Once was not enough as far as Jane was concerned, and the night was not for sleeping but fornicating. At the hour when the sun was just climbing over the horizon she tackled Hugh again, grasping his manhood, squeezing and jerking it into stiffness. She whispered in his ear what she wished. His genitals were alive and burning but his mind was groggy. "Huh? Now?"
"Yes." She ran her tongue under his ear. "You are hard enough."
The matter was taken out of his hands so he sort of absently fingered the crotch that was already dripping wet. He felt the bed bounce and dip first on one side, then the other, as she contorted herself; and suddenly he was jolted. The bitch had slammed her ass right into his face, double-punching him with the thrusting cheeks.
Hugh blinked, his lashes batting against the smooth, hot-fleshed balls. He felt the wet bulge of hair brush against his chin. The odor flowing into his nostrils burned and he had to palm the cheeks, ease them away. In that moment his instrument was engulfed by hot wetness and her slurping tongue curled right around the base, cutting off the upward flow of blood.
Sixty-nining at six in the morning!
Her teeth could scrape and nip, her tongue pm-pointed certain zones accurately and his knob was by turns flooded in saliva and wiped dry. Hugh did his share, treating the female parts like dessert. Ravenously he ate the girl's pussy, feeling as he nibbled at the clitoris her balled ass gyrating in his f ace.
Jane moaned, feeling the conception of an orgasm. His tongue wallowing in her opening further developed the climax. She raised her head to catch some air, threw back her hair, gasped and bent, squashing her breasts against his thighs as she resumed devouring his organ. Her weight had been on her knees, but now she shoved them back, working her thighs along his shoulders and locking her ankles, trapping his head.
She was going to give birth to the orgasm and she sucked and licked on the candied bar, wetting just the base, wiping it clean, nibbling the length, drying that off with the back of her tongue, then rolling the balled top along her teeth.
"ARGHHH!" His climax was sudden, unexpected, and he ejaculated. The first spurts splattered burningly against the roof of the girl's mouth, but, undeterred, she coaxed the rest of the juice out. Moaning, Jane milked the shaft, keeping the bubbling cream in one corner of her mouth.
Jane released the taut tool, spat the stuff out, caught her breath and came! "NOOOooooo!"
Hugh increased the tempo of his tongue flicks, tapping in steady rhythm on the little clitoris while the twin balls shuddered and rotated against his face. Her wetness dribbled down his chin for fully thirty seconds. When he leaned back for air it coagulated in a sticky mass.
The girl, ever active due to youth, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Now let's go at it properly."
"Properly! Let me get some rest, you damned nympho! Wasn't last night enough for you? Man!"
They breakfasted at a cafй rather than at home because Mrs. Baldwin was not up to cooking. "I'm worn out from lack of sleep. You two and all that screaming the entire night!"
Baldwin, sipping his cafй au lait like a dog slurping soup, agreed. "You're a randy cock, m'lad. All that sex. Our daughter is a human being, after all."
Jane grinned but remained silent, her lovely eyes dancing merrily. But Hugh was surprised by their reaction. Why take him to task when their precious daughter had started it? "Look, maybe if you just leave the two of us alone well survive without any difficulty. I am not a young boy and Jane is not a child either."
Mrs. Baldwin looked horrified. "Are you suggesting that we leave this town?"
"Exactly. Stay here if you want but rent your own place. Look. I didn't bargain for this set-up. I went off on a cruise from England to the Riviera alone simply because I wanted to be alone."
"Then," Baldwin slurped a little more coffee, "you should have left your hands off my daughter, my lad."
There was no arguing with these types. They saw a good thing in him and were not letting go. The girl was beautiful and she was being used as a meal ticket, a means of securing their futures. If it had not been him their eyes would be searching for some other young guy with more money than he could handle.
Hugh had no taste for breakfast, not with these two, dressed real touristy in striped Basque shirts, cotton shorts and rope-soled shoes. Mrs. Baldwin had varicose veins on her wobbly thighs and Baldwin had toothpicks for legs, but they both displayed that part of their anatomy, horrible as it was.
Before them was a parade of tourists, American women in fur jackets and tight-fitting slacks, bald-headed men carrying cameras, and homosexuals from the four corners of the earth, their wrists laden with jeweled watches and gold bracelets, each dragging a poodle on a leash.
Hugh viewed the entire mob with hatred. He was annoyed with himself, annoyed not only because he was railroaded into an engagement he did not want, but also because he took so much trouble from this trio and – worse yet – paid for it!
