After several years of being one of California's less important race tracks, Bay Meadows finally began to attract horses and bettors of a calibre that moved it up in class until it is today the state's third or fourth track from a standpoint of attendance and daily handle.
Part of this sudden spurt in popularity came with the complete renovation of the club house and stands. The other was the advent of night racing, which permitted daytime workers to blow the week's pay check on the quarter-horses and trotters.
The Turf Club is big, comfortable, and roomy – except on Saturdays and holidays when it can become a bit crowded. In the evenings, the Turf Club is open to club house patrons. Dinner is served, if one desires, out on the terrace high above the finish line. There is an overall air of luxury and expensiveness that can be, and often times is, contagious.
In spite of her cool calm exterior, Grace could not help but feel a certain growing excitement as she had her second martini of the evening and watched the horses parade to the post in the initial race. The first martini had been ordered for her by Mr. Austin, the big boss. Dubious, because she had never had one before, she cautiously sipped it and, in her aroused state, discovered that it tasted delicious.
"It is now five minutes to post time," the voice over the public address system boomed out.
Judi, who was talking to Bill Hill, the Sales Manager, turned to Grace and asked, "You making a bet on this race?"
Grace shook her head silently.
"Want to split one on number three?"
Grace, biting her lower lip in uncertainty, shook her head again. It would be fun just to bet a dollar. After all, what was a dollar? Still, though, her earlier resolve not to foolishly waste money came back to her.
Judi disappeared toward the sellers' windows with Bill Hill. Doug, another one of the car salesmen came over to the table and asked, "What you betting on this race, Gracie?"
"Nothing."
Doug glanced out toward the tote board. "That number seven looks awfully good at the price. Seven to one; why he shouldn't be more than three to one at the most."
Grace had absolutely no idea of what he was talking about, so remained silent in order not to show her ignorance.
"I think I'll try a fifteen dollar combination," Doug said, then turned back to her. "You sure?"
"Positive."
She was sitting there alone, waiting the return of the rest of the party from the sellers' windows when a tall, distinguished looking man who had been seated at Sam Austin's table came over and smiled down at her. "You're Mrs. Hope," he said smiling.
"Yes?" It wasn't an invitation, but it was non-committal.
"I'm Jim Meloney. Sam was just telling me you're his new Office Manager. I couldn't believe it, you look so young."
Grace dimpled in spite of herself. "Thank you." She paused a second, feeling a bit awkward about his standing there, then asked, "Would you care to sit down for a moment, Mister Meloney?"
"Why, thank you, Mrs. Hope. Yes, if I'm not intruding." He pulled out the chair next to her and seated himself. An expensive cigarette case and lighter was pulled from his pocket. "Do you smoke?"
"No, thank you."
"Do you mind if I do?"
"Not at all." Now, she thought, here is a real gentleman. Sophisticated, rich, dignified, handsome… unobtrusive.
She noticed his hands as he lit the cigarette. Manicured nails, long sensitive fingers, tanned and obviously capable hands… immaculate white French cuffs peering from the sleeves of his navy blue cashmere coat… extraordinarily large wrist watch with two sets of sweep hands. She also noticed the way he peered at her, looking at her as though she were an interesting person – not like a piece of meat being inspected in a butcher shop.
"You're not only young," he said suddenly, "but I have a feeling you're pretty intelligent as well."
Grace blushed, feeling momentarily a loss of words. Then she replied in light banter, "Thank you, kind sir. But how could you tell if I'm intelligent… or stupid?"
"Well, for one thing, there's a lot of intelligence in your eyes. Another thing – which furthered my conviction – was that you're not betting this race. I saw you turn down several offers. Now that's what I call smart. These are a real bunch of dogs. The race is wide open. Anything can win it. Never bet unless it's a lead pipe cinch."
He seemed so knowledgeable! Grace blurted out before she could stop herself. "You seem to know a lot about it. How come?"
The man laughed, obviously delighted with her question. "I can tell you're not a race fan, and I'll bet you don't read the sports pages, either."
She shook her head. "I'm sorry. This is my first time."
"You show even more sense then, in not betting. This isn't a game for amateurs. I ought to know. I own Red Rebel Stables; we're running seventeen horses here at this meet. It took me almost thirty years to learn the game. And even now, I get fooled all the time."
Grace recognized the name "Red Rebel Stables" from an earlier glance at the program. She brightened immediately. "You have a horse in one of the races later this evening?"
He grinned, obviously pleased with her ability to recall the information. "Yes. We've got Red Jewel in the fifth… and the entry in the feature race."
"Oh, well. In that case, I'll make a bet on those two races. Just to wish you luck."
Jim Meloney shook his head. "Now don't make me change my mind about you, young lady. That would be an extremely foolish thing to do."
"But why?" she protested. "Don't you think your horses will win?"
He pursed his lips and shrugged. "I really don't think we have a chance for top money in the fifth. I'll settle for the show or fourth place purse. As for the seventh? It's going to be very close. It's a toss up between one of my horses and six of the others. If I do bet, it'll be only a small amount. I never bet big money unless I'm almost positive."
"Oh." Grace's disappointment showed in her voice. Jim Meloney laughed, a deep booming laughter of pleasure and companionship. "Look, try to find me just before the sixth race. There's a horse in the sixth that may have some possibilities; I'll know better after I see him in the paddock. Find me and I'll tell you."
"Will you? Promise?" She sounded like a little girl.
"I promise." He patted her hand paternally and stood. "May I buy you another drink?"
Grace glanced down at her empty martini glass. She was already feeling the effects of the liquor she had consumed, and it was still an hour or so before they planned to have dinner. She shook her head and said, "No… I think I've had enough for now." Then she added with uncustomary candour, "This is not only my first time at the track, but also the first time for martinis, and the first time I've been out socially without my husband."
He stood there looking down at her with a half-quizzical expression on his face, and Grace thought she had better adjust in case he had misinterpreted her remark, "My husband's in Vietnam."
Immediately he became sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hope. I didn't realize." He patted her hand again, then repeated, "See me about ten minutes before the sixth. I may have something for you."
Bill Hill and Doug arrived back at the table with their arms wrapped around the waist of a giggling, excited Judi. Bill looked toward the retreating figure of Jim Meloney and raised his eyebrows. "Hey… hey! What's he doing? Touting you on one of his horses?"
"Yeah," Doug demanded. "What'd he say about Red Jewel in the fifth?"
Grace paused a second, then feeling quite important, replied, "He thinks Red Jewel may be overmatched in the fifth, and the seventh is a tossup."
