(3/9) (Crime Drama, nc, not pc)
SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY
by Rhett Dreams (c. 1996)
Author's note: This story borrows characters from two novels by Thomas Harris:
"Red Dragon" and "Silence of the Lambs." It is highly recommended that you
read this particular story in order; otherwise, you miss important elements of
the plot.
Warning: This fictitious story is decidedly NOT politically correct and is
intended for mature readers.
Chapter Three
Clarice Starling's expectation that she'd wrap the case up inside a week
proved a bit optimistic when she went to Birmingham to interview the Burns and
Walters families. Congressman Walters and his wife were stunned to hear her
account of what had happened to their daughter. Starling was as delicate as
she could be when she explained the semen found in both her orifices, and their
theory of her death.
"That's not... our girl!" said the mother, crying into her hands.
Congressman Walters face went from pale to red with anger. "It doesn't
make any sense," he said between clenched teeth. "We know Debbie's not like
that, and we've known Henry Burns and his family since he was little."
"All the evidence points to Burns," said Starling, reasonably, then
suggested that she be allowed to talk to him privately. He led her outside and
they walked in the garden while she told him of the prints found on the gun,
the presence of fluids in the girl that matched Burns's blood type, shared by
less than two percent of the population, and the evidence than Burns had
engaged in anal sex shortly before taking his life.
Walters was still shaking his head when she finished. "I like to think
of myself as a logical man, Agent Starling. If A plus B equals C, then C minus
B must equal A. If what you're saying is true, then I have to conclude that
her mother and I were living in this house with a complete stranger, and that
we'd hopelessly misread Henry's character. I don't believe either is true."
Starling could not keep her face neutral and Walters picked up on her
expression that said, "I've heard this before from other parents."
He didn't get angry, just determined. "I know my daughter, Ms. Starling.
She inherited my temper, and could be quite a... bitch, at times... as can I, I
know. And I'm not one of those fathers who deludes himself that his daughter
is and will remain a virgin until she's married. She lost her virginity when
she was sixteen, after first discussing it with Harriet---my wife. She
concluded Debbie was ready, well protected, and gave her blessing. I know she
has sex regularly with Henry, and I've been happy for both of them. They were
learning to be adults."
"Did you know they were into, um, kinky stuff?" asked Starling.
"You see, Agent Starling, I don't believe they were. Debbie was too
squeamish, always had been. A needle would cause her to feint. She had no
tolerance for pain or discomfort. I just can't imagine her agreeing to anal
sex, or letting herself get... choked. I know this stuff happens but it
doesn't fit either Debbie or Henry. And Henry was... well, it's a crude and
tasteless expression but it fits---the guy was pussy whipped. He took more shit
from that girl than I ever would from anybody. He was absolutely devoted to
her."
He gave her names of close friends of Debbie's and Henry's. As he walked
her out to her rental car he said, "Let's be logical again, Agent Starling. If
I'm right about the kids, then one of two things happened to my girl. The
evidence was either manufactured by the FBI in some bizarre conspiracy to get
back at me, which seems rather far-fetched, or somebody forced Debbie and Henry
to have sex before they were killed. I admit that doesn't seem very plausible
but please, keep an open mind to what I've said."
"I will, Congressman."
"I suspect you will, Agent Starling. Senator Martin called me last
night, and told me that you were almost single-handedly responsible for
rescuing her daughter from that "Buffalo Bill" psychopath. She said you were
headstrong and impertinent but totally devoted to finding her girl. It's too
late for Debbie but I hope you remain as devoted to finding the truth."
She shook his hand and drove off.
- o -
After two days in Birmingham, she'd talked to the Burns' family and to
several friends of both Debbie and Henry. The refrain that was repeated often
was, "That's not Henry... or Debbie ...or Them." Nobody believed that Henry
would perform anal sex with Debbie or any other girl, and nobody believed that
she'd let him. One girl, a friend of both Henry and Debbie, confessed that
she'd slept with Henry before he and Debbie were a couple.
"He was a very sweet guy, Ms. Starling. Gentle and caring... and
incredibly good looking. But he was really quite boring in bed, if you know
what I mean. I once suggested that we play a game and pretend that he was,
y'know, raping me. He refused to do it. I just can't imagine him doing...
that!"
