by Anais Ninja
“You look gorgeous, Anne,” Krystle said.
“Thank you,” I replied. “So do you. That’s a beautiful dress.”
“Thanks, hon. Steve should be down in a minute,” she said. “Would you like a drink?”
“Please.”
“We have soda, wine, whatever you like.”
“What are you having?” I asked her.
“Steve and I like a martini or two before dinner,” she said. “Would you like one?”
“I’ve never had a martini.”
“Then you’re in for a treat,” Krystle said. “Miguel mixes the best martinis on the planet.”
“Miguel?”
“One of our servants,” she explained. “We employ a housekeeper and a cook, but I hire extra people when we have friends for dinner. I just don’t have the time to entertain, what with work and all.” Krystle went to fetch Miguel, and I sat on the black leather couch, looking around the room. Everything looked new and shiny, but there was a glitzy quality to the furniture and knick-knacks, as if one was meant to know how expensive these things were. Helen’s house was also luxurious, but it was a subtle luxury, not gaudy like Krystle’s chrome and glass furnishings.
“Here we go,” Krystle said, returning with Miguel, a tall, handsome young man in a short black waistcoat and perfectly pressed trousers. He set about the task of mixing a pitcher of martinis, adding gin and just a hint of vermouth to a shaker filled with ice. He capped the decanter and shook it vigorously, pouring the clear mixture into three martini glasses, adding an olive to each. Just then Steve appeared, entering through the living-room’s double doors, dressed in a sharp blue suit. He was taller than my father, with closely-cropped red hair that was starting to thin on top. Despite that, he was handsome, with clear hazel eyes and a cleft chin.
“Anne, this is my husband, Steve,” Krystle said.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand for a shake.
“The pleasure is mine,” I said.
“Krys tells me that you’re quite good with computers,” Steve said, accepting a martini from Miguel.
“I guess,” I replied. “I’d never touched one until the other day.”
“Steve’s company makes those,” Krystle said.
“Just the chips,” he said. “The parts inside, processor, memory, controllers. Here...” Steve picked up a lucite cube from the coffee table and handed it to me. Embedded within was a square black wafer. One side was covered with little gold pins. The other bore a white stencil with the name of Steve’s company and a series of tiny numbers.
“That’s the brain of a computer,” he said. Steve took a seat in one of the leather armchairs, across from the couch.
“Cool.” It was pretty neat, and I wanted to hear more. My curiosity had been piqued.
“Don’t get him started, Annie,” Krystle said. “He can go on all night about these things. Try your martini, let me know if you like it.” She sat down on the couch next to me.
I took a sip of my drink. It was strong but smooth, with an interesting aftertaste, ever so slightly fruity.
“It’s very good,” I said. I would have liked a glass of wine instead, but sipping this martini made me feel grown-up, sophisticated.
“Don’t drink too fast,” Krystle said. “These go right to your head.” I took her advice and paced myself, taking small sips, one for every two of hers. Miguel mixed another round and then excused himself, bowing slightly before leaving us. Steve poured the second round, and we made small talk while we waited for dinner to be served.
In between listening to Krystle talk about the latest Paris fashions, Steve talking about the new plant his company was building in Malaysia, and answering their questions about Boston and the school I was going to attend, I felt a distinct sexual tension in the room. Maybe it was the way Steve was looking at me, or perhaps the way Krystle placed her hand on my knee, squeezing it to punctuate what she was saying. I was just about to put my hand on hers when a maid entered the room.
“Dinner is served, ma’am,” she said. She wore a formal maids’ uniform, not the skimpy, frothy French kind, like the servants who attended Bradley and Helen’s swing parties wore, rather a long, charcoal grey dress that came down above the knees, with a starched white apron tied around her neck and waist. The maid was buxom, slightly chubby, like Mia’s housekeeper, but her high cheekbones and copper-colored skin betrayed more than a hint of Native-American blood somewhere in her ancestry.
“Thank you, Pilar,” Steve said. She bowed and left the room.
“Shall we?” Krystle said. She stood up and held out her hand, leading me into the dining room.
