Chapter 8

The place that Arnold had in mind was not far from the Water Tower Inn in Chicago. As they drove along in the rented car, they chatted amiably, Steve alone by himself in the back seat. Sarah sat in the front next to her husband, but she kept her hand under her dress, pulling her panties aside and gently massaging her cuntal mound, as she appeared to talk casually with her handsome son-in-law. Her loins were really getting worked up, she thought. Something had better happen soon between her and that tall, dark and handsome hunk of young man.

The lights of the city went swiftly by them, all bright and twinkling in the early evening. Even in the ghetto it seemed as if people were out for a good time, carousing with bottles of wine in their hands, arms around sultry, lusty black women with large, heaving busts and bright, flashing smiles. And before long they had reached the Gold Coast, where they left the car in a parking lot in back of the Ambassador East and then made their way by foot to the secluded hideaway between the Water Tower Inn and the Elks Mosaic Temple.

The building was almost entirely constructed of concrete blocks, and Steve looked around himself curiously as they passed through the large West African mahogany double doors which were presided over by an immense Negro bearing a faint resemblance to Harry Belafonte. Then they were in a long, marble-tiled corridor and making their way towards a huge shining metal door at the far end.

"Where -- just what sort of place is this?" Steve asked, looking around.

Sarah gripped his hand snugly. "You'll see, dear. Just wait and see."

While Arnold guffawed loudly. "Best show in town, son. And so long as Jan is not here with us, there's no harm in your joining us. -- But you'll see what we mean in a few moments."

Steve didn't know what to make of it. Actually he felt that his in- laws were being altogether too mysterious about wherever it was they were taking him. He half-suspected that the wildest thing they could think of would be an illicit bingo parlor presided over by a bunch of old ladies holding long, thin cigarette holders and dressed a la 1930's.

The large metal door was opened by a greasy-looking fat man with a black mustache. Arnold immediately pulled off a roll of bills and Steve gasped to see him pass the little man three hundred dollars. But surely that must be a deposit on some gambling chips! And then he stumbled forward as his mother-in-law warmly took his hand in hers, scarcely noticing that her index finger was tickling his palm, for they had stepped into the most lavishly decorated room he'd ever seen.

Everything was a deep rose velvet embroidery from ceiling to floor, the color of sensuality. And long, low couches were arranged in enormous staggered semi-circles facing an inclined stage which contained in its center a single large level platform carpeted with pillows of every color and shape, some satiny, some velvet.

Steve looked around. Most of the men present in the large entertainment room had the appearance of obvious wealth, small diamonds numerous and prominent on their little fingers. The majority of them were elderly or middle-aged, and their companions were generally young, some of them alarmingly so. He was shocked and impressed by one spike-heeled, long-haired girl who he would have sworn could not be more than thirteen years of age.

But there were also middle-aged women in the room as well, none of them with a youth over twenty. All of these younger men were splendidly fitted out, and several of them tramped along guided by very severe looking older women, occasionally being admonished not to be naughty. A gorgeous redhead with hair very long and wavy all the way down to the crevice in her low-cut gown, eyes heavily made up with blue shadow, was guiding a large German shepherd on a leash very reminiscent of Rex, Marge Levitt's dog. -- But she was the only person in the room without a companion.

The air was sultry and there was a trace of too much smoke. Steve undid his necktie and collar. "Well, there's a stage. What time does the show start?" he murmured in a low voice.

His attractive buxom mother-in-law gripped his arm possessively. "You'll see, dear."

A tall, white-haired man in a tuxedo came up and whispered something to the Talbotts. After a brief exchange -- during which Steve rather thought he had heard his name mentioned -- he guided the three of them to a couch in the furthest, most darkened end of the big room. "I'm sure you will feel comfortable here," he said, and then he was gone.

There was a movable tray covered with every sort of liquor, and apparently it was all included in the admission charge, for Arnold quickly fixed drinks for the three of them and then sat back down with them into the deep, soft cushions which were so soothing and womblike that Steve was half afraid he would fall asleep in them.

"Here's to an exciting evening, Steve," said Arnold, "drink up." He lifted his glass and downed whatever it was in an instant.

Steve drank with them, of course. He wasn't sure what they had given him -- he couldn't quite pinpoint the taste. It was sweet, yet faintly bubbly as well. Something like a cross between absinthe and champagne. He found that it soothed him immediately and helped him to relax. It so relaxed him in fact that he didn't even notice Sarah's hand resting casually inside his upper thigh.

Where is it? she thought. It can't be that small.

Suddenly the house lights seemed to be dimming. Steve looked around. "What's that?"

"Oh, we must have gotten here just in time," Sarah said delightedly. "The show's probably going to start -- in which case I'd better hurry up and freshen up a bit so I don't have to go out in the middle."

"That goes for me, too," said Arnold, "Excuse me, Steve."

So Sarah went to the powder room first, and then Arnold also disappeared. Steve continued to sit there by himself, and gradually the house lights dimmed until where they were, way in the back, was almost totally in darkness. Pitch black would have been an understatement. Steve could not see his hand in front of his face.