"A tossup, eh?" Bill Hill asked thoughtfully. "Sounds to me like he's trying to hide something – probably wants to keep the odds up. I think I'm going to bet him anyway."
Judi was gazing at Grace in open-mouthed speculation, her eyes wide. "Gee… Jim Meloney! He's yummy, and so rich! Why don't you invite him over to our table, Grace?"
"No." She wasn't quite sure why she refused, but it had something to do with not wanting to appear too forward with him. She liked the man as a person. She felt safe and comfortable with him. She already thought of him as a friend, and some subliminal snobbishness told her that Judi and Bill Hill and Doug were not his type of people.
Judi bore the refusal philosophically and turned her attention to the starting gate where the last of the horses was just entering the stall.
The flag went up, the gates popped open, and the horses suddenly came out as if they had been shot from a cannon. The roar of the crowd built up to a crescendo of thunder and exhortative screams, making it quite impossible to hear the public address system at all. Beside her, Grace heard Judi suddenly groan and fall silent as the horse in front abruptly was overtaken by longer-striding quarter horses. It was all over in less than 20 seconds.
No one at Grace's table had the winner, a big bay gelding by the unlikely name of Meat Wagon Herb, who had gone off at 12 to 1 odds.
And so it went. Grace, against her better judgment had another martini just before dinner was served. Ravenous, she lit into her filet mignon as though she hadn't eaten for weeks. As the time grew closer for the sixth race, she found an almost unbearable tension building up in her body. It was akin to fever, leaving her weak and feeling light-headed. As Jim Meloney had suspected, Red Jewel wasn't quite good enough in the fifth, finishing third in a photo finish. Doug, who hadn't really believed Grace, bet the horse to win and lost another fifteen dollars; he was now down $130 for the evening. Judi had kept her bets at a more conservative level, but still was out $30. Of the eight people at Grace's table, only Bill Hill was ahead, and then just slightly thanks to a lucky long-shot in the third.
The feeling of light-headed excitement continued to mount to a point where Grace's hands were actually trembling when she picked up her purse shortly before the sixth race and walked toward Jim Meloney's private box. He wasn't there, nor was he in the dining room or bar area. Disappointed, she stared around hoping for a glance of him. Then, spirit crushed, and dejected, started back toward her own table. She hadn't taken more than half a dozen steps before she felt her shoulders grasped from behind and heard his voice, "Mrs. Hope. Don't go away."
She turned, a radiant smile of relief on her face. "I was looking for you." She faltered, suddenly unsure of herself. "You did say to find you before this race?"
He turned his head in both directions then gently took her elbow and steered her over to his box. "Right. Number six. Bet it to win. But don't bet more than you can afford to lose."
"But… but you said you never betted unless you were positive," she protested.
He smiled sadly. "Nothing on a race track is ever one hundred percent positive. I've had horses five lengths out in front stumble." The grin came back, along with a wink, "Six is almost positive."
Grace looked out toward the tote boards. The odds on six were eleven to one.
"Don't pay attention to the odds," he said. "I'll be making my bet about thirty seconds before post time. They'll probably drop to around seven to one." He paused, staring at her with what seemed to be fondness and amusement, "Would you like me to place your bet when I put mine down?"
Grace took a deep sigh, then nodded her head. Quickly then, before she could change her mind, she opened her wallet, pulled out two fives, and offered them to him.
Jim glanced down at the money, then his handsome face broke into a wide smile of delight. "That's playing it safe. I knew you were an intelligent woman." He took the money and shoved it into the side pocket of his coat. "Let's see now, your ten dollars and my bet… that makes a total win wager of one thousand and ten dollars."
Grace gasped and choked. "You're betting…?"
"One thousand."
She sat down weakly on one of the padded chairs in his box. "Oh, my," she managed to say.
Jim Meloney patted her hand again. "You sit here until I come back. We'll watch the race together and both pull for our horse." He disappeared.
She sat there, waiting for him, and actually shivering from excitement. A thousand dollars! She couldn't believe it. A thousand dollars on one horse! And he seemed so confident, so sure of himself… as if he had talked to the horse himself. Then, one by one, the horses began going in the gate. She began glancing frantically around for him, not wanting him to miss the race.
"The flag is up," the public address system announced as the last horse was locked in the stall.
Again the crowd screamed when the gates opened and the horses thundered out. She felt, rather than saw, Jim Meloney at her side. Their horse had broken alertly, but was no match for the blazing early speed of a gray which had immediately drawn out to almost a length lead. She found herself screaming exhortations at their horse and jumping up and down. Fifty yards from the finish line their horse and a big black on the outside both began overtaking the gray. She reached out, without volition, and grasped Jim Meloney's hand in excitement, digging her sharp fingernails painfully into his palms. Ten yards away from the finish line, the three horses were neck and neck; it looked as if the gray were getting a second wind. Then, just as the three horses flashed across the wire, Grace saw number six put his head out in front. She was screaming and jumping up and down like a school girl. Nothing in her life had ever exceeded this moment in pure excitement. "We win… we win," she yelled, and then impulsively threw her arms around Jim Meloney and kissed him.
The touch of his lips on hers brought her back to earth immediately. She blushed a deep red, then began blurting an apology…
"Sorry!" Jim Meloney asked, staring down at her face. "What's there to be sorry about genuine emotion… excitement, fear, love?" His eyes sparkled. "We got a better price than I thought we would," he said, nodding toward the tote board. "I saw Charlie Webster and Pete Grossman both plunking down some big bills on the four horses. So, it looks like you're going to get… ah… oh, lets say, about ninety five dollars or so."
Grace sat down stunned. She couldn't believe it. A profit of $85 in less than half a minute. She was forced to believe it, though, a few minutes later when Jim handed over $96.20 in payoff for her ten dollar bet.
Jim ordered drinks for them both, then laughed delightedly and seemed pleased when she insisted on paying for them. "That's the first time a woman has bought me a drink in a long time."
He insisted she stay seated in his box for a while longer, and Grace complied, trying to hide her eagerness. She liked it up here – seated up here like a Goddess looking down at the swirling herd of little humanity. Finally, though, she felt she had outstayed her welcome and made preparations for leaving. He put his hand over her thigh and pressed down in a commanding manner. "Stay here," he ordered, then softened it by saying, "Please? Wait until after this feature race. If one of my horses does come in, I'll want you to go down to the winner's circle with me and be photographed accepting the flowers."
