Angel Lost in the Dark Ch. 09

“OH SHIT!” she yelled out loudly as she rolled over and then stood up. The wine was everywhere and her clothes were soaked. Her left nipple had popped out again and the wine had wetted the shirt to the degree that her right one was almost as visible.

“Its white wine,” I tried pointing out, “I doubt if it’s going to stain anything.”

“Maybe not, but in the meanwhile it’s cold as hell.” Without looking at either Bob or me she unbuttoned the solitary button that held her shirt together and stripped it off. “Take this and toss it in the washer, will you? Oh, and when you come back bring me a wet washcloth and a towel too.

I was about the take the shirt from her when she began unbuttoning her shorts. “You might as well take these too. They’re just as wet as my shirt, and since he’s already acquainted with my pussy it’s no big deal.”

As I left the room with the wet clothing I overheard her say to Bob, “I hope you don’t think that I spilled the wine on purpose just so I had an excuse for getting naked.”

**********

After putting her clothes in the washer I grabbed a towel and washcloth from the bathroom and hurried back to the living room. As you might expect, I was anxious to see what had transpired since my departure.

Upon entering I found I was both disappointed and relieved. The only thing that had changed, or so it seemed, was that the wine bottle wasn’t quite as full as it had been and the glasses were fuller. Angel was still naked and Bob was still in his clown suit and staring at her cunt and the pizza box was still sitting on the floor between the two of them.

“You’d better slow down a little with the wine,” I told Angel. “There’s only two more bottles left and both of them are warm.”

I said this in a joking manner, but Angel didn’t pick up on the humor. “So? Put ‘em in the fuckin’ freezer. They should be cooled by the time we get around to opening them.” She kept amazing me with the vast amount of vulgarity in her speech. With the exception of Ellie she was the only woman I’d met that used gutter English with such frequency.

“I see that Bob is still obsessed with your cunt,” I said as I sat beside her and took a drink out of my recently filled glass. I was determined to keep up with her, drink for drink and vulgarity for vulgarity, until she decided to quit or the wine made me puke.

“I think you’re right,” she said enigmatically, ‘but that might change soon”

She lit a cigarette and took another drink of wine before she turned her attentions back to Bob. “Do you know what ‘Quid pro quo’ means?” she asked. I didn’t know where this was going, but I could tell that for the first time she actually seemed nervous.

“Of course,” he answered. “I’ve seen ‘Silence of the Lambs’ three times.’”

“Well, it’s too late for me to make a true ‘tit for tat,” but I’ll make you a proposition. Remember earlier when I said that you couldn’t see the pictures that Tom took of me because they were in the camera? Well, taking more isn’t possible because he’s out of film, but he does have a video camera upstairs that he bought last week and he’s been anxious to try it out. My proposition is that if you take off that silly clown suit I’ll give you a naked lap dance. I won’t let you fuck me, but that still leaves a lot to the imagination, doesn’t it”

“You mean you want me to…”

“Yes, I do.”

Bob looked at me – I suppose to see my reaction to her suggestion – and when I didn’t say anything he turned his attention back to her.

“The tape,” he began in a broken voice, “what’s going to happen to the tape?”

“Don’t worry, just relax. Nobody’s going to see it but us.”

“But how do I know that it won’t be…be…you know, be used to…”

“We’re certainly not going to blackmail you or anything,” she said, seemingly surprised. “In your wildest dream do you really believe we’d try to blackmail a fuckin’ clown who delivers Pizza?”

“I guess not, but…”

“But what? It’s a simple yes or no. Either you want to do it or you don’t. Say yes and you can have an experience you’ll remember for a lifetime; say no and I’ll get dressed and you can go home and watch TV. What’s it going be, Bozo?”

**********

I think he still had qualms about doing what might very well come back to bite him in the ass, but the lure of her luscious body was too tempting. How could anyone resist Angel after they’d seen her naked? Still apprehensive he agreed to the terms with the caveat that I appear in the video as well. Being somewhat homophobic I didn’t particularly want Bob to see me nude, and being somewhat embarrassed over what I expected to be a limp appendage, I didn’t want Angel to see me nude either. As my excuse, I explained that I couldn’t very well tape the encounter and be a participant at the same time. I agreed, however, to show my face by way of reflections in the mirror from time to time. He seemed satisfied with the compromise and I went upstairs to get the camera. Angel seemed overjoyed with the prospect of finally seeing a dick, but she promised to wait until I had returned back with the recorder before it made its grand debut.

