Crystal Clear Ch. 15

Crystal sucked on one of Margo's breasts as her hands fondled and teased the other. Margo started to gush fluid from various sexual pores in her nether region. I slid two fingers into her tight quim. I teased her ass with another, all the while my tongue lapped or my lips sucked on her womanness.

Margo started to mutter about sexual things, gutter things, bad words, dirty words that all encouraged us to continue. "I'm building ... oh, fuck ... I'm cuming again ... oh, this will be a big one. Do my clit -- just like THAT! OH, FUCK." Margo's body shook as though a Richter Eight earthquake had hit the hotel. Her legs clamped around my head, and she held my lips in place against her pussy. When she finally relaxed a little, I had to gasp for air.

Margo looked down her body at me. "Come up on the bed, please; make love to me. Fuck me. Both of you!"

Crystal nodded to me and gestured with her hands for me to 'do' Margo, and then sashayed out the open bedroom door to the living room adding a little extra waggle to her beautiful naked hips.

As soon as I lay beside her, Margo grabbed my cock, slid her hand up and down my shaft a few times, and moved so my shaft aimed directly at the gaping hole of her vagina. I slid into her body in one long, slow thrust, as our eyes locked on each other. As our pubic bones met, her eyes rolled into her head in pleasure. A long, low wail of joy erupted from deep within her.

We moved together for a long time, changing positions but never breaking the link we'd created in our initial coupling of cock to cunt. We talked dirty to each other, imploring each other to wanton deeds that would involve the other. Margo had me describe some of the lurid details of the Oklahoma orgy to her, and that set her off into another series of orgasms so close together she couldn't possibly have basked in the afterglow of one before the next one hit.

After forty-five minutes of our raw sex, Margo asked in a meek voice, "Don't you ever cum? I want you to feel an orgasm too. I stopped counting, but I'm way over ten."

I smiled up at her, "I control myself. I get a huge pleasure from your pleasure and orgasms. Although I recover quickly, I don't want to stop what we're doing unless you want me to."

Margo leaned down from her cowgirl position and kissed me hard; she brought each breast to my lips to suckle. After a minute or two she said, "I want you to cum."

I did only seconds later as I felt Margo reaching another crest. I allowed the explosion I had been holding at bay for not only the minutes we'd been coupled, but also had been holding since we started the foreplay earlier in the day with the likelihood that we would couple that evening. I filled Margo's cunt with my juices as my dick remained buried deep in her trim body. The excess oozed out around the sides of my cock as I made my last thrusts of delivery into her. As I quivered below her, Margo closed her eyes and savored her own climax.

I held Margo in my arms for a long time. From the living room, we could hear Jill urging someone to fuck her harder and faster. Been there, done that.

Eventually, I said, "Come, let's see what the others are doing. Maybe you'll find something else to your liking."

Margo rolled to the side; "If I stand, I'll be really drippy wherever I walk."

I gave her a few tissues from the bedside box, and she blotted at the mess I'd left. I thought her quim extremely sexy with my white juices seeping from her pussy.

A female voice said, "Stop! Don't use those tissues."

Margo rolled so she could see who spoke. A nude Jill sauntered into the room, and lay down next to me. She commanded, "Margo, kneel over me; put your pussy over my mouth. I'LL be the one that cleans you up, not some wasteful wadge of tissues."

Margo looked to me for verification of the lewd act that she would perform. I nodded, so she rolled over onto Jill in a way that put her pussy right above Jill's mouth. I could see Jill's tongue lash out. Margo grabbed a hold of my now erect form next to her and held on as Jill ate her and sucked on her from below. I could feel Margo spasm a couple of more times. The sounds she made surely announced to the others in the living room exactly what transpired.

Jill eventually said, "Margo, now you do me. I have some cum for you too."

"Whose is it?"

"I'll tell you later. Now get to work. Detect something, Detective!"

The two women swapped places: Margo lying on her back, as Jill's pussy dripped the man-juice it held within on and into Margo's mouth. Margo hummed in pleasure at the savory and salty taste after a few minutes. Jill had also grabbed hold of me; I fondled and twisted her nipples in a way she'd taught me that brought her pleasure. We kissed as Jill popped off a couple of small orgasms. Jill was one of the most orgasmic women I knew.

