Chapter 9

With the money--six hundred dollars--tucked into her stocking top, Nicole Patterson felt like a satisfied whore. She was ready for something different.

For one thing, she was a little hungry, and she remembered, from her college days, an all-night deli that served absolutely delicious pepperoni rolls. She had two with all the trimmings and, as she was driving away, she saw a lighted church. A few people were entering for midnight mass.

Nicole took the money out of her stocking top. She hurried into the church and dropped five hundred dollars into the poorbox. She kept one hundred. The car would need gas before she got home, and she wasn't carrying her credit card. She'd regained her nonprofessional status. She was no longer a whore, just a fun fuck.

Nicole drove around a bit, with no real destination in hand. She just wasn't quite ready to go home yet. And she was still trying to decide what to do about her husband and his treachery.

Maybe it was partly her fault. Maybe she'd been a little conservative in bed. Maybe that's why he'd taken on another woman. From what she'd seen on Bill Archer's videotape, it was obvious that Becky O'Hara was not at all conservative when it came to sex.

The little red-headed slut had giggled with glee at the prospect of taking Roger's cock in her pussy, her mouth, her asshole. She'd even wrapped her tits around his cock and let him squirt off in her freckled face.

But Nicole didn't feel very conservative now, considering what she had done today. She found herself thinking about the crinkly patch of red hair around Becky's cunt. Roger appeared to enjoy nuzzling his face in it. Nicole wondered if she would find it just as tasty.

She passed a telephone booth and, on an impulse, stopped the car. Although she knew what the result would be, she needed to be sure. She dialed Roger's hotel in New York and waited for the switchboard to ring his room. A woman answered. She had a soft voice and identified herself as Mrs. Patterson. Nicole apologized for getting the wrong number and hung up.

She was near a warehouse belonging to Schroyer Electronics. Nicole parked on the street and climbed up the loading dock. She entered the building as if she owned the place.

Actually, she did. It was one of the businesses whose controlling interest she'd inherited from her father, though she didn't take part in any of the operations.

The place was stacked high with boxed televisions, VCRs, microwaves, stereos. Schroyer had a chain of discount stores all over the state, and this was the main warehouse.

She heard music coming from a room to the side, and she went in that direction. The door was open, and she saw three guys sitting at a table, playing cards, sipping whiskey, and shooting the shit.

The men didn't notice her, which gave Nicole a moment to look them over.

Two of them were young, probably fresh out of high school-- one a greaser type with slick hair, the other a sandy-blonde, both wearing jeans and sleeveless T-shirts that showed off their well- developed biceps. The third man was older, perhaps in his mid- thirties. His face was turned away, but there was something familiar about the shape of his head.

"You better have a royal flush," said the younger of the two studs, taking a bill off the stack of dollars in front of him. He put it down in the center of the table and then poured himself a drink. "If you don't, I'm going home a rich man tonight."

The other stud filled his own paper cup. He was out of the hand.

"I'm going home a horny man," he said. "Mary Lou's on the rag. There's no fuckin' justice."

Nicole cleared her throat.

"Hey," she said, leaning against the door-post, "who do I have to fuck to get a drink around here?"

They all turned, and Nicole's jaw dropped when she saw the face of the third man. It was Bill Archer, the detective who'd gotten the goods on her husband.

Archer's expression didn't change as he stared back at Nicole, though it was obvious he recognized her. He laid his cards down and he looked at her calmly.

The guy who wasn't going to fuck Mary Lou stood up.

"You could always start with me," he said, picking up the bottle and holding it out.

"Good a place as any," Nicole said, moving toward the table.

Bill Archer leaned back in his chair. He had a cigarette in one hand, a paper cup in the other. He tilted his head to one side and watched Nicole through narrowed eyes. What the bell was he doing here? she wondered. Was the snoop business so bad he had to take a warehouse job at night, just to make ends meet? But by that time, the dark young greaser with the athletic build was standing in front of her, and she reached for the bottle he held in his hand.

"Cheers," she said, tipping it and pouring a shot down her throat. She wasn't much of a drinker, never had been.

No one was playing cards now. The other young guy was on his feet, his thumbs hitched in the belt loops of his jeans. His T- shirt was skin-tight, and he had the most gorgeous body Nicole had ever seen in her life.

Nicole's eyes drifted downward, checking out the front of his tight jeans. The bulge of his cock was plain to see. The corners of Nicole's mouth lifted in a smile. She took another drink and said, "Well, I suppose you want to be paid for the whiskey, right, dude?"

She put the bottle down on the card table and went to the man who had handed it to her. She pushed herself against him, first with the tits, then coming in at crotch level. He was about Nicole's size, and she stared into his eyes from an inch away while she stroked his body with her own. Her mouth was open, the tip of her tongue showing between the lips. She slid her tongue along her lips, moistening them, and her eyes sparkled a challenge.

"Man, I don't fuckin' believe this!" he gasped, grabbing her ass and squeezing her body tight against his.

Her legs spread, and she surrounded him with them. She thrust her cunt vigorously, massaging his crotch until she felt the spirit beginning to flow life into his cock. It hardened inside his pants as she kept her body in action.

He fondled her ass excitedly, grinding her ass in his hands. She pushed herself into him, moving her crotch up and down against his cock and balls. She could feel the length of his prick in there. Her tongue fucked into his mouth and her drool merged with his.

Her hands encircled him, and she cupped his ass. She stroked up and down, feeling the ripples of his muscles. She pushed her hands down inside the top of his pants, inside his shorts, hungry to feel bare flesh under her fingers.

She opened her mouth for a kiss. His breath tasted of whiskey. So did hers. She was starting to feel the booze at the back of her head, a tingling buzz. She could feel her teddy crotch getting damp, and there was a throbbing at the point of her hardening clit.

He turned her around, backing Nicole up against the edge of the table. She parked her ass on the side, and he lifted her skirt. His hand moved on the insides of her thighs, back and forth, his fingertips brushing across the crotch of her teddy. Suddenly he thrust his hand inside the leg opening and got himself a fistful of her wet cunt.

His finger entered her pussy after scraping the hard bud of her clit, and she spread her legs, the muscles automatically drawing him deeper into her fuck-hole. She squeezed with her cunt, milking his finger, coating it in the wetness that was already flowing like piss from her pussy.

"Oh, shit," he said. "This bitch is primed and ready!"

He brought his hand out and waved the fingers in front of his buddy's face. The other guy sniffed and grinned. Bill Archer still sat on the other side of the table, sipping at his paper cup of whiskey.

They were both on her then, getting her out of her dress and sliding down the straps of her teddy to bare her jiggling tits. Each of them took a tit in hand, pinching the nipples to make them stand up even bigger and stiffer. One of them leaned down to take a wet-mouthed suck. Nicole stroked his head while he fed at her tit, and she gurgled in satisfaction.