by Leo Sullivan
Freddy took a look around the place. She had pictures and awards that covered almost one entire wall of the room. He could not understand how she could possibly be unhappy with all her success. “Why don’t you just leave then?” he asked.
“I can’t. It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
She sighed and began to stretch her neck from side to side, re-crossing her legs. She wanted to trust him, to confide in him, and for some reason she felt more comfortable with him than she had with a man in a long time. She stared at him.
He looked up to see her staring. It was strange, but he had seen that look on a woman’s face before, eyes veiled in that I-have-a-secret look.
“You don’t mind me staring at you, do you?”
“No,” Freddy lied. Looking at her now, he remembered the scene back at the mansion, Marilyn lying nude in the bed.
“I just can’t believe this.”
What?” she asked.
“It seems like I’ve stepped into another world--the twilight zone.”
“What do you mean by that?” Marilyn asked as she eased closer to him.
“All this.” He pointed his finger around the suite. “And back there at the mansion. Whoa! That old white cat was livin’ large. I gotta admit that was the first time in my life bein’ around a white person. Dude scare the shit outta me for a minute.”
“Anglophobia,” Marilyn announced.
“What?” he asked with a what-the-hell-does-that-mean scowl.
“It means a fear of white people.” She smiled slowly, seeing she had struck a nerve.
“Hold up, I ain’t scare of no white man.”
Marilyn burst into hilarious laughter. Freddy looked at her quizzically and then asked, “What’s so damn funny?”
“Everything… Bob running around naked… Me, I almost pissed on myself.” She continued to laugh, her drink spilling on the couch as tears ran down her cheeks. “And then he put an apple up his ass.”
“A what up his ass?” Freddy asked incredulously.
“That old bastard put an apple up his ass,” she repeated.
Freddy joined her in gay laughter until his sides began to hurt. He then added a joke of his own. “That horny-assed dog had an erection watching you. What was up with that?”
“I don’t know,” Marilyn said as she laughed out of control.
“I… I…” Freddy was laughing so hard it was difficult for him to speak. Intoxicated by her nearness and the drink, he stumbled with his words. “I… put that ugly-assed dog in the refrigerator.” Then laughed at his own joke so hard he heard a “hzzzzz” sound escape his lungs as he gasped for air.
He looked up at Marilyn to find her face as cold as ice, a completely new person, her eyes black beads of fire. She raised her voice. “You did what?”
“I put him in the freezer.”
“No, you didn’t,” Marilyn huffed as the room suddenly became quiet, the laughter dying somewhere in their throats. Now sad, Marilyn asked with concern in her voice, “How could you do such a cruel thing?”
He shrugged plaintively, bowing his head and then slowly raising it before looking away from her. He could feel her watching him with a repugnant stare. He then met her stare and a smile furrowed his brow as flippantly he drawled, “Psyche! I didn’t put his ass in the fridge, but I did put him in the closet.”
Marilyn took a playful swing at him and missed. “Boy, you play too much,” she said with her lovely face aglow. Once again the room filled with a jubilant laughter that seemed to spread contagiously as Freddy enjoyed the bounce of Marilyn’s breasts straining against the soft fabric of the delicate material. The ebb and flow of their laughter gradually eased back into conversation as he now gazed at her, the shoulder strap of her gown having slid off and part of a soft pulp nipple inviting his attention.
“I just can’t believe this… I’m sitting here with you and I’m being paid to do it!”
“You could get paid a lot more, more than you could ever imagine.” With that she placed her hand on his lap and Freddy could have sworn that he felt jolts of electricity run through his body.
Marilyn gulped down the rest of her drink and Freddy imitated her by gluttonously swallowing the last of his own. It might taste like fire, he thought, but it sure made him feel like he could conquer anything. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and was just about to boldly reach for Marilyn. The liquor was talking to him now, but when he looked at her, for some reason, she had her eyes closed.