The girl giggled and added, "I never would have let him go."
- o -
On the flight back she reviewed the case folder from front to back, not
as she had earlier, convinced of the circumstances that led to both deaths.
This time she looked for anything that might be out of place. Any detail that
might suggest some other answer. She found none.
It came to her in the middle of the night. She sat up in bed and let the
thought form in her mind. The car. The Porsche didn't have enough gas to make
it from it's last fill up, a credit card charge two days earlier, on their way
to New Orleans, to make it there and back, up to the northwest corner of
Mississippi where the body was dumped, and then over to where the car was found
twenty miles west of Birmingham.
She got out of bed and retrieved the file from her briefcase and an
atlas. Assuming they drove around a bit in New Orleans, which seemed likely
given the dispersion of their credit card charges while they were there, it
would be seven or eight hundred miles to complete the loop. She search through
the file and found the report on the Porsche.
"Shit!" she said to herself. The report stated that the Porsche had a
full tank of gas when it was found.
"Why would Burns stop and fill up the car with gas, paying cash
presumably because he was running and wouldn't want any record of a charge,
only to go a few more miles, drive off the road and kill himself?"
- o -
Starling never went back to sleep that night, and arrived at her office
shortly before seven. She reviewed to case folder again until eight and called
the State Police in both Alabama and Mississippi. Using her West Virginia
accent, she sweet- talked them into checking all the service stations on any
possible route taken by Burns. They had already done this with motels, hoping
to find where the couple had stopped for the sex, but had come up empty.
She called the Alabama State police again and got herself transferred to
the sergeant who had overseen the towing of the Porsche to their evidence lot,
where it remained. She explained her concern and he agreed to recheck the gas
level. He called back an hour later.
"It's about as full as the tank'll allow," he said. "Couldn't have
traveled more than ten or fifteen miles since the last fill-up."
She thanked him and hung up, excited now.
Towards the end of the day she got a call from the Alabama Staties, who
said they'd checked every station on every route to the Mississippi border and
no one seen the Porsche or could identify the picture of Burns and Walters.
"I wonder if he could've driven further toward Birmingham, filled it,
then gone back for some reason?" she asked.
"That's a negative," drawled the voice on the other end of the line. "We
figured that was a possibility and checked all the way to the city limits.
That boy didn't stop for gas."
Impatient now, she called the Mississippi Staties and got the same guy
she had talked to earlier.
"We've checked all the stations up North," he said, "from Jackson up past
where the body was found, and all the routes east to 'bama. Nobody saw the
Porsche."
"What about south of Jackson?" asked Starling.
"We're still checkin'," he said. "I got all the County Sheriffs down
there on a conference call this morning, and each agreed to check along the
gulf coast roads, all the way North to Hattiesburg. But its hard to imagine
why they'd take that route, given where the body ended up."
Starling thanked him and asked that he call her office, or her home
number, if he uncovered anything new. She sat back in her chair and closed her
eyes, rubbing them, trying to come up with some explanation for the facts. Her
eyes open suddenly when the strange disappearance of Beth Albert popped back
into her head. The agent in New Orleans had mentioned that he'd checked gas
stations and found nobody who remembered the girl or her finances fancy
Mercedes.
She found his number and, as luck would have it, Gene Myers was at his
desk.
"Sure, Clarice," he said. "I remember our conversation. Congratulations,
by the way, for solving the Walters case."
"I'm not sure I have," she said.
He listen attentively while she told him about the unaccountably full
tank of gas in the Porsche, then went over what she'd learned about the
personalities of the two victims.
"Two victims?" he said, interrupting her.
She realized that she had uttered that phrase because she was beginning
to doubt the easy conclusion she'd drawn from the evidence, and was now
wondering if maybe Henry Burns was a victim rather than the perpetrator.
"I'm thinking, maybe--"
"Maybe this couple met the same fate as Beth Albert," finished Myers.
"And this may be linked to the other disappearances."
"Uh huh," said Starling.
There was a long pause before Myers said, "I don't know... Let's assume
for a moment that there is in fact a car theft ring operating someplace down
here."
