Chapter 6

Claire Belfield's husband, George, was in a sweat as he climbed the stairs in a brownstone on West 24th Street. He hated climbing stairs. Was she home or was she out? Maybe she wasn't home yet. He always liked it better when she was home. If she wasn't home he'd have to wait for her, and any time he spent alone in the building always unnerved him. He felt like an outsider, an interloper, even the smells from the various kitchens seemed totally strange to him.

Now he arrived on the landing of the third floor and he approached her door with hesitation. He was thankful he hadn't seen anyone on the stairs. It wasn't much past six o'clock, and at this time in the evening there were usually a few people climbing or descending the stairs that ran up the center of the small building. But not this evening. He knocked on the door. After a long moment the door opened and Irma stood there smiling at him.

"Hello, George."

He mumbled at her. "Hello, Irma." He walked into the foyer, and then he stood there waiting while she closed and locked the door behind him.

"And how've you been, George?"

"Very well."

"Did you have a nice week?"

She always liked to talk about his week, ask him where he went and what he did, all the details of the life he had that was so totally different from her own. She wanted to hear about the Park Avenue parties. She loved hearing about the Park Avenue parties.

She poured some Scotch into a glass and handed it to George. He took a few sips of the Scotch, and after that he started removing his clothes. Irma sat down on the sofa and held her glass of Scotch as she watched him. He removed all his clothes except his shorts, and then he sat down on the carpet at her feet.

She smiled down at him. "Comfy, George?"

"I'm fine, Irma."

He didn't like to look up at her when he was sitting on the floor like this. It was too difficult, because then their eyes would meet and he'd feel silly. He felt silly anyway, he always did at the beginning of it, but looking at her face would make it worse. He felt silly and at the same time he felt excited. Sitting almost naked at her feet while she was still dressed always thrilled him and he could already feel his penis getting stiff.

When she wiggled one of her feet, he leaned over and kissed her shoe. There was no need for her to tell him to do it because they both knew the routine. She was wearing pretty black shoes with high heels and thin ankle straps. He kissed the point of the shoe and then her instep. The feel of the silk stocking against his lips excited him tremendously, and as he moved his lips up to her ankle, his excitement increased. Irma pulled back the hem of her dress to expose her calves, and this was a welcome sign to him that she wanted more leg kissing.

He kissed the calf and shin of one leg, and then he moved his lips to the other leg and he did the same. While he did this, he held her ankles with his hands, his fingers gently rubbing the fine bones.

Irma pulled her dress back even further, and now her thighs were exposed above the tops of her stockings. Another tug at the dress, and then she opened her thighs wide to reveal everything. She wore no panties, nothing at all to cover her belly and sex. The stockings were held up by garter bands, the tops of the stockings rolled over the bands to keep the stockings in place, and above that the milk-white skin continued upward until the joining of her thighs appeared. She had a large hairy sex, and the way her thighs were splayed open now exposed everything. George shuddered as he looked at it. He felt a definite tension in his penis as he stared at the dark hair, the hairy lips and the arrangement of pink and red between them. Irma had an unusually prominent clitoris, and as he looked at it now it appeared to twitch several times.

She slid her pelvis forward a few inches, and once again there was no need for her to tell him what to do because they both knew the routine. He leaned forward to press his face against the hair and the warm sex. At first he did nothing but sniff at it, his senses overwhelmed by the heady smells, the mixture of cologne and sweat and feminine flesh and a hint of urine on the hairs. He had his nose pressed against the top part of her clitoris and that's where he kept it. Irma closed her thighs against his ears, not enough to make it difficult for him to breathe, but just enough to keep his head securely in place.

He felt the upper part of her body moving, and in a moment he heard the radio come on suddenly. She'd reached over to the table at the end of the sofa and she'd switched it on while she kept his head imprisoned.

He heard a voice out of the radio. Who was it? Then he recognized it. It was Walter Damrosch babbling something about Wagner. George kept his face pressed against Irma's sex and he ignored the radio. Was she actually listening to Damrosch? He knew so little about her. She worked as a saleswoman in one of the Seventh Avenue department stores, but he wasn't sure whether she sold ladies underwear or ladies dresses. Anyway, what difference did it make? All he cared about at the moment was the feel of all the hair on his mouth and cheeks. He started licking her now. He kept his nose pressed against her big clitoris as he worked his tongue around the soft flesh between her labia.

As he sucked Irma's juices, he thought about Claire and his marriage. He wondered what Claire would think if she saw him now. Would she roll her eyes? Would she faint? Or would she simply nod her head and declare that he'd gone mad? What a ridiculous thing it was to be more familiar with Irma's cunt than with the cunt of his own wife. In all the years of their marriage, he'd never done to Claire what he was now doing to Irma. He was certain Claire would refuse if he ever tried to do it, and if she did allow it just once she'd hold it against him forever. He imagined the way she'd sneer at him with her eyes. Claire had a way of doing that: she knew how to change the appearance of her eyes so they sneered at you.