God, she was so beautiful, he thought as he looked at her. She murmured something unintelligible and then a single tear rolled down her cheek. “I can’t do this,” she moaned, and then, like fragile doves, her delicate eyelashes fluttered and opened, her eyes brimming with tears. Freddy was about to say something, but she placed her finger ever so softly on his lips, silencing his words. His eyes asked a pleading, “Why?”
She smiled through her tears as she leaned over and kissed his lips. He could taste her tears as he realized a woman’s temperament would forever remain a mystery to him. How could she both cry and smile at the same time? Mesmerized, he watched her as she stood and almost lost her balance. She hobbled over to the stereo and turned up the volume, the sensuous tones of Chaka Khan’s dulcet voice filling the room.
Marilyn, as if in a trance, began to sway back and forth as she hugged herself and began to sing with the voice of an angel. It sent shivers up his spine. Marilyn Fox could sing her ass off, and high of Hennessey and lust, she hit notes that only an opera star could achieve. She turned right on cue and sung with a finger pointed at him:
“I wish you were my lover, but you act so under cover, to love me child my whole life long, to be it right or be it wrong…”
She sang with such passion and emotion that at the end of the song, Freddy gave her a standing ovation, and she blushed. For the first time, Freddy thought he saw something different in her, a glint of the way young women always looked at him, but in Marilyn it was stronger. Whatever it was, she was seriously trying her best to convey it to him. He felt it settle on him like a second skin.
He continued to clap his hands as Marilyn smiled that same smile she had always proudly displayed at her father’s church every Sunday when people came from miles around to hear the preacher’s little daughter sing. Beaming in radiant womanhood she took tiny steps towards him and looked up into his eyes. Now close upon her, he could feel the heat from her body.
“Where did you learn to sing like that?”
“My daddy’s church.” For no apparent reason they were both whispering as if afraid of shattering the fragile moment.
“You sang in your father’s church… a preacher’s daughter… Daaammn!” He droned. He couldn’t help but think bout all her good upbringing and looked down at his shoes self-consciously.
“Young nigga, I know what you’re thinking, and it ain’t like that. I have a little street game too. You know I’m attracted to your ghetto ass.” With that she turned and fixed them two fresh drinks.
Freddy had to smile to himself, knowing she was trying her best to sound like one of the home girls. She wanted to impress him. If she only knew with a body like that, as long as she kept it moving, she was doing more than impressing him.
With drinks in hand they both sat down. She placed her feet on his lap, her body leaning away from him, allowing him a magnificent view. Even her small, pedicured feet were beautiful. She watched his eyes roam the curves of her body, coquettishly teasing him by opening her legs just a little.
“A handsome young man as fine as you must surely have a girlfriend…” He just smirked at her with raised eyebrows, but did not answer. She nudged him with her foot.
“Yeah, I have a girlfriend.”
Marilyn popped up on her elbows, balancing herself and the unexpected anger that jolted her. “Aren’t you a little young to be in love?” she asked her eyes slitted inquisitively.
Freddy just smiled at her as if enjoying himself, bobbin
g his head to the music. Marilyn snatched her feet off his lap so fast he knew something was wrong, her facial expression confirming her anger. She stood, taking his glass, and strutted to the bar.
When she returned her demeanor had changed back to normal, only now she displayed a pixie smile that seemed out of place. She held a glass to his mouth and he drank. She moved her body closer as the strong whiskey dripped down his chin. Ever so slowly, she bent down and licked it off, at the same time sucking his neck. It tickled him to arousal, his body responding. She moved away and watched him closely, noticing that his reaction was just what she wanted. Even his young eyes were like melting novas. He had a small scar behind his right ear, and with a delicate fingernail she began to trace it. He flinched a little. She stroked his ear affectionately.
“Damn, you have some soft hands,” he purred, hearing the quaver in his voice. She watched his large Adam’s apple swallow air and wondered at such timidity and shyness in a man of twenty-one.
He looked up at Marilyn, her expression intent, purposeful, that of a skilled surgeon about to perform an operation. Only now did he notice that the top button of her gown was undone. Her succulent breasts were now almost fully exposed. They eagerly returned his stare, huddled in the confines of the sheer material.