"Let's assume more," added Starling. "Let's assume that these women, all
young and attractive, have been abducted and sold off, as sex slaves."
"What?"
Starling went over her conversation with Quinn, reviewing the gruesome
facts of the abductions and slavery of girls, boys and women. Myers listened
patiently.
"Okay, Clarice. But that makes my point even better. Why would they kill
the girl, set up this ass-backwards charade to implicate the Burns kid, and
thereby lose the opportunity to collect on both the Porsche and the girl? I've
seen the picture of the girl that y'all FAXed down. She was real pretty,
right? And her boyfriend, the Burns kid, looks like a young Clark Gable without
the mustache. Why wouldn't they sell em' off, and the car?"
Starling's enthusiasm dampened. He was right, it didn't make sense. She
thanked him and hung up.
- o -
Sheriff Trent had been on edge ever since he got the call that morning
from the Staties, asking for his help checking gulf-coast gas stations for the
white Porsche. The FAX that followed, pictures of the car, Burns and Walters,
had his palms sweating. He put two deputies on the detail, then called Price
and warned him to expect a visit. It took five minutes for him to calm his
nervous partner, telling him over and over again that this was routine.
"All you have to do, Sam, is look at the pictures, say something nice
'bout the car or the girl, and say you would have remembered them stopping for
gas. Offer to call up Ward and see if he saw them. Get this right, Sam, or
we're all fucked!"
He shouted the last sentence and slammed down the phone. He got up,
pacing his office, while he reviewed the facts in his head and calmed down. He
realized the error they'd made, not thinking to siphon gas from the Porsche
before dumping it and Burns. His plan was still solid, he concluded at last.
Even if they never found how and where he filled the Porsche they assume that
someone had lied or forgotten him stopping at a gas station. Or they'd assume
that someone other than the folks they talked to had manned the pumps when
Burns stopped to get gas. There was too much concrete evidence to keep this
from being closed soon.
"Who the fuck is investigating this?" he muttered to himself.
- o -
Trent paid a visit to Tom at the Heinz farm, wanting to check on him
before he went to the Price Garage to mollify his other two partners. Tom's
condition surprised Trent. The black man was never very clean or well dressed,
even in the best of times, but Trent found him looking especially worn and
haggard. He smelled like he hadn't bathed in weeks, and his graying whiskers
and furtive eyes worried the lawman.
Trent covered his disgust and said, with as much cheer as he could,
"It'll be awhile, Tom, before we can start up again. What you need is a good
woman."
He reached into his pocket and brought out a think roll of bills.
"Get yourself shaved and cleaned up, Tom, and I'll treat you to a visit
to Rosie's." Trent peeled off four hundreds and gave them to Tom. "That
should be enough for a special. Rosie's girls will scratch whatever itch you
have."
The black's eyes widened and he took the money.
"It has been awhile, boss," he said.
"Sure has," said Trent. "And I feel bad having cheated you outta the
redhead. Jesus Christ, I don't think I've ever heard such a commotion as when
the boy fucked her sorry ass."
"No sir," said Tom, grinning.
"And that boy sure had a tight ass on him," continued Trent, knowing
Tom's interest in fuckin' anything that moved, and guessing correctly of his
interest.
"He was somethin'," agreed Tom.
Tom ran his hand over his two week-old beard, then excused himself to go
shave and shower. Trent watched him go with a frown on his face. If there was
a weak link in this operation is was certainly Tom. He decided that he may
have to do something about him.
Back in his office after stopping by the Price Garage to check on Ward
and Sam, Trent called Rosie and warned her to expect Tom.
"Shit, Sheriff, that nigger's gonna wear out by girls," complained the
proprietress of the county's only brothel. Trent let her stay in operation
because she kept her girls clean and safe and she didn't cheat anyone. Of
course, she also allowed him an occasional freebie.
"He'll pay top dollar," said Trent. "And I'll consider it a favor."
She made a noise that Trent took as acceptance, the said, "Speaking of
favors, Sheriff, we haven't seen you around for months. You got yourself a
honey?"
"Jes' gettin' old, Miss Rosie. Besides, I'm saving myself fo' you."
She laughed heartily before they said their good-byes and hung up.
