AREA 47

SECTION 89:

COURTNEY, Chapter 42

Byron Reed humored his ex-wife.  Estelle had called him three times, reminding him.  Blue had called also, pleading on her mother’s behalf.

Hell of a time to have a damn birthday, with Courty way the hell over in France.  Emmy, the misguided motherly-type, had told everybody when his birthday was.  Reed was up to his DIP switch in presents.

Fortunately, most of it was drinkable.  SoundSync refrigerators throughout the Nation were now stocked up with his favorite brewski.  Anchor Steam.

Courtney sent him her love, and a cuddly, red cashmere robe, and a pair of solid 22-karat gold piano cuff links, and special color framed pictures of her icon-face for all his desks at the four SoundSyncs, with gold etching on the plaques below the pics: Model Loves MIDIot.  And a Walkwoman DAT tape recorder with a digital cassette in it of Courtney telling a personalized erotic fairy tale that she had written for him, about a music producer and a model.  Hot story!  (What Reed really wanted her to give him——herpes——she had somehow withheld.  He had soaked in it, licked for it, spermed after it, turned Courty upside down trying to drip it out of her, but he had no symptoms.)

And now this shit.  Another birthday party.  Thank God he only had to deal with this crap once a year.

So he drove his ’Vette up Highway 1, a little northwest of Malibu, and turned off at the Sky Blue Inn, built on the beach side of the road.

He held the key and hunted down the correct bungalow.  23 was the far secluded one, the biggest one with the choice overhang view of the sea; back-door stairs down to the private beach.  He knew these posh beach-front digs went for at least $850 a night, and reservations were required months in advance.  He noticed that the Sky Blue Inn had beefed up the security since the last time he’d seen the place.

23.  He started to knock, but he had the damn key in his hand, so he just unlocked it and went in.

The young woman who greeted Reed just inside the front door was the sexiest woman Reed had ever met.  It was something about her: like witchcraft.  For a second, in the low red light, he thought she was Estelle——she was blond with a similar face and had that same overwhelmingly feminine look about her.  But no, she was far younger, perhaps a luscious 19, and there was none of Estelle’s direct, almost haughty challenge in her look; the expression on this sensational sex kitten’s face was unconditional surrender.  She was dressed as if she had just popped out of an Arab prince’s harem.  Smelled equally as exotic.  She was all flowing silk down to her barefeet, bright shimmery silk, separate colorful strips of it; emerald and jade, sunset orange, grape and violet, lavender and ultramarine, that wafted in the air as she moved to him, revealing her bare ivory-legs; and above, she wore reembroidered purple Alencon lace from bellybutton to bosom that exposed nothing but somehow revealed everything.

“Happy Birthday, Byron Reed,” she said, her honey-sweet voice enunciating each word so preciously that the sounds came to his ears like candied confections, each word vibrating like a different flavored sugarplum: butterscotch, peppermint, lemondrop, marmalade.  “My name is Christina.”  She gave him a gentle & sensual kiss on his left cheek——which made Reed bristle a bit at the familiarity.  Then she said, with a sherbet smile, “Estelle is right inside, please do come,” and led him by the hand from the entrance hall into the main chamber.  Her hand seemed to be pulsing, breathing against Reed’s hand.

The superstandard party balloons, the streamers, the banner with the birthday boy’s name on it.  Red, low light, in the redecorated interior, thick with priceless treasures dating from AD 800: it reminded Reed of Camelot, some kind of long-ago royal bullshit.

Estelle had probably cleared everything out of the bungalow, and moved in all her own custom antique furnishings.  Far too garish and ostentatious for Reed’s tastes, it nevertheless was effective: it imposed a reality of its own and made Reed forget all about the real world.

The young woman led Reed over to where Estelle was seated on a twelve-foot-wide Royal-divan with lion-legs, perhaps borrowed from His Satanic Majesty’s throne-room.  “Happy Birthday, and thank you for coming,” Estelle said.

She seemed quite chipper, and radiantly beautiful in the low light as she sat there in her standard black dress ($3,000 worth) and natural blow-dry hairstyle (that took hours to achieve); make-up that didn’t look like any (while it subtracted 15 years from her age).  Beside her were some wrapped presents.

