Pleasure Thieves

"The younger generation," he murmured, "is considerably more neurotic than mine. You take everything so dramatically. Everything must be a crisis. The only crisis I respect is the one Cezanne created in the nineteenth century. Now Harry, don't you feel unimportant, like some Boy Scout next to that?"

Carol laughed the way Phillip often laughed, turning her head slightly to the side and not opening her mouth. "That's perfect, Phillip, exactly the word. Harry is all confused and indignant. He thinks it's disgusting that you got to my cunt first."

Her boldness sounded hollow, like dying words. "It's not that Harry particularly covets my cunt. It's just an idea he has, something about people in the same family shouldn't touch. Harry, you're a hero, but you're so old-fashioned. There's really nothing for you to do in this world. You missed the Crusades."

Harry pushed his chair back and got up from the table. "I think you've both educated me enough," he said coldly. "Fresh air might undo some of it."

Carol sat still, as though stunned. He was the first man to know of her and Phillip, and the first to matter. And he was going to leave, giving her a dead look over his shoulder. She thought desperately, Phillip, help me. Don't let him despise me. Help me.

Phillip put his napkin next to his plate. "I think we should all have coffee first," he suggested. "That will make us all feel a bit more normal." The last word echoed in the dining room, and he hastily added, "I always find scenes banal. Have some coffee Harry, and we'll try to be civilized."

Harry felt the spider wrap another liquid thread around him. He clung helplessly to the web. Carol had not a said a word, had not seconded Phillip's suggestion. She looked beautiful, really beautiful tonight. The long white gown left her curved shoulders bare, the skin on her breasts and arms and shoulders looker powder soft, and he could smell the spicy perfume that emanated from her. He was sure the odor came from her flesh. Looking at her, he wanted to bury his face in her arms, or hair, or fluffy cunt and breathe deeply. Her profile was marble, chiseled from an inner tension and pain that made her extraordinary. He hated her and wanted to ram his cock into her, to despise her, to rape 'Daddy's little girl' out of her virgin pussy.

Phillip watched his eyes and said, "You look really lovely tonight, Carol. I like the piece with that dress. Sets if off nicely."

"I thought you never wore jewels," Harry said, trying to be calm as well. He was going to be calm until he invaded the marble statue.

Carol sat quietly. What were they doing to her now? What was this round-robin of hate? Suddenly, for the first time, she thought they shouldn't have pricks. They shouldn't have anything but smooth round hairless flesh, like I have. They don't want their pricks. They interfere with the cruelty. With the way he'd like to hate me without ever touching me.

Her mind became a jumble of heat and fear, until it suddenly crystallized and Harry's meaningless words got through to her. She was ready to be meaningless too.

"Do you like it?" She fingered the heavy pendant around her neck.

"I know you have a feeling for such things. It belonged to my mother."

She finished, and got up from the table to lead them to the library.

Sitting in the deep chair in the study, Carol looked casually around her and said, "Daddy has one of these rooms everywhere he goes."

"Well not quite everywhere," Phillip answered her gently. He was talking like an old man, the illustrious head of a distinguished, but modest family. "But I've asked you once, and I repeat, let's not talk about Daddy. Especially after such a delightful dinner. I'm tired. You both make me feel like a bent old patriarch. I'd better go to bed early tonight. Anyway, I have a frightening amount of back-cataloguing to get done tomorrow. I hope you don't mind too much, Harry." He was being the perfect father, polite to the stumbling suitor. "Perhaps you and Carol will take a drive. It's stopped raining, I believe. Carol can show you a little of the country here."

He looked at Carol promptingly. Remember your manners; be nice to our guest. She was relaxed now, self-assured and polite. She replied, "I would like some air. How about it, Harry?"

They were winning. He would get the cunt and they would win.

The fair-haired beauty could be had without the Golden Fleece.

Shaken out of his jungle, Harry looked at her a moment before speaking, and then said, "All right, Princess, show me the kingdom."

They sped along the road in a white Jaguar, the top down and the wind fresh on Carol's hair. "How romantic," he thought sarcastically, as he watched her hands, slim and competent on the wheel. She had thrown a cloak over the gown, looking regal and untouchable.

"You're strange," he said finally.

Carol smiled and said lightly, driving gaily away from the darkened estate, "That's the nicest thing you've said to me since we met."

"What do you mean?"