“Jealous?” Helmut teased. Her lack of an answer was answer enough. “Would you consider engaging in a little of that kind of girl-on-girl action for me once we’ve obtained our mission objective?”
“Of course,” Vanessa said. “So long as you engage in a little of that kind of action for me first.”
She tipped her chin toward the two well-dressed men. One’s mouth was now wrapped around the other’s cock, which hung openly from unzipped tuxedo pants.
“Only if the mission depends upon it,” Helmut grumbled.
But Vanessa was correct—he needed to focus. Helmut scanned the rest of the room, then the ceiling. That was when he saw them, the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of balloons. Reds and whites and fleshy pinks, suspended overhead behind a thin screen of mesh. Helmut’s cock, which hadn’t stayed soft in his pants all night, swelled back to its fullest hardness.
“Magnificent,” he growled.
“Helmut,” Vanessa whispered, her voice sweet, musical, a siren’s song speaking more to his dick than his ears.
Helmut blinked and dragged his eyes down from the ceiling. “What?”
“There…it’s them!”
Helmut followed Vanessa’s prompt, into the crowd of bodies.
There they were.
The enemy.
Rubel—the cur, the scalawag, the seditionist—strutted toward one of the female drink servers, Lady Darbi Dinsmore hanging on his arm. Rubel, with his close-cropped black hair and a jagged lightning bolt of a scar slicing down one cheek, looking so ridiculously trendy in his tuxedo and flip-flops, his enormous, hairy bare feet exposed for all to see. As he passed by the serving wench, the brutishly attractive enemy of the company tweaked her nipple.
Helmut drew in a deep breath, held it, and then just as deeply launched it through his nostrils, like an angry bull readying to charge. He wanted to take Rubel down, crush him, even if it meant having to fuck him in order to do it. Images of the company’s raid on Rubel’s secret laboratory filtered through his rage: the sheets of clean plastic guarding the entrance to the lab, the workers dressed in white, poring over their new application, the shouts of angry voices, the defiance… the raw, big balls of it all!
Steeling himself, Helmut curled his muscled arm around Vanessa’s. “Come on. You work on Lady Darbi. Get her to cut off her funding. I’ll handle Rubel.”
“Agreed.”
The distance—twenty or so meters around an outcrop of beds and naked flesh—felt more like a gulf of kilometers. By the time they reached the couple, Lady Darbi was on her knees, performing a lewd act that wasn’t very ladylike. Rubel had a hand on the back of the jeweled chignon clip holding her hair in place. His gold thumb ring glittered among the woman’s locks.
A thumb ring! Helmut thought, snorting his displeasure out loud. Around that big hairy digit, it looked more like the cock ring of a madman. Ill-gotten gains had bought Ruble that band, and Helmut planned to knock it from his knuckles.
“Victor Rubel,” he bellowed.
Rubel’s eyes, half-closed as he savored the lady’s suckling lips, snapped open like shades drawn too tightly. “How dare you use my real name here! This is supposed to be an anonymous gathering.”
“The entire world will know what a dangerous scoundrel you are, Rubel—unless you stop your activities at once.”
“Dangerous activities?” Rubel huffed. “Only to you. Which company do you work for? Condomaximum? Pleasure-gasm? Skintimate?”
“Who we represent is none of your concern.” Vanessa grabbed Lady Darbi by the collar of her rubber dress and hauled her to her feet. Her lips and Rubel’s hairy, veiny cock made a loud popping sound as they were forcibly separated.
“Get your hands off me,” Lady Darbi protested, shaking free of Vanessa’s grip. She folded her arms, licked her glistening lips.
Helmut cast a glance at Rubel’s gnarled pole of a dick, saw that it was wet with a mix of saliva and precome, and delighted in the knowledge they’d interrupted his celebration.
“Lady Darbi, this man whose enterprise you’ve been funding,” Helmut said, waving a hand at Rubel. “This man whose hairy root vegetable you’ve been snacking upon, is poised to disrupt the global economy!”
“You mean, disrupt your profit margin,” Rubel snorted, “with a new high-end condom, ultralight, superprotective, but as thin and unobtrusive as a layer of skin! And with the Dinsmore millions to back me up, we’re going to make billions!”
A smug smile on her wet lips, Lady Darbi moved to support her partner for the evening. Vanessa grabbed her, putting her in an armlock. Lady Darbi yelped.
“It will never happen, Rubel,” Vanessa hissed.
“That’s what you think,” Rubel fired back. And then he shook his drooling grotesquery of a cock. “You, and you—all of you can suck my dick!”
That did it. In a flash, Helmut was upon him. They toppled over, struck a mattress, bounced, and were hurled onto the floor between beds. Somebody screamed.
During the scrum, Helmut caught a bit of dialogue from the next bed over.
“Oh, leek my cleet!”
Angry voices flew at them from every direction, but Victor Rubel was his focus, Rubel with his hard, offensive cock still hanging out of his pants, stabbing into Helmut’s straining boner.
