Like a robot, mesmerized, Patty rose from the table and slowly trod to the bedroom again. She had only one burning idea in her mind, the abject surrender to the goals of sex and drugs, and she knew exactly how and where to obtain them. At Rick Renault's. Tonight. At the party Marcia had already gone to. A thin smile of anticipation creased her otherwise bloodless lips, and Patty arched her form before the mirror again, only this time it was with pride of possession, rather than sick revulsion. This plague of flesh, this pestilence of spirit will serve my few desires well, she mused to herself as she kneaded her fine breasts and played her palms along her stomach ridges. It got me into trouble… now it will get me out of it.
She rummaged through the few clothes she had brought from the Jennings, and selected the dress she had worn on her honeymoon. She and Larry had not had much money, neither when they got married, or afterwards, and so she had been practical, picking out a simple all-white cocktail sheath as the outfit to be married in and then travel with him. Occasionally she still wore it, at special times when they had been invited to fancy places, or when they saved up enough to dine at a very good restaurant. But now, now was the time to wear it again, to have this symbol of her past defiled as the wearer was, so that not even this tag would be left to remind her of what she had come from. She slipped the fine wool dress over her head and down her body, drawing its satin drawstring around her neck tightly and tying it in a bow just above her breastbone. That was all she wore, save for a pair of sandals. Her breasts, firm and buoyant with their own uplift, stuck out, the nipples pointing through the material where her tits bulged at their most voluminous proportions. The tight bottom clung to her hips and outlined her bare buttocks and narrow vaginal slit as she walked. She hummed as she dressed, then she took the pearl-backed hair brush and began to stroke the soft, thin strands of her reddish waves, over and over, hypnotically counting back from one hundred as she brushed. When she had reached fifty-seven, the doorbell chimed. She didn't stop, but ignored its sound, and it rang again at forty-five and another time at thirty. Then a fist pounded on the door and a deep, gruff male voice yelled out her name.
"Patty! Patty! Please let me in!"
Patty put down the brush and walked to the door, grabbing her purse as she went. She opened the door, and if she had been more herself, she would have gasped with horror and shock. But as it was, the hulking figure of Larry's father, Tom Jennings, barely caused a ripple of interest to crease her forehead.
"Hello," she said tonelessly.
"Please, Patty let me in, will you? I-I have to talk to you."
"Can't. I'm sorry," she replied listlessly.
"But you don't understand! I'm sorry," Jennings said compassionately, "I'm truly sorry for what happened, as sorry as I've ever been in my life!”
Patty looked up at the wretched individual, discerning the pain and remorse which were written across his features. "Don't be. You were right all along, Tom. Your daughter-in-law is nothing but a gutter whore, and you did what all men should do to her. You fucked me silly, but that doesn't mean anything. Not any more."
"You-you don't mean that, Patty. It was me. I raped you, I raped my own flesh and blood, and I don't deserve to live any more." He grasped Patty by the shoulders, shaking her in an effort to make her understand. "Forgive me, Patty. Come home now and forgive me. I want only the best for Larry and you, and I promise, I promise on my mother's grave I'll never lay a finger on you again. I'll never say a nasty thing or even look at you wrong, but please say you'll be part of our family again.”
"Let go, Tom. I forgive you.”
"Wonderful! I'll get your things and we'll…"
"No. I'm staying here. This is where I belong."
"But I promise"
"I'm sure you'll be good. I'm just as sure I won't be. Now please get out of my way. I'm late for an appointment.”
She brushed past her stricken father-in-law and stalked down the sidewalk to the street. She did not look back, not once, never seeing the welling tears of humiliation and contrition, which filmed the broken man's blurred eyes.
The high domed room buzzed with the low conversation of a dozen, sophisticated people as Patty was led in by the Chinese houseboy. A white-coated waiter balanced a tray of drinks and wound his way through the cluster, stopping periodically to offer a replenishment to some guest with an empty glass in his hand. A huge fire burned in the Spanish-accented fireplace, which was almost as large as the entrance doors themselves.
Patty marveled once again at the wealth displayed, at the fine silver and beautiful paintings and magnificent tapestries, which she had but sparingly noticed upon her first visit.
Renault was, as to be expected, the center of attention, Patty moved across the room to him, stopping the waiter as he passed to select a very dry martini, and as she joined the three other people who surrounded him, she heard Renault say: "Yes, and the Van Gogh above the statue has been in our family for generations. The magnificent little artist gave it to Grandmother as a token of his appreciation for sponsoring one of his first art shows in Paris. He was eternally grateful, and rose to his well deserved place soon afterwards.”
Renault was once more in the velvet smoking robe; wide belt tied around his slender waist, collar high and slightly ruffled with a studied carelessness. He paused, seeing Patty for the first time, and she was pleased to note that his eyes caressed her curves, and that her body had not passed his appreciation.
"Well, well," he smiled, "I'm glad to see you are here, my dear." He patted her shoulder warmly. "I was surprised to see you had left so early this afternoon. I didn't even have time to tell you about this little get-together before you literally disappeared."
"I-I was pretty tired," Patty replied in a soft murmur. She flickered her eyelashes in feigned modesty. “And, well, a little shy.”
"Are you still, my dear?" he leered down, stroking his mustache slightly.
“Not in the least, Rick, darling,” she smiled in answer.
"Good. I'm sure we'll work out something later of ah, similar interest. After all, you were brilliant, simply brilliant, today. You have, mmmm, let's just say, a natural talent for such things."
"What things, Renault?" a gruff voice broke in. Patty turned toward the stranger who had spoken, one of the four who had been around Renault when she had joined them. She was attracted to the man on sight; a muscular, good-looking man in a dark suit and tight-fitting turtleneck shirt. She didn't think he was much over thirty, yet he gave a strong impression of power and maturity, as though he had risen in the world the hard way and knew whereof he spoke.
"Sex," she answered blatantly. "That's what thing, Mr…"
"Jessup." The man grinned at Patty. "And you…?"
"Meet Patty Jennings, Harold. Harold is a fight promoter, Patty, and a very good one at that. Oh, and I'll introduce you to the others, which I should have done before. Pardon my rudeness."
Renault gestured at the woman standing to the other side of Harold Jessup; a short, yet perfectly proportioned five foot girl with a pile of golden curls on top of her round, cherubic faced head. Patty thought she was the most innocent, Shirley Templish looking type she had ever laid eyes on, and she thought for a split second that certainly that one couldn't be a part of this licentious, sex-ridden group. She belongs sucking on an all-day lollypop, not some strange man's cock!
And this is Peter Harrison Fugazi," Renault continued, "Harold's new fighter. Expect to see him as the new heavyweight champion in a few years, Patty."
"Pete, Ma'am," Fugazi said. "Just call me Pete."
"All right, Pete." Patty shuddered inwardly at the size of the man, for as adonis-like as Jessup was, he was nothing compared to the fighter. Pete was a few inches taller and a yard wider than any male Patty could remember, with a totally bald head and a cauliflower left ear, and a very thin nose. His eyes were dusky Italian, with the glitter of Rome and Naples in them, and Patty made no mistakes about him;: he would be all animal, lover as well as fighter, and would be absolutely and hugely delicious inside her cunt. She could feel him already, and it frightened her.