And then there was a shuffling of feet, and he could sense the subtle expensive perfume of his mother-in-law.

But then instead of sitting on his left side, she moved across him -- her buttocks brushing tantalizingly across his sensitive nose -- and settled down into the couch next to him. Immediately she placed her slender, rapier-nailed hand on his leg and whispered, "I feel much better now, Arnold, darling. Has anything happened yet?"

"But I'm not --" he tried to protest, only to be cut off in the darkness with:

"Sssssh, it looks like the show is starting."

As indeed it was. The lights had gradually brightened on the center of the stage, and now Steve could make out, up there, a teenage girl -- she appeared to be no more than fourteen -- seated at a vanity in black net hose, black leather boots, and a shiny patent leather suit. She was combing out her shining, long red hair, which was not flame nor exactly carmine, but rather the exact color of ripe orange rind. She had been made up with a beauty spot on one cheek, and now as she put down her comb and brush, she began to make up her lips, using altogether much more lipstick than was necessary. In moments her lips were shining a bright pinkish shade, and spilling well over her lip lines so that she had every appearance of a street whore.

Steve winced, wondering exactly what kind of a show this was. And then, peering down in the blackness, he suddenly felt something else -- Sarah's hand on his leg, slowly, groping for his penis, which lay in quiet recline along the inside of his right thigh...

He gulped and felt dumbfounded. What could he do? He couldn't very well protest and alarm her. And by now he was in such an embarrassing position that it would be awkward for both of them.

On the other hand, he couldn't very well let her continue with this most intimate caress... mystified, he wondered what to do... as the girl on the stage slowly began to strip out of her black-flavored things...

Steve gasped and looked towards the stage, totally confused. He didn't know which to give his attention to -- the gorgeous young creature on the stage who was gradually disrobing, or the slowly moving hand that had finally located the rapidly responding genitals between his legs.

"Mmmm, Arnold, darling, you're really getting excited quickly tonight," his mother-in-law whispered, compounding her error.

"But I'm --" And then his jaw fell slack and open. For the teenage temptress on the stage had taken off her long, shining black gown, revealing lengthy, well-rounded legs and high firm young breasts encased in black lace. The black of her long silk stockings, held in place by a dainty, lace-trimmed garter belt, contrasted sharply with the cream-white ivory of her succulent teenage skin.

Then there were sighs of delight from the audience as the girl's bra was unlocked and dropped to the floor of the stage beneath the burning spotlights. The full beauty of her firm, ripe young breasts swung and jiggled their way to freedom. They stood high and proud, topped, with quivering, turgid strawberry nipples atop luscious secondary mounds half- spherical in shape and form. The bulbous peaks of her gorgeous young breasts mingled with the effect of her long red hair to create a supremely erotic effect. She raised her arms, then, high up over her head, pulling her long red hair up, then releasing it to cascade softly down over her nakedly alluring shoulders.

Now the half-child was clothed just in black patent leather heels, dark hose, garter belt, and the thinnest wisp of see-through panties. Steve breathed hotly as he glimpsed the soft, rounded pubic mound and the thinly glistening little hairs curling out through the elastic crotch band of her panties. Then she turned and bent over slowly, her back to the audience. She drew the black silk panties tantalizingly down her hips and buttocks -- brushing them sensuously against her thighs and calves, and discarded them at her feet. Then she stretched languidly, jiggling her firm, gravity-defying breasts, and teasingly turned frontward...

All of her smooth, delicious nudity was revealed now, from her round firm breasts to the soft orange triangle wherein nestled her slickly moistening young womanhood.

Steve didn't know what to concentrate on first -- this gorgeous young girl on the stage, or his mother-in-law's hand, which was incessantly teasing at the relentlessly growing bulge in his trousers, mmming and aaaaahhhhhing as her hand gently fondled him, as if she had suddenly discovered the most wonderful male treasure in the whole world.

By now every urge on his part to inform her of her mistake had evaporated. Especially as his father-in-law had now returned and was concentrating avidly on the floor show on the other side of him. The embarrassment and shame a public argument might cause would be unbearable. No! Unthinkable!

Although it was remarkable, he reflected, that his own fortyish mother-in-law even did such things. He had always regarded her as so terribly strait-laced and untouchable.

"Mmmmmmm, Arnold," she whispered again, moving her head to his shoulder and gently licking at the lobe of his ear. "You have such a beautifully growing cock tonight, dear."

Steve gulped in the darkness. Now he was really becoming lost. Everything had gone altogether too far. His rod jerked wildly as she blew in his ear and licked it. His balls throbbed hotly, building and growing with their overload of orgasmic liquid.

Now the girl on the stage was squeezing her nudely exposed breasts in her hotly working hands and moaning softly, her eyes tightly shut. Then her fingers came up to tweak at the pulsating, blood-hard nipples. Her lovely tanned legs opened and closed slowly, exposing the young, sparsely hair-fringed slit of her vaginal lips, so quiescent but inviting between the fleecy thin curls of her red pubic hair. She sat down on the bed with an ecstatic gasp and began to tease two fingers in and out of it as the audience panted with passion and delight at seeing this beautiful young creature play so shamelessly with herself.