“Every dick from Walla Walla to the West End of London is going to want my condoms,” Rubel spat, humping their manhoods together.
“That’s what you think!”
They rolled across the floor, through a puddle of what Helmut hoped was spilled lubrication, hitting one of the serving himbos in the shin. The surfer dude dropped his tray. Champagne glasses shattered, and another high-pitched shriek pierced the air.
Rising up from a tangle of sweaty limbs, a shaved head demanded, “Stop it! Stop it, at once! You’re ruining our fun!”
“This blond goose-stepper and his companion would like to ruin everybody’s fun,” Rubel said. “All so they can keep your cocks in cast-iron condoms! But I plan to change all of that. We will begin to market fiercely, proclaiming our product across the Internet, television, print media, and from our new fleet of dirigibles—those enormous cock-shaped giants of the sky—floating through the heavens, like helium-filled dicks! No one and nothing will stop us. Viva la Revolución!”
Rubel, now on top, cast his face toward the masses and shook his fist for effect. His hairy, vein-webbed dick—so very ugly, the cock of a lesser being, a primate—rose upward in concert with Rubel’s hand. Helmut seized the opportunity and threw his punch. Rubel doubled over, wheezing as all the breath inside him was forced out.
As he fell forward, driving his erection into the front of Helmut’s pants, Rubel ejaculated. The pressure of the other man’s weight grinding against him, a frottage lover’s dream, a true cockfight, shedding sperm instead of blood, forced Helmut over the edge. The room erupted in explosions of fireworks only he could see and hear.
His dick was still squirting in his tuxedo pants when the gorillas dragged both adversaries off the floor. One of the pinstriped guards gripped Helmut’s arm. The other held a red-faced Rubel, who swayed on unsteady feet.
“Break it up!”
Helmut’s unloading cock still ruled him, and as it continued to erupt, so did his fists. Against Vanessa’s protests, Lady Darbi’s sobs, and the cacophony of excited voices that rose and fell with the action—some interested only in getting off, most suddenly attracted to the grand theater taking place at the outer orbit of the beds—Helmut swung.
The gorilla staggered back, clutching at his jaw, his other hand flailing, searching for support, and briefly finding it…on the length of cord holding the flotilla of balloons aloft.
The gorilla yanked. The mesh dropped. And then, so did the balloons.
Hundreds—nay, thousands—of red, white, and pink balloons drifted down from the ceiling. In this glorious cascade, this show that far surpassed anything else taking place in the vast room, the gathering fell silent, breathless. There was only th
e rubbery groan of balloons brushing their slick epidermises against one another, a slow, drifting cloud of color descending to kiss the earth, and a sense of the greatness soon to come.
Then, one of those balloons, one tiny falling star in a slow-moving meteor shower of thousands, exploded.
Pop.
Another followed, and another after that. Soon there were so many coming apart, it stung the ear to listen, and dazzled the eye to watch. Gleeful voices joined in, but their ecstatic chortles paled in counterpoint.
The kiss of rubber skin teased Helmut’s flushed cheeks and forehead, bounced off the slope of his nose. The cannonade quickly drove him mad. He fumbled his pants open, dropping them to his ankles, baring his muscled ass for all to see. Extending his arms, he allowed himself to drop backward into the sea of balloons. Fuck Rubel. Fuck the company, the mission.
And fuck Vanessa—which was exactly what he planned to do again, as whips of hot and cold tore at his naked flesh, and supreme excitement engulfed him.
BREATHING
Tenille Brown
It was a nice night for dying, a night when it was nice and warm out and the sky was dark and clear. That was what Renee wanted them to notice when they found her—that she had picked the most beautiful night of the summer to croak.
And her hair, well, it was absolutely darling. She had taken the time to curl it so that it framed her brown oval face and fell against her shoulders. She smelled nice, too, having splashed on perfume after she stepped out of the bath. Yes, Renee would look close to perfect on this lovely evening.
Renee knew that whoever found her would talk about it all. Like the fact that she had been watching the Home Shopping Network and the house still smelled like baked chicken. But the thing that would catch their attention, the one thing they would remember was that when they found her cold, stiff body, it would be clad in cheap blue latex.
The funny thing was, Renee didn’t even like stretch material. It was misleading. It made the numbers inside the garments a lie. An obvious size twelve could squeeze into an eight. A size four was suddenly a size negative-fucking-one.
But this dress had a corset top and Renee had a thing for corsets. And the dress was cute even if it was just a teeny bit slutty. She liked the way the black lace contrasted with the blue latex. She liked that the straps were wide on the shoulders, not those thin spaghetti things that couldn’t even support an A cup.
And Renee had chosen blue because it was her favorite color and it looked good against her toffee skin. People told her that all the time. She could have gone with the black one, but black was too predictable—the color was synonymous with freak, after all—and red, well, red was just too trashy.
