tagNovels and NovellasBromfield's Temptations Ch. 11

Bromfield's Temptations Ch. 11


Synopsis: Jim has been forced to push Bette into prostitution. She goes reluctantly, but quickly discovers there's real money in sex. She's just made her first really big score, and has brought another prostitute home with her -- who turns out to be Louise!

Working Girls

I whirled. It was Louise! I saw at once that she had changed. She was heavier, had another line or two in her face, and she sported one hell of a black eye. But the real change was in her eyes and the shape of her mouth.

Choking on a sudden rush of emotion, I leaped up and seized her in a firm, loving embrace. In turn, she wrapped her arms tightly around me. We stood, locked in a silent welcome, seemingly for several minutes. Then I released her and stepped back.

"My God," she said shakily, her face working and eyes wet and bright with unshed tears, "and to think I wasn't sure you'd let me in the house or maybe even want to talk to me!"

I felt tears burning behind my eyes, too. I looked at Bette. Her eyes were also brimming. "What a bunch of sentimental fools we are," I said hoarsely, folding Louise into my arms again, this time motioning Bette to join us.

The three of us held each other, hugging and rocking, each of us experiencing floods of silent personal memories and charged emotions.

The initial shock faded. The women sat on the couch, and I slumped in my chair after pulling it close to the couch so the three of us were knee to knee.

I extended my left hand to Louise and my right hand to Bette. I was relieved when Bette, somewhat hesitantly, offered her hand to Louise. We were linked. The women I loved and I were reunited.

When I felt I could trust my voice, I said to Louise, "First, I want you to tell me who smacked you. I'm going to kill him."

She looked at me and smiled sadly. "You haven't changed at all, have you, Jim? You still think you can solve everyone's problems for them."

"I've changed all right," I said. "And I'm afraid not altogether for the better." I wanted to tell Louise about Steve and Carol and the studio -- and, of course, I had a lot of questions to ask her, but I realized that during these first precious moments I had to be very careful. Things said could have a lasting impact on our future.

"How've you been?" I asked as casually as possible.

"Well, not good," Louise answered. "For one thing, as Bette told you, I'm turning tricks for a living these days, doing what I do best, I suppose," she added with a sad little smile.

"So I understand," I said, dryly.

"Don't get me wrong," Louise added quickly. "I don't mind the work so much; it's kind of fun. But I don't appreciate the looks I get in hotel lobbies. That bothers me. If you haven't already guessed, I'm edgy right now wondering what you two might be thinking of me."

"I don't know what Bette's told you, but believe me, dear, I'm in no position to be making judgments about anyone else."

"Bette said that you had loosened up a lot." She turned to Bette. "Isn't that how you put it, dear?"

Talk about an understatement! Still, I wasn't ready to let my full weight down.

"What's this `Marta' business?" I asked.

Louise sighed, and looked from me to Bette. "I don't know about you, Bette; maybe you haven't been tricking long enough. But most hookers I know try to keep something about themselves secret. Some lie about their home towns; others hide their families and kids.

"I kept `Louise' away from the pimps and the players and the johns. My name is mine, and I'm not going to share it with anyone except those I love, and those who love me. `Marta' is the party girl. Louise may be a swinger, but she's no whore. Marta is the whore."

That worried me. I'm no psychologist, but I'd had enough flaky clients to realize that Louise's rationalization seemed dangerously similar to a multiple personality disorder. I hoped I was mistaken. It was time to change the subject.

"Look, kids. It's been a long day. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Suppose we put some steaks on and pop some potatoes in the micro. And maybe toss a salad?"

Louise and Bette went into the kitchen to prepare our meal. Then I went into the kitchen to fix a drink. But I didn't get very far. Bette and Louise were standing in the middle of the room, locked together, sobbing and crying, patting and comforting each other.

This was no place for me. I quickly poured a drink and returned to the living room. A few minutes later, I went back into the kitchen for another drink.

Louise was now leaning against the sink, sipping a highball. Bette had slipped into one of my shirts, and was seated at the table drinking a glass of rosé. The girls were still red-eyed, but it seemed as if the storm was over for the moment. The brittleness I had felt earlier was gone; Louise seemed more relaxed.

"Do you still like your steak rare?" Louise asked me.

