“Yes.”
He swallowed audibly, feeling the blood beginning to surge to and fro in his groin. “Everything?”
“Everything, Mister Shelton. Including, I believe the technical terms are ‘fellatio’ and ‘cunnilingus’.”
“Jesus,” he muttered softly, staring at that luscious body opposite him. Never before had there been such a wonderful crazy proposition offered him. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead, and he used the palm of his hand to wipe it away.
“Well? Will you do it… for an additional two hundred dollars?”
The private detective had wanted to blurt out that he would do it for nothing… would be happy to pay her! But he kept his mouth shut, sternly telling himself, “Don’t louse this up, Tod old boy. Let her take the lead.” He tried to look as if he were weighing the pros and cons of the situation. After a moment, he said, “That would be very satisfactory.”
“Fine, then. Go get your camera, come back and set it up in my husband’s bedroom.”
Ordinarily Shelton could have made the camera and tripod setup in less than a minute; however, he was so excited by what was about to happen that it took over five minutes and three trips back to the car before he had everything, including the remote snap cable,
The woman had disappeared following his last trip back to the bedroom, and now he could hear the shower running in the bathroom. He didn’t know what to do… whether to get his clothes off, or wait for instructions.
About three minutes later he heard the water die and the sound of a glass shower door snap open. He was staring out the window at the blue waters of the patio’s Olympic-sized swimming pool when he heard the voice behind him. “I have washed myself for you. Would you care to take a shower, also?”
He spun quickly around and felt his breath hiss out of his body just as if he had been kicked in the groin. “Sweet Jesus,” he groaned, and his penis leapt to a sudden throbbing life as his famished eyes took in her lush nude body. Her harvest moon breasts, still damp from the shower, shone as if they had little lights buried beneath the warm golden skin. The areola, about the size of brown half-dollars, created little halos around the nipples. Her belly was smooth, as gently rounded as an alluvial plain, where it flowed toward the hairy tributaries of her soft pubic triangle. She had a woman’s hips, he observed… a real woman’s. Her thighs were almost muscular; they looked powerful… and the thought of those wrapped around his waist or across his shoulders brought immediate pain to his loins. “My God… you are so beautiful,” he said, reverently.
Sylvia refused to accept the compliment; she wanted to keep this on strictly a non-personal basis. It was imperative that he realize he was only a servant… that under ordinary circumstances she wouldn’t give him the time of day, much less her body.
“I think you should take a shower,” she said coldly, “And you can use my husband’s electric razor to shave.”
For one split second, anger flared in Shelton’s mind. But then he shoved it aside, thinking to himself: Just wait, baby… just wait. In less than twenty minutes you’ll be screaming for me to fuck you good. Just wait.
He sat down and slowly took off his shoes and socks. One of the socks had a hole where the nail of the big toe had gouged through. Next, he removed his coat, his tie, shirt and tee shirt. He watched the woman with some amusement. She looked completely off balance… Embarrassed… obviously not knowing whether to stay and see the strip tease or get out. To hell with her, he thought, and he dropped his trousers. The huge bulge of his penis threatened to rip the seams out of his jockey shorts. Then, never taking his eyes from her, Shelton pulled down the shorts.
Sylvia knew her eyes had widened, that her face had turned crimson, as she saw the mammoth penis leap out like a tiger released from a cage. Good Lord, it was so big! Her eyes were locked on the white throbbing instrument. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, after all. He would split her with that; she didn’t know how any woman could take it. Then feeling sudden guilt and embarrassment, she forced her eyes up to his face and saw that he was watching her with amusement. That made her very angry. “Take your shower,” she commanded.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered in mock meekness.
Sylvia watched him walk across the room. His testicles dangled like huge twin pendulums on a clock, and his organ was stuck out and up in an angle that made it look like an elevated artillery gun being sighted before firing.
Now that he was out of the room, she tried to force her mind into some semblance of order. She felt that all of the photographs probably could be taken in about two or three minutes. They would be posed. The detective obviously would want to try to have real sexual intercourse with her but she would permit him to put his penis inside her only long enough for the photograph to be taken. She wouldn’t permit him to make any movements, nothing! Just the photograph. As for the other two or three things she was forcing herself to do, well… she’d do them and permit them to be done to her, but she knew she would be fighting regurgitation all the way. And she’d gargle and douche thoroughly afterwards!
Abruptly Sylvia realized the water had been turned off and she was now hearing the muted whine of an electric razor. Then it, too, fell silent. She sat, apprehensive, on the edge of the huge king-sized bed waiting for him to make an appearance. Her usually orderly mind was beginning to churn. Once again she began to doubt the wisdom of what she was about to do. Was it really wise or logical to debase herself just to publicly embarrass her husband? Wasn’t that stupid? The door opened and the detective entered. It was obviously her imagination, but somehow he looked different. She noted for the first time that he was extremely muscular through the shoulders and arms. He was stocky; his bull-neck and legs looked as if they belonged on a football fullback. He appeared much cleaner… more acceptable as a male, she thought. The only thing that hadn’t changed was that mammoth cyclopean penis that bobbed and throbbed with each beat of his pulse.
He stood in the middle of the room, feet spread apart, and hands on hips. “Well?” he asked.
She took one deep shuddering breath and then stood. “Let’s get over with this as fast as possible,” she said. “Which picture do you want to take first?”
“I’ve focused on the end of the bed.” He motioned where she was to be. Sylvia moved next to the camera. She was suddenly very aware of the odor of after-shave lotion; it was her husband’s yet it seemed to have more vigor… seemed more feral… than when Bruce used it. Unaccountably, her knees were beginning to feel rubbery.
Shelton made an adjustment on the camera then unfastened the remote cable from the leg of the tripod. He turned to her. “Sit here on the edge of the bed.”
“You want me to sit?” Sylvia repeated idiotically.
He smiled; she noticed his lips… they looked strong, too. “Yes, sit. Because if you want to have a photograph taken of someone eating your pussy, it has to be that way.”
Sylvia recoiled at his crude obscenity. “Watch your language, Mister Shelton. You aren’t with a street whore now.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said sarcastically, and put one strong hand on her shoulder and pushed her naked buttocks down to the bedspread.
Sylvia tried to regain command of the situation. She watched as he took the long wire cable from the camera and put it at the foot of the bed. Then, without warning, he knelt down between her ankles. She was incapable of movement, feeling almost like a hypnotized bird watching the snake approach. Only then did her mind begin shouting storm warnings at her, but she ignored them and forced herself to continue.