As she completed her final climaxing, she felt him to start pumping inside her. And his paroxysm seemed not to end. This made her start all over again. Finally, he finished and withdrew from her body.
The sight of him now just a little flaccid was still exciting. She got up onto her elbows on the billiard table and looked at it. She had seen smaller ones on ponies.
“Help me up, please,” she said.
He helped her stand and as she got to her feet, she felt a gush of his juice squirt out, and then a second spurt came from her—there was now a large puddle beneath her. She got to her feet and promptly collapsed; her legs were their own masters. Slightly embarrassed, she told him to carry her to the couch that looked out on the picture window. She lay there for a very long time. Finally, she swung her legs to the floor and requested him to bring her the bottle of brandy that was located on the small collection of bottles on the bar. With it, he brought her a glass—it took her a moment to have him point to all the glasses in the cabinet until he reached the snifter.
She poured herself a large tot. She marveled at the huge black thing—it was like a black arm of a baby—that had gone all the way inside her.
She sipped her brandy—it was her reward.
“I want to lick it again. Come over here and give me that thing again.”
She put it again in her mouth and as she was doing so, he started to harden again. She was of two minds as to whether to have him penetrate her again. As he hardened, she kept sucking. She had both her hands around it so she could limit his penetration into her mouth. Suddenly, she was surprised as he dumped into her mouth. Amazingly, the second load was almost as great as the first load when she rode him. She simply swallowed and kept swallowing his load, and she extended the juice with some tricks she had first mastered working in Shanghai.
After the huge load, he was finally finished. She had swallowed all of it.
Primly, she sat up straight.
Without further ado, she simply said, “You may go now.”
And remember, “None of this ever happened.”
With a nod, the young man left.
The excitement of being able to command was almost—but not quite—as exciting as the act itself.
After ten minutes, she rose and rinsed the sun dress and hung it in the setting sun on the terrace. For the hour it took to dry, she drank two more rum punches and luxuriated in remembering what she had just done. It took another two hours for her to be able to walk, gingerly at first, then more confidently. At dusk, she went for a brief swim followed by a shower at the boat house. For a full seven days she was sore. As expected, David had not demanded any of a husband’s dues, so she could recuperate in peace.
30: The American Admirer
DAVID STOOD OUT ON THE VERANDA of Government House. The former King of England morosely looked through the sheets of rain that drenched the green lawn that sloped down to the sea. Before the war, there were a few ships he’d see, but now almost all the freighters had been moved to convoys. Today, like so many others days, he simply stared into the empty sea. He was not looking forward to this evening’s dinner—mostly Americans and mostly business talk, which he neither liked nor understood.
The dinner started promptly at eight.
The preceding hour had been spent with cocktails on the veranda and David, true to form, already imbibing too much of his favorite single malt. At dinner, a really delicious Pichon Longueville was served—the 1936, one of David’s favorite years.
After dinner, the men left for cigars and brandy; Wallis entertained the ladies on the veranda.
“I must complement you on such a glorious dinner,” the tall and well-spoken reporter from the New York Herald said.
“Well thank you, Susan. You know it’s a real challenge, what with the war and such, and David is little better than a prisoner here. We’re forbidden to travel, even to New York. And the Bahamas is really a third-class British colony.”
“Yes, it must be truly dreadful,” the American reporter said, dropping into a faux upper-class English accent that she so admired.
Susan and Wallis were left alone as the other ladies had gone inside to escape the chill and damp.
Susan looked directly at Wallis, “Yes, it’s tragic the way things worked out, what with David essentially being deposed by a clique, as it were.”
Susan very deliberately waited for Wallis’ response. Wallis, as American herself, knew that American dinner guests could be expected to be this blunt and forward—the never-ending circumlocutions of the English in London always drove Wallis to distraction. And Wallis could sense the direction in which the conversation was moving.
“Of course, I’ve often told David this, but he’s too blinded by loyalty, and he’s far too loyal to his brother.”
“I have it on good authority that Mr. Churchill threatened your husband with prison if he ever returns to England.”
Wallis said nothing, but looked very directly at Susan.
“Your source of information is very good for a reporter. I don’t mean this as an insult, but most of the male reporters I knew in Baltimore were simply hacks, and drunk hacks at that.”
“Well, as you know, New York is the heart of the American empire and, as it happens, I grew up in Switzerland, so I have close contacts in Europe.”
“I see,” Wallis replied, clearly seeing more.
“So, Mr. Churchill and his clique and their antics are well known to knowledgeable Americans, and Europeans as well, Lady Wallis.”
Like most Americans, Susan easily got confused with the confusing titles of the English aristocracy; it had taken Wallis over three years to master the arcane subject.
Wallis looked at Susan and asked, “What do you mean about clique?”
“Well, it’s known in some circles in New York, and in Washington, too, that without massive American aid, Britain will be in for a very rough time.”
“The Germans could start a second blitz—they’ve already liberated France.”
At the word “liberated,” Wallis looked at her companion very closely. Wallis was aware that reporters made the best agents for intelligences services as they have a natural cover for asking so many questions.
“And with the change of leadership in Germany last September, the Germans are now doing very, very well in Russia, at least that’s what the few Foreign Office cables David is sent are saying.”
“I suppose you’re right, but were that to happen, and if Germany was to become a new ally to the USA, Britain would be in a jam.”
“But why would Germany help out America, even if it could?”
Susan moved close to Wallis and touched her arm very lightly.
Wallis pursed her lips and said, “Go on.”
“I am going to trust you and explain how you, you personally, can return to center stage. And this time, you will be in control.”
At this, James the native head servant came and opened the doors at the far end of the veranda. Slowly and solemnly, he walked to Wallis, and with extreme diffidence asked if the ladies needed anything, a shawl or something, as it was getting chilly.
“No, we’re fine. Thank you, James; that will be all for this evening.”
James left. Wallis drank more of the wretched South African sherry, and a warm glow started.
“So I am going to put my trust in you, Mrs. Windsor,” Susan went on.
“The Germans remember your visit with great affection and look forward to seeing you very soon. The late Chancellor liked and admired you and your husband. He saw something of himself in you, as he told me himself.”