The table was the one piece of furniture I actually liked. A thick glass oval sat upon a curved pedestal carved from green-tinted granite, a welcome change from the chrome furniture in the living room. As I took my seat, a second maid emerged from the kitchen with a soup tureen, ladling gazpacho into my bowl. I’d never had that before, and I took a small taste first. It was pretty good.
After the soup there was a salad course, and then roast game hen. Miguel stood at attention while we ate and conversed, ready to refill a water glass or pour more wine. Dessert was served afterwards, chocolate mousse with freshly whipped cream, and coffee. As the maids cleared the table, we returned to the living room, where Miguel poured snifters of brandy, lighting Steve’s cigar with a gold lighter.
“Bring me the tray Miguel,” Steve said to the servant. Miguel snapped to attention and left the room, returning with a silver tray which he placed on the coffee table. It held six even lines of white powder and a long chrome cylinder.
“Would you like some coke, Annie?” Krystle asked.
“Yes, please,” I said. Krystle held my hair back as I leaned over the coffee table and snorted one of the lines. I sat up and tilted my head back, feeling the rush spread through my whole body.
“Oh my,” I said, passing the chrome straw to Krystle, my heart beating faster, a feeling of exhilaration coursing through my veins. “Oh my.”
“Good stuff,” Steve said. “Peruvian flake.”
Krystle did a line and handed the straw to Steve. He snorted one and passed it to me. As I did the second line, I could feel the first one start to drip down the back of my throat, numbing it. After we finished the coke, Steve pulled a gold cigarette case from his jacket, pulling out a joint and lighting it. As good as the coke was, the pot was even better, sweet tasting, with an almost skunky odor. I took a sip of brandy and felt a sheen of perspiration on my forehead.
“You look hot, dear,” Krystle said. “We can turn up the air conditioning if you’d like.”
“Don’t bother,” I said, reaching back and tugging at the zipper of my dress. “I hope you don’t mind.” I stepped out of my black sheath and sat down on the couch in my lace bra and panties. My inhibitions had left with that first line of coke. Besides, I knew why I was here.
“That’s a good idea,” Krystle said. “Would you unzip me, Anne?” She wore an expensive pale blue lace bra and matching panty underneath her dress, no stockings or hose. As we passed the joint around, I felt her hand on the small of my back, gently caressing me with a slow circular motion.
Some people get very talkative when they do cocaine. I wasn’t one of those people, but Steve and Krystle were. Over the next half hour I heard more than I needed to know about them, where they grew up, where they went to school, just about everything. Krystle had been born and raised in New Mexico, on a cattle ranch, one of eight children. She’d dropped out of high school to wait tables in a diner, but she managed to get an equivalency certificate and get accepted into a community college. From there she transferred to New Mexico State and got a degree in business management, moving to Tucson first before coming to Phoenix, picking up her real estate license along the way. It was here that she met Steve.
He’d grown up outside of Seattle, and studied electrical engineering at Cal Tech, getting a position with Boeing right before the first energy cri
sis in the early Seventies. Being a new employee, he was the first to go when the layoffs began. For a while, the only work he could find was on a used car lot, cleaning automobiles. When a sales position opened, he took it, figuring that business would pick up soon, and he’d be re-hired by Boeing.
After two years it looked like that would never happen, so Steve headed south. If he was going to sell cars, he might as well do it where it didn’t rain three hundred days each year. He worked in San Jose, then Las Vegas, before finding a sales position at a new car dealership in Phoenix, where he worked with my father. And just as my father had met Mia when her parents flew down from Montreal to buy her a Jeep, Steve met Krystle when she came in to the showroom to price a new car. They dated, got engaged, and right before the wedding the company Steve now works for began to hire engineers. It was only a couple of years before he was made a manager, on the fast track for a vice presidency.
Then it was my turn. As Krystle sat next to me, stroking my hair and caressing my thighs, Steve asked me whether I’d decided on a college.
“I have a couple of years before I have to decide,” I said.
“Wait, I thought you’re at least seventeen,” Steve said. “How old are you?”
