Bromfield's Temptations Ch. 13

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The next three days dragged by slowly. There wasn't much joy around the apartment, either. I hadn't told them about my pending appointment with Bucky, but Bette and Louise apparently sensed and were responding to my mood.

I was about to put my professional life in the hands of a man who had never liked me and, most certainly, would like me even less when he heard my sanitized version of the circumstances in which I found myself. I rehearsed my story over and over, searching for flaws and inconsistencies that might trip me up. I knew Bucky would find them if they existed.

We met at the appointed time and place and exchanged a falsely hearty handshake. We sat at a table in the corner. He drank a Gibson while I nursed a Bud. The waitress took our orders and the menus. "What's going on in your life, these days?" Bucky asked. Small talk was over.

Not mentioning any names, I said slowly, "I'm in a funny position with some people I suspect may be involved in some sort of criminal activity." I had his full attention.

"What do you mean, `criminal activity'?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," I said, "but whatever it is, it's interstate, and therefore, federal. Let me say first, Bucky, that one of my major threshold concerns is an ethical issue." He raised his eyebrows at that. I wasn't sure whether he was evincing professional curiosity or making a cynical comment about me and ethics in general. I decided it was the former.

I described Carmine and Richard. "They are involved with people I know who make and distribute blue movies. Those people are sort of clients of mine."

He raised his eyebrows again at my `sort of' clients. "Isn't that like being a little pregnant?" he asked.

I made a helpless gesture with my hands and sighed. "I know," I said.

Bucky was all business. His eyes had sharpened, and his voice was now harsh. "I think you'd better come into the office and make a statement," he said.

I shook my head. "It's too early," I said. "I don't really have anything yet. I had hoped you might know something about Richard and Carmine."

He smiled patronizingly at me. "There are a million Richards and Carmines out there," he said. "All of them willing to blow you away if you make a nuisance of yourself. I know you're trying to protect your professional ass, but you don't have a chance against guys like them. I'm telling you, for old time's sake, come on in and get it on paper. Then we'll see what we can do."

He didn't scare me; he terrified me. I was cooked no matter which way I jumped. Carol's ominous `we many have another assignment for you next week' was ringing in my ears as I reflected that Bucky was doing this by the numbers.

I didn't blame him. That's exactly how my problems had started. I should have stuck to the numbers. As it was, I merely shook my head again. "I really don't have anything for you yet, Bucky. But as soon as I do, you can count on my full cooperation."

Lunch was over. I picked up the check, and we shook hands at the door. "Keep in touch," Bucky said, "and take care. I don't want to read about you in the morning paper."

I called Wilma when I returned to the office, and caught her in her apartment. She sounded surprised and annoyed. "It's nice of you to call," she said coldly.

"I'm sorry I didn't call earlier," I said, "but things kind of piled up on me."

Her tone immediately softened. "I've got a nice $50 bottle of Thunderbird in the fridge," she said. "How about it? I might even let you cop a feel."

I was very tempted, but my paranoia was running away with me. My first thought was of the possibility that I might lead someone to her.

"Honey," I said, "nothing has changed; I still feel like a school boy where you're concerned, but I'm in a bit of a jam at the moment. I've got to solve some serious problems before next week. I'll call you on Monday and tell you all about it. OK?"

"Take care, Jim," she said softly. "I don't want anything to happen to my favorite schoolboy."

That was the only bright spot all week. Bucky was right. I was in serious, perhaps even mortal danger. Still, I knew I had to go through with this last party. I didn't dare ignore it, and although I briefly considered it, common sense told me that running away was not an option. I even considered calling Steve or Carol to see if I could ransom myself free; but looking at it from their point of view, I could see no reason why they might be willing to release me. Their blackmail hooks were in too deep for me to wiggle free. My only hope was to act dumb; as if nothing were wrong, while I looked for their inevitable weak point.

Louise didn't like being left out. She's always ready to party. But she knew my strategy was sound; that any scrap of information we could keep away from Carol and Steve was all to the good. They didn't know Louise was here, and I wasn't about to tell them.

Bette was unquenchable. She dressed with the same care that she had always shown. As far as she was concerned, this was going to be a fun night. After she showered, she applied her strategic perfume. I watched her lean over the dressing table applying her eye liner, and admired the way her garter belt accentuated the dimples in her curvy ass. For a brief moment, I even felt the familiar pangs in my loins.

