Chapter 9

Lisa Kramer stood naked in front of the full-length bathroom mirror, admiring the graceful curves of her body. She had been considered a pretty girl ten years before, when she first met and married Mike, and now, she knew, she was prettier still. The youthful leanness of her body had slowly and subtly disappeared during those ten years, to be replaced by a luxuriant voluptuous fullness that was far more mature, far sexier. Yes, Lisa thought as she ran her hands along her sides and over her ample hips, I'm in good shape. Now if only Mike could appreciate me for what I am and handle me gently, the way a woman should be handled, then maybe our sex life would be a little more exciting. It was the only complaint she had against her husband, besides his lack of ambition: his crude and muscular manner with her when they were in bed. Over the years she had tried to accustom herself to his pantings and squeezings, the rough way he treated her when it was time for sex, but it had been no use. Eventually she found him coming to her less and less often: they had put the double bed in storage, switched to twins, and finally had agreed to sleep in separate bedrooms, Lisa using Mike's snoring as an excuse.

Oh, well, she sighed as she turned away from the mirror, he's a good man anyway; a good husband and provider, loving and considerate in every way. Besides, there was more to life than just sex, much more. She had her gardening to attend to, her bridge club, her tennis. Really, she thought, I hardly have time for sex, hardly have time for anything any more.

Tomorrow, she vowed as she went to answer the doorbell, putting on her housecoat as she walked downstairs, tomorrow I'm going to relax all day long, maybe go out to the beach and collect some driftwood, or go hiking in Topanga Canyon, all by myself with no chattering women around to distract me.

She opened the door, saw three strange men standing there smiling at her. The shortest of the three, the one in the middle reminded her of Mickey Rooney, but besides his resemblance to the movie star, there was something else about him that was vaguely familiar, as if she'd met him once a long time ago, at some long- forgotten meeting or party. The other two men were big and mean- looking despite their attempts at friendly smiles; she disliked them immediately.

"Mrs. Kramer?" said the one in the middle. "Lisa Kramer?"

"That's right," said Lisa. "What can I do for you?"

"Forgive me for coming without letting you know in advance," said the short man, flashing Lisa a charming smile, "but it's really quite important that I talk to you. It concerns your husband, you see."

It concerned her husband? Mike? Why on earth would these strangers want to talk to her about Mike? Lisa began to be afraid. "Who are you?" she said. "What do you want?"

"My apologies," said the short man. "You can see how preoccupied I am. My name is Jay Snyder; these gentlemen are my associates, Mr. Dixon and Mr. Carstairs."

"How do you do," said the two men almost in unison, making a graceless and comical attempt to bow.

Jay Snyder! she thought. The wealthy businessman, the philanthropist, the same Jay Snyder whose picture was always appearing in the newspaper? What could Jay Snyder want with her? She remembered having once written him a letter, thanking him for his donation to the charity drive she had chaired; had he come to return his respects. No, she thought immediately, of course no rich and famous people don't go around responding personally to mail from anonymous housewives. What could it be, then? He had mentioned her husband, how on earth did he know Mike?

Then she remembered the conversation that had taken place the previous evening, remembered how Mike had gone on and on about Snyder, claiming he was a gangster and the head of a huge prostitution ring. And now here he was, with Mike's name on his smiling lips; what did it mean? Was he in truth a gangster and not the respectable businessman he claimed to be, was Mike closing in on him, getting so close that he had come to warn him through Lisa? She looked at him closely. He seemed quite charming, not at all like a gangster, although she didn't care for the looks of those other two, Dixon and Carstairs. Still, she thought, he couldn't be a gangster, not him. She would sooner trust her woman's intuition than Mike's wild theories.

"Mrs. Kramer," said Snyder, "may we come in?"

"Oh," said Lisa, "I'm sorry. I was just surprised. Yes, of course, please come in."

"Thank you," said Snyder. He followed her into the living room, the two bigger men trailing after him.

"Won't you sit down," said Lisa, pointing at the couch. "I've got some coffee on, if you'll just excuse me a moment. Would you like some?"

"Yes, thanks very much," said Snyder as he plopped down on the couch. "We appreciate it. It's been a rough morning already, and it's not even eleven o'clock yet."

"I can imagine," said Lisa as she walked toward the kitchen. "You must be a very busy man, with all your businesses and charities and what-not."