After a bit, Jill just rolled from Margo. Margo's tongue had been in mid-swipe.

Jill spoke, "You, my dear, have a really special tongue and technique. You can 'do' me any time."

Margo laughed, "Thank you, now tell me whose cum I just ate."

Jill laughed, "It's a combo deal. I was playing cum bucket in the other room. It was cum from the three guys in there: Terry, Henri, and George. Are you suitably grossed out by that?"

Margo said, "Yes. Now, I suppose I'll have to go fuck each of them since I already have their cum in my belly." She looked at me and laughed.

I ventured, "Now, I'm the one that's grossed out ... but only a little."

Margo headed into the living room with a wiggle of her hips and a saucy look on her face.

A limousine whisked us south out of downtown Paris to Orly Field, the airport that Charles Lindbergh had landed at after his record-breaking thirty-three hour solo flight across the Atlantic in 1927. At the time, it was little more than a cow pasture; today it proved to be bustling international airport. We checked in at the general aviation terminal, found our pilots, and were airborne twenty minutes later heading to Luton, England -- just north of London.

Margo held my hand through the takeoff and climb, not because she was scared of flying, but because, as she told me, she still enjoyed little orgasmic quakes from our session the night before. I chided her because she'd been sexually active in the living room as well after we 'finished'.

At altitude, we barely had an hour flight to our landing at Luton. Margo bluntly asked, "Would you fuck me again?"

I thought she meant in the grand scheme of things; "Sure. I like you, and I enjoyed our time together last night."

"No, I mean right now. I mean you can't join the 'Mile High' club on a commercial plane, well without a lot of risk of getting caught and the inconvenience of small washrooms."

I looked around. We were the only two on the plane besides the pilot and copilot. Our seats were plush leather on either side of a wide aisle. Behind them were two more, two more after that, and then a bench seat across the tapering rear of the jet.

"Yes. Let me make sure we're not interrupted."

I unbuckled and stuck my head through the curtain into the flight deck of the small jet. The pilot looked up at me expectantly, "Errr, Gentlemen, I have a small request. Could you give us some privacy back here until we need to prepare for landing?"

Apparently, this was not a unique request. They both grinned and nodded. The Captain said, "Don't worry, we'll be much too busy up here to worry about what's going on back there. Also, we know how to keep a secret." He winked at me.

I went back to Margo and pulled her to a standing position. I unbuttoned the silk blouse she wore, removed it, and carefully hung it over a middle seat. Her lacy brassiere came next, yielding her succulent breasts to my lips. Her skirt was next; revealing she wore thigh high dark stockings. The thong disappeared rapidly too. Margo went to work on me, and soon we were both naked.

She asked, "Do you want one of my patented blowjobs again?"

I smiled, "Just for a little bit, to ensure we're both at the ready ... you know, for the club membership initiation. It's a rigorous process, I believe." Margo laughed and inhaled my rapidly rising shaft.

Margo worked on me for a few minutes as I stood with my head stooped because of the small jet's lack of headroom. That was all right, because I wanted to lean down and fondle Margo's pert breasts as she worked on me with her unique and talented mouth and throat. After a few minutes, I nudged her to stop, I maneuvered Margo onto the bench seat in the rear, had her sit, and spread her legs to me so I could eat her pussy. Despite showers and care, she still had the subtle odor of last night's romp. I didn't care.

After reaffirming my cunnilingus skills, I had Margo straddle me in one of the luxurious tan leather seats so that her knees were protected and cushioned. The seat also put her at just the right height for me to tease her breasts with my mouth. We made love for about twenty minutes, she enjoyed a couple of orgasms, and then we shared one last orgasm.

Beside us the entire time we were fucking the French landscape and then the English Channel rolled by seven miles beneath the plane. I had to admire the scenery both inside and outside the plane.

After we'd enjoyed our afterglow for a few minutes and amidst laughter, we parted, but not without realizing the mess I'd made of Margo's pussy or how my crotch probably smelled from all our sexual emissions. I found us some paper towels in the miniature galley, as well as a bar of soap only slightly larger than a silver dollar. We used about thirty paper towels each to clean ourselves before we dressed. We gave each other a careful once over to be sure we were presentable to the general public -- all buttons buttoned evenly, all zippers zipped, and so forth. Margo then spent ten minutes in front of a microscopic mirror reapplying her makeup and trying to restore her hair to some semblance of order. Guys do have it easier in that regard.