As I ejected the audition tape and loaded in a blank I starting having second thoughts on the entire project. The concept was still turning me on mentally (as well physically, from time to time) but somehow it seemed as if it was getting out of control. I had envisioned this project to be a collection of shots taken at various locations where my model could be daring in a way that seemed less sexual and more natural; Angel at a public beach frolicking in the surf, Angel playing volleyball, Angel building a sandcastle, Angel playing Frisbee with some lucky beachgoer, all of which would be done while wearing an extremely revealing bikini or perhaps tight shorts and a loose fitting top with no bra. This was more in line with what I expected. It would give ample excuses for her to expose herself in ways that were at least half-way acceptable. Who could blame her if the surf ‘accidentally’ pulled her bottoms down as a wave washed over her? Would she be at fault if her pubic hair was visible every time she opened her legs a little too wide? She would of course untie her top while basking in the sun (don’t many women?) and reaching for a drink of water or lighting a cigarette presented her with unlimited excuses to bare her breasts. And since this was her ‘new’ bikini, how was she to know how incredibly transparent it became when wet? It was a lesser example of polite deniability, I must agree, but it was same thing, wasn’t it?

But Angel was Angel, and being Angel meant going far beyond anything I had envisioned. I was hoping that I could talk her into scaling back her level of exhibitionism or we might never survive the entire twenty days.

I purposely waited a few more minutes before going downstairs. Not knowing what was going to happen was making my heart beat faster and my skin felt clammy. Despite the promise I had made myself I was beginning to feel paranoid. I lit a cigarette and sat on the bed not only trying to relax but to think as well. My thoughts, of course, brought up images of Ellie and the couple at the bar that had started this whole odyssey and the disastrous evening when Helen and I went to Terry’s Tavern. Why was it that the very thing I sought was the very thing I feared? Was it a form of death wish? I knew I didn’t want to die, of course, but why did so much pleasure have to be bought with so much fear and uneasiness? It seemed that my search for Paradise was leading more to hell than Heaven.

Helen and I had been on opposite sides of the bell shaped curve most of our lives, and it had been the source of most of our problems. In my search for a model I had been looking for someone that was close to the same position on the curve as I was, and when I hired Angel I thought she would be the one. It was now becoming clear that Angel’s location on the curve was just as far from mine as Helen’s had been, only now Angel had become the ‘liberal’ point and I had become the ‘conservative’ one. It suddenly dawned on me that it wasn’t a matter of which ‘side’ of the curve one was on that made the difference, but rather the distance between the two points. Angel and I were on the same side of the curve, but she was the instigator and I was now the reluctant partner who had to either come up with the courage to follow or be the wet blanket that refuses to have fun.

Was this God’s way of making a joke? Whatever else it might be, it was certainly poetic justice. I was now being asked to play the ‘Helen’ role while Angel played me.

Confused and unsure of myself, yet anxious to see what would happen next, I picked up the camera and began to descend the stairs.

My cock was as hard as it had ever been.

**********

On returning to the soon-to-be scene of the crime I set up the tripod and then checked all the settings of the camera. I wanted to make sure that the entire area I wanted to tape was visible and that the lighting was sufficient. Everything seemed in order so I pointed the camera in the mirror and turned on the camera. I let it run for about ten seconds – long enough to satisfy Bob – and then turned it back and pointed it at the area where the ‘action” was going top occur.

I wanted to make the tape look professional, I really did, but being drunk does NOT lead to professionalism. I tripped over one of the legs of the tripod while trying to screw down the camera and the whole damn thing tipped over.

“Uhh…sorry,” I said self consciously. “Now I gotta rewind it and start again.” “Forget starting over,” Angel said in an exasperated voice, “and forget the tripod too. What do you think your doing, making ‘Gone with the fuckin’ Wind?’ Whatever we end up with is what we end up with. It’s the experience that counts, not the fuckin’ tape.”