I smiled and nodded. Bette was squeamish about red meat and always wanted the pink cooked out of it. I mixed my drink, and went back to the living room. I thought they might still want some privacy.

Louise had been gone for nearly six months by that time, but I assumed, nevertheless, that she intended to reclaim her position as wife and head of the household. Thus, I was surprised and mildly shocked when, as we were relaxing in the living room after dinner, she said, "Jim, would you mind if I camped in the back bedroom for a week or so until this shiner disappears? It's awfully hard for a hooker with a black eye to get work. And I don't want to go back to Carl. I'm finished with that asshole!"

I didn't know what to say. I opened my mouth, but luckily, Bette guessed what I was about to say, and gave me a quick, preemptory, shake of her head.

So instead of protesting, I merely said, "Mi casa est su casa." Louise smiled, remembering our futile attempt to learn a few Spanish phrases before taking a vacation in Puerto Rico years earlier.

"You still don't have it right," she said, "but I get the general idea. Thank you, Jim -- and you, too, Bette, especially for taking me under your wing last night."

We watched a little television and then we went to bed. Bette curled up way over on her side of the bed. I rolled over next to her, and whispered, "You could have warned me, you little rat," digging my fingers into the ticklish spot on her ribs.

"Hush," she said, "and get over on your own side. We have company in the other room."

"Christ, is it possible that she's never heard anyone fuck before?"

"Oh, you're impossible," Bette said. "Come here, you big lummox, I love you."

I luxuriated in her verdant body. She began reciting the things she had done with those college men in a coarse whisper, while running her tantalizing fingers up and down my spine. I contented myself with sucking on one of her remarkable nipples. Then I kissed her stomach and pushed my face between her thighs.

"I want to see if they broke anything," I said, as I pulled gently on her labia with my lips.

"It all seems to be here," I said.

Although her thighs were clamped tightly against my ears, I still heard her giggle. "Let's see how it tastes," I said. "Is that chocolate I taste? Was one of those dudes a black guy?"

"Three of them were black," she said.

"That's what it is, then," I said. "Let's see if they stretched it all out of shape."

I crawled up between her legs and, as usual, she guided the head of my tool into her secret nest. I pushed, but the portals remained closed. I pushed a little harder.

"Ouch," she said, "that hurts. It looks like I'm out of action for a while." She put her hand on me. "Mama has some little tricks she can play. How does my little fellow like this?"

My little fellow disappeared into Bette's mouth. Powerful, suctioning forces were at work, and so was her hand, frantically pumping up and down. I felt a familiar pressure begin to build in my loins, demanding to be released. The pressure had started building when she had met me at the door, wearing nothing but her garter belt and stockings. It had continued to build while she had described her maiden voyage into the world of college boys and sin.

I forgot about Louise for the moment, and tried to picture Bette, crazy in heat, surrounded by massive young erections. I pictured the boys doing a circle jerk on her squirming body.

My seed boiled up my urethra and before she could jerk her head away, it filled her mouth.

She tried to swallow, but she gagged. She jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom. I could hear her retching into the toilet. Then I heard her rinse her mouth, and felt her crawl back into bed.

"You know what we're going to have to do?" she asked seriously.

I confessed I didn't.

"Well, if I'm going to get this sore every time I have a gang bang, and I can't suck you off without heaving, then we're going to have to break in my back door."

I love a woman who thinks like that.

The next few days passed swiftly. As her bruises faded, Louise gradually began telling us more about her life with Phil. Then, after dinner on her third evening with us, she told us about her brief movie career.

Louise hadn't known about Phil and Steve's college friendship until Bette told her the previous day. Instead, Phil, that lying bastard, had told her that he had gotten in touch with the studio through a newspaper ad.

"Frankly," she said, "I wasn't at all keen on becoming a porno star -- imagine what our friends would say if they knew -- but what choice did I have? Sure, I know. I could have left him, but I couldn't. Not then. I was still too infatuated with his cock."

She shuddered and scrunched her eyes shut while she gritted her teeth. "You can be sure that's where my affection began and ended. So we went out to the studio, and moved into one of the rooms in the new wing. Phil had quit his job (or had been fired, I was never sure which) and we spent a solid month out there making that flick.

"I might as well tell you the rest of it," she added, more to herself than to us. "Bette knows that Phil can be a real pain in the ass in more ways than one. We had moved back into town by then. One day, he came home early and caught me screwing the meter man."