- o -
Starling used tweezers to hold the edge of the postcard and examine it.
This latest note from Hannibal Lecter was postmarked from Oklahoma City, but
she knew it meant nothing and would lead nowhere. The elegantly penned words
read:
I wonder if you're on this case, my dear
The Little Rock Rapist I mean
This last little gift was not his, I fear
The timing's not right nor can be the scene
As with the previous communiques, it was signed HL. This one unnerved
her, because it must have been written and mailed just after the discovery of
Walters' body and before the discovery of Burns' apparent suicide. If Lecter
was following this case in the press, and she was sure he was, he could only
have seen the first newspaper or TV accounts which assumed she was the fifth
victim of the serial killer. Once again the brilliant psychopath was showing
off for her, teasing her with his prose.
She placed the card in an envelope and marked it for lab analysis,
knowing that they'd find no prints and tell her that the card could be
purchased at any of ten thousand stores across the country.
Her phone rang and she took the call.
"Hi Clarice, Gene Myers here."
"Hi Gene. Anything new on Beth?" she asked.
"Maybe, maybe not. But that's why I'm calling. I've been kicking myself
for dumping all over your theory that maybe all these open MP cases are tied to
the Walters case."
Starling smiled into the phone. She liked this guy, and his southern
accent reminded her of the few pleasant times from her childhood in West
Virginia.
"I needed some cold water thrown on me, Gene" she said. "My imagination
was out-racing my reason."
"I'm not so sure now that I've noodled on it awhile. I've also been
poring over all the other MP cases that have come in, that involve both
expensive cars and young women."
"Yeah?" Starling's heart beat faster.
"The reports were filed all over the South, as you know, and I've just
now got them all sorted out. They're from the local PD's in Texas, Florida and
up north to Virginia, but all of the MPs can be reasonably placed along the
Gulf Coast when they disappeared."
"Any luck tracing the cars?"
"'Fraid not. But I was wondering if you and Agent Quinn could come down
here for a couple of days and help me sort through this case."
"I'd love to," she said. She told him that she'd check with Quinn and
clear it with Crawford, and get back to him.
- o -
Starling went to the FBI building in downtown New Orleans directly from
the airport. She found her way up to Gene Myers office, and peered into the
half open door to find a man in his early forties sitting behind his desk,
talking on the phone. Even if his name wasn't next to the office door she
would have known him from the easy rhythms of his baritone voice as he spoke
into the phone.
He looked up and waved her in. Starling entered and put her small
suitcase and shoulder bag down on the floor, then took a seat in front of his
desk, quietly opening the briefcase on her lap to retrieve her notebook. She
noticed that his blue eyes followed her as she moved, looking over the top of
his reading glasses.
He smiled a greeting.
"If you bring him in, what are the chances he'll tell us who he paid the
cash to?" said Myers into the phone, then scribbled down notes as he listened.
Starling took this time to study the agent in front of her. His face was wide
and open with laughing lines around the clear blue eyes. His hair was a dark
mass, a bit curly, not messy exactly but kind of haphazard. His eyebrows were
thick and unruly, graying along with the hair over his temples. She noticed
his tie wasn't on quite straight and that his shirt was somewhat wrinkled. He
was an attractive man but rumpled, like he didn't have a wife to look after
him, but she looked for and found a gold band on his finger.
"Sorry," he said after hanging up. "That was a detective in Beverly
Hills. They've found what they believe is one of our MP's car, a Ferrari."
"Oh, good," said Starling.
"Welcome to N'Orleans, Clarice," he said rising from his seat and walking
around his desk and extending his hand. Starling rose and shook his hand,
noticing that Myers was a bear of a man, well over six feet and quite stocky.
The hand that held hers was a huge mitt, holding her much smaller hand gently,
as if he was afraid of crushing her. As she looked up into his warm, smiling
face, she suppressed the instantly warm feeling in her gut for this man.
"Slow down, Clarice," she said to herself, "he's married."
'"You're much more attractive than that picture they ran of you in People
Magazine two years ago," he said with a sparkle in his eyes. She remembered
the college graduation picture they had run along with the story of her solving
the Buffalo Bill case and recovering Senator Martin's daughter.