There was no two ways about it; Angel definitely had a distinct way of phrasing things.

“I know, I know,” I countered, “but I wanted it to be at least watchable.”

“So you get lots of crappy shots of the ceiling and the floor and people’s feet and, in this case, a falling tripod. So what? Nobody’s gonna give a shit. Years from now you’ll watch the tape and remember how klutzy you were and you’ll be glad that you saved it. Mistakes are history and history is how everything really happened, not as how you intended it to happen.”

She had a point. Sheepishly I moved the tripod out of the way and pointed the hand held camera at her naked body.

**********

She looked into the lens and gave it a really ridiculous smile - tongue out, eyes crossed, thumbs in her ears, that kind of a smile - and then turned and faced Bob. He had stripped down to just his bright red pants while I had been upstairs contemplating the Universe and now he stood waiting for her to make the first move. He didn’t have long to wait.

“Boxers or briefs?” she asked rhetorically as she slowly walked a circle around his standing body, “briefs or boxers?” Once she was facing him again she ran her hands over his chest and then knelt in front of him and unbuckled his belt. Once she had threaded it through the loops she tossed it onto the couch and then unbuttoned his pants. Slowly she began to slide the zipper down.

They were white Jockey brand briefs, and long before the zipper reached the bottom it was obvious that they were fully packed. The underwear was tight enough so that his rigid staff was pressed against his abdomen and the tight cotton revealed an almost perfect outline his tumescent member. Even the ridge that separated the shaft from the head was noticeable. It took Angel only a few seconds to put the front away from his body and peek at what was inside. She must have liked what she saw. A huge smile erupted on her face and I heard her whispered “Oh, Shit!” She was finally seeing the ‘dick’ she had waited for.

Bob was as erect as a man could possible be, and although I could feel an erection of my own I knew that it would only pale compared to his. He was facing the camera and had his hands clasped behind his back. He was grinning and it was obvious that he was waiting for her to continue. He no longer seemed concerned that he was being taped, and showed no sign of embarrassment whatsoever.

Angel put her arms around his waist and pulled him against her. With his cock pressed tightly against her lower stomach she grabbed the back of his underwear with both hands and pulled them down over his ass. With her hands cupping his naked buns she began rubbing her body against him. “Oh, baby! This is gonna be so much fuckin’ fun!” Her eyes were wide open and she was speaking breathlessly.

Still pressing herself against him she bent her legs and slowly started sliding her body down his. His jockey shorts followed her descent and by the time she was on her knees they lay on the floor at his feet. Without being asked he stepped out of them and kicked them across the room.

“I finally get to see a dick” she laughed, her face only a few inches away from it, “and what a dick it is!” She turned and looked at the camera and said, “Look, Tom, this monster must be at least ten inches long..” She wrapped the fingers of her right hand around the shaft and gave it a few experimental stokes while her left hand cradled his balls.

I zoomed in on her face. I wanted to catch each and every expression she made. I had been shocked when she had suggested giving him a lap dance, but seeing her stroke him and feeling his balls was something I hadn’t expected. It was hard for me to believe that she was taking it this far. I don’t know why but I felt somehow betrayed. I was angry, jealous, and….and hard!

Not knowing that the camera was zoomed in on her she glanced up at his face. Her expression didn’t change, and there were no words spoken, but as she looked at him she dipped her head down and began running her tongue along the underside of his rigid shaft. It wasn’t until I watched the tape some days later that I realized just how much I had jostled the camera when I first saw that. If simply ‘touching him’ down there had surprised me the act of licking him made everything surreal. Was it possible that she would take it to the next level?

It didn’t take her long to answer my question.

**********

I suppose I could use a cliché and tell you that I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but that wouldn’t be the truth. Once her hand had encircled his cock I began to realize that she was going for it all. It wasn’t in her nature to censor herself, and I honestly believed that she would go the distance. She had been up front from the very beginning that she wouldn’t ‘fuck’ and I suddenly realized that she had said that so as not worry about temptation, but now that she was drunk I was sure she would forget her own rule. Sober she might have had a chance to keep whatever promise she had made to herself, but she was drunk and she certainly looked like a woman who wanted to be fucked.

