out of nowhere at the front door.
And worst of all, what had he walked into? How much had he seen? She didn’t even have to guess. His face told the entire story. And then he began to speak, confirming what she already knew too well.
“What in the Goddamned hell is this?” he asked, pointing at them. His hand was in a fist and it shook tensely. For a moment Caron wondered if he might—just possibly —hit her, the way Lou had hit her. But Lou’s would be a love-tap compared to the anger signified in Paul Drake’s fist right now.
“It’s—it’s not what it looks like,” she stammered. “It really isn’t!”
“Do you know what it looks like?” Paul replied, closing the door behind him. “Do you want to know what it looks like?”
Lou laughed, a deep rumbly self-satisfied laugh, deep in his barrel chest. “Hell of a lot of nerve, buddy, walking into a bedroom when it’s occupied by a husband and his sweet wife having a reunion.”
Paul threw down the briefcase. “Get off that bed, you bastard,” he growled. “I’m going to break you in half.”
“Because she belongs to you?” Lou wondered. “Because I’m trespassing on some private pussy? Why don’t we ask the lady herself? It seems to me that she has more say than anyone else about tins.”
Caron couldn’t look at either of them. She was off the bed, crouching on the floor staring into the corner. “Both of you go away,” she said. “I am so embarrassed. I think I want to die.”
Lou got off, went to her. He put his hand on ha shoulder and she looked up. “Listen, baby,” he told her, “I’ve been around. I’m a civilized man. If you want a little on the side with Perry Mason here, it’s okay. I won’t object.” He looked at Paul. “How does that grab you? The lady has enough to go around. I’m not possessive. You want to knock off a piece? Go ahead. Stand up, Caron. Good girl.”
Paul ignored him. “Caron, I’ve brought the divorce papers. Do you have a gun in the house? I think we can even make his death look like suicide.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, damn it! I just don’t know anything anymore!”
Lou put his arm around her waist, squeezed her against him. His cock was sticking out, not at all inhibited by Paul’s presence in the room. The smell of sex was strong, Caron realized. No one could have come into this room without knowing what had gone on this afternoon. Afternoon? She looked at her digital clock. It was a little past three. They’d been in here, she and Lou, since before eleven o’clock, fucking their brains out. The room smelled like the inside of a well-used rubber. And so, she realized too, did she. Her tits and thighs and crotch were sticky with spilled jism. Her lips were salty with the residue of Lou’s sperm. She swallowed hard and she could taste the stuff, all the way down to her belly. What had she done? To herself? To Paul?
“Challenge, stud,” Lou said, petting the side of Caron’s tit. “Let the lady make her, own decision. Strip off that three-hundred-dollar suit and remind her how macho you are. And if you ring her chimes louder than I do, then it’s settled. I’ll pack up my bedroll and get the hell to wherever I’m going from here. What do you say, hot shot?”
“Lou!” Caron’s voice, totally shocked.
“I’m not possessive, I told you,” he said, fingering her nipple. “And the choice is up to you, baby. You’ve been balling me, and I know you’ve been balling him. You might as well run a test and see who gets the check mark.”
Paul was livid. “That’s disgusting,” he said angrily. “That’s…”
“All right,” Caron said. “All right. Paul?”
“I thought I loved you,” he said. “I thought you loved me. Is this all it means, Caron?”
“I don’t know what anything means any more,” she sobbed. “But this is the only answer that makes the least bit of sense. And if that doesn’t show you what kind of trouble I’m in, Paul…”
She didn’t finish. He had already thrown off his jacket and he was unknotting his tie. In a few moments he was naked, his lithe, tanned body in strong contrast to Lou’s. Where Lou was hairy and big, Paul was smooth and slender. His cock hung limp between his legs, impressive even when soft. Caron looked at that dangling dick and she remembered how many times she had sucked it, fucked it, petted it to spurting orgasm. But never in front of a third party. Oh, God, what a mess! But she had no choice. Her mind was fucked up and she had to get straight. She slipped free of Lou, went to Paul. She offered him her mouth, and he kissed her gingerly. He could taste the semen on her lips, another man’s semen. She couldn’t blame him for being a little turned off by it. Caron lowered her eyes.