"Come, I want to show you something," he said and led her out of the
office and unlocked the door of a window-less conference room a couple of doors
down the hall. One wall was covered with a huge map of the South, from the
east coast states to the western borders of Texas, Oklahoma and Kansas. The map
was covered with a plastic sheet and on the sheet lines and stars marked
various routes in myriad colors.
It was obvious even before Myers started his description of what he'd
done and what each line represented, that there was a convergence area for all
the lines along the gulf coast, from New Orleans through Biloxi, Mobile, and
Pensacola. She sat and listened as Myers stood in front of the map and told
each story in turn, succinctly. Each colored line represented a different
case, starting with a star that represented the MPs point of departure. A
smaller star represented a known or suspected stop for gas or food. The lines
continued on logical routes to their believed destinations. Small arrows every
hundred miles indicated direction.
"This next one, the Keating case, is especially interesting" he was
saying, pointing to the orange star in Atlanta and the solid line that led
southwest down Interstate 85 to Montgomery and from there to Mobile. "She was
on her way to Lake Charles, Louisiana, alone, driving a big BMW. The ones that
go for seventy-five grand. She stopped for the night at a Holiday Inn here,"
his finger stabbed the orange star half-way between Montgomery and Mobile.
"She had a reservation in New Orleans for the next night, but never
showed." He traced the now-dashed orange line along the gulf coast of
Mississippi and into Louisiana. Most all the lines followed this route, some
going east and some west, and became dashed for the stretch between New Orleans
and Mobile.
"That's were we focus," he said, stabbing his meaty finger at Biloxi,
Mississippi. They talked about the case for another two hours and about what
they'd do when Agent Quinn joined them the next morning.
"I should go check in," she said when they wound down, a little before
six. She had thoroughly enjoyed the discussion and was thrilled to be working
with this man.
"Nonsense," he drawled, looking at his watch, and then slapping his
forehead. "Oh, Lord... Follow me, Clarice," he said and hurried out of the
conference room in the direction of his office.
By the time she had gathered her note pad and pen and caught up with him,
he was on the phone.
"Yeah, hon... sorry," he was saying into the phone, "one more for
dinner... yeah, that sounds great... uh huh... thanks, hon."
"You're coming to my house for dinner," he announced after hanging up.
"We have a guest room with it's own bath. You'll be saying the Bureau some
money."
"I can't impose on your wife like that," said Starling.
"You wont be imposing, and it's not my wife. She passed away eighteen
months ago. My daughter, Nora, is home from college and has made a big pot of
gumbo. She'll be delighted to meet you."
"Oh," she said. "Sure, I guess so... that would be great." She felt the
return of the stirrings in her body as they picked up her bags and went down
the elevator to the parking garage. She really liked this man. She had also
been without a man for eight months, her last lover being Dr. Noble Pilcher, a
Ph.D. entomologist at the Smithsonian Institute. He was funny, smart and good
looking in a nerdy kind of way. She enjoyed the sex with him, but she also
knew that she didn't love him and never would. He understood this, after a
while, and they parted after agreeing to remain good friends. When she looked
at Myers' broad handsome face she felt light-headed, and this had never been
the case with hew other men she had taken to bed.
They took his car, a five-year old Ford Explorer. He had to move a stack
of papers and magazines before she could sit down. He tossed them in the back.
The car had the same cluttered, rumpled look as the man. They drove for
fifteen minutes and he pointed out things as he went, pieces of N'Orleans
history, famous houses and buildings and restaurants. He pulled into the
driveway of an old Victorian-era house, and she instantly loved the southern
feel of the house's wide wrap-around porch.
He took her bags and led the way inside, showing her to a large first
floor guest bedroom, dropping her bags on the antique four-poster bed.
"C'mom," he said. "My bet is we'll find Nora in the kitchen."
Nora Myers was a tall, lanky girl in her late teens, with long brown hair
and her father's clear blue eyes. She greeted Clarice warmly, offering her a
taste of the spicy gumbo she was stirring. Nora and Clarice chatted while Gene
went outside to set the table on the brick patio in back, the table shaded by a
large tree. Nora talked about her first year at college up North, were she was
studying oceanography. Then she quizzed Clarice about life as a woman agent
for the FBI, and about the Buffalo Bill case.
