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The goddamn nights were the worst. During the day it wasn't so bad—I could fish, swim, tramp through the pine woods on the island, even force myself to sit at the typewriter and grind out a few more pages I knew my publisher would be screaming for by this time—anything to keep from remembering.
But the nights were different. How could a dream be so realistic I even smelled her perfume, the faint tantalizing woman-smell of her body? And felt the delightful texture of her skin? Were those details actually part of the dream, or did they just come back to haunt me after I woke up and lay there trying to fight the nausea? I couldn't tell. All I knew was that every night brought the same damn dream about Marcia.
Lovely beautiful Marcia.
And it always started the same way, just the way it had happened. It never varied one bit. I opened her door, stepped inside. Then heard the sounds and walked to her bedroom, not believing what I was hearing, and still not believing it even as I watched.
Marcia was stretched on the bed, naked. But she wasn't alone. If it had been just another man, maybe I could have understood. After all, I had no claim on her—not yet, anyway. And if she wanted to get laid by another man—well, that would have hurt me one hell of a lot, but at least I think I could have understood.
But this—Christ, this was something different! There were three men on the bed with her—three hard cocks driving into her simultaneously.
And the thing that made the pain start screaming in my head was the look on her face, the lust-crazed rapture I saw there. My God, I thought incredulously, she's enjoying it! She loves every bit of it! If people wandered in off the street she'd line them up and screw everyone of them silly and be thrilled by the whole goddamn thing! It was that obscene look on her face that made my stomach churn.
Never before had her face looked like that. It had been tender, lovely.
Like it had been that first time—that wonderful first time that seemed so long ago—when we sprawled on the sofa in her apartment and there was a little smile on her face and her eyes were deep sparkling pools as I kissed her.
Warm and moist, her mouth was clinging in its softness. My tongue probed between her lips and she opened for me, letting me explore the wetness of her mouth. Then her own tongue stabbed back at me, hot, demanding.
My hand went to her breast, squeezing it gently. She wore no bra and her flesh was soft and yielding through the thin material of her blouse. I could feel her nipple, already hard, poking through the fabric. My fingers plucked at the buttons on her blouse, opened them, and my hand slipped inside to cradle her bare breast in my palm. She moaned, squirmed slightly to drive her breast harder against me. The excitement began to build in my loins.
My lips pulled free from her mouth and traced a pattern downward. Down her soft throat. Up the steep white slope of her breast to its pink-crowned tip, where I licked her nipple briefly, then drew it into my mouth to suck on it.
Again she moaned, thrust her full breast harder against my face.
My hand dropped to her legs and I explored the warm silky texture of her thighs. Her legs opened for me as my fingers crept up under the skirt to the thin barrier of her panties, played around the edges for a moment, then wiggled inside.
“Darling!” she gasped.
Now her legs splayed even farther apart and she was wide open. Her cunt was already wet. She jumped involuntarily as my finger found her clit, rubbed it briefly, then pushed inside to the wetness of her pussy.
Deftly, her hand opened my zipper, slithered inside. A breath caught in my throat. Her fingers were hot, exciting, as she brought my cock out, fully erect, and caressed the throbbing head, then stroked and manipulated the length of the shaft.
“Lovely!” she murmured. “It's so big!”
I stripped her. There was only a moment to drink in the sight of her nudity, then she was tearing at my clothes until I too was naked. My mouth fastened at her breasts, licking, sucking. I slipped lower, kissing my way down across the flatness of her belly, to finally nestle in the warm wetness between her legs. A long shuddering sigh escaped her as my tongue flicked across her clit.
“Oh, yes!” she groaned. “Lick my pussy! Eat me!”
Spreading her cunt lips with my fingers, I slithered my tongue around in the crevice of her cunt, up one side and down the other. Her juices were flowing. I found the hard pink nub of her clitoris and pressed it between my lips before I sucked it into my mouth and gently nibbled on it with my teeth. Deep in her throat there was a gurgling screech—as she arched her ass upward to mash her pussy harder against my face. For another moment I sucked on her clit, then shifted to drive my tongue as far as I could up into her wet hole. She screeched again.
And all the time her own hands were busy, one of them massaging my balls and the other fondling the hard length of my cock. Between the taste of her cunt and her hands on my dick, I was mad with desire to get into her with something beside my tongue.