She took his cock in hand, squeezing it, toying with it with the practiced easy way that had never failed to bring him up, big and hard. He didn’t respond. “It’s not going to work,” he said. “This is obscene.”
“Yes,” she said, “I guess it is. But there’s no other way.” She dropped to her knees, lifted his soft peter to her lips. She kissed its warm tip, started to lick him up and down. Her tongue was agile and frisky, and it had already had a workout today. If she couldn’t mouth a man to erection now, she ought to turn in her lips at the door. She put him in her mouth and began to suck, easily at first, then very hard. Life flooded into his penis and it rose in her mouth. Caron drew back as he stiffened and she sucked furiously at the knobby bulging tip of him. It filled against her tongue and she leaned back. Paul was erect now, his cock red and ready, thrusting from his small patch of pubic hair. It was a beautiful cock, one she had loved to love. Until yesterday she had thought it the only cock in the world she’d ever want to love, but today her conceptions had been shattered and destroyed. She wasn’t entirely sure who she was, not now, at three o’clock in the afternoon of this strange, mad day.
Caron stood up. Both her men were facing her, both of them naked and rigid. They were handsome men, each in their own ways, Paul young and lithe like a swimmer or a gymnast, Lou heavy and husky like a steelworker or a lumberjack. Their cocks thrust out proudly, and each of them had reason to be proud. She knew both those cocks, and now she was being forced, to choose between them.
She reached out with both hands, at the same time. It wasn’t a time to show favoritism. She took hold of Lou’s prick at the same moment she took hold of Paul’s. Male power surged in her fists and she squeezed, relishing her command of that power. Two men at once, she thought. Two hard virile men to service me at the same time. And I’m sober enough to know what’s going on. This might be an enriching experience after all.
The realization that she could even think in such a fashion almost shattered Caron’s composure. But by then she was at the bed and her men with her. She settled onto the edge and they drew in, their cocks glaring at her. She looked at their faces. Lou’s was sardonic, cynically amused, Paul’s was tense and drawn. And how do I look, she wondered. If she turned around she could have seen herself in the mirror, but she didn’t want to do that. She was afraid of what she might see, afraid she might be able to tell how much she relished this moment.
She lay back on the bed, her legs hanging over the side, her pussy slightly exposed by the spread of her thighs. “Who’s first?” she asked saucily.
“Goddamn it,” Paul said, clenched teeth muffling his words. He threw himself upon her, and his cock sawed into her twat. She kicked high into the air as he penetrated her, and it was a good stroke, a damned good stroke. He was hot and angry, and he fucked in a hot angry fashion. She clutched him with her arms, her legs, her pussy, and he drove relentlessly into Caron’s cooze.
“Mmmmmmm,” she purred, and it was good, but she wanted Lou to know it was good too. He stood beside the bed, watching, one hand stroking his peter, the other twirling the ends of his walrus moustache. She’d pull that damned thing out hair by hair, she reminded herself. Sometime when he least expected it. Maybe while he was asleep some night she’d take scissors and cut off one side of the wiry monstrosity. He’d wake up in the morning with half a moustache and a hell of a surprise.
Caron stiffened under Paul. What in the name of hell was she thinking about? That entire fantasy involved a future, and a future with Lou Archer. Moustache and all.
Paul sensed the sudden change in her mood. “Loosen,” he said. “You wanted it this way and you’re going to get it this way.” He pumped her savagely, using a vindictiveness she’d never known in him before. She writhed and moaned and pushed at his chest. “No, softer,” she murmured, but he didn’t seem to hear. Her snatch, was raw from the fuckings it had already taken this afternoon and he scraped that raw livid flesh with his hard peter, pushed deep into the creamed-out center of her vagina, hit her womb with driving, ferocious stabs. She bucked and writhed under him, and it was a kind of rape, like that first assault from Lou, and she found it taking on a new depth, a new interest. Her body twisted, and his angle of penetration wasn’t so agonizing. In fact, it was almost nice.
The bed depressed and she looked around to see Lou beside her, the tip of his cock pointed toward her mouth. “Chew this,” he said, “and remember who’s still the king.”
He pushed, and she opened her mouth widely, as she had to in order to get his big tool comfortably inside. He thrust deep and she began to suck. The taste of cum, his and hers, was strong as garlic on his meat, lending a