The girl checked the rice and when she turned she saw Clarice staring out
the window at her father, her expression showing admiration.
"What do you think of the old guy?" said Nora, moving next to the older
girl and watching her father sort out silverware is his meaty paws and place
them on the nicely folded cloth napkins.
"He makes my knees weak," said Clarice, without thinking, then blushed as
she realized what she'd said to Gene's daughter.
"He's a hunk," agreed Nora. "But kind of dense about women. Don't
expect him to make the first move, Clarice. He tries so hard to be chivalrous
that you'd think he was uninterested."
She looked directly into Starling's attractive face and added, "He
ain't."
- o -
After a delicious dinner, Nora excused herself and went inside. She'd
explained to Clarice that her summer job started early and she'd read a bit
before calling it a night. Clarice could tell, however, that she was just
trying to get out of the way. Gene refilled Clarice's wine glass and told her
to relax while he cleared the dishes. She sat back and enjoyed the warm summer
evening, feeling the effects of the wine and the candlelight and the
star-filled sky.
She noticed an upstairs light go on, then another, and could make out the
shadowy form of Nora as she moved from the bedroom to the bath, preparing for
bed. She could see Gene's large form in the kitchen window, working at the
sink. As she watched him and sipped her wine she felt a tingling in her sex,
and wondered if she should sleep with him while she was here. As soon as she
voiced that thought in her mind she was sure of one thing, that she wanted to
make love to him, tonight, and feel those hands on her body.
When he returned to the patio she rose and handed him his glass of wine.
He clinked his against hers and said, "To solving this case."
They each took a swallow, their eyes on one another.
"No shop talk," said Clarice as she lowered her glass. Feeling bold from
the wine and the feelings she had for this man, she moved up inside his arms
and looked up into his eyes. Her hand held his necktie and slowly pulled until
his head lowered and their lips met for a soft kiss.
"You're kinda growin' on me, Myers," she said, her lips not even an inch
from his.
"Oh?" he said, barely a whisper.
She kissed him again, harder this time.
"I feel like a shameless hussy," she said when they broke. She could
feel his heart beating quickly beneath her hand on his massive chest. "But
your daughter told me I'd have to be direct."
She kissed him a third time, wetly, and their tongues danced together
through a lengthy kiss that had them both breathing hard when they broke.
"Will you make love to me tonight?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, his voice hoarse.
"I'm gonna go take a shower," she said. She gave him a quick kiss,
squeezed his hand and walked toward the house, noticing the curtains move in
the upstairs bedroom.
She showered after unpacking her nightgown and toiletry kit. After
washing her hair and soaping and rinsing off her body, she used her safety
razor to touch up her legs and underarms. Then she spread her slender legs
apart and brought the razor down to the silky brown hair partially covering her
sex. It was her particular vanity to keep herself trimmed to a neat, small
patch just over the lips of her sex.
Dried off and wrapped in a towel, Clarice returned to the bedroom. She
searched through the bedside table, hoping to find condoms. Clarice she was
not on the pill, for health reasons, and had not thought to pack any with her.
She didn't find any, but did find two small glass bowls with short candles in
the middle. She found matches and lit the candles, placing one on either side
of the bed. The she pulled off the bedspread and folded it up, then pulled the
blanket down to the bottom of the bed.
She turned off the overhead light, leaving the room illuminated only by
the candles. Discarding the towel, she reached for her nightgown, wishing she'd
packed something lacy and sexy instead of this worn looking gown, a nightshirt
really. Deciding to remain nude, she brought the gown back to her bag and put
it away. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stared at her
reflection. Her apple-sized breasts were firm and high on her chest, her
stomach flat from her rigorous exercise routine, her legs well-muscled and
shapely.
"Not bad, Starling," she said. She watched herself in the mirror as she
brushed her hair, her free hand tracing up her belly and over her breasts. Her
nipples lengthened under her fingers and she could feel her sex wet itself in
anticipation of Gene's arrival.
