Small grinned and sipped his coffee.
The camera looked up from the bed as the door opened. Another young woman came into the room. She was a young . thing, certainly no older than twenty. She was slim but well-formed, with little rounded breasts and long graceful legs. She was wearing a light blouse and skirt, and had sandals on her feet.
Pretty, thought Small. Youthful and fresh-looking. He lit a cigarette and sat back more deeply in his chair, the butt in one hand, his coffee cup in the other.
The young woman walked over to the bed and stared down at the sleeping woman for a moment Then she turned and crossed to a chair on the other side of the room. She began to remove her clothes.
Small’s grin spread across his face.
She took off her blouse first, and dropped it on the chair. Then she unbuttoned the waist band of her skirt and dropped it to the floor She was wearing now only a bra and thin cloth panties. Her breasts were quite small, but perfectly-shaped, and her hips were angular. The panties did little to conceal her charms.
She reached up to the straps of her bra and pulled them down over her shoulders. Her fingers took hold of the upper rims of the bra cups, turning them down to reveal the twin buds of her breasts. Her nipples were small, but very dark. The tips were flowering with excitement.
She slipped her arms free of the bra straps and turned the garment around on her body until the fastener was just under her shallow cleavage. The hard elastic of the straps caught the under-edges of her bust and lifted the tender globes upward and out into twin perfect spheres.
Her fingers undid the fastening, and the bra fell away from her body.
Lovely, thought Small. His eyes were fixed on her breasts, and he wasn’t aware of the absent manner in which his finger caressed the warm curve of his coffee cup.
She touched her own breasts then, cupping them, lifting them. Her fingers teased the delicate flesh. Her lips opened, her eyes closed, her face contorted with pleasure.
Small was breathing very deeply.
The woman removed her hands from her breasts finally, and slipped off her panties. Her thighs were slender, with a delicate hollowing of young muscle inside them.
Odd, thought Small. The woman was unusually youthful and fresh-looking to be in a film of this type. He watched the subtle interplay of muscle and bone as she lifted one leg and slipped off her sandal, then did the same for the other. It wasn’t often a female with such unspoiled and unconscious grace appeared in one of these films.
Watching her, Small had the feeling that the day was getting off to a good start.
On the screen, the woman was now totally nude. The harsh light of hidden flood lamps bathed her body in brilliance, making every line and hollow of her body stand out in bold relief. There wasn’t a single portion of her naked beauty that wasn’t visible to the eye of the viewer.
Small was enchanted.
Naked, she walked again to the bed, her body moving with the same voluptuous combination of young girl and mature woman she had displayed while undressing. She lifted a knee and climbed into the bed, lying down on her side. She crossed her arms again, hugging her breasts up tightly.
She waited.
Small leaned forward a trifle.
The sleeping woman stirred. She yawned and shifted position. One of her hands came out and touched the other woman’s flat little belly.
The woman opened her eyes. She turned her head on the pillow and looked into the other’s face.
The girl smiled.
Small also smiled, but rather tightly.
The woman slid her arms around the girl’s shoulders and drew her body across the bed to her own. Their lips met in a long probing, kiss.
Small’s breath began to hiss in and out of his moist lips. He felt a tension along the line of his jaw, and realized his teeth were clenched.
The woman removed her mouth from the lips of the girl. She rolled the girl onto her back, cupped the shape of one breast in her hand, and kissed it.
The girl’s face went blank with pleasure. After a moment, she slipped her delicate fingers into the woman’s long hair.
Small felt himself twitching, but was powerless to do anything about it.
The girl’s slender legs were shifting on the bed, rumpling the sheets beneath her. The woman dropped her free hand down the girl’s thigh and caressed it.
It seemed almost to be a signal. From that moment on, their love-making ceased to be a langorous casual thing, and turned into fury of perverted delight.
The woman pulled away, sat up on the bed, and dragged the hem of her negligee from under her buttocks. In one motion, she drew the garment off over her head and tossed it away.
The girl sat up also, watching her, breathing deeply, her eyes devouring the shape of the woman’s mature bust, the heaviness of her thighs.
The woman lay back on the bed then.. Her round belly was rising and falling in shivers of anticipation. She reached up a hand and touched the girl’s cheek gently.
Instantly, the girl lay down next to the woman, and put her arms around the woman. The girl’s small breasts met the woman’s huge ones, tip to tip. Their bodies clenched together in an ardent embrace . . .
There was more to the film, of course—much more. It was all familiar to Small, but he watched it with interest, anyway. He never really tired of this particular thing. Lesbianism fascinated him, because it was the one sexual practice in which he couldn’t indulge.
Those two females on the screen were enjoying an embrace together—a lesbian embrace. But if a man were to suddenly join them—any man, even Small himself—then their activities would cease to be lesbianism, and become a simple heterosexual combination of one male and two females.
Lesbianism was a delight to watch, but it was made even more delightful by the fact that it was forever out of reach.