He sat there, tense, attempting to restrain himself, feeling the urge to lash out with his fists and knock the three of them, man, woman and beautiful daughter, cold.
Mrs. Baldwin swallowed a mouthful of coffee and grimaced. "Ohh, it is sooo strong it went right down to the pit of my stomach." She fastened her blood-shot eyes on a tall, peroxide-blond boy who was dragging a huge white poodle along. "Just look at that boy, worse than a woman. And can you smell him! Stinks like a cheap whore!"
The boy, his bleached hair flying in the breeze as he turned, fixed the entire table with a baleful look. Hugh spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Careful, he heard you."
"Damned queer!" Baldwin snorted and stared at the boy. "If he comes over here to start anything you rap him hard in the mouth, Hugh."
"Don't count on that. I just don't get into fistfights for no reason."
Mrs. Baldwin made a rude noise with her lips. "Our daughter, Jane, sitting here, and you wouldn't fight for her? What sort of a man are you?"
"You are being damned ridiculous and now I'm getting more than a little tired of your shit."
"Apologize at once to my wife!" Baldwin was leaning over the table, shaking his fist.
"Take it easy, fatso. Everyone in this cafй is looking at us."
"I don't give a damn. I demand your apologies immediately."
"Ahh, sit down, you fat pig!"
Jane apparently delighted in controversy and was smiling steadily, looking from one face to another, hoping the argument would continue.
Baldwin's face was the color of a tomato. He shook his fat finger in Hugh's face. "Find a girl like our Jane, my lad, try to find her on the streets of this dirty French town. Can't be done. She is a jewel, a rare jewel, and we are not willing to let just any man have her. Consider yourself lucky. So instead of spouting your vulgar words just be thankful we are taking you into the family."
Hugh clenched his fists and looked away. This was all so unreal that he felt like a spectator in a theater watching someone else portray him. Never before had he become so involved with such types. Never.
The one thing he had prided himself on was the easy avoidance of bad situations. He was a self-made man who could stand on his own two feet.
"You know," Mrs. Baldwin changed the subject, "I think I should like a dog, perhaps a poodle."
"Yeah," sneered Hugh, "your fat husband can dye what's left of his hair yellow and then he can look like those queens sauntering along. Why not a jeweled wrist watch and a gold slave bracelet to complete the picture?"
He got up and left the table before they could answer, going into the interior of the cafй. Here it was dark and cool and the waiter was leaning against the zinc counter engrossed. in conversation with the bartender. Upon Hugh's approach they ceased talking and began to appraise him.
Jealousy, he knew. They view that marvelously constructed young girl out there and hate me for screwing her. She is a rarity, but she's also trouble, and getting into her body is like stepping into a prison cell. I'll be trapped for life.
A news vendor was selling papers. Sizing Hugh up as a tourist he waved a copy of the international edition of the Herald Tribune under his nose. Hugh paid and at once scanned the help – wanted columns. He ran his finger down the list, pausing to read a request for an English-speaking chauffeur. There was no mention of salary, only a number to be called.
Outside the Baldwin's sat, waiting for his return. They glared in unison, the woman trying to get the words out, but the man succeeding. "Your behavior this morning has been abominable. Not only did you cause our poor daughter to scream last night but now you insult us without any care. Pay the bill and let's get back to the house. We have some talking to do, my lad."
It was the last straw. Without thinking, without considering the people in the cafй or his awkward position, Hugh drew back his fist and threw it across the table.
It was a good punch, catching Baldwin right on the chin and sending the fat man sprawling.
"Ow!" Baldwin sat on his backside, legs stuck out at crazy angles, yelling his head off. The waiter and several customers came running, but no one, not even his wife, made a move to assist him.
"Call the police, call the police!" He began to scream and strike the ground with his clenched fists.
Hugh looked down at him and walked out of the cafй. He went straight to the small villa, packed his suitcase and marched into another cafй, where he made a telephone call.
He asked for the party who had placed the ad in the morning's Tribune. A girl got on the wire and told Hugh to come up to an apartment building called the Beaux Arts, situated just off the beach, at his convenience.
He knew the building, a squat, two-storied place not far from one of the luxurious hotels. Saying that he was free to be interviewed at any time he asked if he could come over now. The girl agreed.
His bag was left at the cafй and, squaring his shoulders, Hugh went off for what was to be his first interview in years. He tried to pretend he was one of the world's unemployed, tried to put himself in the position of a man seeking work. How should he act? Meek, servile or self-assured?
He wasn't so filled with confidence; the encounter with the Baldwin's had proved that he could be easily intimidated. But still he had to make a try, and this was the first.