Reed wanted to yell: It’s Just A Fucking Birthday, Estelle!  Will Ya Lay Off!  But she had gone to a lot of trouble, so he tried to put some frost on his feelings.

“You can let go of my hand now,” Reed said, and sat down on the wide divan; safely, he thought, since the presents were between him and Estelle.

Estelle looked at him with amusement.  Reed had not picked the wider free seating space next to her.

“Where is everybody?” Reed asked.  “This is a party?”

“Oh, they’re around,” Estelle answered with a dangerous smile.

“What the hell?” Reed said, as hands from behind the divan began to stroke through his long hair and then massage his neck.

Estelle laughed easily.  “Reed: chill.  Just chill,” she said, imitating little Blue, saying it in just the sort of way Blue would have said it.  It sounded cute with the traces of Estelle’s French accent in her voice.

Reed sat there silently, not knowing what to do, as Christina continued to massage his neck muscles.  For some idiot reason, he started to get a partial erection.

“She comes with the furnishings,” Estelle explained.  “Just relax and enjoy it.  I want to thank you for taking such good care of Blue during the summer.  She came home almost housebroken.  Nary a naughty word.  I haven’t had to punish her once.  I’m very proud of her.  What’s your secret?”

“Beats me.  Maybe Courty’s to blame.”

“Well, yes.  There is that, isn’t there?  Also, I wish to thank you for rearranging Krane’s face.  He is much better behaved, as well.  Of course, he and I are divorced now, as you know.  But still, he looks much better now, too, don’t you think?”

Something about the way she said it, made Reed chuckle twice.  “I’m surprised Associated Pictures hasn’t filed suit against me.  I heard that I really fucked up their shooting schedule.”

“Not to worry,” Estelle said.  “There were four witnesses.”

Reed looked the question at her: What? 

“Why, my three friends who walked into the billiard room and saw a perfectly handsome Krane hanging from the billiard lamp like a drunk monkey, trying to impress a young woman who had crashed the party.  They all saw him fall and hit his mouth and face on some billiard balls which were on the table directly below him.  Such a sad accident.  Even the young woman was willing to testify that his wounds were self-inflicted.  You were in the library with me and two others at the time, and we were all discussing . . . what was it?  Something technical and musical, I believe.  MIDI!  That’s right.”  She looked at him so seriously, that Reed chuckled again.

A horny chuckle.  Something about the way the doll was doing his neck went straight to his dick.  Reed said, “Well, I guess I owe you one, for that.  I appreciate it.”

“Good!” she said in a happy fast squeak.  “Now for Blue’s gift.  She wanted to present it to you herself, but I prevailed upon her to allow me to do the honors.”  She raised her voice.  “Oh, Sandra!”

“Estelle, what is this?”  He waved his arm and looked around at the temporary birthday-palace, and the whole scene.

“It’s your birthday.  Let me have my fun, Dear.”

Estelle’s fun walked out from behind a regal tapestry-drapery, wearing high heels and a translucent & creamy babydoll top, carrying a compact disc.  Estelle’s fun——who was quite unabashedly bottomless——approached, and sat down on the other side of Reed on the divan, tucking her feet under her sideways without losing the high heels, sitting so close she was touching and leaning all up against him.  “Happy Birthday, Byron Reed,” she said, in a voice and look reeking of higher learning and intelligence.  “I’m Sandy.”  She kissed his right cheek; the merest touch of her warm lips.  She was beautiful & brunette, noble & poised, a dark cosmopolitan mix of genes, and might as well have been naked, for her out-of-uniform uniform hid none of her substantial charms.

Reed knew that he was in deep shit now.  The neck-ravishment continued, and babydoll was handing him a CD in a flat clear plastic box container.

Reed saw immediately that it was Blue’s CD-single.  On the up-side of the compact disc, among the credits, was a tiny dedication: DEDICATED TO MR. BYRON REED, THE BESTEST, DEF DADDY OF ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Byron Reed was speechless; for a variety of reasons.  Babydoll had latched onto his right arm like a love-leech, Christina was nuzzling against his neck & breathing down his back, Blue had bumped up against his brain with her daughter/devotee dedication, and Estelle was eyeing him with enjoyment.