Grace sat there, feeling more like a queen now, and waited impatiently for the race. It came and went in a flash of colour, and Jim shook his head in utter bewilderment as his entry finished first and second. "And I didn't have a cent on them," he groaned to friends in the box next to them. Then he was escorting Grace downstairs, across the paddock area, and up the tanbark to the winner's circle. Everything was happening too rapidly for her – the rush to the winner's circle, the smell of the horse, its panting breath, the shouted congratulations, the awarding of the flowers and trophy – both of which were given to her, the flash bulbs as photographs were taken. It was a moment of glory, all too soon over.
Upstairs again in Jim Meloney's box there were half a dozen buckets of champagne being iced. He grinned. "An old custom of mine for the newspaper handicappers and the adjacent boxes." The first of his guests were already wandering over; the news had gotten around that he hadn't backed either of his horses. It was a joke, one that both they and he appreciated.
Grace was introduced as "my gracious hostess, Mrs. Hope. Her husband is a sergeant in Vietnam." She found herself meeting several people whose names she recognized from the Society Pages of the San Francisco Chronicle. She poured, she made polite conversation… and she drank toast after toast.
Three minutes before the last race of the evening, Jim came over and whispered in her ear. "Would you like to try another race? I have reason to believe that number five is a shoo-in."
Suddenly the intense fevered excitement hit her again. It was so strong that she found it difficult to breathe. "How much shall I bet?" she asked, and was surprised at the hoarseness of her voice.
"Well, I believe in betting with the track's money," he said quietly. "Why don't you parlay what you've won. That way, if you lose, you still haven't lost any of your own cash."
Grace was really reluctant to let that much money go. She already had mentally deposited it in the bank. Then, shrugging and not wanting to diminish this feeling of excitement, she nodded. She could trust him. Carefully she counted out $96 and handed it over.
"I'm still winner by twenty cents," she said defiantly.
Jim's laughter was contagious; she found herself giggling. She also found herself feeling proud at his words of praise, "That's a girl." Also, she was strangely comforted by his partnership pat on her shoulder.
It wasn't until Jim had disappeared that she peered and squinted at the tote board which seemed to be going in and out of focus. She couldn't even read the odds on their horse.
The effects of the excitement and the alcohol had made her so light-headed that she was forced to sit down. Grace wasn't even aware that the horses had entered the gate, and only stood up when she heard the roar of the crowd. There was the blurry mass of horse flesh and human riders hurtling down the brown dirt track, coming closer – ever closer – until the colourful avalanche flashed by.
She didn't have the slightest idea of who had won.
The conclusion of the final race of the day generally is a depressing time, for it is then that the great masses feel the sudden let down and are forced to go home knowing that the last chance to recoup or make the big killing has evaporated. So it was that Grace sensed the difference in the crowd and felt a beginning of depression. She was weary – and knew that she was more than a little drunk. The pay-off prices flashed on the totalizator board, and she heard the "oohs" and "ahhs" and groans as the second-guessers saw what they could have earned if they had followed the form or their hunches.
The boxes around her had emptied quickly and now she sat quite alone, weaving a bit in her chair as the cleanup crews began rattling dishes and cans and banging folding tables together. A water truck, spewing rain behind it, raced along the dirt track below her. Dully she wondered, what had happened to Jim, then as she squinted down the aisleway, she saw what appeared to be his figure striding toward her with a big smile on his handsome face.
Whatever depression she had felt before disappeared when he handed her some money. She looked down and immediately sobered a bit when she saw the top bill was a hundred dollar note. She blinked. "I don't understand," she blurted out.
"We won. Not a bad payoff either. Twelve eighty… more than I thought we'd get."
"How… how much did… I win?"
Jim grinned. "I just gave you six hundred and fourteen dollars. I owe you another forty cents, but I thought I'd keep the dimes in case I need to telephone you."
She blinked owlishly at the money again, then felt an overwhelming gratitude. "Oh… Jim. How can I ever thank you." He was such a good friend! And such a gentleman! She looked up at him, weaved a bit, and he was forced to put out his hand to steady her. She saw him looking down in concern and amusement.
"I think," he said slowly, "that I had better get some coffee into you."
Immediately she became contrite. "I'm sorry… it's just that I'm not used to…"
"I know. Come on."
"But… but I came with friends."
"I've already told them we're going to get a nightcap and coffee. I'll see that you get home safely."
"All right." She trusted him. She wouldn't have ridden alone with Bill Hill or Doug in her present condition; they were uncouth, not to be trusted, not gentlemen.
She staggered slightly as they were entering the elevator, and Jim put his arm around her waist to steady her again. She could feel the warmth of his powerful right hand resting on her hip, could feel each of his sure fingers pressing gently above and below the hip bone. Somewhere in the distant recesses of her alcohol-fogged mind an alarm bell clanged, but it was so muted that she wasn't sure what it was for. After all, Jim could be trusted. She was completely safe with him.
Had Grace been more alert, she would have noticed the look in Jim Meloney's eyes as he gazed down at her proud, upthrust young breasts so enticingly outlined under the thin nylon yellow and black print dress. She would have realized that his hand on her hip was making subtle little circular motions – barely perceptible… possessive. And under normal circumstances she would have noticed the change in his demeanor as heated desire overcame the fragile barriers of a superficial chivalry.
Looking down at her, Jim Meloney felt his groin tightening. Without touching her, without doing anything but watching her young vibrant body, he had already begun to get an erection. She would have to be handled carefully, he thought. No fast moves… nothing to alarm her. He knew instinctively, that there had been no one other than her husband since her marriage… and probably few, if any, men before her husband. She was practically a virgin, but there were certain little things she did – the way she moved and talked and thought – that led him to believe there was a wild untapped streak of wantonness in her body that even she was not aware of. He vowed to unveil that streak. Maybe not tonight… or tomorrow… or next week… but soon. He had absolutely no doubt that given time he would have her naked young body moaning in sexual delirium beneath him.
Outside, the heat of the night hit her and Grace became even more drowsy. She wasn't aware that the valet parking attendant had opened the door of a Cadillac convertible for her. She slid in, not knowing or caring that her mini skirt had slid up past the top of her hose and that her rich creamy bare thighs were there for all to see.
Jim saw it, though, and his power and importance was such that the parking lot attendant immediately averted his eyes from this luscious sight, staring off in the distance.
Grace had the sensation of driving, of being extremely comfortable in the deep leather cushions of the car, and finally of going up a set of stairs with Jim's arm around her waist again.
