Chapter 2

I met the entire family rather formally at dinner. Mrs. Klugman was friendlier; at least I got that impression. I had made it a point to complement her dress, which wasn't a problem because it was a sensational outfit, and it looked very good on her. She insisted I call her Sheila and not Mrs. Klugman, and then regaled me with how difficult it had been to find the dress.

Warren was still overly concerned about my hand, more so when I admitted that it had started to throb.

"The medication must have worn off," he said to the glass of scotch in his hand.

I nodded and picked up my own, well filled glass and sipped. "Mmmm, good medicine on its own, Warren," I said, thanking him for allowing me to share in what was undoubtedly an expensive blend.

"It's something called Royal Salute," he said sagely. "It costs $700 a fifth. The company no longer exists. They were bought out maybe twenty years ago, but they had some barrels left that were aged 25 years before bottling. If you know anything about scotch you'll distinguish the difference right away."

I didn't know all that much about scotch, but the smoothness and texture of the liquid in my glass was far superior to anything I'd ever sampled. Of course the only 'good' scotch I'd ever had was some 12 year old Johnny Walker Red. But, hey, anyone looking at the Mona Lisa for the first time knows its special, right?

"So you bought several bottles, eh?"

"No, I bought two barrels," Klugman said, telling me he was worth a lot more than I thought he was. "The fellow who owned them had no idea of their value. It was a steal, you ask me."

Other than a curiosity on how their father could possibly run over my hand, not once but twice, Noreen and Johnny had little to say to me, acting as typical teen agers, eating their food and requesting permission to leave the table as soon as possible.

Consuela

I was waiting for her, already naked, behind the door. I shut it as soon as Consuela entered the room, and without saying a word, began kissing her.

Consuela was already aroused, and after our heated kisses ended, ran her hands down the sides of her body, stopped at her waist, stroked the soft curves of the hips. The body in front of me had changed; it was tauter, it glowed under her touch. She was cradling those magnificent globes with her hands, already imagining my hands playing with her nipples.

"Did you enjoy your dinner, Mr. Homeless?"

"I did, now it's time for my dessert."

Consuela laughed wantonly as I took first one, then the other nipple in my mouth and sucked while gently massaging each breast in turn with my one good hand.

Watching her face, I saw the desire peak in her eyes and clasping her hand in mine, guided her fingers, entwined with my own, deep inside her. Then I raised her fingers to my mouth and mine to hers; together we tasted her arousal.

Again, I led our hands back under her skirt and inside her. Holding Consuela that way, I walked her across the room to the bed. After extracting my fingers, I slowly unbuttoned her blouse and caressed her braless breasts, leaving a trace of her scent on them as my hands moved up to her throat and through her hair.

Consuela was moaning softly as we made love for the first time, me naked, her fully clothed. When we finished, I undressed her and screwed her slowly, making quiet sounds as we coupled on the bed. When I came we were kissing, tongues tangled, lips pressed hard against lips sealing our screams of rapture within our mouths.

After a brief pause, I went down on her, and it surprised her that I would do so.

"You lick your own cum," she said breathlessly. "No wan does that ... do they?"

"I do, it's mine, so why not?"

"Why not ... es okay, I really like your mouth on me, Mr. Homeless. I haven't had sex this good ever."

I stopped short of asking her to put that testimonial in writing, accepting it as something said in the heat of passion.

When we were certain we would not try another fuck, she put on her clothes and went to the mirror to fix her hair and makeup. She saw at once that her hair was different, fuller, shinier, and that her skin was smoother. After pointing this out to me, she asked if I thought the others in the house might notice.

"Keep clear of Mrs. Klugman," I said, "she might notice, I wouldn't worry about the others.

Day Two

The following morning at breakfast, it was just Warren and me, with Consuela serving us and intentionally brushing those huge mammaries against my shoulder or arm at every opportunity. Since Warren's face was buried in the Times, I wasn't bothered by her actions, even grabbing her upper thigh and giving it a loving squeeze on one occasion.

After we finished, Warren and I got into his Mercedes and drove off to his place of work. It was a sultry day, with every conceivable smell hitting our nostrils as we passed by several markets clustered together on, or just off Wilshire Boulevard. He stopped at one and I guess because I was freshly showered (for the fifth time since arriving at Klugman's) that I noticed the wide variety of sweat and musky odors on the men working the stalls that seemed to comingle with the smells of fruit and vegetables. I sniffed continuously, enjoying the varied odors like the sharp citrus tang of oranges both sliced and smashed for juice. And the almost dizzying fumes from mounds of bruised and broken-skinned tomatoes, overripe plums and bananas and melons. I realized I had been wearing the same filthy clothing for so long that my nose had been clogged with my own fetid odor, denying me those other, everyday smells that delight the olfactory senses.