A deft hand sketched a figure eight on the fly of his pants as she slithered closer. He could hear her breathing as she licked his neck, her breath releasing a potent femininity that searched his body and soul for a place to deposit her raw lustfulness. The scent of her rushed through his nostrils and into his brain.
He tried to kiss her, but she moved away, avoiding him, waving a finger in admonishment. “No, no, no,” she intoned. Boldly he tried to kiss her again, but she intercepted him with a well-manicured hand over his mouth.
Quietly she arose from the couch and stood over him. He looked up at her in perplexity. Slowly, like a beautiful angel, she began to shed the gown. It shimmied to the floor and she stepped out of it. She was confident of the effect her gorgeous body had on men, and she now worked it like a snake-charmer. Her body’s symmetry was voluptuous, its contours that of a curved hourglass, punctuated with a small waist and long, athletic legs. At five-foot-ten and one-hundred-thirty-eight sculptured pounds, Marilyn Fox possessed the arch-typical body of a sex goddess. And now that Freddy looked at her, it seemed that even her large, pendulous breasts defied gravity with their honey-colored erectness, nipples the size of quarters pointing at him.
Marilyn dropped to her knees, her erect breasts pressed against his legs. All the while her dark, unblinking eyes seemed to almost dare him. She pulled down his zipper, priming her lips.
“I bet your little girlfriend can’t love you like this,” she murmured in a salacious drawl. “Freddy, tell me you want me as much as I want you.”
He nodded his head up and down as if that would speed up her movement. She toyed with his pants and finally, like a Jack-in-the-box, he sprung out at her, his abundant endowment making her breath catch in her throat. It seemed as if his organ filled the whole room. “Child, you could hurt someone with that pole. Ummph, ummph, ummph,” she muttered, shaking her head from side to side. “Don’t move,” she said as she got up and gave him a long, sultry kiss.
Freddy watched her hips as she left the room, quickly returning with a tube of something in her hand. His elongated shaft was still ramrod hard.
“What’s that?” he asked.
The tube was marked “K-Y Jelly.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she rubbed the substance into the palms of her hands. She got back on her knees between his legs and began to stroke him with both hands. With each stroke, his legs twitched and jerked convulsively. Even his toes curled in his shoes as she manipulated his body.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He placed his hand on her head pulling her to him. She responded, allowing him to push her closer… closer… closer, with her mouth open and her breath hot upon him. With deliberate purpose she planted a tiny kiss on the head of his organ and it responded and jerked as if it was about to explode, but then she moved away.
She was tempted to straddle him right then and there, to test the depths of her womanhood, but she had other plans for Freddy Thugstin. She looked up at him coyly. “Do you want to make love to me?”
Freddy spoke with urgency, almost demanding. “Yes!”
She stood, her breasts swinging and she clasped them together, licking and caressing them. Feeling left out, Freddy reached to touch one of her erect nipples, but she slapped his hand away. He felt like a horny eunuch as he looked at her still slurping and slobbering on her own swollen, hardened nipples. It was then that he noticed her gaped inner thighs glazed in her own juices.
She grabbed his hand and led him to her bedroom. Inside were Victorian mirrors encased in fine oak frames and a King-sized bed. He looked at himself in the mirror, his organ stretched out long.
“I want to teach you how to make love to me. I want you to kiss me here.” She pointed her finger between her legs, placing it inside her vagina, and then putting her wet finger in his mouth, keeping it there as she grabbed hold of his organ and rubbed up against it. He could feel her furry hair rubbing against him, its moist opening welcoming him. On her tiptoes she whispered up to him, “I will fulfill all your dreams and fantasies, and give you any part of my body you desire. No matter how you want it or how you like it.” She then fell back on the bed, her legs spread wide, beckoning him, the furry bush appetizing, her vagina sparkling wetly as she caressed it.
Freddy looked down at her and stroked himself, licking his lips in anticipation as she used her forefinger to spread her labia.
