"… And furthermore, I have no intention of giving up my art for any togetherness scene, not for a long, long time. I want to be a truly fine artist more than anything in the world!" Jill was insisting vehemently as Dawson put the refilled glass in her hand. Garcia was not deceived, though at that moment, Jill almost believed it herself. She was more angry than hurt now, and she wanted to get back at Chris – and Wendy. The gallery owner had turned her head, and she was convincing herself that her fantasy was nearly a foregone conclusion!
"In that case, Jill, I think I can be of help," the Latin offered.
"You can???" Jill asked incredulously, her eyes widening even more.
"Didn't I tellya, little lady? If anybody can help a struggling artist get to the top, it's this guy right here!" Dawson bellowed enthusiastically, slapping Garcia on the shoulder. Back-slapping was another vulgar gesture of familiarity the cultured Colombian did not enjoy. He edged forward on the couch, giving the printer a pained smile.
"Please, Jack, I am not a Sol Hurok of the art world," he said levelly. "I can merely give Jill the benefit of my experience… and provide her with a studio, materials, models, and the best instructions in Mexico. Oh, and there is an immediate job possibility that would be quite lucrative…"
"Oh! Ernesto, really? You would do all that… for meee?" she piped. "But how… when…? I mean, how can I…"
Garcia grinned broadly. He was charmed by her youthful enthusiasm, and the way she gesticulated as she sat squirming on the couch. "We can discuss it further over dinner. I never ask a lady to do anything on an empty stomach!"
CHAPTER SIX
"Would you gentlemen excuse me? I have to powder my nose," Jill said coyly as she struggled to get up from the plush banquette at the intimately lit restaurant. Both men rose, and, as she brushed past Ernesto, she fell against him unsteadily, the ripe mounds of her buttocks pressing into his loins. He grabbed her elbow with one steady hand and placed the other on her waist, guiding her surely out into the room. She didn't know what was the matter with her – the sensations in her hot little pussy had grown and grown until she couldn't stand it any longer – she had to do something. She had the wildest urge to reach over and grab the handsome Latin's cock and fondle him under the table. She had never felt like that before. But worse, there was a feeling of emptiness inside her vagina, the feeling that it needed to be filled with a man's hard, wildly fucking cock!
She made her way to the ladies' room, breathing a grateful sigh when she found herself alone. No time to lose. Locking the door of the stall, she quickly ripped a paper seat cover from the dispenser, placed it on the toilet and reached up under her dress to roll down her pantyhose. Then she sat back, spreading her long, shapely legs out in front of her, her head against the wall.
The puffy, furred crease between her legs was already swollen with warmth and raging desire. She parted the pouting lips with her feverish fingers, shivering as the cool air produced yet another exciting titillation to her throbbing furrow. She teased the little bump of her clitoris, advancing her finger further down the slippery passage. Her finger moist, she worked it into her cuntal chamber, then out again, bringing it up the length of her pussy and onto her clit once more. She let out a sigh as shivers of delight coursed through her. God, she was hot! She had to cum! She needed to cum more than anything in the world.
Her eye caught sight of some prurient graffiti scratched on the inside of the door. She blushed scarlet as she read the lewd suggestion: how about eating your cunt? Oh God, that was too much – another woman wrote that! A woman eating her cunt, the way Chris had done; locking her, sucking her, using female lips and tongue to make her cum the way Chris had done… (Her finger was moving faster and faster, in and out, up and down, around and around in the deliciously responding groove of her pussy. She was breathing faster and harder, drawing close to a longed for, self-induced climax.) Ohhh, oh nooo… ohh…yessssss! eat it! Suck it! FUCK ME! SUCK ME! Anybodyyyyyyy!!!
She writhed and spasmed again and again on the toilet seat, relishing the bliss of her orgasm, her fingers still stroking furiously up into her hotly gushing pussy, when suddenly the outer door opened and two matronly women walked in. Instantly, Jill pulled her legs back and flushed the toilet, still rocking from her orgasm. She swore under her breath at the interruption. She could have cum and cum, and even then, she felt somehow unsatisfied. Her climax only left her wanting more! God, what was wrong with her? She could barely control herself. She felt like grabbing the first man she saw and thrusting her scalding pussy into his face or onto his big hard cock!! Oh, if only Chris were here, she bemoaned, I'd do anything he wanted – I'd suck his cock, even let him fuck me! No – what am I saying! God help me!
The two matrons halted their conversation in midair when they caught sight of her. A quick glance in the mirror told her why: her face was flushed and her eyes glazed, her mouth had a slackjaw appearance, and she was weaving noticeably.
"Are you sick?" one of them asked sympathetically.
"No… no, thank you, I'm OK," Jill answered unconvincingly. She splashed cold water on her face and touched up her hair and makeup as best she could. She had trouble focusing on the mirror image. The room seemed smokey; there was a haze around the lights. Her tongue felt thick and she had a curious and unpleasant taste in her mouth. With an enormous effort of will, she drew a deep breath, smoothed her dress and walked out of the ladies' room, determined to make each careful step purposeful and regular.
The two companions at the plush banquette had been conversing intently in her absence.
"You fool! It was stupid of you to put it in her drink!" Garcia's eyes blazed. He was speaking through angrily clenched teeth. "You had no right to take matters into your own hands. The only way it can work with her is by total assent. The note must be in her own handwriting. We don't want her waking up tomorrow morning with a bad case of remorse and a keen desire to be elsewhere! Do you want every federal agency on the continent breathing down our collars?"
"But Don Ernesto," the burly printer argued, "back in the hotel room you said…"
"I know what I said," he cut in icily, "and I know also that the plan is unique. It was impromptu, so to speak, because I recognized the unique virtue of the girl, of her circumstances. This is not intended as a permanent arrangement, as with the others, don't you see. Most of them have no family ties, no situations that are easily traceable. Nor are they virgins. Jill is an experiment… and as with any experiment, one has to be exceedingly cautious. Ah… here she comes. Let me handle it…"
"Well, there's our little lady, looking prettier than ever!" Dawson said jovially, as both men rose to greet the drugged young artist. Jill exerted all her motor control to get back into her place without falling over the stocky printer. She could feel his coarse breath on her back as she slid into the banquette.
"What's that?" she asked dumbly, looking at the miniature cup with the syrupy black liquid.
"It's Turkish coffee, Jill," Garcia offered. "Very sweet and strong. Perhaps you'd like to try it?"
"Coffee… yes. Coffee," she answered dazedly, putting the small cup to her lips. She liked the taste. Coffee would help.
Suddenly she looked point blank at Jack Dawson. "Your wife, why didn't she come?" She had totally forgotten about the frumpy matron until that moment.
Dawson cleared his throat. "Say… that's right! I've got a bone to pick with her! That was downright inhospitable of her, wasn't it? 'Course, knowing Merle, I'll bet she's still sawin' logs over't the motel!" he laughed heartily.