I watched Margo blush to a bright scarlet hue when the pilot helped her down the small gangway to the tarmac at Luton Airport. He winked at me, and we were gone. I wondered if I'd have the same flight crew for the return trip.

I slouched down in the left-side passenger's seat of Margo's Mini-Cooper. There was little place to hide. Every fifteen minutes she'd conduct a radio check with her two colleagues on our stake out: one an equal distance down the street from the upscale apartment on Hamilton Terrace in St. Johns Wood, and the other staking out a more modest apartment in Swiss Cottage about three miles away.

Just after noon, the radio came alive. "I've got her. Caroline. She's headed for her apartment."

Margo and I slowly exited her car, and started to walk towards the girl. We could see her approaching from the area near Lord's Cricket Ground. We timed our arrival to interconnect with her just before she reached her doorstep.

As we came together, I spoke in a voice joyful in recognition, "Caroline Reynolds Huff, why, how are you?" The girl stopped and searched for recognition, and then suddenly recognition set in.

"Oh, shit, you're Jim Mellon aren't you. You and I ..." She hesitated and looked at Margo.

I said, "It's all right; she knows what happened in Oklahoma. Everything. This is my good friend Margo." I skipped the last name; she wouldn't remember anyway.

Caroline relaxed slightly probably because we kept our voices upbeat. Margo said a few friendly, nice to meet you things.

I said, "Caroline, we need to talk to you about something serious. I confess, we've been waiting for you to return home."

She panicked a little, "Is everything all right -- my parents, my sister?"

"Yes. Yes, they're all OK as far as we know. This is not about them. It's about me ... and maybe you ... or maybe someone you can help us locate."

She stammered, "I don't know ... I'll try to help." She shifted her backpack in front of her and held it to her chest in an unknown display of protective body language.

"Let's sit on your front steps for a minute." I led her to her steps. She expressed slight surprise that I knew exactly where she lived. I think this fact intimidated her a bit; I had hoped it would.

"Caroline, about a week ago I was part of a concert at Wembley Stadium."

She nodded, "Yes, I saw the advertisements. I wanted to go too, but my friend ... she cancelled out on me."

I continued, "An envelope got delivered to me ... a blackmail note that could only have come from someone at the ... party at the Hilton Hotel after the debutante's ball that you were part of."

Margo and I both studied Caroline intently, but while she looked concerned she didn't seem rattled that we'd found the culprit.

After only a slight pause, I put my last card on the table, "You didn't happen to have that threatening note delivered to me, did you?" I reached in my pocket for a copy of the note.

Caroline thought for a minute, realized what I'd said, and then jumped up; "Oh, NO. NOT ME. I didn't do anything like that. I wouldn't think ... I didn't ... I had nothing to do with any note like that, whatever it was about." She paused, "I let myself get talked into going to that sex party at the Hilton only because it seemed expected of all of us debs -- for years prior all the debs had done it. I fucked every guy there, and after that, I had a reputation as a slut that persists to this day; I'll never get rid of it. I never had sex again after that day ... well, except to please myself. That party and my reputation are why I came to school over in Europe, so I didn't have to go home so often."

She stopped and looked me in the eye; her voice softened, "The most exciting part of that evening was you -- you being with me a couple of times when we were all being crazy ... fucking just for the sheer fun of fucking. I liked that. I liked you ... and what you did to me. I can still remember every second of it. You made it memorable, and you kissed me over and over again; many guys there didn't kiss. I felt you cared about me despite the lust we obviously felt for each other. I could actually tell I meant more to you than just a piece of meat to jerk off into." I nodded in agreement. Even I had felt a little remorse after the Oklahoma orgy. I guess the double standard was still alive: I could get away with what happened, but Caroline got labeled as a slut.

Margo gave me a nod that signaled to me that she thought Caroline was telling the truth and was innocent -- either that, or we had just found the greatest actress besides Judy Dench.

I unfolded the copy of the note and passed it to her. "Who would send this to me?"