A half-fleeting moment of complete awareness came to her and she realized she was in a room – a smartly decorated, obviously expensive and masculine study. She was lying full length on a long maroon leather couch in front of an unlighted fireplace. Grace sat up quickly, swaying and attempting to focus her eyes, her heart pounding in alarm. Then she saw Jim coming across the room, carrying what appeared to be a coffee pot.
"Jim," she gasped. "Where are we?"
"My study," he glanced at her quizzically. "Don't you remember? You wanted to come here for coffee rather than go to a crowded restaurant."
His face and the room were rapidly going out of focus again and she was having a terrible time keeping upright. "I… I… think I had better go… home now," she said, struggling to regain her feet, but succeeding only in falling backward on the couch.
Jim laughed and called out, "Whoa, there. Steady, girl. Come on… get this coffee down and I'll take you home. Come on," he coaxed, "try to drink a little of it."
"You promise… promise to take me home?"
"I promise to take you home just as soon as you ask to go." He watched her carefully in an effort to see how she took the remark, and was relieved when she nodded her head.
"That's a good girl," he said soothingly, as though he were trying to steady a nervous horse. He sat down and put his left arm around her shoulders, supporting her swaying figure in an upright position. He felt the incredibly supple warmth of her upper arm. "Here, try sipping a little of this." He held the steaming cup near her mouth until Grace had taken four or five swallows, then he permitted her to fall back onto the couch again. As she slowly slipped sideways the mini-skirt hiked all the way, almost as if it were pulled by venetian blind cords. He saw her lovely pouting young vaginal mound through the near-transparent yellow and black lace edged bikini panties. She had put the panties on over her black garter belt and this made him smile even more; it was this – more than anything else – that prompted his final decision to fuck her tonight. Until that very moment he had been prepared to let it go one way or the other. Now, though, knowing there was easy access to her starved little cunt and not a lot of undressing and fumbling to do, he could wait no longer to possess entirely this young, almost virginal bride.
Jim bent down and lifted her limp, nylon clad legs onto the couch, then pushed a pillow beneath her head. She smiled sleepily without opening her eyes. Next he went over to the stereo set and put on a softly seductive record. Then he padded upstairs and removed all of his clothes, putting on an expensive silk lounging robe which came just to mid-thigh and was fastened in front by a silken cord. He brushed his teeth and sprinkled some after shave lotion on his face before heading back downstairs to the study.
Grace was sound asleep, lying flat on her back with left leg slightly cocked at the knee. Jim could plainly see the shadow of her vaginal crevice and the full ripe mound of warm creamy flesh that denoted the beginnings of her deliciously proportioned buttocks. Softly curling strands of her pubic hair peeked out from under the elastic legbands of her panties. It was all he could do to keep from spreading her legs wide and savagely tearing into the young, almost naked cunt lying helplessly there before him. Only by exerting an inordinate amount of self-control was he able to be gentle with her.
Grace was not aware of it when he eased her shoes off her feet and teased soft wet kisses along the bottom of her foot and up the back of her calf. Nor did she realize what Jim was doing when she felt her hips being raised. She never felt her scanty little nylon panties being pulled down over the smoothly rounded curves of her hips and slid down her legs.
Slowly, the heavily breathing man spread her thighs apart, bending and raising the right knee until it pressed against the back of the leather couch. The left leg he simply let trail on the floor.
Then, with quickening breath, he knelt between her ankles and stared with lascivious eyes at her soft black pubic hair and the wide, coral pink lips of her now completely open and defenseless young pussy. It seemed as if they were a magnet pulling his face toward them. Her cunt called out, begged to be touched, to be kissed, to be eaten like the most succulent forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden. The hardness of his throbbing prick rubbed against the silk of his lounging pajamas and made his balls ache. He had never felt more alive than he did at this moment. He could feel the cool leather on his knees and the warmth of her inner thighs on the palms of his hands as he pushed them even further apart.
It was not until her smoothly tapered young legs were completely widespread that Grace began to regain some semblance of consciousness, and even then she was incapable of evaluating completely what was happening to her. She knew her naked buttocks were on cool leather, that her legs were spread wide apart, that warm hands were stroking the insides of her thighs. Everything considered, it felt good.
Jim Meloney sensed that she had snapped out of her stupor momentarily. He waited for some protest, then felt her momentarily stiffened legs relax and fall limply open again. He grinned and licked his lips; she either knew or she didn't know what he was about to do. Either way, she was permitting him to go ahead.
Quickly then, he slithered forward until his face was just above the soft, wetly glistening little slit between her thighs. Never before had he seen such a mouth-watering cunt; the vaginal lips were perfect, looking almost as if they belonged on a young teenage girl instead of a married woman. Her pubic hair was more like silken sable and the tiny, sparsely used cuntal mouth was small, delicate… timid.
Slowly, as though he were savouring every second, he lowered his face… and his tongue like a red shinning penis of a dog crept out between his teeth.
He licked once… slowly and gently his tongue moved from clitoris to anus… and was rewarded with an almost inaudible moan. His tongue retraced the wetly teasing path it had just taken, and this time he felt the tendons of her inner thighs tighten and her entire pelvis slowly rise upward toward his face. Unconscious or not, her vagina was responding for he tasted the first slightly saline secretions of her feminine musk as her pussy of its own volition prepared itself for love making by seeping out its warm, slickly welcoming lubricant.
Grace was dreaming. Stan was making beautiful love to her. It felt wonderful, whereas always before it had been distasteful. In her dream she was responding, fervently!
And abruptly, she was in full command of her senses. She struggled to sit up, but found herself pinned to the couch. What was happening to her? Why was she naked from the waist down? Who? What? She finally raised her head and saw the top of a man's head down between her open thighs. "No," she screamed. "You mustn't."
Meloney, instead of answering, drove his tongue full length into the sweet warm depths of her pussy for the first time and used his nose to titillate her tiny, unconsciously pulsating clitoris.
"Aaagghh. No, oh, God, no!"
The man heard her terrified yelp and knew now that he must not stop until she was so aroused she could not help herself. It was now or never. She wouldn't let him near her in the future if he stopped now, but if he continued and she liked it? Who could tell. So thinking, he tightened his arms wrapped about her thighs and buried his rapacious tongue even deeper into the quivering, heated pussy lips between her open legs.
Fear and repugnance were battling each other for supremacy in Grace's mind. Instead of a sweet dream, this was some nightmare too horrible to comprehend. And still, though, the earlier pleasure of that dream was not to be denied. Her nerve endings down there were being serenaded by that velvet tongue that licked, sucked, and caressed all at the same time. It was hateful, outrageous, horrible… beautiful.