Then Louise came into the room and began telling me that she wanted either to come with us to the party or to do a little partying of her own downtown in the hotel bar.

"You'll do better downtown," I said. "I think it would be a mistake for you to show up at Satin Studios. They don't like you very well. Things are bad enough for me. I don't think you ought to go out there."

She screwed up her face and wrinkled her nose. "You're right. I'm being silly. I think I will go downtown and see what's going on."

She went into the back bedroom to start getting herself ready, and I stripped, ready to jump into the shower.

The phone rang. I didn't think it would be for me; the girls had enough regulars now, so they got fairly frequent calls that usually resulted in one or the other calling a cab. But since they were both busy, I answered it. It was a man's voice. "Marta there?"

"She's in the other room. Want me to get her?"

"Naa, jes tell her Rob called, OK?" "OK," I said as Rob broke the connection.

I walked into the back bedroom. Louise was naked except for the shower cap on her head and the towel in her hand.

"Was that call for me?"

"Yes. It was Rob. He just wanted me . . ." Louise's face turned ashen, and her eyes rolled back in her head. I jumped forward and caught her before she crumpled to the floor. "Bette!" I called. "Come here, quick!"

We stretched Louise out, placing her feet on a pillow. The color quickly returned to her face, and she opened her eyes. "Jesus Christ," she whispered, "I haven't done that since I was in the 10th grade."

She rolled over and started to get up. I said, "Why don't you stay there for a couple of minutes?"

She shook her head and climbed to her feet.

"Who is Rob?" I asked.

She had her composure back. "Somebody from the past." she said firmly, ending the questions.

The man had asked for Marta. That meant it was somebody from Louise's earlier hustling days. I wondered how he had found her. One of life's little mysteries, I suppose, but that didn't explain why she had keeled over. I had never seen her faint before. Louise wasn't the fainting kind.

"Look," I said, "I know you're not much interested in any advice I might offer, but, you know, you've had a shock. Why don't you just hang around here tonight? Get some rest."

Louise smiled. "I appreciate your concern more than you know," she said. "But I'm a big girl. It'll do me good to get out of the house for a while."

"Suit yourself," I said. I quickly washed off the day's accumulated grunge and went into the bedroom to dress. Bette had laid out slacks and a knit sports shirt. Comfortable clothes.

She looked comfortable, too. She had decided to wear the same crotchless panties and half bra she had worn the previous weekend on her last foray. "I thought you never brought panties home," I said.

She rolled her eyes. "I don't have to take these off," she said, demonstrating with her finger the utilitarian advantage crotchless panties had over the old-fashioned kind. "That looks good enough to eat," I said, finally beginning to get into the spirit of things.

"They make edible panties, too," she said helpfully.

"Get some clothes on," I said, "Or we'll be having a party right here."

"Sounds good to me," Bette said.

I didn't stop to inquire what sounded good. I knew I had to go to the party; it was shoot-out time in the OK Corral, and the longer I watched that sexy little body, the more difficult it was to stick to my guns.

We dropped Louise at the hotel and turned toward the bridge. It was a very dark night. I hoped Su Lin and Stick had gotten there while it was still light.

The space in front of the house was full of carelessly parked cars, so I drove to the barn where I turned the car around so it was facing toward the highway. I knew we might have to leave in a hurry. Taking no chances, I left the car keys under the passenger's seat. Arm in arm, Bette and I walked back to the house.

Several new people in addition to Su Lin and Stick were there. I saw Su Lin first across the room talking to George McLaran, who was obviously staking out his trapline. The prick. I didn't like the guy, but Bette had thought he was gangbusters. That's how women are.

Su Lin saw me and waved. Bette disappeared. I fixed myself a drink and wandered toward Su Lin. Just before I got there, I saw a man in a wheelchair out on the patio. Thinking he must be Stick, I decided to introduce myself.

"Hi," I said, "you must be Stick."

He smiled crookedly, "How'd you figure that out?"

Then seeing my face, he quickly added, "I'm sorry. There's no excuse for that!"

"Hey, come on," I said. "You got a right to say anything you want."