Reed knew he had to get out of here quick.  Reed didn’t know exactly what Estelle had in mind, but things were already getting, well . . . way out there.

Estelle said, “Some of these gifts are from Blue, too.”  She indicated the brightly wrapped boxes on the divan.  “Quite the usual from us, I’m afraid.  Leather jackets you won’t ever wear.  Gold trinkets and silver knickknacks that will get lost in the back of your drawers, unused.  But what’s a birthday party without a lot of gifts?  You may open them, if you wish, but I suggest you just throw them away wrapped, to save time.  I considered giving you some of that God-awful bilge water, Anchor Steam beer; but really, what would be a proper amount?  A pallet?  A warehouse?  A controlling interest?”

Reed tried to stand up.  A voice and four hands held him down.

“Reed, I haven’t given you my gift yet!”

“Estelle, I’m not sure I can handle your gift.”  Reed gestured with his hands, helplessly.

Estelle chuckled.  “Oh, I have confidence in you, Darling.”  She gave Reed a sly look.  “Linda!”  Estelle called loudly.  “Please come in now.”

“Estelle,” Reed moaned.

Linda——like babydoll——was out-of-costume.  She wasn’t even remotely Medieval.  She was wearing an unusual tight pink contemporary jumpsuit that was in need of a shirt; pink tennies, straps of the jumpsuit over her bare shoulders: her breasts were out-of-costume too.  She was beautifully brunette, but looked like a bad girl.  Her hair was wildly unkempt and tangled; she had an indolent, whorish look about her.  Her behavior did not redeem her: she lay down on the carpeting in front of Reed, eased off his left shoe, fitted his stocking foot against her genital area, and began to masturbate herself with the plantar arch of his foot, kicking her legs occasionally up into the air as she did so, with momentary fits of excitement.

“Mmmmmm, I’m Linda.  A Happy Frigging Birthday TO YOU, Byron Reed!  Mmmmmmm.”

Babydoll suppressed a short giggle.

Reed said, “Help.”

The giggle overpowered the babydoll for a moment.

Estelle said, “Now Reed, just let me give my little speech, and then I’ll leave you.”  She sighed.  “I know you’re quite deeply involved with Courty the cover girl, and I can’t blame you, she’s a very sweet, young thing.  But I know now that I made a terrible mistake when I left you for Krane.”

“Estelle!”

“Please, Reed.  Let me finish.”  She leaned across the presents for emphasis.  “I especially want to say one thing.  I want you to know that you are the most decent man I’ve . . . no, Reed, you are the ONLY decent man I’ve ever known.  I know that I’ve hurt you deeply in the past.  And I truly regret my past behavior.  I cannot entirely explain myself, so I won’t try.  But do you forgive me?”

“Estelle, give me a break.”

“Reed, do you forgive me?  Please say that you forgive me.”

“Fine.  Consider yourself forgiven.  But——”

“Now, Reed, just a little more and I’ll be finished.  Thank you.  Now I know that you’re not precisely the prude that you would have everyone think you are.  We’ve exchanged fantasies.  You told me that one of your fantasies was to have three or four women at once.”  The beginning of a smile.  “Well . . . now you have, three . . . or four . . . women, at once.”  The smile was in full bloom now.  From among the wrapped up gifts between them, Estelle picked up a flat, wrapped and ribboned container, which she held out toward Reed.  “Here is my gift.”

Was Reed sexually excited?  (Courtney who?)

Reed remembered when Kathleen and Mary Jane, the supergroupies, had taken on Krane, during their tour of the NorthEast.  For two weeks Krane had flaunted their three-way sex-scene in Reed’s face.  When the affair, or whatever it was had ended, the two girls had come to Byron Reed . . . and he had refused them.  He had just sworn off groupies, having just gotten clean from a second dose of VD.  Reed was overworked, trying to hold the band together, and keep the complex music machine working.  And the girls had gone to Krane first.  The vibes were wrong.

But now, the vibes were POWERFUL.  He was buzzing!

Reed opened the package.  It was full of papers.  The first were notarized medical reports . . . of the three girls.  Safe sex.  No condoms need apply.