- o -
Gene knocked softly on the door five minutes later. He dressed in a robe
after showering upstairs and he could feel his heart beating faster than normal
in his chest. He heard her voice say enter, and opened the door. It took his
eyes a few moments to become accustom to the dim light, but when he saw Clarice
sitting naked on the edge of the bed, his heart raced even faster and his mouth
felt suddenly dry.
She stood as he approached, watching his face as his glance traveled over
her body, from her firm breasts, the nipples stiff and long, down to her
sparsely covered sex. She walked into his arms and kissed him, wetly, and felt
his massive hands circle her body and hold on to her ass. Then he was lifting
her, pulling her off the ground and into his chest, their tongues dancing
together as the kiss lengthened.
It seemed to go on for an eternity, but they finally broke, and he
returned her to her feet, his hands moving to her waist, holding her away from
him, his eyes on her breasts.
"You're lovely," he whispered, his voice deep and passionate.
Clarice grabbed his wrists and brought his hands up to her breasts,
pressing them into the firm flesh, wanting his large hands there, and in her
sex, on her ass. She looked up into his face as his hands kneaded her gently,
and she could feel her erect nipples press into his palms. Reaching down she
undid his robe, pulling the sides apart and pushing it off his broad shoulders.
His hands left her breasts for the moment it took to shed the robe, then he
pulled her too him, turning her easily with his strong hands, pressing her back
to his body. His mouth lowered to kiss her neck and his hands kneaded her firm
mounds, before one slid down her body and cupped her sex.
"Ohhh," she moaned, feeling a thick digit enter her sex and his cock
pressed against her back. She moved her legs farther apart.
"It's been a while," he whispered into her ear while his finger rubbed
over her clit.
"For me too," she said. "Too long," she whispered. "Do me like this,
Gene. Make me cum using your hands... your fingers."
He pulled on her nipples and dug a second finger into her tight snatch,
playing her body like an instrument. She was quite different that his late
wife, hard and angular where his wife had been soft and round. His hands
caressed and probed, his thick fingers flashing back and forth in her tight sex
until she came, crying out loudly, squirming against him as the waves of her
orgasm rocked her body.
He picked her up when she was finished and laid her down the bed, then
sat down next to her, one hand resting on her thigh. His eyes feasted over her
body, watching her breasts rise and fall with her quick breathing, to the
neatly trimmed hair below and the wet, open lips of her sex.
Clarice opened her eyes and smiled when she saw his eyes on her sex and
felt his hand caressing her thigh. She turned her head and found his cock, a
thick pole standing stiff, the heart-shaped head glistening in the dim light
from pre-cum that had oozed from the tip and been spread when she moved her
back against him. She reached out and took his cock in her hand, marveling at
its beauty and thickness. It was not terribly long, maybe seven or so inches,
but thick like the man himself.
"Oh, shit," she said and then giggled. Seeing his cock reminded her that
she had no condom. She told Gene of her need and saw his face cloud with
doubt.
"I don't... think I have any, Clarice."
"So much for spontaneity," she said.
He laughed and said, "Well, there are other ways to make love, as you've
so beautifully demonstrated."
Clarice smiled but she wanted him inside her, badly. "You could pull out,
y'know, before..."
"Not in my current sate, Clarice. You've got me as excited as a sixteen
year-old virgin. I wouldn't trust myself."
"Then the second time," she said, scooting over on the bed and urging him
on. She positioned him on his back and knelt next to his hips, her ass resting
on her heels. She took his cock in her hand and stroked it, feeling the weight
and hardness with her fingers.
"I'd like to suck you off," she said, keeping her blue eyes on his as she
lowered her head and licked the head of his cock.
"Oh, yes, babe," he said.
She kissed the head several times before taking it past her lips and into
her mouth. Gene moaned as he felt the warmth and wetness of her mouth envelop
him. She brought him along slowly for several minutes, licking and kissing his
cock, and sucking gently when she took him deep in her mouth. Her free hand
went to his balls and cupped the heavy sacs as she intensified her sucking,
bobbing her head up and down, her cheeks hollowing out to provide the maximum
pressure on his rod.
"Ohhhh," he moaned and she felt his shaft jerk in her mouth and the first
jet of cum splash against her throat. She swallowed as quickly as she could
and continued bobbing up and down as jet after jet of hot cum blasted into her
mouth.