“I just turned fifteen.”
“I told you how old she is,” Krystle said.
“No you didn’t,” he complained.
“Yes I did,” she said. “Last night. Don’t you remember?”
“What, when we were in bed?”
“Right after Johnny’s monologue,” Krystle said. “Weren’t you listening?”
“Sorry, Krys,” he said. “I must’ve been half asleep. What’s the age of consent here?”
“Eighteen, I think,” she said. “Not that they ever enforce that, especially on the reservations.”
“Shit,” Steve said. “Get dressed, Anne. I’ll drive you home.”
“No,” I said.
“What?” Steve looked as if he’d just been slapped in the back of the head.
“I said ‘no’. I came here to get laid, and that’s what I want to do.” Krystle squeezed my thigh and laughed.
“I told you she was a wild one,” she said. “Let’s do some more lines.”
“Okay, if you say so,” Steve said, somewhat reluctantly. He summoned Miguel, who had been waiting in the dining room. The servant took the tray and left, returning a minute later with six more lines of cocaine. While he was gone, Krystle had reached behind my back and unhooked my bra. I shrugged the straps off of my shoulders and say back on the couch while she cupped and fondled my breasts. Eighteen or not, I could tell Steve was getting aroused as he watched his wife play with my little titties. I unclasped her bra and caressed her full breasts, teasing her nipples, feeling them stiffen between my fingers.
We snorted the cocaine and smoked another joint. Miguel poured more brandy, and I could see his hardness pressing against the leg of his trousers. He managed to keep a deadpan expression, though there was a stiffness to his gait. I suppose it’s not easy to walk with an erection.
Steve took off his jacket and loosened his tie, undoing the top button of his shirt. By this time Krystle and I were making out on the couch, our lips locked together, our hands roaming over each other, caressing, squeezing, pinching. Steve got up from his armchair and sat down on the couch next to me, gently exploring my body. I felt him pull my hair away from my neck and start to kiss me there, working up to my earlobe, nibbling it as he squeezed my breasts. I leaned against the back of the couch and let Steve and Krystle have their way with me.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Krystle whispered. She stood up from the couch and helped me to my feet, taking my hand and leading me upstairs. Steve was right behind me, his hand on my bottom, cupping my cheeks through my black lace panties. We walked down a carpeted hallway, framed prints on the walls, past their big bedroom and through a doorway.
“This is our playroom,” Krystle said. “It’s supposed to be our guest bedroom, but our guests usually don’t get much sleep.”
The room was large, as big as my father’s bedroom. There was a king- sized bed with straps attached to the bedposts at each corner. Next to it was an armoire, the drawers partially open, revealing an assortment of toys: dildos, vibrators, massage oils, lubricants, handcuffs, whips and paddles. Another drawer contained lingerie, feather boas, some leather items that I couldn’t identify. Opposite the bed was a door that led to a bathroom, and I could see a large plastic sheet covering the tile floor.
“Who are your guests?” I asked.
“Just people we meet in bars,” Steve said. “Men, women, couples.”
“Sometimes we place a personal ad in the paper,” Krystle added. “Variety is the spice of life.”
There was a knock on the door and Miguel entered, carrying the tray of cocaine in one hand, and a bottle of champagne in the other. Behind him was one of the maids, carrying a tray with three champagne flutes and a silver bucket filled with ice. Miguel placed the cocaine on the bedside table and opened the bottle. The cork made a loud popping sound and a bit of foam bubbled out of the neck. Then he poured it into the three glasses, put the bottle in the ice bucket, bowed slightly, and left with the maid.
“To Anne,” Krystle said, clinking her glass against mine. “A lovely, sexy young woman.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Steve said. I took a sip of champagne and put down the glass. My head was starting to spin from all the alcohol and drugs, and I didn’t want to insult my hosts by throwing up and passing out.
“You should see her pretty little pussy, Steve,” Krystle said. As he started to undress, Krystle knelt behind me and tugged at my panties, pulling them down over my thighs, exposing my shaved cunny to her husband. He smiled as he stepped out of his trousers and took off his shirt. I could see his hardness poking at the front of his red silk boxer shorts, making a tent in the shiny fabric.