Estelle’s voice sounded awkward: “Happiness for me would be to share my life with you, once again.  I don’t know if it’s love, exactly . . . I just feel so alone without you.  I suppose that is love, isn’t it?  A kind of love anyway.”

Of course, concentrating on confessions or certificates was contretemps.  Hell of a lot of paperwork for an orgy.

“At any rate, Reed Darling, this is my birthday gift to you: Your own private harem of concubines.  You see, I am willing to share.  As much as I would like to have you all to myself . . . I realize that I may never again have any of you.  The next best thing, for me, is to vicariously enjoy you.  Oh, I don’t mean that you have to let me observe.  I just mean . . . You know what I mean . . . Christina is from an exclusive Canadian service.  She was Miss Nude Quebec.”

“1991,” Christina purred, popping the delicious syllables into his ear like Hershey kisses.  God, that voice.  Reed wanted to sample it as much as he wanted to screw the girl.

“Sandra is one of the famous Aubrey girls, from France.  Infinitely refined and cultured.  And Linda . . .”

Reed could feel her wetness soaking into his sock.

“. . . well, she is the American equivalent.”

“OK, we’ve talked enough,” Reed said.  “Where’s the bed?”  Reed fought his way up onto his feet.  He kicked off the other shoe, and tossed aside the CD.

Everyone stood up.  Babydoll merged into Reed’s side.  Linda popped up like a Pop-tart, all yummy-eyes and turn-on tits.  Estelle slowly stood.

Estelle said, “Enjoy yourself, Reed.”  She stepped to him and moved to kiss him on the mouth.  She hadn’t lost any of her sexiness: her French kiss was fragrant and dewy.  “Of course, it goes without saying, that . . .”  With an awkward sadness, she turned away.

Reed knew that, more than anything, Estelle wished to be included.  She was making it easy for him to leave her out.

Reed grabbed Estelle’s arm and pulled her back, and then threw his left arm around her and held her to him.  “Come On,” he said, impatiently, “where’s the fucking bed?!”

Estelle’s eyes glistened bright and wet with joy.

|

Reed wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do with four women at once, but he certainly wanted to get started.  He was so hot he almost creamed his Calvins as they walked him to the bedroom.

Orgy-sized bed——low, red light——the King’s bed, in the King’s bed-chamber.  It was not a waterbed: it was a draped, intricately carved and bejeweled neo-Renaissance wooden four-poster/canopy monster secreted away and restored from a Thurn und Taxis Bohemian castle the Communists expropriated after the war.  Valued at about $11.5 million, the Yankee-stadium-sized ballpark had a hell of a headboard, all dark green jasper and gold, detailed with roses and tulips and other fantasyland flowers incrusted with a kaleidoscope of precious and semiprecious stones: red, white and yellow diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, and more.  The trustees of the Moreau estate would not have approved; as a matter of fact, curators and museum directors throughout the Western world would have blanched a pale white in horror.

But Estelle hadn’t missed a bet.  In the outer-chamber she had simply eliminated all windows and moved in a museum of dated doodads to maintain the illusion of life at the palace.  In the King’s bed-chamber, she took it one step further; and it was such a realistic scene, that it took Reed a moment to realize the technical details, and he marveled at it.  The two windows, which faced the ocean, and should have shown a bright afternoon of sea and sailboats, instead were both filled with incredibly lifelike images of the downlook from a high castle tower at sunset, with only a fraction of the sun appearing, a brilliant splash of colors across the sky, and many details of the rest of the castle, and the quaint, simple village all around it . . . it was like a fantasy scene out of a well-illustrated children’s storybook: Scheherazade?  1001 Nights?  The technique had to be rear-projection still-art.

“Screw diplomacy,” Reed said.  “I want YOU first!”  He grabbed Christina, kissed her savagely, and bedded her down.  She was quite delighted to be the focus of his lust, and responded eagerly.  The sheets had pastel shades of finely detailed artwork on them; pastoral scenes of rustic, idealized fairytale life.  Thick, soft, natural furs on the left half of the gargantuan bed.  Reed didn’t know what the others were going to do, but for the moment he didn’t much care.  Just lying back and passively being smothered in female flesh, uncountable female hands and mouths, was not his style.

