turned my back and sat down with my spine resting against the tank. My wrists were tied together, but I could still fumble around with my fingers.
So I fumbled around until I located the shut-off valve and turned it. The hissing stopped but the cellar was still full of gas. I fell over on my side and wanted to be sick. I knew I was going to pass out, and that maybe the gas already in the cellar would be enough to finish me off.
I didn’t dare enjoy the luxury of sickness. I had to find a window and open it so the clean night air could come in here and revive me. I leaned against the water heater and made it to my feet. I hopped around to the small cellar window, high in the wall and close to the ceiling. With my wrists tied, I could never open its catch.