"No… no," she whimpered, flinging her arm up against her forehead and clenching her eyes shut as if this would make everything go away, "Stop! Oh God… Please stop!"
It was only then that the man looked up and she gasped as she saw the familiar face. "Jim," she cried. "Don't! Please stop. Let me up… please."
His own reply was, without taking his eyes from her face – a hard tongue thrust against her clitoris.
"Oh, Jim," she squealed. "Please don't. You can't do that! It's a horrible thing!"
His tongue traced a zig-zag pattern down through her pubic curls from clitoris to anus again, then came back and speared into the seeping hole of her tiny, tightly clenched cuntal opening. Seven – eight times in rapid succession he flicked his tongue in and out between inner and outer lips of her pussy, tongue-fucking her in earnest now.
Grace began moaning piteously as she felt powerful sensations overriding all other emotions and body functions. "Oh, Jim… Jim! Pluuuu-eeez! My husband has never even done that to me. Jim? JIM!" The last was a shout as his teeth clamped the sensitive almond bud of her clitoris and began nibbling gently. "Oh, God!" she gasped, then fell back against the couch, weakened by the intense feeling and sudden uncontrollable hunger down between her helplessly trembling legs. She made one last protest, "Don't. My husband! That's dirty… perverted."
Jim looked up, his face shining with his own saliva and her excitedly flowing cuntal juices. "Stop fighting it, Grace. You know and I know that you're enjoying what I'm doing to your wonderful pussy."
"Please… don't talk like that to me," she moaned. "I'm married and I love my husband."
"So?" He lowered his chin and ran his hot hard tongue along one side of her outer layer of vulva, watching her as he did so. Her face grimaced, not in disgust, but in what was obviously a fight for self-control.
She was his now. His to do what he wanted to. She might think she was still capable of fighting, but her pussy was in command of her body now, and it was going to betray her for thirty silvery licks.
Satisfied, he let his eyes feast hungrily on the now fully blossomed lips which had grown in size and colour since he began his ministrations. There was life in those lips, and no masterpiece in any museum could ever compare with the picture before him – framed so delicately with incredibly soft, raven black pubic curls. One single drop of her seeping pussy juice clung like a small translucent pearl to the little curls of black hair. The entire cuntal area looked like the corolla of some ruby-coloured flower and, in the middle where the stamen ordinarily would be, there was the sacred little opening to her womb. Even as he watched, it puckered and unpuckered in sensual excitement, looking like the mouth of a feeding fish.
"Look down at me, Grace," he commanded, and there was something in his voice that made her lift her head. She watched petrified and stiff, as he placed his thumbs on her vaginal opening and peeled her softly yielding pussy lips apart as though it were sections of some succulent tropical fruit being separated; the soft curls of her pubic hairs gave way, exposing the flaming beauty of her vertical little cuntal mouth to his lust dimmed gaze. She moaned in shame as he breathed against the sensitive lips; the expelled hot air from his throat grazed raw nerves down there and her entire body reacted as she heard his accompanying lewd, lascivious statement, "I'm going to eat your pussy, Grace. I'm going to tongue-fuck you and, if you're telling the truth about no one ever having done this for you, then you're in for a beautiful surprise."
She saw his face drop… and his tongue come out to wetly probe her guilt-quivering vagina. That was the last thing she saw. With this hot, wet contact between tongue and cunt, she simply was forced to let everything go. Her body responded automatically, jerking convulsively, as she ground her hips into the leather couch in an effort to escape his long worming tongue that wiggled like a sidewinder up one side of her cunt and down the other. A groan bubbled out of her throat, "Ohhhh… my God! Jim… please… don't…" The rapacious licking continued in and upon her defenseless vagina and she felt her stomach muscles rippling like wind on the water. She began wailing in animal-like passion as his tongue scoured her inner thighs and made one hot swipe around her clitoris before snaking rapier-like in and out of her now completely helplessly cringing pussy. "Oh. Oh… Jim, dear God… stop… please."
Jim shook his head negatively and raced his tongue faster up the dilated hole between her open thighs. He used his nose to tease against the hotly throbbing little clitoris repeatedly and each nudge brought a low gasp from the helplessly immured girl.
She raised her head up to look down over her breasts and this time her mind was clear enough to see everything. She saw his bobbing head framed between her sleek widespread nylon-clad knees. Her black and yellow floral printed dress was bunched up above her hips and she could even see tiny red lace roses on the black lacey garter belt holding up her sheer hosiery. Black against white on her thighs, Jim's grayish brown hair and tanned face bobbing up and down against the black of her naked pubic hair!
She watched his assault with a feeling of horror, her mind in a maelstrom of repulsion, shame, and unwanted desire. Above all, was a realization that burned with a napalm intensity in her tortured mind: This is no dream… this is really happening to me. Oh, God! Dear Stan… I love you… forgive me… forgive… me… for… The unwanted jolts of forbidden pleasure and little zephyrs of pure wantonness vilely pervaded her entire being now as Jim's powerful hands released her thighs and slipped under her buttocks, cupping and squeezing the soft, yet firm warm flesh of the hotly trembling cheeks. His tongue and mouth continued to grind further and further into the valley of her squirming defenseless cunt. Without volition, she dug her shoulders into the couch, sucked in her stomach muscles and raised her pelvis, making Jim's head bury itself even deeper. Debased sucking and slurping sounds of his labours echoed throughout the study. His hands pulled apart the crevice between her buttocks, and then one adventuresome finger began exploring the opening to her tiny puckered little rectum. The feel of that finger there caused Grace to clench her eyes tightly shut and ball her hands into fists.
Now she thought of Stan and the one or two times he had tried to make love to her this way, and the coldness of her refusal – especially that night on the banks of the Spence. Why hadn't she suspected this bliss her body was capable of. After all, she had always liked to be fondled and caressed, loved the touch of Stan's mouth on her breasts and neck and shoulder. It was only the sex act itself that was so abhorrent. If only she had permitted Stan to do this to her. If only she had known the exquisite pleasure in store for her!
Grace began moaning low in her throat, obvious sounds of pleasure. The vision of Stan was fading as she began to let herself feel everything… oh, if she had only known the inherent wantonness of her own body, she never would have had the first drink unless Stan had been beside her to protect her… from herself! But… instead, her mouth opened wide…
"Oooooooh God! God I can't stand it!"