“Christi,” Reed said, already adjusting her name, placing his private unconscious badge of ownership upon her, “take it off, get out of it!”  He stopped for a moment to strip off his shirt and pants and underwear and Everything.

Reed was a group-sex rookie, but the accomplished professionals adjusted to things as if his behavior were the most natural thing in the world.  Babydoll became Christina’s servant, and she helped her undress and enjoy the experience.  Estelle helped Reed undress, and damned if THAT didn’t seem bizarre to him for a moment.

Like a starving man——well, Courtney had been gone almost two weeks——Reed set about to destroy that bed.  Christi was soft, cuddly; and suddenly mischievous: she rolled away from him.  Reed caught only an ankle, as she scrambled forward on the bed.  She let out a delectable, feminine yowl.

Those vocal cords——I’ve gotta get her into a studio!

Naughty Linda tried to steal his attention: “I want first fuck!”  Playfully hostile harpy, half pride-wounded gamin, half spitfire, all naked legs and arms pulling at him.  The lollapalooza had lost the jumpsuit.  She was strong, a guerrilla fighter, and she bushwhacked his penis right into her box.

She was already faking pre-orgasmic bliss.

Reed still had a hold on Christi’s leg.  He gave Linda a boobie-prize-kiss and pink-lied, “Hey, damn it, I always save the best for last.”

Estelle was doing some divorced-wife dirt on his back with her hands and lips, Linda was trying to hold him inside of her with every appendage (and internal muscles he never knew existed), Christi was trying to pry loose his fingers that still held her ankle, and bottomless babydoll lay back beside Christi and above Linda, threatening to spike Reed with her pointed heels, if he tried to get closer to Christi.

“Oh, I get it!” Reed shouted.  “It’s a game!  Fine!  I love games!”

In a forthright, manly way, Reed muddled through the gaggle of girls; he defanged the babydoll, unfucked the Linda, and crawled——slam!-bam!-pow!——sideways and forward with a laughing Estelle hanging onto his back.  “Come’ere, YOU!”  Babydoll’s barefeet pushed against his face; babydoll’s bare bush tried to bewilder and divert.

“Hey!!” an unsatisfied Linda yelled, “I’m gonna talk to Shere Hite about you!”

It was engaging and exciting foolery.  For some slaphappy reason, all the ladies decided that since he wanted Christina so badly, he couldn’t have her.  And that just made Reed want her MORE.

Estelle was giggling so hard that she lost her hold on Reed’s neck.

Christi graced Reed with enchanting treble squeals as she flopped onto her tummy and tried to wriggle her buns away from him.  He wrestled her around onto her back, opened her thighs, and she settled down under him.  She looked at him, with pouting lips and pointed breasts.

“Well, here we are,” Reed told Christi.  God, she was so sexy, so SEXY!  She wasn’t wet, but that would be easily fixed.

Linda nabbed Reed’s foot and tried to walk off the bottom of the bed with it, tickling the toes as she pulled.

“Hey!” Reed shouted, turning his neck a little.  “You’re asking for a spanking, little girl!”

That was the wrong thing to say.  Babydoll took hold of the other foot and went over the side with it.  Pulling him in different directions, like a chicken’s wishbone, Reed was dragged downward off Christi.  She popped two little bonbons into his ears: “Oh!  Oh!”  He was pulled downward until his face was between her legs.  He hung on, pulling Christi along, as his left butt impacted painfully against the left foot post (this wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he had daydreamed about making love to several women at once, but at least his balls weren’t bashed).

Estelle was beside the bed, beside herself with laughter.

“As long as I’m down here,” Reed said, looking affectionately at Christi’s blond pussy.  He began to delicately lick the way Courty had taught him.  Christina began to purr, a magnificent hum that just demanded to be digitally sampled.  She oozed all the amenities, always in perfect taste.

Estelle was astounded to witness Reed’s enthusiastic cunnilingus.  He never used to go down on her!  No matter how she had douched & squeaky-cleaned & perfumed herself, no matter how long and lustfully she had sucked his sugar-stick.  Never!  When she tried to wake him up in the morning with a friendly 69, he 86ed her right out of the sack.  Now the low rascal was bulimic.

