Pleasure Thieves

He took a transparent hypodermic out of his medical cabinet and stuck the needle into a rubber corked vial. He walked back into the room, holding the needle straight up to pull up the colorless liquid.

Carol said, "No," her eyes wide and frightened. Phillip sat on the edge of the bed, took her arm nervelessly in his hand and pierced the blue vein with the needle. She watched him, fascinated, as the liquid disappeared into her flesh. Her eyes were wide and hysterical when they met Phillip's, but already she was too tired to speak.

"Go to sleep," he warned, his voice not untender, but still strange.

She was watching him, her green eyes fading into sleep. He returned the questioning gaze. "Go to sleep Carol. Forget about your empty hot cunt. It's good to be hot, gets you close to God."

She was deep asleep when he left the room. He hadn't told her that tonight he'd leave for Boston. She wouldn't be awake when he took off. He poured a drink when he reached the study, still unwilling to think of the unsated plea. But he couldn't fuck her anymore; her cunt felt like a trap, like a swamp.

When he heard the door buzz, he remembered Harry. He walked swiftly to the bedroom, saw Carol deep in a trance, a prick-devouring angel. He locked the door from the outside, and put the key in his pocket. Harry was sitting on the couch in the studio when Phillip reentered. "Harry, did you have a good dinner?" he asked.

CHAPTER VII

Sundown, and Harry was alone in Phillip's study, pacing the room, waiting for his call. It was restlessness again, creeping through him in that old familiar way. "Things could get too involved," he thought.

"Yeah, that girl, there was more to her than just being a woman." She was weird, indefinable. It made him feel lost, a novel sensation for Harry. It made him restless, and he didn't want to upset anything between himself and Phillip. "Not now," Harry knew. "I can't let anything interfere now."

It was almost dark. Harry sank heavily into a large armchair. The always-present cigarette in the corner of his mouth, dangling, looking not smoked at all, just there and getting shorter as though by magic.

The mother-of-pearl chess set on the table before him looked inviting in the dim light. He thoughtfully began to move a few pieces about when the door to the study burst open. Harry sprung up, cat-like.

"You could get killed that way, walking into a room unannounced!"

Carol stood by the door, saying nothing, her eyes catching his angry stare through the twilight. Finally she spoke dryly, ignoring his outburst. "You're going to burn your lips if you don't give up that butt.

You need a better light."

She walked past him in the dark, toward the indirect light. He felt her brush by him; he could smell faintly the more spicy than sweet odor of her perfume. "Yes," he thought, "Carol is definitely in the room."

She turned on the light near the chess set. It was a hot evening, and Carol was dressed for the weather, wearing a short dress made of filmy material, like a little girl's jumper or perhaps more like a nightgown.

Harry remained standing in the same position as when she entered, not talking, not moving, the cigarette butt burning into his lip. He stood staring through her. She spoke softly, "You've been working overtime."

Harry walked back to his chair, and mashed his cigarette in one of the large alabaster ashtrays. He lit another immediately and returned to his chess game. Carol watched the side of his sculptured face, its muscles moving in and out as he concentrated on the board. In the back of her mind she wondered if that face would ever look at her with the same intensity and her heart turned over in between her breasts.

She put her portfolio and purse on another chair and walked back to Harry.

"Who's winning?" she asked toyingly.

Harry looked up at her as though she were a statue that had come to life. "Who do you think?" he replied teasingly. Carol couldn't return his piercing stare. She sensed something else emanating from him.

She was unable to make the usual banter. Rather than melt away under his gaze, she turned her back briefly to him and stood still for a split second. In that moment Harry followed the curve of her ass from the tiny waist to the voluptuous full-blown thighs, then to the bottom of her heart-shaped ass.

His cock bolted upright, uncontrollably, as though it were crying for attention. Carol walked over to the small oak bar and mixed herself a drink. "I played chess often with Phillip," she said. Harry resented the sudden mention of Phillip's name. "Where is he by the way," she added.

"Why? Anything important?"

"Not, not really. I brought over the latest issue of Femme to show him. There are reproductions of two paintings Phillip once owned.

Want to see them?"

Carol picked up the copy of Femme and made another drink. She slowly walked back to Harry's chair and sat on the arm. "Want a drink?

I forgot to ask."