"Stan… Stan Wilson, Beth," he went on, his smooth voice gaining confidence. "I just received a shipment of sandals… some beautiful styles, and… and I thought you might like to stop by and have a look at them… when you get time, or are down this way."
"Why, Stan how thoughtful of you to call me!" Beth exclaimed, her elation quite sincere, but the sandals had little to do with it. "I'd love to see them."
"Oh, we try to offer our… ah… special customers just a little bit more," he said, his rich voice taking on a meaningful inflection, adding to the initial flush he'd set off inside her.
"I see… Then, you do have other special customers," the young wife found herself teasing. "For a moment, I thought I was in a category all my own…"
"Believe me, you are, Mrs. Durke," Stan quickly answered. "You are what I call the preferred customer… mine, anyway, if that makes a difference… Does it?"
Beth managed her trained, light laugh. "I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me, Mr. Wilson." Her brain raced. She added: "However, I do have to pick up some groceries a little later and… and I'll stop by to see what you have."
"This afternoon?"
"Yes… in fact, I was just about to get ready," she lied, concluding that Jay would probably welcome her getting out of the picture for a bit so that he could play voyeur in peace… perfect… for both of them!
"Wonderful! I'll be watching for you!" Stan said, either unable to hide, or purposefully inflecting his enthusiasm in the words.
Beth preferred to believe the first viewpoint, though it hardly mattered a damn to her, she thought as she hung up the phone. There was enough imaginative heat inspiring her for the both of them… and this time she wasn't about to louse it up.
Through the venetian blind of his study window, Jay Durke focused and re-focused his field glasses to bring closer the tiny yellow bikini bottoms covering Sara Wilson's taut full buttocks until he could imagine them damned near sitting on the end of his nose! Christ, his cock was as hard as the hoe handle she was clutching, bent over and chopping at the earthed root of the rose bush! Damn, if there was ever a more inviting, tighter looking, compact ass anywhere, he'd sure like to get a look at it! For over an hour now, she'd been waggling it under his nose, until he just couldn't stand it another friggin' minute! He either had to get away from the Goddamned window… or go over there and make some kind of a play! But, what the hell would he say to her…?
Nervously, he opened a drawer of his desk, bringing out the half-filled bottle of bourbon he kept handy there. Removing the cap, he took a long pull at the raw liquor, feeling it scorch his throat as it thumped into his belly and spread warmly through his big frame. He'd never have a better opportunity, with Beth shopping. She'd be at least a couple of hours, time to get something going in the hopper anyway. Maybe nothing would come of it… maybe he was nuts to think little Sara was a fireball, or that she'd be receptive to him even if she were. Hell, he was old enough to be her daddy, and he might bluff it a lot, but he knew what he looked like. Still, there was always that chance… and he'd been old enough to have sired his Beth, too, but she'd flipped over him. What the hell, he must have something that turned the younger dolls on… and what could he lose, anyway?
Again, the brawny, bewhiskered writer tilted the bottle to his lips and drank, drawing the back of his hand over his wet lips after and gasping from the burning liquid. Damnit, he was going over there! He'd tell her he'd come over to offer a hand! What the hell, she couldn't anymore than cool him…! But he'd have to get his damned cock down to normal first! Couldn't walk over there looking like he was hiding a ball bat in his pants…!
His mind excitedly made up, and with the bourbon hotly starching his confidence, Jay went into the bathroom, dropped his trousers and shorts, then held his thick, lengthy hardness under the cold water faucet until it began to wilt and return to its normal flaccidness. He'd just finished the process, zipped up his fly and buckled his belt when the telephone rang. The interruption irked him, but he answered it.
"Yeah…?"
"Jay…?" Beth's voice sang into his ear.
"Nawww… this is the ghost of King Farouk," he answered, grinning. "What can I do for you, Nefertiti?"
Her laugh came warmly over the wire. "Well listen, oh King," she said, her voice growing enthused, "the most wonderful thing… I just ran into Maggie Gardner from Chicago. Can you imagine? I was never so surprised in my life!"
"Maggie… she's the redhead who worked in the office with you, isn't she?"
"Yes, and she's only in town for a few hours. She's catching a plane this evening for Hawaii… Her father lives there, you know," his wife informed. "Darling, would you mind very much if I have cocktails and dinner with her? She's asked me to…"
Would he mind? Christ, it couldn't fall better if he'd planned it himself… providing little sweet-assed Sara was half what he figured her to be. "Hell no, baby! You go ahead and have yourself a good time! I'll be okay; don't worry about me."
"You're sure now…?" she pressed, as if she might change her mind right there if he asked her to. The doll…
"O' course, hon! Go ahead. You got enough loot on you?"
"Yes… I've plenty."
"Good… and say hello to old Maggie for me, won't you?"
"Yes, darling, I will. Bye bye…"
"Bye… and have fun, baby…"
The big man cradled the phone, then walked to the front window. Yeah… she was still out there and working like a female Johnny Appleseed. Damn, what a hot-nuts body that chickie had! But he couldn't just stand there watching her titties bounce and her luscious ass-cheeks strain that wispy bikini bottom, or he'd have to undergo another Coldwater treatment. Nope!
Win, lose, or draw, he was going to chance it, and right now…!
Jay tensely brushed a comb through his greying hair and beard, struck a few anticipated poses in the mirror, caught one last belt of bourbon, and shuffled across the street with hands thrust in hip-pockets. As he drew closer to the squatting, petitely feminine figure of the raven-haired Sara Wilson digging at the bush's root, the big man realized that she grew even more curvaceous and sensuously lovely. He'd never been this near to their neighbor before, even though he'd had her sitting on the end of his nose with field-glasses, but in person there was a hell of a difference! Christ, his throat was knotting up…!
"Oh, hello!" the dark-eyed girl exclaimed when his big shadow caught her eye and she looked back over her pretty naked shoulder in surprise. A little smile followed as she stopped what she was doing and straightened. She wore a pair of soiled white gloves that would've fit him, and with the back of one she drew it across her brow, brushing her long black hair away from her attractive, smiling face. "You're Mr. Durke from across the street…?"
"That's right," Jay managed, trying to keep his eyes on her glowing face rather than the alluring dazzlement of her wispy, bikini-enhanced curves. "I-I've been watching you breaking your back over that bush for the past hour. You just don't seem to be getting anyplace with it, Mrs. Wilson… or can I call you Sara?"
The big man was almost as astonished as was she at the forwardness of his own words. Though he'd always had plenty of brass with males, when it came to females, and especially gems like this one, he usually went tongue-tied. He thought he detected an odd expression of disapproval darken her vivacious face, and he wanted to rip out his tongue! Shit, he'd blown it already! The Goddamned booze…!
"I-I don't see why not," she suddenly answered, her smile returning. "And I'll call you Jay. My husband was telling me that you and your wife were in his store and got to a first-name acquaintance. After all, we are neighbors, aren't we?"