“Aw, how nice.”  Linda evidently approved of his lickety-split behavior; she released his foot, and then began to milk his cock.  It had drooped to 40% during the hell-bent frolicking, and her job was his deflated dick.

Reed was considerably uncomfortable, backed left-butt to the bedpost like that, but there were compensations.  The mellifluous moans (undiluted female-sonic-perfection) coming from Christi’s mouth.  Linda’s two-handed tug from one side of the bedpost.  And, of course, Sandra’s rim-job tickling down his crack and teasing up his anus with her tongue was not without a certain perverse titillation.

“You sure know how to pleasure a girl,” Linda politicly pronounced, since Christi was too delirious to verbalize the words.

“Hey!  Goddamn it!” Reed yelled, as his climax approached.

Christi moaned her displeasure at the mouth/muff disconnection.

“Calm down!  You’ll get your turn!”  Reed slapped at Linda’s hands.  He got his cock back from her, and put it where he wanted it: into the erstwhile eatery.

Estelle felt just a twinge of jealousy——and sadness——watching Reed and Christina copulate.  They all seemed so young!

And there Linda was, now fucking Reed’s ass with her finger; and judging by the angle and concentration, she was pressing his prostate.  Sandra sat so silly and demurely next to Reed & Christina, her feet tucked under herself, stroking Reed, playing with his hair . . .

Sandra: “Mmmm, so sexy, Byron, so sexy, such a big strong man, such an animal, ohhhh, so sexy, so sexy, in, out——in, out——ohhhh, so sexy!”

Estelle felt old.  OLD!  Sitting there, watching, feeling out of it.  Sandra had asked her a moment before——Should we provide a show for him?——meaning a lesbian performance.  But Estelle had nixed that.  Now she regretted it.  She wanted to get into the swing of things.  But she just felt so sad and lonely——yes, lonely.  Objective, detached, and old!

Estelle half-smiled——Reed was moving forward so oddly, fucking so strangely to get away from Linda’s pressure on his prostrate——then she frowned, and crawled a bit for a better porno close-up.

WHAT?

It was a 4-cycle fucking stroke——a by-product of the Reed/Ryan Sex Laboratories——specifically designed and perfected for the fringe benefit of Courtney’s clitoris.

YOU NEVER DID THAT WITH ME!!

“Hey,” Reed yelled, “I’m sorry, but I’m gonna come.  I feel like coming, so that’s it.”  And as he did, Linda gave him a final wrench up his ass with her fingers, and Reed yelled in pain/pleasure as he ejaculated.  He collapsed on Christi.

Christi kept moaning.

Reed kept moaning.

Christi kept moaning.

“Linda, what the hell are you doing up my ass?!”  He sounded angry.

“You’re supposed to like it,” she informed him.

“I like that once a lifetime, and that was the once!  Never again!”

Reed was a one-at-a-time kind of guy: he wanted to stay in Christi forever; she was looking at him with the exact, dazed awe——perfected in Christina’s Canadian Sex Lab——that inflates the fragile American male ego to the size of a proud tabernacle (i.e.——So THAT’S an ORGASM!).  But no; Estelle was whispering Happy Birthday into his ear, Linda was withdrawing her fingers from his chocolate highway, Sondra was combing his long hair with her fingers and stroking his back . . . mustn’t be selfish.

Reed was magnanimous.  He shared himself.

He rolled over on his back, pulling Christi especially close to his right shoulder, and cuddling up to Estelle on his left.  Reed was humming with contentment.

Linda departed to deterge the digits, while babydoll colonized Reed’s cock with her fingers.  With a smile of girlish delight, Sondra played with Reed’s slippery penis and sticky balls, her fingers doing the dalliance with his defunct dick: massaging and pulling and squeezing and teasing and tickling and twanging and . . .

Reed looked at Estelle and smiled.  Reed looked at Sondra and smiled.  Reed looked at Christi and smiled.  “Say something,” he told Christi.

“You should get a haircut,” Christi said.

Reed laughed.  She said it so beautifully, she almost convinced him.  “Say something else.”

“What?”  An eardrop of dextrose.

“Tell me how you got to be Miss Nude Quebec!”

