Bless Claudine, she thought, weeping tears of abandon as she spent gloriously on Rollo's fingers! Bless Claudine for knowing, and bless her for providing irresistibly, knowing the agony she was causing by forcing that prick against the clitoris of the split woman, Louise wrenched the cock from its nest in a drenching gush of spunk and threw her mouth at the gashed, slashed and angry vagina, drinking and sucking in sheer gluttony at the spigot of sperm that flooded, white and mucousy, over the gaping hole. And, having drunk, she fell forward overcome, to join the group on the blankets.
Rollo new what had happened. Madly excited now, he just had to fulfill his own lust. Seeing the cunt that had been so nearly split in two, he released his organ in one movement from its imprisoning fly and he bore down on it. The woman was past all feeling now, but Rollo was not. Into that cunt he plunged, and with only five or six fiendish lunges, he drenched his own load, time and glorious time again, deep into the dancer's bowels, listening to her screech of agonized protest at the second, unexpected, rape she had just endured.
All were now satisfied and after long moments, each stirred.
"My God," said the dancer. "Rollo, you slay me. Why the arch-backed act, then?"
"So that we could see it," said Rollo simply. "It's as wonderful to watch as it is to do, isn't it? Agree? Louise wanted to see. So did I."
"Then thank God for Louise," said the man.
"Who's Louise, anyway?"
"Visitor here. Friend of Claudine's."
On stage the ten naked girls were still rehearsing, doing the staccato routine of the "St. Louis Blues" again. From where the four people now lay, it was obvious that the pianist was having difficulty in providing the music. His penis, in the full frenzy of erection stood lecherously out of his opened fly, swaying like some bizarre conductor's baton to and fro between his thighs.
The man could play the tune in his sleep, but he needed both hands to beat it out.
And there, on stage, tantalizing him, were those flashing cunts as legs kicked up and circled out, revealing their red, hairy-nested, inviting sexual lips. Each one was shaven. Each, in the eventual show, would be covered by the black patch that the law demanded.
But now each was uncovered, open, lush and inviting, plucked and succulent – pink as a baby chicken. The pianist, in his agony of lust, simply had to go on playing. Every time Claudine called for a halt to give some instruction, the pianist would drop a hand to his penis, frigging away furiously at the monstrous desire consuming him. Then Claudine would demand music once more and his cock throbbing to and fro in his frustration, would have to stand, groping for relief.
Louise could stand his misery no longer. She looked around her furtively.
The piano stood at an angle to the stage. The player had his back to the wall, and Louise reasoned that if she crept up slowly, she could reach her objective without anyone nearby noticing what was happening. Not that she minded being seen.
She wriggled forward slowly. Then, reaching forward, she grasped the frantic prick in her hot, spunk-drenched palm. The pianist looked down in delight and dumb gratitude, and catching his glance, she smiled. Her palms were now bringing him blissful relief, and she knew she could give and get still more delight.
In a second she had opened her mouth, and had gone down on the red, angry, throbbing tool. She felt the familiar slither of spunk on her tongue and, grasping the base of the mighty prick, she sought for the balls upon which it stood, proud and randy. With movements he could not control, the pianist wriggled to aid Louise, thrusting the helmeted tip of his tool in delirious gratitude into Louise's warm, wet, containing mouth.
In thirty seconds it was all over.
Louise hardly felt it coming, it was so quick.
But she choked and spluttered as she felt the pianist's discharge coming in great uncontrollable jets into her sucking mouth. With her lipstick smeared an over that prick, it was a reddened engine of unbridled sexual demand, and she frigged furiously at its warm, throbbing length tossing off vast sheets of sperm into her receptive throat – a madwoman then in her desire, albeit this time it was a desire only to give pleasure, not to get it. Magnificently the man kept up the maddeningly insistent tempo of the number he was playing and the dancers, ten of them moving like one, now achieved a synchronization that only Claudine had ever dreamed of.
"Wonderful!" she cried at the end. "That was marvelous, girls! Just do that every night after we open, and you will go anywhere in the world. You're fantastic tonight, right out of this world!"
Spontaneously, a burst of applause swelled from the hall and rolled toward the stage. The other artists, recognizing stage perfection, were unstinting in its continuity. "You've been told that yet?"
Then into the circle of light filed the other players, smiling and aflame now with Claudine's own enthusiasm. Those who had so recently been in the throes of sex had adjusted themselves, and they slapped the naked backs of the chorus girls who were filing back into the hall to where their clothes were lying. There was the buzz of excitement as the players made ready to leave the last rehearsal they would ever have in that makeshift, garage "theatre".
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Did you enjoy the show?" asked Claudine, driving home…
"Very much! I think the acts are superb," replied Louise. "But they tell me the whole thing's weak in its continuity. You've been told that yet?"
Claudine laughed.
"In this business, Louise, I haven't done a show yet that the people in it haven't screamed their heads off for a Cecil B. de Mille script! What do they want? People go to a revue for the acts, not for a story. Hell, you could have one story, one boy-meets-girl theme, and that'd do for everything that's ever been staged since Ziegfeld!"
"I suppose so. Anyway, in your acts, you're strong. You've got some wonderful people in it, Claudine. I thought that ventriloquist was simply superb!"
"Rollo? Only the best in the world, that's all. And four languages, too, all perfect. But he's a queer one."
"How do you mean?"
Claudine shot a quick look at Louise.
"Don't tell me you didn't find out. I wasn't looking, mind you, but I know what goes on."
"Oddly enough, that's what he told me, that you know what's going on, I mean."
"He frig you back there while I had the chorus line on?"
Louise decided she would play it just as coolly as Claudine was doing. "Of course," she said. "Damn it, Claudine, just why did you do it? Did you take me with you tonight to show me your rehearsal, or to show me what happens in your business?"
"Yes and no. You needed it, Louise. What you wanted was something quite new, something quite fresh and outside your experience to take your mind off Hector and yourself. That's why I took you along."
"But why do you do these things?"
"Let's say I do it for kicks. I'm a bit older than you are. I've lived a different sort of life, and this is where it's got me. Besides I have this philosophy about it alclass="underline" sex is the biggest thing in the world. Sometimes, Louise, I think it's the only thing. For me, at least, I know it is. Once you know it and admit it, the rest becomes easy. You just go out after it. There's so much of it around, Louise."
"There is, isn't there?" Louise thought about it. "I saw it tonight. Those three acrobats…"
"They up to their tricks again? They always are, I hear."
"Rollo says they're brothers. Are they queer?"
"I don't think they're brothers. They call their act the Henry Brothers, but I wouldn't know whether that means they really are brothers. And queer? Well, I don't think that, either."
"Well, they certainly weren't bashful."