"No," he said, pushing his wheels back and forth, "this is the first party I've been to since I got hurt, and I guess I'm over compensating or something."

I stuck out my hand. "I'm Jim Bromfield," I said. "I'm Su Lin's friend -- and I'd like to be your friend, too, if you'll let me."

"Yeh, I know who you are," he said. "You're the only guy here who knows my name." We shook hands. "What's the drill,?" he asked.

"Well, some of Steve's regulars usually put on a little show to get things going. Then it's every man for himself. The usual swing. Only this one is a class act because there's so much fine nooky here. Plus, nobody's in a hurry to go home. Most people, almost everybody, will stay overnight. Some will even stay tomorrow night."

"These parties must be expensive. If all this is free, I don't see what your friends get out of it," Stick said.

"Three things," I said. "To begin, Steve and Carol like to party. They are very active swingers and have been for a long time. "Second, you've got to remember that they're in the dirty movie business. The party gives the people who've been fucking the other actors all week a chance to branch out, blow off some steam.

"Finally, a party like this is good business. It gives them a chance to return favors, maybe do a little business." Stick listened carefully. I wasn't surprised, considering what he had at stake.

"Well, they're one man short tonight," he said bitterly.

"I don't believe that," I said. "Would you like me to introduce you around?"

"No, I think I'll just sit out here for a while," he said.

"Suit yourself," I said. I went back inside. Su Lin had disappeared. A tall, willowy blonde walked past me on her way to the kitchen. She wore a tight gray dress that outlined her buttocks as if it had been painted on. The dress reached only to mid thigh. I wondered if the rest of her was as good as her fine legs. Only one way to find out. I followed her to the bar.

"Anything you need that you can't find?" I asked.

She turned. The rest of her looked good, too. Her bosom swelled invitingly above an obviously taut stomach. She carried her head high, and her makeup and elaborately casual hair styling made me wonder if she was a model or a high class call girl. I was dimly aware of a musky scent that beckoned to a fundamental part of my being.

"Are you a host?" she asked. Her husky voice sent chills up my spine. I don't usually notice eye color, but hers were a startling emerald green. Suddenly, I wanted very badly to see her naked.

I smiled. "Not quite," I said, "but I've been here before, and I have a pretty good idea where things are. My name is Jim Bromfield."

"Well, how do you do, Jim Bromfield?" she said holding out her hand, "I'm Cynthia Brown. Maybe you've heard of me." She smiled and a dimple appeared in her right cheek.

I wanted to keep this conversation going. I was searching for an appropriate topic, when she asked, "Aren't you the man who has two working girls?"

I almost dropped the glass. The erotic fantasy I had begun vanished. Not only did I not want to see that woman naked, I didn't want to see her at all. "Who told you that?" I croaked, my throat suddenly dry and raspy. "The word gets around," she said. She smiled again. "Do you want to sell them?"

I seriously wondered if I could be hallucinating. "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked. Admit nothing; deny everything. Good sound legal advice.

"I guess you don't know who I am," she said.

"You're right," I said.

"Evidently, you read the wrong papers," she said. "If you read the local tabs, you'd know they call me Hollywood's most infamous madam."

I thought the name was familiar.

"I understand you've got one girl who gives terrific head. Then you've got the little one. They line up for that kind of stuff. Is she here tonight?"

I started to shake my head, but Bette came bouncing into the kitchen. She looked quickly at Cynthia, then to me. "Guess what?" she said. "Carol has asked me to play the school marm again. Better get a good seat."

Cynthia said, "You must be Bette. I'm Cynthia. I'm going to sit right next to Jim. I want to see you, too."

Bette left, and Cynthia grinned at me. "She's cute and wholesome. You and I are going to do business before this night is over." Ignoring what must have been a stricken look on my face, she took my hand and led me to a pair of beanbag chairs near the center of the room. I noticed that Barb Adams was talking to a suddenly animated Stick in the corner. Maybe things would work out for him after all. I hoped so.

Cynthia gracefully sank into her beanbag. Despite the horror I felt, I had to admire her style. It's not easy to do anything in a skirt as short and tight as hers, certainly not gracefully. I wondered if Su Lin would like to meet Cynthia. I was thinking about the possible demand for pregnant women, in case her movie career didn't work out.