Caroline studied the note, taking time to read the words several times. She studied the picture, even holding the paper up close and then far away.

"I sort of know the girl in the picture, although the picture's been tampered with -- like with Photoshop so her features are a little off. It's Maddy Gable; I'm pretty sure. She lives not too far from here; we see each other ..."

Caroline's voice trailed off. From under her breath, we heard, "Holy shit. The night of your concert, we were supposed to go out, but she called me at the last minute and told me some hot guy had asked her out, and she didn't want to turn him down. I let her off the hook. I caught up with some of my friends, and we went downtown to hang out at a pub near Picadilly Circus." As an afterthought she said, "I could even give you their names and put you in touch with them; they'd vouch for me."

Margo asked in a confirming manner, "Yes, we'd like that; would you mind giving me a list of your friends so we can check out your alibi." Margo opened her wallet and showed her a badge. I studied it at the same time Caroline did; in large bold letters it said, 'Private Investigator.' Margo folded away the badge quickly, but followed it up with a business card she thrust into Caroline's hand.

Caroline blanched as Margo pulled out a small notebook and a pen. Caroline rattled off three names and phone numbers off the top of her head. I felt that she was being cooperative in an awkward situation. The only time I'd met her before this, we'd both been naked and taking turns fucking members of the opposite sex. She was right, I did try to make it special for each of the girls that night despite the impersonal spirit of the evening.

Caroline turned to me, "I don't know Maddy that well. I don't know whether she'd do this or not. She's ... she's not all together; as though she's got a screw loose or something. Odd things make her laugh or react in funny ways, as if she were sometimes on some bad drug."

Margo asked, "Do you know where she lives or what her schedule is like?"

Caroline volunteered, "Yes, she lives not too far from here in Swiss Cottage, just up from the town center on some busy street. I know how to get there but not the street name. Her classes are usually over at noon; after that I have no idea what she's apt to do. I could take you there; do you have a car?"

Margo pointed to her Mini. She said, "If we go now, we'll buy you lunch."

The three of us sat on a bench by a bus stop in Swiss Cottage eating takeout sandwiches. The bench formed a triangle between the bus stop that Maddy was likely to use to get home, and her apartment door across the street from us. A half block away in either direction, Margo had positioned her two colleagues; everyone had pictures of the girl. Caroline had made no attempt to contact her friend.

Margo's thumbs twirled over her iPhone as she did various emails. I made polite conversation with Caroline who turned out to have a thousand questions about my being a celebrity.

At one point, Margo looked at me and said, "Jim, you are one lucky bloke. I'll explain later."

I just nodded and wondered what piece of email had prompted that statement.

Another of the red double-decker buses came to a stop just south of us about two o'clock. As the bus pulled away, a young brunette girl could be seen walking to her apartment a half block north.

Caroline whispered, "That's her."

Margo spoke in a low voice on her two-way radio, "The brunette just off the bus is the one."

I rose and stretched, blocking Maddy's view of Caroline. I said, "Why don't you walk that way for half a block before you come back and join us. That'll put your back to her for a bit and give us time to cross over."

Caroline nodded turned and walked away from us.

Margo and I turned and started to cross the busy street, practically ignoring the traffic. We leapt from lane to lane, but made it across to Maddy's doorstep about a hundred feet before she got there. We turned and walked towards the girl.

I locked eyes with her first, and she stopped. She looked around her.

"Maddy Gable, I believe. I'm Jim Mellon, but I think you know that, don't you."

She tried to fake it, but she'd been caught out; "Yes. Yes, you're a celebrity. You came to my debutante's ball."

I said, "I also came to the party at the Hilton. You were there; I'm sure you remember."

"Errr, oh, yes, of course."

"Someone even took a picture of us ... in a compromising position."

Quick as a flash, she said, "That wasn't me."

"But you've seen the picture ... and have a copy of it, don't you?"

Maddy said cautiously, "Yes. Fortunately, there were few photographs that night. I think most of them have been safely tucked away."

"But not one specifically; am I right?"

Before I'd finished, she said, "I don't know what you mean?"

Margo reached in her purse and pulled out the little wallet with her badge in it. She opened it up, and displayed the badge to Maddy. Maddy backed up against a low wall behind her; she couldn't run. The badge made her jerk upright.