"It does keep us moving," he agreed.

Lisa went into the kitchen, poured out four cups of coffee, placed them on a silver serving tray with a creamer and a sugar bowl. She brought the tray back into the living room, bending over as she placed it on the coffee table. "Here you are," she said. "Help yourself to cream and sugar."

"Thanks again," said Snyder, staring at the bulge of Lisa's breasts as her housecoat opened slightly. Wow, he thought, big ones. This is going to be even more fun than I thought.

Lisa sat down in a chair, facing the three men. "Now," she said, smiling, "what can I do for you?"

"It's not what you can do for us, Mrs. Kramer," said Snyder, "it's what we can do for you. What would you say if I told you that your husband spent last night with a whore; excuse me, a prostitute?"

Lisa laughed. "Mike?" she said. "With a prostitute? That simply isn't possible."

"The girl's name is Cindy," said Snyder. "She works for me. We have the whole thing on tape, if you'd care to hear it." The man named Dixon produced a reel of recording tape from his coat pocket, held it up in front of her.

Lisa was stunned. So it was true, she thought, so Jay Snyder was the head of a prostitution ring, just as Mike had said. But what was this about Mike and some girl named Cindy, what was this tape the man was showing her? Mike had always been faithful to her, she had absolutely no doubts about that, so why were they saying these awful things.

"Let me see that," she said, reaching out for the tape.

Dixon jerked it away from her. "No, no, little lady," he said. "Mustn't touch."

"Mrs. Kramer," Snyder continued, "your husband has become, you'll pardon the expression, a real pain in the ass to us. He goes around sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong, stirring things up, making no end of trouble for me and my organization. Now we want you to help us. We want you to warn him to, again pardon the expression, fuck off, to leave us every much alone. Will you help us?"

"Of course," said Lisa. Fear rose in her, making her heart beat faster and louder. It would be best to play along with them, she knew; then no one would get hurt.

"I thought so," said Snyder. "Really, I'm very grateful to you." He reached into his coat pocket, brought out a little, ominous looking vial. "Now just to make sure that you're really on our side," he said, "I'm going to ask you to drink this." He held the vial out to her.

"No," she said in a small voice, shrinking away from his outstretched hand, "I won't. It's poison."

Snyder jumped up, slapped her hard across the face. "Bitch," he growled. "Drink it!"

She took the vial to her lips, afraid of what he would do if she refused again. She drank the liquid down, thinking, well, it doesn't taste too bad, sort of like Kool-Aid. Maybe it won't hurt me.

"Ah," said Snyder as she drained the vial. "Very good. We appreciate your cooperation. Now you're just going to sit very still in that chair, and we're going to sit right over here and watch you until that stuff takes effect. Then" he said, an evil smirk on his face, "then we're going to have a party."

Even as he spoke Lisa could feel a strange sensation begin to rise in her, something like what she had felt so long ago, the first time she had seen Mike, but which up to now had been nothing but a vague memory. Horrified, she found herself looking with sudden interest at the front of Snyder's trousers, observing the small torpedo-shaped bulge moving down his right leg. How could she be so lewd, she thought, what was this stuff doing to her? Despite her thoughts, she could not control the desire that was growing within her, the desire to fondle that appealing little bulge with her hands, to knead it until it was stiff as a board and ready to penetrate her, to fill her warming cunt with its rigid splendor.

Her mind raced wildly. What was happening to her? She had never felt anything like this before, not even with Mike; never anything like this coarse but insatiable longing for a man's penis. Women were not supposed to feel this way; it was the man who was supposed to be the aggressor, the woman nothing but a helpless, passive victim. I certainly don't feel passive now, she thought. I feel like I want to go over there, unzip that sexy little man's pants, and... No, her mind cried out, no, I can't be thinking like this!

But she could not control herself, could not overcome the drug-induced desire, no matter how hard she tried. Slowly, stiffly, almost like a robot, she got up out of her chair, took the two steps necessary to get her to the couch. She felt oddly detached from herself, as if she were watching herself on television, or in some awful dream. Snyder's face seemed to be twisted into a hideous leer, a gross parody of lust and anticipation. "Well," she heard him say, although she could make no sense of his words, "looks like the stuff's working, all right."