She paused, then added thoughtfully, "I mean, shit. The man meant nothing to me. I can't even remember his name, if I ever knew it."

I couldn't resist it. "Just another boy-toy, right?"

She didn't find my comment humorous. "Exactly," she said. "But Phil went crazy. I should have expected it, because earlier, when we were making the movie and the script called for me to fuck a couple of other guys, one of them just a kid, Phil threw a real hissy! In fact, Carol almost had to rewrite the script, but Steve got him under control. So I already knew what a mean, jealous, son-of-a-bitch he really was."

Bette rolled her eyes up. "Amen," she said.

"So the next thing I knew," Louise added, "I'm out on the street sitting on a suitcase full of my clothes."

"I was some kind of mad, as you can imagine. I had a couple of hundred bucks of movie money left, so I got a cab and went downtown. I checked into a cheap hotel, met Carl in the hotel bar, and here I am, right back where I started."

"But why didn't you call me?" I asked.

Her eyes were dry and a little hard as she stared at me. "You really don't know me very well, do you, Jim." It was a statement, not a question.

"I know it was foolish, but let's be honest. What would you or our friends like the Morrisons have thought if I had to admit I had gone flat on my ass?"

"Yes, but at least . . ."

Louise didn't let me finish. ". . .at least I wouldn't be peddling my ass for eating money. Is that what you were going to say?"

She let it all out; the bitterness and hurt, anger and, I suspect, sorrow. "Believe me, Jim, there are worse things than getting paid to fuck. Isn't that right, Bette?"

Bette nodded in vigorous agreement. "At least, whores get to chose who they fuck. Wives and girl friends don't."

It was a hell of a story. But the biggest surprise was that I couldn't find it in me to care very much. Search as I might, frankly, I was unable to detect any real feeling for her other than pity. In view of my booze soaked ruminations the night before, especially after the shock of our emotionally burdened meeting wore off, I found myself wondering if the emotion I thought I had felt was genuine or if I was romantically in love with a Louise who had never existed except in my imagination?

We sat quietly, each thinking about Louise's experiences and how her unexpected return might impact our lives. Then I got up and fixed all hands a night cap. Bette and I went to bed.

Bette's equipment had recovered. She sat cross legged on the bed, wearing a silly, frilly night gown, grinning at me while I carefully draped my pants over a chair to prevent them from wrinkling.

"Want to see my sword swallowing act?" Bette asked.

"Sure," I said.

She reached into the bedside stand drawer and took out the biggest, ugliest, plastic dildo I had ever seen. Making an oval of her lips, she delicately took that monstrous thing in her mouth, working it back and forth to get it wet, then she abruptly rolled on her back, raised her knees, and spread her legs wide apart.

I had an unobstructed view as she pushed the wet dildo into her womanhood, jiggling it back and forth. The thing penetrated deeper on each down stroke, until it was completely buried in her body.

"Not bad, huh?" she asked. "I was dry, too. Well, almost dry -- but I had it all in me in 30 seconds. Louise showed me how to do that this afternoon. She said there was no reason, even in a college gang bang, for me to get as sore as I did. You want to take my friend's place?" She pulled it out.

I don't know what's so special about watching a woman shove a piece of plastic into her body, but I found it exciting, nevertheless. I lowered my shorts, and pulled my under shirt over my head.

She pulled her nightie over her head and began rubbing her breasts against my chest. "Does that feel good?" She was suddenly serious. "Hold me, Jim," she said. "Hold me tight." I took her in my arms, enjoying, as usual, the feel of her firm, unfettered breasts against my bare chest.

She shivered as she rolled us over, so she was on top. She lifted her head and stared into my eyes. "Are we doing the right thing, Jim? Am I?"

"What's the matter? Are Louise's experiences bothering you?" I asked.

"I think so," she replied. "That and a few other things."

"What's that, dear?"

"Well, you know. The way people treat working girls. I don't want to be treated that way. I'm afraid you might start acting that way."

"I take it you've been talking to Louise."

"Well, yes."

"Look, sweetheart," I said, "it was wrong of me to get us into this fix in the first place. And it was wonderful of you to try to help out. That's water under the bridge." I paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to reassure her. Then I remembered something.

