Pleasure Thieves

"You've helped me to be one, dearest," he conceded as he scrupulously unbuttoned her close-fitting shirt. "You've helped me in every way." He pulled the shirt apart and ran his hands over the flimsy cloth of her brassiere. "But they're all hard, darling." He sounded disapproving. "You've been sitting and chatting away, and your tits have been getting harder and harder and ready to the point of bursting.

Why don't you just tell me when you feel that way. My little girl never has to be hot when this hungry prick is always ready for her." He removed the shirt and studiously undid the brassiere. She was sitting on the couch, naked to her slender waist, her exposed skin a shocking white.

He ran his fingers over the naked bosoms. "You're lovely, darling, lovely." He sank his mouth over her nipple and sucked with infant hunger.

Her head thrown back, she smiled and caressed his neck and hair.

"Yes, do that, I do need that Phillip." She reached into his pants and found the trigger. Her body moved in a sensual delirium. She wanted to suck his cock, but would not sacrifice the caress of her breasts.

Phillip, sensing her luxury, moved his head away and got down on his knees before her. Knowing her role perfectly, she pulled her slender legs apart. He stuck his head under her skirt and his tongue felt the child-smooth mound of her cunt. His head, hidden in her skirt, moved frantically. The hairless hill of her sex always excited him, revealing the innocent, the pathetically unprotected slit of her vagina. He was running his tongue up and down the long crack, and it burst into the warm inner lining. He bit and gobbled at the insides and her heart dank down to her cunt.

"Eat me up, Phillip. Eat my heart, too."

With his head still buried, he grabbed the hem of her skirt with his two hands and lifted it straight over her head. Her face was hidden, and she was now in the dark as he had been. She did not dare expose her face, to watch him drop his pants and stand eager before her. There were a few seconds of nothing, of her body all wired and taut and left without his caress. She clawed the air in desperation.

"My baby," Phillip consoled, patting her hips, and waiting yet another moment. "Baby is always so anxious to be fed."

Then he shoved his cock deeply and silently into her cunt, standing before her blinded body. "That's where she wants it, in her precious cunt." He beat severely against her white body, white belly, white thighs, white cunt. Then he paused a moment, and with an emotionless voice said, "Come." Like a robot, her body contorted in released, anguished orgasm as he poured his sperm into the naked, convulsing flesh.

CHAPTER IV

They sat together at the old-fashioned, distinctly male bar. Phillip watched Harry in the mirror, and turned once to the maitre d'hotel, who scurried off, joyous at the gentile commands.

"I've an enormous appetite; how about you?" Phillip was being a host.

Harry turned annoyed eyes on him. "We've eaten together before, Phillip. Though of course, the meals were not served in the right spirit.

Did something to the appetite. But I've never been one for food."

Every now and then the echo of Midwestern naivete would come through.

"A man of action, Harry; that's what you should call yourself. Just as I call myself a man of taste. People appreciate being told what you are." He shrugged his shoulders like a titillated schoolgirl. "They get all nervous and jumpy inside if they've got to figure it out themselves."

Harry smiled a bit contemptuously. "You should have been a psychiatrist, Phillip."

"I am, I am," Phillip warmly interrupted. "I listen to people; I find out what's on their minds, what's in their safe, how they spend their sleepless nights, how many Nembutal they take, when the maid is away, if they like big nasty dogs, if they always imagine they hear footsteps on the parlor floor. Then I add up all my bits of information, sacrifice my peace of mind, and one night when they least expect it, I tiptoe into their bedrooms and carry away their most troublesome burdens."

"Their money."

"If it happens to be lying carelessly about."

"Their jewels."

"Always. Always their jewels. I find diamonds are a man's most confusing possessions. To own a diamond, you must be neurotic. First of all, you've taken everybody else's word for it that they're beautiful.

Then you've taken the bespectacled little man's word that they're valuable. Often my clients have offered their sacred virginity for a paltry little diamond that hardly shines in the dark. So they give up their cunts, their youth, for a little row of beads that are so valuable they're too heavy to be worn about the neck. They fire the fingers. A woman must sink under the weight of her diamonds."

"So."