Her mouth was now holding him inside, and her lips were closed over his skin. She slowly began moving her head, sucking him in even further. When she had as much of him in her mouth as she could she looked up at the camera and winked. Her cheeks were caved in hollow, as if seeking fullness from him. Her hands were between his legs, stoking his ass with one and playing with his balls with the other. She was pushing her head deeper and deeper as she gulped down on him.

She sucked him for what seemed to be a long time, but eventually she pulled her mouth away, saying “I need a cigarette and another glass of wine. When I’m finished I’ll give you the lap dance of all lap dances. I promise.”

She found her glass and filled it, then had to search for her cigarettes, her lighter and ashtray. Once she found them she lit her cigarette and then collapsed down onto the floor. “I can’t believe how fuckin’ wasted I am,” she said, rolling her head from side to side again. “It’s a fuckin’ miracle I’m still awake much less functioning. Anybody else toasted?”

Neither Bob nor I responded to her question. Bob had joined the party late, and I had slowed down my consumption of alcohol early on, and while neither one of us was exactly sober we were nowhere near the level of Angel’s inebriation.

I was going to turn off the camera while Angel had her cigarette and wine respite, but I changed my mind at the last moment and let it run. Like she had said before, in her own inimitable way, ‘It’s the experience that matters, not the fuckin’ tape’ and who knew what might happen during her rest period? Ignoring Bob - who was sitting on the floor and staring at her cunt, as usual - I trained the camera on Angel and then sat back and lit up a cigarette on my own.

**********

It took Angel longer to finish her cigarette than it took me, perhaps because she was alternating between puffs of the cigarette and sips from the wine. When she took her last puff and stubbed it out in the ashtray I picked up the camera and began tracking her again.

She managed to stand up, and once she was balanced, with her usual distain for using euphemisms, announced that she had to pee before she continued.

The bathroom was at the far end of the hall and both Bob and I watched as she unceremoniously bumped into the wall halfway to her destination and almost fell over. “Oops,” she said, before she straightened herself out and began moving forward again. I was under the assumption that she said it out of sheer habit since she never turned around to see whether we had heard or not.

The door to the bathroom was open and when she reached it she went inside and plopped down on the toilet, never bothering to close the door. Bob and I had nowhere to look except at her, and we had nothing to hear except the sound of her urine as it hit the water.

When she was finished peeing she pulled tissue off the roll on the wall and wiped herself. After dropping the tissue into the bowl she stood and pulled off some more. Looking directly at us she wiped herself again.

I never found out whether she was too drunk to care or too sober to miss the opportunity of demonstrating her complete lack of inhibitions, but I suppose it didn’t really matter. It was, after all, just another vignette about Angel that would be etched in my mind and remembered forever.

I did find it interesting, however, that while the door had remained open, either by chance or by choice, she didn’t forget to flush.

**********

When she returned to the living room she looked at Bob, saying “Are you ready for your lap dance now?” She immediately giggled and added, “Or should I say floor dance since it would be uncomfortable on any of the furniture in here.”

“I’m ready as you are, “ Bob smiled.

“Then put your undies back on and lay down on the floor.”

“You’re kidding. You want me to put my underwear back on?”

“Don’t be sly, you naughty boy,” she intoned. “If I’m going to be sitting on you I want your thingy covered. I told you at the beginning you couldn’t fuck me, and I think it might be a little hard…uhh…I mean a little difficult, to sit on your lap with that thing bouncing around. It might accidentally poke its way into someplace it’s not supposed to be, if you get my drift.”

Bob immediately understood what she was saying and quickly stepped into his shorts again. He assumed a supine position and waited for her to lower herself onto him which she did almost immediately. “Oh, yeah!”, he said as she put her hands between her legs and pulled her lips apart, removing them only after her open pussy was resting on his jockey covered erection.

Simulating actual intercourse they ‘bucked’ for a good three to four minutes. His hands were on the cheeks of her ass and they ‘bucked’ together in almost perfect harmony. When he squirmed she squirmed right along with him and when he ground his hard-on against her wet pussy she ground back with equal enthusiasm. For all intents and purposes they really were fucking, the only difference being that thin covering of cotton that she had insisted he wear.