People settled down around us. I glanced around at Stick and noticed that Barb was sitting on the floor next his chair, and that he already had a hand down the front of her blouse. I sighed. I would have preferred sitting next to her myself, especially considering my present company.

Steve stepped up on the stage and gave his little talk. Then he introduced the evening entertainment.

The act was similar to the one we had seen the first time we had come to a Satin Studio party. Eventually Bette made her appearance. Pretending to be the children's mother this time, she burst onto the stage. As before, Lucy fled into the audience where, I'm sure, a sympathetic adult was ready to dry her tears.

Bette, in the meanwhile, put Jim over her lap. But instead of spanking his bare bottom, she began to caress it, paying particular attention to his scrotum and asshole. Then she stood him to one side, and repeated the strip she had performed on our first night at the studio. She started by unpinning her hair. She unbuttoned, untied, rolled down, concealed, flashed, and when the audience saw those upturned breasts, men and women alike began to applaud.

Cynthia said, "She's good." She stretched like a great cat. "I'll rub yours if you'll rub mine," she said quietly.

Her skirt was bunched in her lap. Her legs were spread. Her emerald eyes glittered as she massaged the damp spot in the front of her nearly sheer panties.

Much as I disliked and feared the woman, those wet panties made a compelling argument and I slid next to her. Instead of merely petting the spot, I quickly slid a finger under the elastic and found her slit.

"Two can play at that game," she said. She unzipped my fly and slipped her hand inside, digging into my shorts. She made a big deal out of it -- I know I'm not that hard to find -- but soon she had my stiffening shaft standing straight in the air.

I was so focused on Cynthia's svelte body and the gentle hand job she was giving me, that I missed the rest of Bette's performance. "Move your finger down just a little." Cynthia said.

I glanced toward the stage. Bette was on her back, wide-spread feet in the air. I didn't recognize the man between her legs who was pounding himself into her. Cynthia approved. "I like that girl more and more all the time," she said. Cynthia was fast becoming more friendly. By now, she was sprawled across my lap, trying to reach my member with her mouth without dislodging the three fingers I had in her cunt.

A man I didn't recognize climbed on the stage and stood over the copulating couple, stroking himself with his right hand. I don't know if he was waiting for seconds, or was merely content to jack off all over the loving couple. I never found out.

"For Christ's sake, George!" A woman's disgusted voice rose over the seductive sounds of active sex around us. A red haired woman wearing an opened blouse and displaying a shapely bare breast under a dislodged bra cup climbed up on the stage. With an apologetic smile at Bette, who courteously smiled back, she led her errant male off the stage. Cynthia, meanwhile, turned so she was half lying on my diddling hand, holding my cock firmly in her mouth as if she were smoking a cigar. She rolled those remarkable eyes up at me.

"Ugg ug?" she inquired.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," I said.

She lifted her head. "I said, `are you comfortable?'"

I shook my head. "Are you?"

She made a face. "I don't really like the group scene," she said, "let's go find a place."

I took a last look at Bette, who now was being screwed by another man I didn't recognize. She got a lot of milage out of these parties, but I still thought it was something of a busman's holiday for a working girl.

Cynthia led me into the hall. The first bedroom we reached was empty, and we entered. Cynthia looked at me when I closed the door. "I don't do greek," she said, "and you can't come in my mouth." She waited expectantly to see if I had any special requirements.

"I just like to make love," I said, "no frills, nothing special."

As soon as the door closed and Cynthia had turned on the bedside lamp, we began undressing. I watched her unzip her dress and take it off like a coat. She wore matching lavender lingerie. A thin, lace trimmed brassiere cradled her full breasts, and I saw the shadows of her areolas through the fabric. I was particularly glad to see that instead of a garter belt, she wore a pair of thigh-high hose, the kind with elastic tops. All the while, she watched me as intently as I watched her.

I had my shoes and socks off, and stepped out of my pants while she unsnapped her brassiere. Cynthia's breasts, as I expected, were lovely. They were nicely shaped, well supported, and quivered tantalizingly when she moved her body.

The powerful erection I had experienced earlier from watching the show had disappeared. My poor withered, flaccid member hung sheepishly from my groin.