Her lush, sugar-coated voice: “I just stuck out my boobies, pulled in my tummy, and arched my back.”  Pause.  “And sucked off the judges.”  She giggled (and Reed winced with sharp pleasure).  “Just fooling.”

“Is the birthday boy having fun?” Estelle asked.

“The birthday boy is having fun,” Reed allowed.  He looked at Estelle with fond speculation.  “You’re evil.  You know me too well.  It’s not fair.”

Estelle smiled with helplessness and humor.

Reed said, “You can take off your dress, you know, if you’d like.”

“Traditionally, the birthday boy unwraps his presents himself.”

Reed got a good affectionate laugh out of that.  She endeared herself to him by that remark.

Linda returned, now wearing a harem get-up wickedly similar to the one Christi had worn.  She climbed onto the bed above Reed, and stroked his forehead with her clean fingers.

Reed lazed back.

Awhile later, he turned his attention to Estelle, and unwrapped his present a little, exposing her still-perfect twin hand-warmers.

Quite honestly, Reed had never had a birthday celebration even remotely as enjoyable.  He stroked his thanks, and kissed Estelle with gratitude, and conducted a finger-expedition under her dress and slip, above and between the nylon stockings.  She murmured: “Fourplay?” as he discovered her pantyless-pussy.  She seemed adequately wet and slippery, but she wouldn’t let him insert his finger.  She removed his hands, motioned Sandra to move away, and Estelle climbed aboard on Sondra’s handiwork.

Estelle smiled——and actually blushed!——at the look of surprise on his face.

“Son of a Bitch,” Reed said.

Estelle bent down and whispered into his ear.  “I have been restored . . . like one of your automobiles.”

She had the tightest snatch he’d ever known; a hot, oiled, snug, virginal grasp on his penis.

“Happy Birthday,” Estelle said, ever so gently easy-riding him along the edges of physical bliss.

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Late into the evening, Reed couldn’t do it anymore, didn’t even want to do it anymore.  His balls hurt, his cock hurt, and he was bored.  Enough already!  He was exhausted, fucked-out.  He went to the bathroom (a bathing-hall with chandeliers, indoor/outdoor Jacuzzi, and the requisite dose of extravagant statues), and then staggered back to the awesome bed.

The sheets had already been changed, they were now a completely different color and design, with different scenes laid out all over it.  The same women laid out all over it.  Reed found a spot somewhere in the middle, between Estelle and Christi, and he crashed.  He didn’t want to have sex for a week.  A month!  He could probably do without it for a year!

Hey, get away from that!  Let go!

Three spoons, and two forks.

Sleep.

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When Reed woke up, Estelle was gone.  7:10 am.

Christi was also missing.  Not a Sandra in sight.

Linda was propped up with a mound of pillows, down at the bottom kitty-corner of the bed.  Multi-color silk harem-girl outfit.  An antique, electric floor lamp, dragged close to the bed, cast a low light over her.  She was reading a Harlequin Romance paperback.

Reed chuckled a couple syllables worth.

“Hi, there!” she said, setting the book aside, yawning, and stretching.  “Mmmmm.  What’cha gonna do today, big guy?”

“Take a shower.”

“Want me to beep the others?”

Reed’s groggy mind was not working on all 8 cylinders.  “Beep the others?”

“Yeah.  Sandy ’n’ Chris have those belt-on beeper things.  If you want some morning fun, I’ll beep ’em in here.”

“Mmmmmmm.”  Reed shook his head.

“Good.  I like havin’ ya all to myself.  Want some breakfast in bed?”

“A shower,” Reed growled.

“Sounds like a plan.  Wanna hear my favorite sex fantasy?”

The way he looked at her, made her laugh.

Reed said, “It’s too early in the morning.”  He dragged his body into the bathroom.  “Now listen here,” he warned Linda, who was walking alongside of him, “just make a U-Turn!  I want some fucking privacy while I take a piss.”

“You’re not gonna let me aim you?”

Linda laughed again at the look he gave her.

When he got into the shower, Linda got naked and snuck in to help suds him up.

“What the hell?”

“Byron Reed, just relax and let me take care of you.  It’s my job!”

“Can’t you go on strike for better pay or something?”