At his request, I sat in the car, listening to the Stones on a CD while he took care of a pressing matter. It took fifteen minutes, and then we were off to Rodeo Drive and Giorgio Armani's where we were greeted like VIP's, and I was fitted for three suits, all of which cost more than three thousand bucks.

Yes, I protested, but I knew Warren wasn't buying it. He was buying me the suits and a couple of sport jackets from Hugo Boss, a couple blocks down. Then we headed back to his office.

I mentioned earlier that Klugman was a logistics guru, handling the major portion of international shipments by most of the Fortune 500. And that's what the topic of conversation was as we tooled down Wilshire toward his office.

He happily confided that Sheila had made a favorable comment about me the night before. I attributed it to my telling her how good she looked in that elegant dress she'd worn to dinner.

"She's okay most of the time, you know," he said as we turned off Wilshire. "But at forty two, she's worried about sagging tits and extra poundage in her ass. You know the usual women's problems."

"I knew what he was talking about weren't exactly women problems, but more of husbandly neglect. Warren had as much as told me, Sheila Klugman needed a good fucking, and I filed that thought away for the moment.

As soon as we walked into Warren's office I saw the girl he was stupping there. She was young, I guessed about 20, maybe 21, with light brown hair sitting at what had to be the receptionist's desk; although it lacked a modesty shield, something almost every woman required before settling down to work.

The reason for a common demand for modesty shields was made evident by the view I had watching the young lady tug at her short skirt as she attempted to hide the lacy tops of the nude-colored seamed stockings that apparently clipped to off-white garters.

"Good morning, Allison, Klugman spouted good-naturedly.

"Good morning, Mr. Klugman," she replied.

Gesturing at me, Klugman said, "This is Mr. _____, a good friend. I'd like you to um, entertain him while I made a couple phone calls to some clients. I, um, I'll be at least forty-five minutes."

"Yes Sir," Allison said, looking down at her desktop.

Klugman smiled at me and left us alone. I continued standing in place. Whatever Allison was supposed to do she'd either do or not do, and so I waited.

It wasn't long before Allison shifted uncomfortably in her chair. My eyes remained fixed on her legs. Secure in the knowledge that Klugman was banging her, I didn't bother to disguise my staring.

She couldn't bring herself to meet my eyes, or challenge me in any way. She did attempt to tug the skirt down an inch or two, but that did nothing to conceal the fact that her stockings were visible to me. A minute passed, and then another. The forty-five minutes Klugman had mentioned he'd be on the phone, loomed longer and longer.

Three minutes into the standoff, Allison risked a glance upward to see if I was still staring at her legs under the desk.

I was.

A flush began creeping up her neck and kept going until it covered her face. I could only guess where the flush had started and raised my eyes from her thighs to her chest.

Bingo!

Hardened nips were now visible through her pink tank top.

I decided to have some fun with her.

"It's Allison, isn't it?" I asked friendly-like.

"Yes, it is, Mr. ______."

"Are you wearing panties or a thong ... or nothing at all?"

Allison looked around, saw we were the only ones in the reception area and cleared her throat before answering. "Might I ask, just how well do you know Mr. Klugman?"

"You might say I owe my life to him, Allison. Does that help?"

At that she began to squirm in her chair. I was making the young thing uncomfortable.

"You're joking, aren't you?" she said.

"Joking, in what regard, Allison?"

"About what I'm wearing ... you know..."

"Or not wearing? Is that what you mean?"

"Yes," she replied with a grimace.

"No, I'm quite serious. Mr. Klugman made it a point to have me ask."

"You're not serious!" Her face reddened even more at this.

Changing tact, I said, "Are you aware that from the way you're sitting I can see not only your stockings but the line of your thong running up the crack of your ass?"

Allison stood up. Outrage at my remark obvious on her face, but I had to give her credit, she kept most of her composure. "How dare you!"

"I just told you, Kluggie and I are bestest friends," and gave her my best, and most sincere smile.

"Go to hell! I don't have to take this shit from anyone!" she barked out in indignation.

"No you certainly don't. So why are you still standing here?" I don't know what possessed me to push her this hard. Perhaps it was pure instinct, but I soon discovered that poor Allison didn't know what to do with me.