I pushed her legs farther apart and started to raise myself above her.
“Not here,” she whispered.
I looked at her blankly. “Where?”
Racing across the room, I was acutely conscious of the way her big breasts bounced and her ass jiggled. Then she threw herself on the bed, spread her legs and opened her arms to me all in one motion.
I was on her in an instant. With a touch like a live coal, her hand seized my prick, guided it to her cunt and I felt the head slip inside. Then I drove hard against her and was buried deeply in her wet pussy. She was in a frenzy as I slammed back and forth against her, her head rocking from side to side, her breasts bouncing, quivering.
“More!” she gasped. “Do it harder!”
She arched her hips from the bed as if to force me deeper inside of her cunt. Dropping my head, I captured one of her bouncing breasts and sucked on the hard nipple. Her nails raked my back and little babbling sounds gurgled in her throat. I felt the sweat trickle down my chest.
Suddenly she stiffened, lifted her ass again. Then she screamed and her body exploded in wild contortions as she came. In the same instant I climaxed too, and felt my cum spurt into her warm pussy.
I collapsed on top of her.
How long I dozed I couldn't tell, but I knew instantly what had awakened me. Lying on her side, she was lightly trailing her fingers up and down the sensitive underside of my cock, alternately squeezing and kneading it.
She saw I was awake and smiled. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
She blew in my ear. “Like to try again?”
I looked down at my prick, flaccid in her hand. “With that? Christ, I think the damn thing's self-destructed.”
She laughed softly. “I can get it hard.”
Wriggling down on the bed so one breast was mashed on my thigh, she flicked her tongue out, licked around my cockhead and then up and down the length of my prick. I felt the first tingling of arousal. Along with her tongue she now brought her lips into play, kissing and licking my stiffening cock.
She smiled up at me. “Told you I could get it hard.”
“Hell, don't stop now!”
“With a lovely thing like this to play with, who wants to stop?”
She took my cock in her mouth, held the head between her lips while her tongue swirled and laved all around it. I groaned. Then slowly, very slowly, her head bent lower and my rod slipped farther and farther into the maddening wet warmth of her mouth until it was sucked in completely. Her nose was buried in the thick pubic hairs at the base and I wondered how she could take it that far down her throat.
And still her tongue worked incessantly, licking, caressing, teasing.
I heaved an agonized sigh. Her head unhurriedly raised and lowered as she licked and sucked, and I knew from the pressure building up inside that I couldn't take much more.
“Better stop, honey,” I warned. “I'm about ready to cum.”
“Let me finish you,” she breathed.
“I want you to cum in my mouth—shoot it in my throat so I can swallow it. Wouldn't you like that?”
“God, yes! But—”
“Then let me do it. I want to please you.”
She dove for me, practically swallowing my prick in her eagerness, while below her fingers traced little patterns on my balls. My body writhed and twisted as I watched the soft slithering of her lips and the hollow spots that appeared in her cheeks as she sucked.
Somehow the tingling and throbbing in my dick were increased by watching her suck. It was maddening enough when I closed my eyes; her mouth worked just as avidly, driving me crazy. But then I opened my eyes and saw as well as felt—saw my cock, rock-hard and glistening with her saliva, slide almost out of her mouth, saw it gobbled up again by her eager lips, saw the way she applied suction to pull the swollen shaft deep into her mouth. Christ, I knew I could never get enough of seeing my prick disappear that way between a girl's lips!
I couldn't hold off much longer. In one way, I yearned for the agony of release and I lifted my hips, spearing my cock deeper into her to hasten it. Yet at the same time I wanted to hold off and prolong the ecstatic sensations as long as possible, and I let my ass flop back down on the bed.
But it was no use trying to delay. She had me on the brink, past the point of no return. Her tongue swirled once more, her lips slid up and down, and I cried out and flooded her mouth with my cum. She swallowed several times.
There was still that little smile on her face and her eyes were still deep sparkling pools as she lifted her head and looked at me.
That was the first time.
After that there were other times. I was with her whenever I could, arrange it and whenever she was free. There were some nights we weren't together because she was plagued with terrible headaches, and several weekends she had to fly home to visit her mother who was seriously ill. And I was miserable the whole time she was gone.