Jim heard her sharp gasp of delight as his hands kneaded the soft globes of her pliantly yielding buttocks; the sound caused a surge of new lust in his already over-aroused body, and he drew her limply co-operating legs up and around his neck. Moments later, he had the satisfaction of knowing that she had voluntarily locked her ankles together behind his head in consent and cooperation. He continued to fuck her orally, using his tongue to run lewd sensuous circles around her fully erect little clitoris, nuzzling his nose back and forth as he darted his throbbing tongue deep into her pulsating pussy, feeling the soft, hair rimmed lips push against his mouth with increasing strength as her body spasmed and writhed upward in a now hungry effort to bring more and more of his mouth into contact with the wetly glistening flesh. His middle finger again sought out the tightly clenched lips of her anus, and a low inarticulate moan was wrenched from her throat as he probed teasingly the opening. Abruptly, his hot wet mouth moved down, down, all the way down where his tongue flickered like summer heat lightning against the brown puckered little hole.
Grace's eyes blinked wide open as she felt the touch, felt the wild sensual pleasure surge like a seismic wave through her. This was dirty, evil. He must stop. She must make him understand he shouldn't do this.
"Oh, God… Jim. Don't do that… you mustn't. No!" she whimpered wildly, her voice an unrecognizable hiss of lust. "You must not…" The last was shut off in mid-sentence as her evilly betraying body wantonly used her heels to bring his head in tighter, deeper, endeavouring to rape her own tortured rectum with his tongue. She flailed her head from side to side, trying to shake off the shame at the realization she had lost complete control of her traitorous emotions. She began sobbing again in deep, unashamed humiliation as the hotly slavering man now wormed his heated tongue into that forbidden rectal opening. "Aaaagghh…" it was said softly between sobs, then: "Oohhhh? Ohhhhh… God…!" Her body began to boil with the exquisite tingling of raw nerve ends as Jim started has voracious licking of the cuntal crevice again. She knew that further fight was useless; she didn't want to deny this intense delight he was bringing her. Suddenly, as the ganglions of her pussy began to vibrate, she knew she was closer than ever before to the total fulfillment she had too long denied herself. She, of her own volition, spread her thighs wider and raised her burning, desire-filled loins to his face, her only wish now to aid this man, this master of her nakedly grinding vagina. She ground her throbbing, widespread cunt against his face, reveling to the pit of her heart and soul with the insane delight of the lewd, forbidden pleasure he was awarding her.
Her body was rapidly building up to that slow sweet agony of a climax. Never before had she been so close to release, not in all of her life. Before this she had submitted docilely, as a good wife should, to the ordeal of sex. Now, though, she could feel the mighty vapours beginning to build up into towering, frightening thunderbirds in her love-starved, incandescent hot pussy. This build up could not last much longer or she would cataclysmically explode into a million screaming little pieces flying off in all directions. Before, she had always felt that she was one of those women who could not physically or emotionally achieve that summit of God-like sensation, but now she knew she was close. It could not be denied her this time. It couldn't.
Jim sensed that she was reaching across a previously unbridged gulf, and he wormed his middle finger deep into her saliva-moistened anus. It went in easily, the hole having been lubricated by his saliva, enlarged by his tongue. At the same moment, he began concentrating on her tiny, hotly jerking clitoris.
Grace writhed and twisted, bubbling and bubbling wild mewls of passion, her face was twisted in a grotesque masque of feral lust which was almost frightening in its intensity. She was close. Closer. This was it. Now! It could not be denied her. "Ohhh… ohhhhh, God! God! GOD?" She chanted as he screwed up into her hotly clasping cunt harder with his tongue. She was only vaguely conscious that his hands were teasing her anus and clitoris with tingling fingers of flame, and she gasped hoarsely, wailing with a breath that came more and more rapidly. His big implacable twisting tongue burrowed ever deeper into her pussy, and she could feel it trembling deeper inside her – flickering, touching, licking everything.
Suddenly then, the massive towering storm clouds of lust in her cunt split wide open in one gigantic thunderclap of sweet agony.
She had bridged the gulf and now she was swinging wildly, soaring high, high, higher than she had ever thought possible. She was Icarus with wings of wax reaching out for the sun, with wax melting and feathers falling, exalting knowing now that she would fall into the sun and be consumed instead of plummeting into a cold and alien sea.
She was there!
And from a distance too far off to comprehend, she unexpectedly heard her own shrill cry of delight and the scream: "I'm cumming. Oh God. Don't stop. Don't ever stop! Oh? Oh? Ah? Ahhhh. Aaiiiieeeteee! I'm cummininnngggg!"
Jim Meloney's head was almost knocked off his shoulders by the violence of her pelvis thrusts as she jerked and heaved her wildly clasping pussy against his face. Once, she hit him so hard that he thought for sure his nose would be bloodied. Her legs, locked around his head, had tightened like the grip of a reticulated python, and her heels beat a tarantella of sheer, implacable lust against his shoulder blades.
Finally the tumultuous storm ended and her ravaged body settled back completely relaxed into the rich leather cushions of the couch. Now she could feel the coolness of the leather, the dampness of her forehead and loins.
Jim continued gently kissing and nibbling at her vaginal lips until he felt the last delicate tremors subside, then he pulled his head clear of her cuntal canyon. "Well?" he asked softly, casting off his robe, tossing it onto the hearth.
The only answer was a sudden welling up of tears in her eyes, and then the water began streaming down both sides of her face. "I'm so ashamed," she sobbed.
"Don't be. You couldn't help yourself. You needed that."
"But I'm married," she wailed. "And I love my husband!"
She heard his short bark of laughter and looked down toward him. He was kneeling over her now, his face twisted in hungry passion. Her eyes trailed on down his broad chest and flat stomach to the erect penis which stood out like a canted telephone pole from his gray-brown patch of pubic hair. His hand began to stroke his cock, pulling the foreskin slowly back to reveal the one Cyclopean eye which peered at her. Lord! It was so big! Far larger than Stan's. She was terrorized by the immensity of it's girth and length. Remembering the pain of each insertion of Stan's smaller penis, she knew she could never take it without it hurting her. It would split her apart, fill her with excruciating agony, kill her!
"It's my turn now," Jim said, watching her face fill with distress. "I'm going to fuck you, Grace, and when my cock gets all the way inside you, you're going to experience ten times the pleasure that you just now had. I'm going to fuck you, baby, and you are going to love every second of it."
His obscene words both frightened and excited her, but she could not tear her eyes from that monstrous rod which he held in his hand. She gaped at it in complete misery as she found her errant mind wondering if he really could bring her pleasure; after all, he had been right before! He had brought her up to, and then escourted her through, thresholds of unbelievable sensuality and carnal delight that she had never before believed could exist.