"Wait here, honey. I have something for you." I got out of bed and went to the closet where my suit jacket was hanging. I reached into the inner breast pocket and retrieved an envelope.

"Here," I said, handing it to her, "this is yours."

She opened the envelope and read the note in it aloud:

To whom it may concern:

Please be advised that on the June 7, 1995, I, James Bromfield did urge and solicit Bette Cox to commit acts of prostitution with sundry unidenti fied persons.

(signed) James Bromfield Given under my hand and seal this 18th day of June, 1995.

(signed) Notary Public

Bette looked at me. Tears were in her eyes. "Thank you, my darling, thank you," she whispered, wrapping her arms around me and smothering my face under a thousand love kisses.

"You did it. You put it in writing. I feel so much better," she said. "I didn't think you had the nerve. This proves that we're in this together! Oh, thank you, darling, for proving me wrong!"

Taking my silence for assent, she continued, "I want to make you as happy as you've made me." Then she fastened her opened moist mouth on mine. Her tongue began its wicked little sliding motion against my lips. We were so engrossed in each other that we failed to hear Louise enter the room.

"Is this a private party, or can anyone play?"

Bette raised her head. She was still holding the note. She held it out to Louise. "See what Jim gave me!"

Louise held the paper to the light, squinting as she read it. Then she turned to me, and with a half smile, said, "It looks like I underestimated you again, Jim. Congratulations."

While I was tucking that comment in the back of my mind, Louise slipped her robe off and slithered into the bed she knew so well. I was mesmerized once again by the sight of her magnificent pear-shaped breasts.

They were even more beautiful than I remembered.

"Don't I get a kiss too?" Louise asked.

Bette wrapped her arms around Louise, welcoming her into our bed. I embraced the two of them, and we laid quietly for a few minutes, savoring the merging of our physical and emotional selves. Then Louise nudged my erection with her hip. "Ummm. That feels like an old friend. Can I kiss it hello?"

Not waiting for a reply, she slid down until her face was against my crotch. She kissed my thighs, then took me in her hand, and slipped it into her mouth.

Then, I knew Louise was home. Her familiar, practiced lips and tongue began their age-old ritual. Bette raised up on her elbow and watched Louise for a minute. Then she leaned over me and began to nibble on one of my nipples. I felt her hand caressing Louise's face and lips, and my rigid cock as it slid in and out of Louise's warm, wet mouth.

"Don't finish him," she said to Louise. "I've got an important fuck coming, and I need it now."

Even though I was awash in the sea of emotion and sensation that was sloshing over me, I heard the plea in Bette's voice. By a gargantuan effort of will, I reclaimed myself from Louise's grasping mouth, and sliding between Bette's spread thighs, I thrust myself deep between her legs.

Louise pressed her lips to Bette's while she ran her hand over Bette's breast, taking her nipple between thumb and forefinger, and teasing it into a tiny erection. Bette closed her eyes, concentrating on the sensations building in her body.

Then Louise stretched her upper body over Bette's and rubbed her nipple against Bette's.

Bette stiffened, and I felt the tremors begin. Suddenly her thighs were quivering as her stomach muscles began their familiar undulation.

"Put your fingers in me," Louise ordered. I'm not sure which of us she had in mind, but I reached under Louise and parted her nether lips with my fingers. She began to hunch frantically against my hand while Bette screamed, "Oh God, I'm commmingggg!"

I stopped moving in Bette, wondering if I could stave off the eruption that was numbing my balls. I reviewed baseball scores, tried to think of any interesting television I had seen lately; anything other than what was happening at the moment.

Meanwhile, both women were spasming. I rode out the storm in Bette, and when her waves began to subside, I pulled out of her and rolled Louise over on her back. Louise realized what I wanted to do, and she quickly spread her legs and tilted her pelvis up to receive my initial thrust.

I slammed into her as hard as I could. It felt as if I were buried in hot molasses. That one thrust triggered another orgastic tidal wave in Louise. Bette was still convulsing, too. She stuffed Louise's fingers into her vagina, and rocketed through still another climax. I was beginning to wonder if there would be an end to this, but Louise found a way. Her educated tunnel began milking my manhood, and almost instantly, I felt the sweet agony of my male seed gushing up my tubes, and spurting into her womb.

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