“You’ve seen it before?” Steve asked.
“Tuesday, when I was with her and Frank in the model home at Corazon,” she replied.
“Wait a second, you and Frank?” Steve said, frowning. “I thought we agreed...”
“We agreed not to fall in love with anyone else,” Krystle said. “You don’t think I’d fall for one of my salesmen, do you?”
“No, but...”
“Steve, honey, he’s just a swinging dick to me,” she said. “Nothing more. Besides, you’re going to fuck his little girl. I think it’s a fair deal for everyone.”
“I guess,” Steve said. He didn’t sound convinced, but that didn’t stop him from coming up to me and kissing me on the lips, his tongue seeking mine, his hands squeezing my bottom as his wife caressed my back and cupped my breasts.
“Taste her, Steve,” Krystle said. “Stick your tongue in that lovely little pussy of hers. Lay down, baby.” I laid down across the bed and Krystle stretched out next to me, pressing her lips against mine, her hands busy with my breasts, kneading them, pinching my nipples.
Steve went straight for my sex. No teasing, no kisses on the thighs or the backs of my knees. He started lashing my clit almost immediately with his tongue, sucking it with his lips, his fingers probing my passage. I could feel his knuckle pressing against my sensitive inner spot, and as Krystle began to suckle my breasts, I felt my pleasure build, spurred on by the coke we’d snorted, the pot we smoked, the martinis, the wine, the brandy, the champagne. It made it easy to let myself go. I closed my eyes and felt like I was reduced to a clit and a pair of nipples, that this was all that was left of my body, the rest having melted away like an ice cube in the Arizona sun.
And then I felt it, a cold, wet sensation on my breasts. Krystle had taken a piece of ice from the bucket and held it between her lips, using it to circle my nipples. I almost jumped out of my skin when I felt it, not because of the cold, but from surprise, the unexpected sensation that drew me back into the moment. But then I let go of myself again, savoring this new feeling as the ice stiffened my nipples and sent chills through my wh
ole body. Steve was still ravishing my sex, licking and sucking my pearl, his fingers busily sawing in and out of my slit. Krystle swallowed what was left of the ice cube and lightly grazed my nipples with her teeth, and that was what sent me over the edge, trembling in her arms and pinning Steve between my quivering thighs. He looked up from between my legs and smiled, and then he stood up and stepped out of his silk boxers.
I now understood what Krystle saw in my father. Steve’s hard cock was no bigger than David’s, and it wasn’t very thick, either, though his purplish glans was nice and fat. His balls, though, were enormous, the biggest pair I’d ever seen. They wouldn’t have been out of place between the legs of a horse, although they made his penis look even smaller by comparison. I sat up on the bed and reached for him, stroking his cock, cupping his huge sack. He had almost no body hair, just sparse red patches on his chest and groin, and almost none on his scrotum. I thought he’d shaved himself, but I could feel a fine, almost invisible fur. I leaned forward and began to lick and suck his big nuts. Steve sighed and stroked my hair, his hips rocking slowly as I started to fellate him.
“Take her, Steve,” Krystle said, climbing off of the bed and selecting a vibrator from the armoire. “I want to see you fuck Frank’s little girl.”
“Please,” I said, pulling his cock from my mouth and looking up at him. “Fuck me. Please.”
Steve and Krystle’s horniness was rubbing off on me, and the thought of her watching me as I took her husband’s cock in my hungry cunny made me ache inside. He gently pushed me back on the bed and mounted me, reaching down to guide his hardness into my passage. I wrapped my arms and legs around his body and held him as he began to thrust with short, shallow strokes. Krystle returned to the bed and turned on the vibrator, a long pink phallus with a fat head and prominent veins molded into the latex skin. She touched it to my nipples, my belly, her husband’s swaying balls, and between his buttocks before using it on herself, rubbing it up and down her cleft as she laid next to us, watching us fuck.