"Put it in for me," he ordered.
"Oh, no, Jim. Dear God… no. I can't. Don't do this to me. I'm married. Please! Let me go. I love my husband so much."
"Take it!" he snarled, and in his heated desire for her luscious young body, he cruelly grasped her arm above the elbow and dug his fingernails into the flesh.
"You're hurting me," she wailed.
"Put… it… in!"
"Please, Jim… no," she started to protest, but then saw the frightening look in his eye and her hand dropped between their bodies where it encountered the white hot throbbing immensity of his maledom. "Oh, God…" she moaned as her fingers tightened around the thick fleshy hardness. Fear welled up as she only then fully comprehended the enormity of the prick.
"Go on," he warned, lowering his hips lower between her widespread defenseless thighs. "Put it in… right now!"
He dropped across her, the hardness of his mammoth cock beating like a metronome against her upper thighs, his face looming above her. Forcing herself not to think about what was happening, she guided the hard, fleshy shaft to the passion drenched mouth of her pussy. The thick bulbous head scraped electrifyingly against her cuntal lips, then pressed slightly inward, causing shivers of new unwanted pleasure to surge throughout her abdomen. She dared not move as she felt the pressure increase and the small, relatively unused, cuntal opening starting to stretch. Pain came with it, but she was too frightened, too shocked by what was happening, to cry out.
"Ooohhhh, God. You are a tight little cunt," Jim breathed. "It feels as if it's never been used."
He pushed again, and the ponderous head slowly forced its way into her wet, palpitating opening.
"Please, Jim. Don't. You're too big for me. You're hurting mee-eeee. I can't stand it." It was a screech of pain, of beseechment, as though she still believed implicitly in his chivalry.
As if he had suddenly been struck deaf, Jim continued the brutal impalement. He could tell he was stretching her pussy to the point it had never been stretched before, but at the same time, she was so well lubricated from his tongue fucking that he knew there could not be an inordinate amount of pain associated with his entry. She was just nervous, tense, frightened! She would get over that in minutes… just as soon as she felt the full length of his hardness scraping at every hidden spot of delight within that musk-scented, honey sweet pussy, and felt his cockhead hammering at the portals of her almost untouched little womb… Slowly he thrust inch by inch into her cringing passage. She was really weeping now, whether from pain or shame he couldn't tell… and he didn't think she could either. The sleek sensual silky feel of her nylons and the roughness of her lace garter belt against his hips and bare buttocks served as a goad. He could stand this exquisite torture no longer. He jerked his hips forward in one final thrust and his hard, hot cock roared into previously untouched territories of her most sacred treasure; her husband's so, heretofore, carefully guarded sanctuary.
"Aaaaaaggghhhh," Grace wailed loudly, as the implacably hardened pole of male flesh cut deeper into her than anyone had ever been before. He had filled her almost to the bursting point and she could actually feel every muscular ridge of his corrugated cock through the tortured walls of her vagina.
Jim lay still for a moment. Never before, not even with the one or two virgins he'd had in his lifetime, had there been such a tight little cunt; it seemed to grip his prick like an iron fist encased in a velvet glove. He sucked in his stomach muscles, tightened his arms and made his penis jerk hotly within the tight confines.
"Aaaaggh… don't move it," Grace moaned helplessly.
Delighted with her subservient plea for mercy, Jim flexed his cock again and again, hearing her groan abjectly with each further twitch of his deeply sunk cock. Then, gradually, he began short little movements in and out of her cunt. As her passage became accustomed to his barbaric instrument, the whimpers of pain and protest gradually changed to little chants of pleasure. Jim started rotating his hips, grinding his maledom against her vagina until the mushroomed head was beating relentlessly against her tortured cervix. He rocked above her, thrusting with long, smooth motions as though he were astride a horse on a carrousel, rising and falling, rising and falling.
Grace had begun moving her hips in unison with his simultaneous harmony. Already she felt tremendous jolts of pleasure arcing throughout her abdomen. Already he was causing her body to feel more than she had ever felt with Stan. Her mouth opened and closed in wordless comments, some of them prayers for forgiveness, some of them unheard and unheeded commands to her body to ignore this intense delight. Shining little beads of perspiration seeped to the surface of her upper lip. Her neck tendons swelled, then grew taut, with the hoarse pantings of carnal joy. The room swirled about her; she, too, was aboard a carrousel – going up and down and around and around. His giant throbbing cock buried deep inside her up pulsating cunt and her love starved vagina together formed a lewd, wetly sounding symphony of lust. No longer did she have thought of Stan… of morals… of pride. Automatically, her body reacted and greedily sought more and more pleasure, and the obscene words boiled out of her lust-constricted throat, "Oh, God. Oh, God. Don't stop."
Perversely, he stopped. "Don't stop what," he asked, knowing full well it would increase her humiliation no end.
Grace knew instinctively what he wanted to hear, and in her abandonment she said it with all the force and vitality of a revolutionary screaming out a political slogan. "Oooh, Jim. Fuck me… fuck me… fuck me!" The thought of her own lewd, wanton behaviour excited her even further, and she groaned and caught her breath as the man's powerful hands pulled her supple young buttocks tighter to his own rampaging prick. She heaved with passion, the pain of a few moments ago long since evaporated under the heat of her own passionate desires. She found her knees clenching and unclenching around his muscular buttocks with each powerful thrust of his wonderful, life-giving cock. She reached up and wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling his sweating face down toward hers, and her tongue shot deep into his mouth, slithering in and out in a wild semblance of oral fucking. Uninhibited gurgling noises of velvet rapture poured from her lust-tightened throat and she crooned, like a mother in song, "Fuck… oh, fuck me… fuck… fuck."
In the midst of her lewd exhortations, she suddenly heard the cold, furious voice of her conscience castigating her. Whore! Adulteress! Slut! Have you no shame, no pride? Are your promises to remain loyal to your husband only babblings of a liar? Have you forgotten your sacred oath in church? What about Stan? And from deep within her mind, she heard the far-off triumphant voice of a defiant biblical Eve shouting deliriously, "What am I? I am a woman! A full-blooded, healthy woman at last feeling the long-denied joys of my own body and the body of a male."