It was something of a shock when I finally discovered what had happened to me. I had fallen in love.
There had been other girls, quite a few of them, but none had affected me the way Marcia did. And it was more than sex. Sure, she was terrific in bed, but that was only part of it. We were made for each other. I found myself counting the hours until I could be with her and then hating it when I had to leave her.
So Chet Turner was in love—me, goddamn it—I was wildly and hopelessly in love and simply couldn't live without her.
Maybe the solution should have come to me sooner, but marriage wasn't exactly an idea that had been uppermost in my mind before this. Anyway, when the idea hit, it hit hard. Nothing would do, but I had to tell her about it right away! Okay, so I was acting like a goddamn love-sick schoolboy, but who the hell stops to think about that? She wasn't expecting me that evening—something else had come up, she said—but I grabbed a cab and took the chance she'd be in and swore at every damn traffic light that held me up on the way to her apartment.
And she was in.
In bed. Naked. With three men.
She was the middle layer of a sandwich between two of them. The bottom one was stretched on the bed and Marcia sprawled on her back on top of him as he fucked her in the ass. Kneeling between her outthrust legs was the second man, his thick prick sawing in and out of her cunt. And the third one straddled her head as she sucked his cock.
And worst of all was the look on her face. It wasn't the face I loved, not tender or lovely—only lewd and lustful—and I gagged as I saw how she reveled in the whole damn thing.
When she saw me standing in the doorway, her eyes flew wide. She wrenched her head to the side and there was a loud plop as the man's cock was yanked from her mouth.
She cried my name and I couldn't tell if it was anguish at what I was witnessing or whether she was inviting me to come and join the crowd—to get on line and wait for an empty hole where I could stick my prick after one of the other guys was through.
At her cry, all movement stopped on the bed and the three men turned and stared at me. I read no surprise on their faces, only resentment at being interrupted. Then the guy by Marcia's head seized her face between his hands and nudged her insistently with his hard cock. There was only the barest hint of hesitation on her part, then she opened her lips, gulped his plunging prick into her mouth, and everyone took up where they'd left off.
I gagged again, puked on her bedroom floor, turned and left. It was the last time I saw her.
By morning she was dead.
From somewhere down in a foggy depth, I struggled awake. Instead of feeling rested, I was limp, exhausted, mentally and physically. It took a moment of plodding effort to even recall where I was. Then a movement of light on the ceiling gave me the answer. I was in my cabin on the island and the sun was reflecting off the waves on the lake to send bright little streaks of light rippling across the cabin ceiling.
Another night was over. For that I was grateful.
I dressed slowly and trudged down to the beach, stood there moodily. Perhaps a swim would snap me out of my depression. I pondered that for a moment, decided it was too much trouble to walk back to the cabin for my trunks. Of course, there was little need for modesty with no one else around. The Jansen cabin, across the island, was the only other place around, and nobody had been there for weeks. But a swim just wasn't worth the effort and I sat on the sand and gazed out at the other island a mile away and watched the sparkle of the sunlight on the waves.
It reminded me of the sparkle in Marcia's eyes. Only there hadn't been any sparkle that last time I'd seen her.
She'd died hard, they told me. Someone had bitten off her left nipple, sliced off her right breast, and held a lighted cigarette against her stomach. And finally put a knife in her heart.
Naturally the police had linked us together and had come looking for me, but they had to admit I couldn't possibly have done it. After I'd stumbled out of her apartment, I'd stopped at a few bars—I don't know how many—and downed several drinks. Somehow I'd found myself near Ralph Edmonds' apartment. Ralph was my lawyer and my befuddled brain reminded me I was supposed to talk to him about the contract for my new book. Then there had been some more drinks and I'd finally passed out on the sofa. Ralph had covered me with a blanket and sworn I hadn't moved off the sofa all night.
I smiled bitterly. Nothing better than your lawyer when you needed an alibi.
Would I have killed her if I'd had the chance? I didn't think so. I'd been such a goddamn fool all those weeks! Her headaches and the things that came up unexpectedly and the weekend trips to visit her sick mother! Her mother, for God's sake—not even the usual sick friend! What an asshole I'd been!
But I didn't think I would have killed her.