She punched his back; soapy-fist into kidney.

“Ouch.”  He resisted her clean-up efforts, and he resisted the impulse to ask where Christi was.  “And don’t even think about soaping up my dick.”

When she tried to dry him off afterward, he grabbed the towel out of her hands.  “God damn it!”

“Be that way!” she yelled back, putting up her dukes, playfully acting like she wanted to punch his block off, as she danced around the time-honored tile like a soggy-wet butterfly, and stung the air like a tumble-bee.

Linda’s love-bubbles bounced their disappointment.

Reed’s clothes were dry-cleaned, and in the antique closet were the King’s contemporary duds, an absurdly complete selection.  His wallet and keys and pocket-stuff were resting, gathering interest, in a giant, jade statue’s cupped hands; with a little mini-note from Estelle: ENJOY, DARLING.  LOVE AND DEVOTION, ESTELLE.

Reed got dressed.

Linda bounded back into her vintage vestments, her maple-hair toweled dry into an undisciplined disaster of tangles.  She asked him again if he wanted breakfast, but he again refused.

Reed went out of the bedchamber into the living room (reception chamber?).  Linda followed.  Reed’s still-wrapped presents were waiting patently.  He smiled: screw ’em.

“Well, it was fun,” Reed announced, about to leave.  “Tell Christi and . . . the one in the babydoll thing . . .”

“Sandy!  Fuck ’em & forget ’em, huh?”

Reed just smiled his not-awake-yet early morning smile.  “Yeah, well, tell ’em that it was . . . something else.”

Linda laughed.  “I’ll tell ’em.  But I think they already know.”  She smiled.  “Hey, want some company?  Take me along.  I can change this shit in three minutes.  It’s Saturday, and it’ud be great to get out of this stupid, phony castle.  What’cha gonna do today, Byron?”

He tried to think.  Jesus Christ, had he ejaculated his brain?  “Uh, I’m not sure.  Probably work on a soundtrack.”

She pouted, getting the message that he definitely did NOT want company.

Reed opened the front double-door.

Linda said, “OK.  Well, hey, come back soon!”  She wrapped her bod around his and did the going away kiss scene.  “Oh, wait, I forgot!  Just a sec!”  She streaked back into the bedchamber.

Reed waited just outside, looking around at the courtyard and path leading up to the distant parking lot, trying to get his mind back to reality.

Linda came back out and slipped a card into his hand.  “Here’s the number.  One of us will always be here, and the other two are on call.  So if you just call and give us half an hour, we can all be here when you arrive.  Got it?”

Reed frowned.  “Wait a minute.  You want to give me that again?”

She pulled at him to come back inside.  “Come back inside for a sec.  I feel like such a dope in these idiot-pajamas.”

He allowed himself to be pulled.

“Just call this number before you come.  Otherwise, it’s just whoever’s working the shift.  See, we rotate.”

“Whoever’s working the shift?”

Linda laughed; a burst of helpless giggles at this guy.  He was a troglodyte!  “Byron!”

“Wait a minute.  Are you telling me . . .”  He wasn’t sure how to put his fear into words.

“We all agreed to one-year service contracts.  We’re your harem, Byron, Wake Up!”

The only words that came to his mind were My Harem?  But he had sense enough not to say them.

“I mean, a thousand bucks a day, plus room & board IN THESE DIGS, and you bet your sweet ass, I’ll wear a beeper on my belt!  You call it, man, whatever gets you off.  We’re your girls.  I don’t know about Chris ’n’ Sandy, but I only got one condition on it.  No cocks up my butt without a condom!  Other’n that, baby, I can be VERY OPEN-MINDED for a grand a day!  This is, like, a sabbatical for me, see?  I’m an actor.  Estelle owns this inn, but she said you might want to split us up or relocate us, so, hey, whatever.  What did you think this was?  A one-nighter?”

Linda laughed: that was exactly what Reed thought it was.

“Yeah, well, good-bye,” Reed said, already walking out to his car.  His right foot tripped over his left foot, and he almost fell on his face.

“Byron!” Linda giggled, watching him stumble off in a daze.

COURTNEY, Chapter 43
 

Copyright 2005 Area 47