He kept his tongue moving. Irma had once told him he was no good to her down there if he did nothing but sniff it and kiss it. She told him she wanted to feel his tongue everywhere, especially on her clitoris and inside the hole. So he did that now. He licked the knob of her clitoris, and then he moved his tongue lower down to lick the opening of her vagina.

Then Irma spoke to him: "I'm expecting a friend to arrive any minute."

George froze, his body motionless, his mouth still pressed against Irma's sex. She kept her thighs closed around his head and there was no way he could move even if he wanted to.

"Her name is Helen," Irma said. "I'm sure you'll like her, George. In any case, it's what I want, isn't it? Go on then, don't stop what you were doing, George."

He started licking her clitoris again. This time she used both hands to hold his head, and as his tongue moved up and down in her furrow she pushed his head around in circles. He had done it this way often enough to know that when she had both hands on his head it meant she'd reach a climax soon. He licked harder, his nose rubbing her clitoris while his tongue tickled the hole, and before long she raised her knees up and groaned as she reached a crisis.

She kept him there, kept his face pressed against her wet sex as the spasms made her body shake. He continued licking her cleft with his tongue until finally she placed a foot on one of his shoulders and she pushed him away. "That's enough, George." He fell away on the carpet on his back, his erect penis sticking out of the fly of his shorts. Irma kept her thighs wide open, and as he looked at her he could see the drenched slit of her cunt not quite hidden by the hairy gaping lips.

Irma smiled as she looked down at his stiff penis. "Look at that. You're excited, aren't you? Come closer to me, George. I can't do anything to you if you're lying there so far away from me."

He shifted his body on the carpet, sliding closer to her until she could get her feet on him, her pretty shoes with the high heels and thin ankle straps. He thought his wife had shoes like these, but he wasn't sure. In any case, these were Irma's shoes and not Claire's, and it was Irma who had her shoes on his body.

The first thing Irma did was push the toe of one shoe at his mouth. He'd expected it, indeed he was waiting for it, and as soon as the toe of the shoe touched his lips he opened his mouth to accept it. Irma muttered something as she pushed more of the shoe inside his mouth, and when he turned his eyes to look at her belly he saw that she had her hand between her thighs.

He sucked the toe of her shoe awhile, and then she pulled the shoe out of his mouth and she placed her foot directly on his erect penis. She flattened the organ against his belly, rolling it from side to side with the sole of her shoe while she smiled down at him.

"Are you hot, George?"

"Yes."

"You'll be nice to Helen, won't you?"

"Yes."

"She's a dear friend and I've told her all about you. Don't worry, she'll keep our secret, George. But you're going to do what you're told, aren't you?"

And at that moment the doorbell rang and George realized that Irma's friend had arrived.

"Just stay where you are," Irma said, pulling away from George and then rising from the sofa.

He lay there trembling, more uncertain of things than ever before, and also more thrilled. The idea of a complete stranger being privy to his secret life with Irma was an exquisite shock. You want it, he thought. Irma certainly knew a great deal about him. Or maybe she didn't and she just didn't care one way or the other. He was merely a toy that she used to amuse herself, and now she wanted her friend to share in her amusement.

He obeyed Irma and he remained stretched out on the carpet. When Irma and her friend approached him, he looked up and he saw an attractive woman who appeared to be Irma's age. The woman smiled down at him. "Hello, George. I've heard a lot about you."

Then her amused eyes shifted to his groin, and George blushed when he suddenly realized his penis was still protruding from the opening in his shorts.

"That's a cute dingus," Helen said with a laugh.

The two women moved away from him, and George lay there and listened as Irma poured some Scotch out of the bottle for Helen. They talked quietly, the words indistinct, but he was certain they were talking about him. Once again a quiver of excitement went through him as he realized he was now in the power of two women instead of just one. And he did like Helen. She was definitely as attractive as Irma, and he couldn't help wondering what she looked like without clothes.

But he was also uneasy. Irma was more or less predictable because he'd spent a dozen or so evenings with her and he had an idea what to expect. Helen was something new. And there was also the possibility the presence of Helen might make Irma act differently toward him. He decided it was too confusing and the best thing was not to think about it. Whatever Irma wanted, he knew he would do it anyway. He looked at the cuckoo clock on the wall opposite him and he was thankful it was still early enough for them to do things. As usual, he'd already telephoned home while he was at the office and he'd told the maid it would be a late evening for him.