Lisa went down on her knees in front of the gangster, reached automatically for his belt. She undid that, unhooked the clasp at the top of his trousers, pulled down the zipper, slid his pants down to expose his still-limp prick. My, she thought, what a cute little thing, must be just a child. Wonder if it wants to grow up. She plunged her mouth down on it without any hesitation, just as if it was something she did every day, to every male who stepped into the house; just to be polite, of course. Mmmmm, she thought, it tastes so fine and salty, like a hot dog at the beach. She massaged Snyder's cock with her lips, lightly grazing the tip of it with her tongue, exulting in the wonderful sweet feeling of it.

But at the same time another part of her mind, the older, more familiar part, was screaming with outrage. Here now, it was saying (and the voice sounded curiously like her mother's), what do you think you're doing? You're no better than one of this man's hired prostitutes, and probably a little bit worse--I'm sure they don't enjoy their work anywhere near as much as you seem to be enjoying this. Are you a whore then; is that what's been hiding inside you all this time? And what about your husband; what about poor Mike? Right now he probably thinks you're out playing tennis or doing the laundry; what do you think he'd say if he saw you down on your knees in your own living room with this gangster's penis in your mouth?

The conflict between her upbringing and her desires of the moment was almost unendurable--Lisa thought she would go out of her mind with it. One voice, the voice of the drug, was saying "fuck Mike; he spent last night with a whore, didn't he? Well, now it's my turn;" while the other, "normal" voice called shame and degradation down on her. And which of these two voices was hers, truly hers? She'd been forced to take a drug, she knew that, and the drug was obviously working its evil on her, but why was this evil so enjoyable? Was it possible that the drug had only freed her to hear her own deepest yearnings and desires? Was it possible that both the voices were hers, or even more horrible to contemplate, that the voice of lust was the only one that really belonged to her, that the other voice was only an overlay, some outside imposition that had nothing to do with her true feelings, her true self? No, no, her mind screamed, it was impossible--this couldn't be her!

Yet her body went on reacting to its hidden longings, still her lips moved along Snyder's cock, still her tongue gathered in the droplets of semen that leaked down onto it. She was dimly aware that Snyder was squirming on the couch, that the other two men--what were their names?--were ogling her, pointing and laughing, but the only thing she was fully aware of, the only thing that mattered, was the knowledge that Snyder's prick was slowly growing, slowly filling her mouth with its warm, pulsing beauty. What a cock this was, she thought. To her drug-soaked mind Snyder's cock had become the quintessence of all cocks everywhere--she felt as if she was sucking off the entire male race.

In the meantime Snyder himself was becoming more and more personally involved with the proceedings. Wow, he thought to himself, this little bitch can really suck! It is just the fly, or has her old man been missing out on something all this time? Maybe, he thought, chuckling to himself, maybe we didn't have to give her fly at all, maybe all we had to do was ask her. She sure was doing a job on him! He could feel her coating his dick with her warm, slick saliva, scraping him gently with her teeth, licking him, caressing him with her lips, taking more and more of his stiff cock into her soft pink mouth. Already the semen was beginning to churn and gurgle in his balls, already he could feel his climax approaching.

He reached down, grabbed Lisa by the ears, pulled her off him. "Hold it, baby," he said. "Let's all go up to where we can be more comfortable. I don't want to stain your nice velvet couch." Dixon and Carstairs laughed out loud.

"No," cried Lisa, "no," as she immediately plunged herself back down onto Snyder's burning cock. She couldn't bear to be separated from that magnificent rod, no, not even for an instant. Every fiber of her being cried out for it, had to have it, had to feel it slide down her mouth and lodge in her throat. Fiercely she grabbed onto Snyder's thighs, gouging into his flesh with her fingernails as she filled her open, yearning mouth with his pulsating prick.

"Come on, baby," said Snyder imploringly, pushing her away from him again, "let's go upstairs. Come on, now."

Still Lisa would not be moved. She dug her fingernails even deeper into Snyder's thighs, threatening by implication to leave huge red welts up and down his legs if he attempted to push her away again. There was no stopping her now: she had kept a tight lid on her desires for almost thirty years, and now that the drug had freed her from her self-imposed prison she was determined to make the most of it, to suck and suck and go on sucking, forever if necessary, or at least until Snyder's prick eroded away in her mouth.