Those three men, maybe. Them I would have enjoyed killing.
The police had wanted to know about them, of course, but I couldn't tell them a damn thing. Hell, I'd been too numbed by what they were doing to Marcia. And what kind of description can you give the cops from that? The one fucking her in the ass had a cock about so big? And the one she was sucking was circumcised? That's one hell of a fine description!
Angrily I slammed a fist against my palm. The whole idea in coming here to the island had been to give me a chance to forget. Only it hadn't been a very smart move because I'd forgotten that this was where I'd met Marcia in the first place. She'd been a friend of the Jansens and had come here with them one weekend and they'd introduced us and—
Jesus Christ, how was I ever going to forget?
I left the beach and went up to fix breakfast.
Later I sat down at the typewriter, determined to get to work. And after an hour, when I read over what I'd written, I threw it all away. For a while I wandered around aimlessly outside and when I found myself on the beach again I finally pulled off my clothes and went for a swim. If I was lucky, I might get a cramp and drown.
Instead I decided it was a mistake staying here where I'd met Marcia. It was time to go home and I turned toward shore, wondering how fast I could pack my stuff and get the hell out of here.
Then I stopped.
Standing on the beach was a girl.
Her blonde hair, which I knew didn't come from a bottle, was like a burst of sunlight on a rainy day and the gentle breeze was making it do little jiggly things all over her head. Her wide blue eyes and small upturned nose were framed in an oval face. Open at the neck, the white blouse she was wearing exposed just a tantalizing promise of the rich swell of her full breasts. It wasn't really a see-through blouse but it was sheer enough that the outline of her bra was clearly visible. Through my mind there flitted the stray thought that she probably didn't need to wear a bra because I was willing to bet her breasts were firm and solid without any sag at all. But on the other hand, I reflected, there'd be one hell of a lot of jiggling and bouncing on her chest if she didn't wear a bra, and maybe she found that distasteful. I didn't think I would. Nor did I find anything distasteful about her red shorts—short red shorts—snug at her narrow waist and tight over the lush curve of her hips, providing an enticing view of her long lovely legs.
She was like a vision, a goddess rising from the water. I stared, spellbound, forgetting momentarily to keep myself afloat and a little wave swept over my head.
As I came up sputtering, she laughed. I heard the tinkling of bells in her laughter, and her smile seemed to start with her soft ripe lips and ripple across her face like a wash of light.
“Don't drown yourself.”
“Yeah—well—” I couldn't think of anything witty to say.
“Did you swim from the mainland?”
“Are you kidding? I live here.”
“There—in the water?” Her blue eyes were dancing and I knew she was mocking me.
“Very funny. That's my cabin behind you. I gather you're not staying there—unfortunately—so you must be over at Jansen's.”
She nodded and the mass of blonde, hair did its little jiggly things again. “I arrived last night.
“Been swimming yet?”
“Like they always say—the water's fine, come on in.
“Thanks, but I don't have my suit.”
I grinned. “That's okay. I don't have mine either.
She glanced at my clothes on the sand. “So I gathered.”
“Well, now you know. So come on in.”
“Thank you, but—I guess not.”
I'd been resting motionless, submerged in the water, and was getting cold. “Look, honey, I'm pretty chilly. How would you like to turn your back or take a walk or something?
She grinned impishly. “Why?”
“Because you're practically standing on my clothes and I don't want to outrage your feminine modesty.”
Her blue eyes continued to mock me. “If the situation was reversed and I was out there in the water, I wonder if you'd be that concerned about my modesty and would let me get my clothes.
It was my turn to grin. “I doubt it like hell.'
“Well, at least you're honest.”
For a long moment she studied me thoughtfully, then turned and walked slowly down the beach while I watched the intriguing sway of her hips. When she had gone a little way I scurried in, brushed myself as dry as possible with my hands, and quickly dressed. But by then she was out of sight.
Only then did it dawn on me that I didn't even know her name.
Also I wondered if I hadn't been hasty in thinking about going home. It was probably hot as hell in the city and I could work better right here. Especially if that gorgeous blonde planned on staying around.
A couple of hours later I hiked across the island to find out.