She shoved her cunt lewdly up to him in answer, offering it in some pagan ritual older than time itself. Never had there been anything like this, and not even in her wildest imaginations had she dreamed there would be such ecstatic sensations to be gotten from a man… from the licking and tongue-fucking of her pussy to the moment when his mammoth prick had slid imperiously down her excitedly greased cuntal channel to toboggan madly into the heart of her womb. Filled with insane pleasure, she willed and wanted more… much more, never wanted it to end.
"Fuck me-eeee," she mewled. "Ohhhhh… beautiful…"
Maloney jammed her with ever-increasing force as her tightly locked young vagina continued to pour out lubricant, lengthening his stroke, drawing his huge rod almost out of the fleshy, moisture drenched sheath, then plunging downward in quickening strokes as her cunt hungrily devoured it. Jesus, he thought, she's beginning to go wild; he heard her grunt before hurtling her wildly sucking vagina up and down on his throbbing shaft. She had taken complete control away from him as she sought her own pleasure.
"Aaaaggghhh… ohhhhh," she moaned as his cock slammed into and brushed past the cervix, gasping and coughing with each inhalation into her tortured lungs.
The wildly fucking man's sperm inflated balls slapped hard down against the nakedness of her unprotected working anus, and through his scrotum he could feel the delicious softness of her ass cheeks and the hot dampness in the heated crevice where the warm viscosity and his own saliva had seeped down the cleft from her pulsating cunt. His throbbing sac seemed surely to split apart from the mounting pleasure in it, and he fought for control – fighting against the need to spew his white hot sperm into the deepest depths. He began ramming her with increasing fury, wanting to bring her to orgasm before he, himself, came.
Grace cried out wondrously with every punishing fuck-stroke up into her gratefully accepting young belly. She screwed her tongue into his throat in unison with each new thrust that buried his burning shaft deeper. She pulled her legs back even higher, offering him more and more of her greedily sucking little cunt. Jim glanced downward at his prick, thinking he would go mad unless he came soon, watching his whitely glistening cock slip smoothly and powerfully in and out of her pinkly clasping pussy lips. Quickly, then, in an effort to bring her along even faster, he slipped his hand beneath her buttocks and once again teased at the rhythmically flexing hole of her tiny puckered anus.
"Aaaagghhh… oh, yes… put your finger in… hard!" Grace rotated her ass down hungrily against this new invader, pressing down with her stomach muscles as though she were trying to void something from her bowels, opening the rectum so it could accept even further the lewdly worming digit.
Her first impression was of pain as she felt the palm of his hand flat against her hotly grinding buttocks and the finger immediately sank its full length into her rectal passage and began moving in and out in time with the thrusts of his penis. Then pain became pain-pleasure, then metamorphosed rapidly into pure pleasure. Abruptly she was attempting to skewer the rotating finger to the hilt, shoving back against it at the same time she strained upward to devour more of his warm fabulous hard cock deep into her heaving belly.
Meloney dug mercilessly into her open little anus, his worming finger feeling the hard thrusting flesh of his own cock through the thin membrane separating cunt from rectum. Beneath him the girl writhed in complete abandon. Her motions, together with her guttural croaks of delight and the tightness of her vagina, pushed him over the edge of self control and he knew his orgasm was only seconds away.
"Cum now," he commanded, praying she would obey. "I'm going to cum inside of you. Cum with me…"
Grace hearing the obscene words began grinding up and down on both impaling instruments, her toes flexed and splayed out, her breasts heaving beneath the yellow and black nylon dress, and her sheer nylon clad legs lurching from side to side. Then her eyes opened wide in disbelief as she felt the first beginnings of her second orgasm.
Jim grunted and hammered even deeper as he felt the walls of her vagina seeping the warm, sticky fluid of her climax. With demoniacal strength, she shoved her pelvis suddenly up from the bed, rotating her slightly bearded cunt lips around his pistoning cock with renewed fury. Then she was screaming, "Yes… Oh God… Yes! I'm cumming again. I'm going… to… cum. Cum in me… cum in me… CUM IN ME!"
Grace convulsed beneath Jim Meloney, her mouth and cunt both sucking furiously, her panting rasping breath breaking into great gasping sobs, her pussy clenching and clenching – actually milking him – and her asshole expanding and contracting against his already deeply imbedded finger as though she were trying to pull in finger, hand, wrist and arm.
Jim was spurred on by her continuing climax, and he thrust deeper into her voraciously pulsating vagina and anus, forcing her tortured crotch even wider. Her fucked into her as though his pelvis was a high performance engine suddenly running wide open, without governor, far past the redline and to explode at any second. Then, blessed relief. He gasped as he felt the sudden, surging waves of his boiling white sperm shoot with a roar through the subterranean tunnel from balls to penis, and he was instantly lost in incredible sensuality as powerful surges of his semen spewed deep into the hot dark heart of her womb, filling her hungrily contracting little belly to the bursting point. The walls of her vagina continued to work around his penis as if they were part and parcel of some wonderfully warm milking machine, squeezing, massaging, clasping and unclasping to drain out every wonderful drop of his hotly cascading semen.
Grace's wildly fucked young body suddenly fell back onto the leather couch, her belly still rippling from the aftermath of her galactic upheaval. Never had such bliss been experienced. She was fulfilled completely. She was finally a woman. A warm, feeling experiencing woman. And the abject shame and guilt springing from her adulteress betrayal of her trusting young husband faded into insignificance compared to the satiation which drifted over her like a warm comforting cocoon.
Slowly the cottony fogs of weariness and alcohol began slipping away from her again.
Jim Meloney came back downstairs, dressed now, and thoughtfully looked at the sleeping young girl. She really was something else, he thought, as he picked up her thin nylon panties still moist at the crotchband from her earlier excitement and stuffed them in her purse. He hadn't enjoyed a fuck so much in weeks… maybe even months. What she lacked in experience she more than made up in the tightness and enthusiasm of her seldom-used little cunt.
Grace was only dimly aware of an arm around her waist, of riding in an automobile, and then someone helping her from the car.
"Goodbye, Grace," Jim said. "You were wonderful." He kissed her lightly on the forehead, turned her around, and pointed her toward the apartment complex where she had earlier said she lived.
He watched her weave her way across the lawn and saw her start up the stairs. At the top, she stumbled slightly, stopped and turned as if trying to remember something – then a moment later disappeared from sight.
It would be nice, he thought, to keep that one around for awhile; but to do that would violate a basic philosophy that had stood him in good stead all of his adult life. No one knew better than he, himself, the validity of that philosophy, for Jim Meloney was strictly a 4-F man… "find 'em, feed 'em, fuck 'em, forget 'em." And he would never see Grace Hope again, not if he had anything to say about it.