Snyder saw that there would be no deterring her, no possibility of an intermission, no matter how brief, so he decided that the best thing he could do would be simply to sit back, relax, and enjoy it. For there Was no denying the intense pleasure of it, the exciting sensation of her lush wet mouth wrapped around his penis--never had the gangster been treated so royally, not even by his own hand-picked prostitutes. Yes, he thought, I'm just going to let this incredible woman take care of me.

Lisa had swallowed nearly the entire length of his aching cock. Now she began to suck in earnest, to pull at the tender foreskin with all the strength of her jaws. Her muffled moaning echoed in Snyder's brain, which in turn sent messages of excitement scurrying down to his loins. He felt as if his entire body had been pulled into his penis and concentrated there, as if there was nothing left of him except the raw, pulsating nerve in the tip of his dick.

"Oooooooooooooooooooo," he cried. "That's it, baby. Come on now, suck me. That's right, suck me. Don't ever stop. Don't ever stop."

Lisa was not about to stop. His prick was throbbing steadily now, like a mighty drum inside her mouth, and each pulsing beat of it sent chills of pleasure down her spine. She knew he was coming nearer and nearer his climax, could hardly wait to feel his warm, gushing sperm stream into her throat. This thought egged her on, drove her to suck harder and harder yet, until she could barely breathe. She had dug her fingernails so far into the gangster's thighs that blood had begun to drip out--she could feel it on her fingertips, and the warm oiliness of it only aroused her that much more. She had to drink his cum, her crazed mind cried out to her, she had to drink it or surely she would die of thirst.

"Oh," Snyder was crying as his orgasm welled up in him, "oh... oh!... Oh!... OH!... AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! I'm cumming, oh Jesus God, I'm CUMMMMMMMIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG!"

Lisa felt his prick lash in her mouth, felt the first torrents of hot sperm gush into her. She gulped once, twice, three times, greedily swallowing as much of the honey-sweet white stuff as she could, feeling it slide down her esophagus and into her waiting belly, filling her nearly to overflowing. But the torrent started to subside before Lisa had gulped all she wanted, so suddenly, without warning, she grabbed Snyder's balls and squeezed them as hard as she could, milking them for every drop of semen they contained.

"YAAAAAAAAA," screamed Snyder as she squeezed his balls. He jumped off the couch, tearing his prick from Lisa's mouth as he did, shredding it on the hard surface of her teeth. The last few drops of his semen dribbled out onto the floor as he danced in pain, blood beginning to ooze out from his wounded prick.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHH," he screamed again. Never had he felt such pain, such excruciating, tortuous pain. But, he remembered as he fell to his knees in the middle of the living room, he had never felt such pleasure either. Oh, that poor, dumb cop, he thought, what that poor bastard's been missing--he should have given this chick Spanish fly years ago.

Dixon and Carstairs could hardly believe what they had seen, what they were seeing right this moment. There was their boss, the toughest, shrewdest operator on the West Coast, maybe in the country, on his knees in front of them, bleeding from a blow job by some cop's wife. It was too much, absolutely too much, Dixon thought. Lord, how that little housewife could do it; and in just a few minutes she was going to be doing it to him. Except Dixon wasn't going to settle for just a blow job--it didn't look like the safest thing in the world anyway--he was going to plant himself all the way inside that hot little bitch. Yes, he thought, this is going to be one hell of a fine afternoon.

"Get her upstairs, boys," said Snyder hoarsely, struggling to his feet. He was recovering now: his dick had stopped bleeding, and he could feel his strength returning. He stood up, reached down to his pants, which were still wrapped around his ankles, pulled them back up to his waist, took a few cautious steps. "Go on, go on, take her upstairs," he said. "I'll be up in a minute."

Dixon went over to Lisa, who was lying on the carpet, her eyes glazed and staring, her body quivering with unfulfilled lust. The drug had completely taken over now, had put her in touch with a lifetime of hidden sexual fantasies--her session with Snyder had been amusing, but it was only a beginning. The touch of Dixon's hands as he bent over to pick her up was like a siren sounding through her blazing body; immediately she threw her arms around him, dug her mouth into his neck.

Jesus, thought Dixon, is she going to fuck me right here in the living room? "Hold it, baby, hold it," he said, unhooking her arms from the back of his neck, "let's go upstairs, then you can do anything you want." He looked at her, saw the uncontained desire in her eyes, felt his own excitement increasing rapidly. "Anything at all," he whispered.