The first thing I saw was her boat—a sixteen-foot outboard, white hull with red deck, a chrome horn just in front of the windshield and a little American flag hanging limp at the stern beside the eighty-horse Johnson.
Then I saw her—sunning on the beach—and at first I thought she was naked. I gulped, felt a sudden dryness in my mouth. But when I stumbled a little closer I saw she wasn't nude after all. Almost, but not quite. It was a tiny flesh-colored bikini she was wearing—the most abbreviated model I'd ever seen—and it didn't cover very much. It somehow made her more naked than if she hadn't been wearing anything at all.
I gulped again. “Hi.”
She smiled at me. “I see you found your clothes, Mr.—”
“All right, Chet. I'm Laurie King.”
“I'm glad we got that far this time—introductions, I mean. You didn't allow time for introductions this morning after I got my clothes on.”
She giggled. “I'm glad no one else heard that. It might be a little hard to explain.”
The top of her bikini couldn't possibly cover her breasts. All it could do was try to contain a little more flesh than it exposed, and it wasn't even doing a very good job of that because the lovely white mounds spilled over, creating the impression that one or both breasts could easily burst free with any sudden movement on her part. And the bottom of the bikini wasn't doing much better. It rode low—and I mean real low—on her hips, hugging those delicious curves and showing one hell of a lot of smooth white skin.
I moistened my lips. “God, Laurie, you're just about the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen.'
“Thank you. But I'm sure that's your standard line with any girl in a bikini. I really shouldn't have worn this. I came close to not buying it in the first place.
That, I thought, would have been a disaster. Aloud I said, “Why?”
“It's so—well, you know—so brief.”
I tried to sound casual.
“Oh yeah? I hadn't noticed.”
She laughed. “You're a very poor liar.”
“You're right. I'm lying through my teeth.”
She shifted her position, turned on her side to face me, and I thought her right breast was going to fall all the way out.
“Tell me,” she said, “do you do anything else in life beside ogle girls in bikinis? Or is that your full-time career?”
“I wish it were. Beside ogling, I'm a writer. And you?”
“I'm a secretary.”
“Yes. The Jansens said I could use their cabin, so here I am..”
She shrugged. “A few days probably. I don't know when the Jansens want to use the place.”
“I heard he was sick. I doubt if they'll be back any more before next summer.”
There was a long silence and then she said thoughtfully, “So we're the only two people on the island.”
I tried not to leer at her. “Yeah.”
She smiled, making her whole face light up, and her eyes were like two little pieces snatched from the sky. “Tell you what. Since we re neighbors, why don't you stay for dinner?”
Love to. I get damned tired of my own cooking.”
She laughed. “I won't guarantee mine is any better.” She stood up. “I think I've got a couple of steaks. I'll go fix them.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. You stay here and relax. I'll call you when it's ready.”
The rolling motion of her hips made for intriguing watching from the rear as she walked away. Hell, it was intriguing watching her from any angle. I stretched out on the sand and thought about it and smoked several cigarettes before she called.
She stepped from the kitchen just as I came in the door, and I stopped and stared. She'd probably say I was ogling again but I couldn't help it.
She was wearing a white dress, but I don't mean that as casually as it sounds because it wasn't just any white dress. It was a tight white dress. A tight white dress that was short as hell and made her magnificent legs look sexier than ever. A tight white dress scooped so low at the neck that it almost showed more of her breasts than that goddamn bikini had done.
And she wasn't wearing a bra.
I'd been right. Without a bra, there was a lot of jiggling and bouncing as she walked. I'd also been right in thinking I wouldn't mind it a bit. In fact, it was fascinating.
My eyes followed her, disbelieving, as she carried something to the table and fussed with other things, arranging and rearranging, then reached across the table to fiddle with something on the other side. Sure, short skirts ride up when a girl leans or bends, but nothing like the way that white dress climbed her thighs. It was so far up I really expected, if she leaned another inch, to see her panties.
If she was wearing any. And somehow, I doubted it.
I couldn't concentrate on the dinner and it was probably a waste of a hell of a good steak because I don't remember anything about it. One thing I do remember, though, was when she bent over to pour the coffee. The neckline on that white dress opened wide and her breasts dangled, full and luscious, right in front of my face. I lit a cigarette and threw the goddamn match in my cup of coffee instead of the ashtray.