Small loved every minute of it.
When the film ended, the room lights came up again. Small lifted his body from the chair and left the room without bothering to replace the reel in its protective can. This morning’s eyeopener had done wonders for him, and he was too anxious to get to the day’s business to worry about minor details such as the safety of a stag reel.
He hurried back to the bedroom, took the card from his vest pocket, then went down the hall to the elevator. He rode to the second floor, went to his main bedroom, and dressed, humming happily to himself.
The telephone stood on a table near his bed. He sat down and looked at it for a long anticipatory moment. Then, holding the card firmly in one plump hand, he lifted the receiver and began to dial.
* * *
The woman was almost asleep when the phone rang.
Her chin was resting in her cupped palm, but she snapped her head erect instantly at the first sound of the bell. Her eyes couldn’t quite focus for a moment, and the fingers of her hand felt dead. She shook her wrist vigorously to start the blood circulating again.
The phone rang a second time.
At the third ring, she arose stiffly and went over to the table. Her neck and back were aching again. The shower’s help had been only temporary.
The fifth ring died into silence. She picked up the phone.
“Yes?”
“Madam Fury?"
“Yes.” The woman was surprised at the direct manner of her caller. “This is Madam Fury speaking.”
“My name, Madam, is Burton Small,” said the voice. His tone was as open and jolly as the patter of a used-car salesman. The woman didn’t like the sound of it. She searched through her mind, trying to think which one this could be.
“I’m calling,” continued the voice, “in response to a card I received bearing your name and phone number. I’m not at all certain the card was intended for me, so I would appreciate it if you would explain the nature of your services. I have, you see, a rather special problem.”
Her fogged mind cleared a little. She’d heard already from the young lesbian and the man, who’d turned out to be a sadist, of all
things. She’d handed out the card to only four people— so this caller had to be the fat man, the one she’d seen standing on the pavement in front of a cigar store while driving to the apartment. Burton Small, she thought—yes, the name fit him.
“A special problem?” she repeated. “Would you describe it?”
“Well, before I do that Madam, I would like to ascertain precisely what it is you are offering. Am I to presume that . . .”
“Anything,” said the woman. “Everything. A satisfaction for every taste.”
“That could describe a restaurant, Madam.”
In spite of herself, she smiled. “I refer to delights other than food.”
“I rather thought that was the case. Your services, then, are of a sexual nature?”
“That is correct.”
“Marvelous. Beautiful. You can’t possibly appreciate how happy that makes me.”
“Quite so,” said the woman. “You mentioned a special problem.”
“Ah, yes. It is, indeed, a problem. I daresay you have never run across such a problem before.”
“I have seen everything,” the woman replied.
“Ah,” said the man. “And so have I. And that’s the problem.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Madam, for the past twenty years of my life, I have pursued with single-minded devotion the hobby of sexual pleasure. In the course of those years, I have traveled the world over, ravished the delights offered at every port of call, sipped from cups of pleasure so exotic and strange that language cannot describe them. I have, as I said, seen and done everything there is to see and do—sexually, that is.”
The woman hunched her shoulders with fatigue. “I see. Rest assured that whatever pleasure you may hunger for can be satisfied. If you will name your desire . . .”
“I can’t,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know what I want,” he went on. “I have an idea. All I can tell you is that I’m looking for something new.”
“Something new,” she repeated.
“Precisely. Only . . .” He paused.
“Only, what?” she prompted.
His voice held a sorrowful note as he continued. “Only, there isn't anything new. I want to try something I have never tried before—and as far as I can determine, I’ve tried everything.”
The woman shook her head in wonder. When she’d seen the man standing on the street, she had figured him for a nut—but never a nut of such monumental porportions as this.
“Everything?” she asked. “Have you tried . . .”
“Madam,” he interrupted. “Spare us both the tedium of cataloging sexual delights. I know them all. Please believe me when I say there is nothing you can name with which I am not familiar.”
The woman grinned in sudden inspiration. “I see,” she said slowly. “In that case, there is nothing left for you but The Climax.”
“I beg your pardon, Madam?”
“The Climax,” she continued, trying hard to keep the grin from distorting her voice. “It is a special treatment we keep in reserve for such people as yourself.”
“Whatever it is, I’m certain I’ve tried it at least once.”
“Impossible,” said the woman. “If you had, you would know it by name. Indeed, if you had ever tasted the incredible delights of The Climax, you could never be satisfied with anything else.”
“My word,” said the voice. “Is that a fact?”
“Yes. The Climax is the ultimate in erotic pleasure. It is reserved only for those, like yourself, who have reached the limit of experience. The Climax is precisely what its name implies—the moment of transcendent pleasure, the crowning instant of erotic satisfaction.”
“My word,” said the voice in awe.
“All pleasure fades to pale insignificance beside The Climax. And beyond it—there is simply nothing. It is the absolute peak. Once you have been there, you have no place to go but down.”