“Come give me a kiss-kiss,” she crooned. He climbed into bed as she spread her legs wider, he placed his mouth between them. If only Freddy could have seen the pompous smirk on her face, how she felt she had completely cajoled him into performing such an act. But she was taken by complete surprise. He was good, real good! Better than she had ever expected. She found herself in a near frenzy as she grinded her pelvis in his face. She felt his tongue in too many places.
“Oooowee…ooowee,” she moaned as she began to hump his face. Vigorously, her athletic thighs held his neck in a vise-like grip and he realized that he could hardly breathe. Her hands thrashed frantically about his head and shoulders. Freddy’s tongue slithered trails of saliva, prodding, searching, impaling her womanhood. In ecstasy, her spine curled involuntarily up to meet him in a duel of conquest, her body nimble. She realized that she was losing control fast. Somehow he had turned the tables on her and it was he who now manipulated her body’s unbridled passions, his only reward a submissive whimper. She was powerless to resist his wanton lust, and she felt as if she was being molested relentlessly by the young thug as he skillfully used his hands and mouth to invade her body. On the edge of a shivering orgasm, she felt herself about to let go, but for some reason he pulled away. So near, she felt like crying.
“Baby, what did you stop for? Please don’t stop,” she whined through pouting lips. “I was just about to—“ She looked into his eyes, dark and opaque, his breathing labored. She smelled whiskey mingled with her sweet sex, his mustache saturated with her own pre-juices.
He stared glassy-eyed at her over the mounds of her breasts, beads of perspiration cascading succulently down the ridge of her taut stomach. With his senses numb, he felt a slight tingling sensation… something was wrong! In the druggy slumber of his semi-drunken haze, he could have sworn he saw a glint of silver movement to his right as he vaguely heard Marilyn’s pleadings. He tried desperately to discern what was nudging his senses. It seemed useless, until suddenly the shadows seemed to come alive. Marilyn screamed at the top of her lungs, like a scene from a horror movie, only this was too real. Freddy felt the point of a gun prod the base of his skull.
“Look at you young blood, I told you this bitch was tricky. Now she got you cleanin’ her kitty. The only thing worse than an old fool is a young fool.” The thick baritone of Billy Dawson’s voice v
ibrated the room as the gun barked, exploding in the dim darkness, a flash of brilliant blue…
Chapter Thirteen
“Police!” Sasha recognized the noise as coming from a police radio, even before the elevator door opened. She spun the wheelchair around and pushed off quickly in the opposite direction.
Freddy reached back seizing her wrist in an attempt to bridle her panic as they heard police spilling out of the elevator behind them. He spoke calmly in an attempt to quell her fears. “Sasha, don’t run. Slow down!”
“Freddy, I don’t know what to do… We’re trapped!” Her voice quavered with fear as her pace slowed.
They blended in with the patients and staff occupying the hall. With undaunted poise, Freddy spoke succinctly, in control. “Sasha, up to your right, near the end of the hallway there’s an emergency exit door.”
She saw it ahead. As she walked toward it she heard footsteps running up behind her. Just as she turned, a nurse ran by. Sasha sighed with relief as they entered the emergency doors.
Freddy was also relieved as he looked around to see a staircase and janitorial elevator. He pushed the button for the elevator, the doors dinged opened immediately, and she wheeled him inside. He pushed for the first floor and the old elevator squeaked and jerked in complaint as they slowly descended. In a fit of feminine frenzy, Sasha grabbed hold of Freddy and pecked kisses all over his face, catching him completely off guard. “I love you, I love you,” she said over and over as he tried to thwart her slobbering assault on his face, especially his broken nose. “I will never understand a woman,” he thought to himself, as she continued to kiss him.
The doors jerked open onto the final floor, and undoubtedly the most dangerous leg of their escape. Sasha watched as Freddy stood, folding his right leg beneath him, sitting on it, and then pulling his gown down to cover it, making it appear as if he was a one-legged man.