She felt his maledom deflating inside her. God! it was like something slowly dying, something that had once been so terribly alive. It continued to twitch, but more slowly… until, finally, it lay quiescent. Then, after about a minute, he pulled it out. She heard the soft plopping sound when it was removed… almost like a cork coming from a flat bottle of champagne.
Sylvia felt him lie down alongside her. She hoped he wouldn’t say anything. She needed time to think. She heard him swallow; his spittle sounded like dry sandpaper sliding down his throat. Sylvia knew that within the last hour she had discovered a wanton streak in herself She had never realized that sex could be so wonderful. And that was Bruce’s fault! Goddamn him… the dirty son of a bitch. She had wasted twelve years of her life on him… twelve long dry years in which he had led her to believe that she was a “frigid neurotic female incapable of feeling anything for anyone.” And all that time, Bruce had been sleeping with everything and everyone that wore a skirt. Twelve years! Well, she would show him. Oh, how she would show him! He’d pay for those twelve years, and it would seem like he was paying one day at a time.
Shelton’s breath still hadn’t returned to normal when he felt the woman turn over to face him. Her eyes were unfathomable; he thought she looked pretty angry about something though.
Sylvia said, “Is your camera focused for the next photograph, the fellatio one?”
Wearily, the detective nodded, and blindly reached out of the remote cable.
“Will the picture show it when… when… you cum in my mouth?”
Shelton felt a jolt go through his half-awakened body. He nodded once more. “It might take awhile, though, for me to build up strength again.”
Sylvia wanted to get the thing over with as soon as possible. “What’s the fastest way to build you up again?” she asked.
Shelton grinned broadly. “Just suck; it will do the rest.” He watched, fascinated, as the woman lowered her head down and her golden hair fell across his stomach and her warm lips ovalled and then dropping fastened uncertainly around the head of his cock. She was inexperienced, but instinct told her what to do. The soft warm suction began and, within seconds, the miracle of resurrection had occurred.
CHAPTER TWO
Shelton had been too weary that night to develop the film; as a result, it was after two o’clock the next afternoon before he withdrew the negatives from the soup and examined them in light. As he looked at the developed film, his prick stirred to life again. Of them all, probably the best of the batch was the one where she was blowing him, he thought.
He didn’t even remember taking the picture, so lost had he been in the overpowering sensation of her lips and tongue working on his cock. The photograph showed him with his straining buttocks lifted at least a foot off the bed as he seemingly sought to jam the spurting cock deeper into her eager throat. Shining white cum squirted from between her pooched out lips. The woman’s expression was the most surprising thing about the picture. On her face was a look of sheer, unadulterated exaltation… as though she had accidentally stumbled upon the legendary Fountain of Youth.
Shelton thoughtfully hung the negatives up to dry and went back into his office where he sat, feet propped up on the desk, staring out the window and seeing nothing. For a moment yesterday afternoon, he had entered paradise. A beautiful, seemingly untouchable woman. The world of softness. An expensive velvet comforter hiding satin sheets atop a king-sized bed… not a threadbare and grease-spotted corduroy cover hiding the sagging springs of his own pathetic pull-down Murphy bed. Once again he felt her body thrashing beneath him, screaming out obscenities that were never truly “obscene” coming from the throat of a woman in a fit passion. Once again he tasted the rare elixir of her vagina. Once again he felt his tongue trembling at the threshold of her anus. He groaned deep in his throat and was abruptly angry at the realization he was actually feeling sorry for himself “You stupid son of a bitch,” he snarled aloud, castigating himself “So you got to fuck a rich man’s wife. Does that spoil screwing poor women for you? Isn’t one cunt just as good as another?” Even as he said the words, he already knew the answer to the questions: Yes, she had spoiled everything. Her money had nothing to do with it; she could be in debt up to that wonderful ass of hers, and it wouldn’t make any difference. He’d had her; and as obviously inexperienced as she was, no other broad could ever be the same again for him. Angrily, he fished for a cigarette and then cursed as he found the package was empty. He threw the pack at a waste basket and shook his head mournfully as it hit the rim and bounced When the phone jangled at
that moment, he almost ripped the cord from the receiver when he yanked it up and growled, “Yeh?”
Her voice came over the line. “Mister Shelton?”
He took a deep breath and tried to sound civilized. “Yes, Mrs. Akron.”
She didn’t waste any time in getting to the point. “How did the photographs turn out?” He could sense her embarrassment over the phone.
For a split second he thought about telling her the film had been ruined and that they would have to do it over again. Then he realized she wouldn’t buy that and, besides, it would be a reflection of inefficiency on his part. “They’re O.K.,” he said non-committally.
He heard the sound of her swallow over the phone and then her voice was brisk and businesslike. “Good. Are you willing to continue working with me?”
“More photographs,” he wisecracked and almost blew the whole deal right there.
The heat of her anger came through the miles of wire. “Don’t be smart, Mister Shelton.”
“Sorry.”
“All right. Here’s what I want you to do.
First: I need to get in touch with at least three different… ah ‘wife-swapping’ organizations. I want to know the name of each of the club’s leaders. It would be better, I believe, if they were from another part of the state. They must be high-class people, however, No tramps! And… one of them has to be an all-Negro, or mainly Negro, club. Is that understood?”
Shelton blinked and scratched his right ear thoughtfully. “That may be a tall order, Mrs. Akron. Christ! I’m not even sure where to start.”
“At two hundred dollars a day plus expenses, I’m sure you’ll find a place.”
“It’s liable to take a week or so…” he began.
“I don’t care. I’ll give you a retainer. Will a thousand dollars be enough to start?”
Shelton, speechless, merely nodded and then, suddenly realizing she couldn’t see his nod of acceptance, said quickly, “That will be fine.”
“Good. Incidentally, I don’t know anything about these organizations, but I would suggest you begin looking at the Santa Barbara Royal Yacht Club for a group. It’s common knowledge that they have an active bunch that swaps with other yacht clubs. Perhaps you can find the all-Negro group in the San Francisco Bay Area. For my plan, I will need at least twelve couples altogether. No more than fifteen couples though.”
Slowly, Shelton brought his feet down off the desk. He realized he probably should keep his mouth shut, but he also knew the question had to be asked even if he got his head snapped off “Mrs. Akron… would you mind telling me just what you have in mind?”
She didn’t answer for so long a time that Shelton began to think she had left the line, then he heard her inhale and exhale loudly as if she had just reached a decision. “You’re entitled to know, I think. I’m planning a little surprise party for my husband. He’ll enjoy it so! I want him to come home to me… at midnight… after visiting his little tart, and I want him to walk in on a wild orgy. He’s a brilliant banker, but a small-minded, possessive, selfish, petty little bigot. He hates Negroes. And I want him to see his wife being made love to like the lowest harlot by a black man. I want him to be humiliated in public, with lots of people around to see him squirm. I want big very big enlargements in the hallway of me… and you… in bed together!”