“And you—you offer this service?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take it. When can this be arranged?”
“Would tonight be satisfactory? Say, just before midnight?”
“Splendid,” he said. “Where are you located?”
“Staten Island,” she replied. “Bliss Place and Eugene Street. To reach it, you . . .”
“No directions are necessary,” he said. “I’m sure a competent cab driver will have no difficulty finding it. If you will just give me the address . . .”
“You’ll know the house when you see it,” she said.
“Will I? Yes, now that you mention it, I’m sure I will.” He chuckled. “I shall be there promptly. And as for the fee . . .”
“There is no fee,” she said.
He didn’t seem to have heard her. “. . . as for the fee, rest assured it will be met, regardless of amount. If you can truly provide me with what you have described, no price can be considered too exorbitant.” He paused, and she heard him smack his lips. “The Climax,” he said. “My word . . .”
He hung up.
She stood with the phone in her hand for a few seconds, then set it back in its cradle. She felt rather foolish. Without meaning to, one of her invitations had drawn a connoisseur, a man wise in all the ways of sexuality. Such a person could be dangerous. If he was too sharp, he might throw a monkey wrench into the entire plan.
No, she thought. It wouldn’t happen that way. No matter how wise the fellow might be, he must also have more than a little of the sucker in him. No rational educated person would ever have swallowed that song-and-dance about The Climax unless he was a hopeless moonstruck romantic.
He would cause no trouble. In fact, it was possible that his presence would enhance the pleasures of the evening.
She went back to the couch and sat down again. The pleasures of the evening—there wouldn’t be any pleasures unless that little blonde waitress called soon. She was a keystone to the success of the plan. The whole operation could fail apart without her, and render all the careful preparations valueless.
The waitress had to call. She would call. Everything had worked out perfectly so far. Three of them had risen to the bait exactly as anticipated—a lesbian, a sadist, and a surfeited sexual gourmet. Only the waitress was left, and she was probably the most simple-minded of the lot. If the woman was any judge of human nature, that waitress’s curiosity was going to be eating her alive until she mustered the courage to call.
And when she did—when the virgin had checked in, as had the other three—then everything would be ready to go.
The woman eased her sleep-starved frame back into the cushions of the couch, and waited.
* * *
Ginny was awake.
She rolled her head on the pillow, and saw that the alarm was due to go off in a very few minutes. There was no point in trying to get back to sleep again for such a short time. Besides, Ginny felt curiously slept-out and wakeful She wanted to be up and about She had the feeling there were things to be done, although she couldn’t name them.
She sat up, threw back the covers, and got out of bed. When she lifted the window shade all the way to the top of the frame, warm sunlight poured in, bathing her naked body in heat.
Naked?
She looked down at herself, and discovered that her pajama bottoms had worked themselves off during the night. They were on the bed, tangled up on the coverlet. She smiled at the realization that she’d spent the night, or at least part of it, totally nude.
She didn’t sleep in the nude usually. Most of the time, she wore a complete set of pajamas. She preferred to be^ clothed at all times, even when she was alone and asleep in her own bed. There was no particular reason for this; she simply felt safer that way.
Safer. An odd thought, really. Safer from what? There was no point in hiding unless you were being menaced by something, and there wasn’t anything or anybody menacing Ginny as far as she knew.
Except perhaps her own mind.
/> She thought of the dream, and an echo of the pleasure she had felt came back to her. Would that dream have been as weird and exciting if she had gone to bed wearing a set of pajamas? No, it wasn’t likely. The feeling of the sheets against her naked breasts had probably been the beginning of the thing, and once the dream had started she had writhed and thrashed until her pajama bottoms had worked their way down to her feet.
If she had been wearing pajamas, she wouldn’t have been able to fondle her own bust—and if her hands hadn’t touched that flesh during the dream, then the phantom woman wouldn’t have touched her either, and all that strange excitement and pleasure would never have occurred.
Of course, it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Dreams like that were wrong. They recalled dirty thoughts and crazy ideas. If sleeping in a full set of pajamas Would prevent such a dream from ever recurring, then obviously that was the only way to sleep.
She smiled at her own thoughts, and decided not to worry about it. Things were too wonderful and bright this day, and she didn’t want her own silly thoughts to spoil the perfection of it all.
She made herself a brunch of eggs, toast, and coffee. After rinsing the dishes, she went to the bathroom and took a shower. By the time she had dried herself and dressed, it was one o’clock in the afternoon.
There was really nothing for her to do until six o’clock this evening when she went on shift at the diner. Because she had weekday afternoons to herself, Ginny did all her shopping and chores during the week when the crowds were at their smallest. Saturday afternoons she usually reserved for having some fun—taking in a movie, going for a swim if the weather was right, or simply strolling.
The idea of taking a walk appealed to her. She left her apartment and took the elevator down to the street. To her delight, she found the day as calm and pleasant as it had looked from her window.
The Jaded Sex Page 10