A tear trickled down Renee’s cheek and she suddenly remembered she wasn’t even wearing anything underneath. Not one of her lace bra and panty sets, not even the clean pair of cotton drawers her mother always told her to make sure she had on in case she had to go the emergency room.
It was never a question of whether Renee could pull the look off. She had long, strong legs, a slender waist thanks to a strict regimen of yoga and Pilates, and an ass that could rival a twenty-five-year-old’s. Nothing needed lifting, pulling or tucking.
Hell. Renee Jones was a babe.
She was a babe who was smothering to death in her own bedroom.
And had the blessed zipper not gotten caught, had the slim waist of the garment not been halted by her boobs as she tried to pull it over her head, the dress might have looked damned good on her. Instead, it got stuck and covered her face so that she could hardly breathe through the tight material and now she found herself shuffling around her bedroom gasping for air.
These were things Renee thought about as her chest tightened and her breath caught in her throat. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and slipped down her temples.
And what put the cap on this utterly pathetic display of desperation was the fact that she and Keith had only been married six years and didn’t need this yet. Their relationship didn’t require extras like outfits and props. They were still fucking three, four times a week, and it was still pretty damned fresh, in her opinion.
Yes, the boys would think she was pretty in her interesting blue dress lying unconscious in her bedroom on this lovely night, Renee thought, as she drew a final breath and her eyes rolled and fluttered close.
The water was cold against Renee’s skin. Her cheeks suddenly stung from the sharp contact of palm against skin. Her head rattled from the shaking.
“Are you okay, Renee? Can you catch your breath?”
The voice sounded distant but familiar to her.
She inhaled sharply. Then she coughed. Then Renee began to marvel at how much heaven looked like her very own bedroom and how closely this tall, broad-shouldered angel resembled her husband, Keith. It was a strange thing, death, a very strange thing.
“Renee! Renee! What on earth were you doing? You know you could have killed yourself, don’t you?”
Keith let go of her shoulders and Renee fell back onto the mattress, her head landing against the stack of pillows.
She licked her lips before she spoke. “Then you mean I didn’t die?”
Keith sucked his teeth. Whatever concern he had had for her had been replaced with utter aggravation. “Of course you didn’t die. You passed out is all.”
He had taken off his jacket and loosened his tie. Keith rubbed the sweat from his face.
“Oh. Oh, good.” It was all Renee could think to say, all she could think to do as she began tugging again at the cobalt blue latex that now rested snuggly around her torso, waist and hips.
Keith shrugged. “So, you want to explain yourself?”
Renee paused. “Explain what? The outfit or the situation?”
“Both.” Keith’s hands were on his hips. He began pacing the floor in front of her.
“Oh.” Renee wrung her hands in her lap and crossed and uncrossed her legs at the ankles. “Okay, then, I’ll tell you. But, Keith, before I tell you, you have to know that you’re partially to blame for this, if not completely.”
“Me?” Keith placed his finger to his chest, his soft brown eyes stretched wide. “I’m sorry. Did I get off work early to sneak over here and wrap blue latex around your head? Did I do it while you were sleeping, perhaps? Or did I knock you unconscious? Too much Court TV, Renee, way too much Court TV.”
Renee folded her lips and tapped her feet against the hardwood floor. “Hear me out, okay?” she said. “And then you’ll get what I’m saying.”
Keith folded his arms. Renee wished he would sit down. He towered over her like a giant, and for once his stature didn’t make her feel safe and protected. It made her feel foolish and small.
“Well,” Keith said, his head cocked. And finally he sat down, easing his solid two hundred and twenty pounds onto the bed.
Renee exhaled. “Well, when we were out shopping the other day, and we were walking down Wagner Avenue—you remember?”
“Yes, Renee, now go on.”
“Okay, and then that girl walked by.” Renee halted then and waited for Keith’s acknowledgment.
“What girl?”
Renee twisted her mouth and rolled her eyes. “You know what girl, Keith. That girl. The one that walked by with the skirt so short you could almost see her hooch.”
“This is L.A., Renee,” Keith said. “It would be a stranger thing to see a girl walk by who wasn’t wearing a skirt chopped up to her—”
Renee threw her hand up at him and continued. “Anyway, the skirt was black and vinyl, and when she walked by you turned your head so fast I thought it was going to spin off your fucking shoulders.”
Keith’s mouth formed a thin, straight line. “Oh, her.”
“Yes, her.”
“So, then she made you do it?” Keith’s serious face turned into a smirk.
“That’s not what I’m saying, Keith. What I’m saying is when she strutted that twenty-two-year-old ass past us I thought we’d have to
stop and get you a bib. You were damn near staggering, for Christ’s sake!”
“Nonsense!”
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, really?”
“Okay, fine. I looked,” Keith said. “Now, tell me what in the hell that has to do with this.”
“Well, Keith, after that awesomely pathetic display of blatant boorishness, I figured I could find myself an outfit like that and maybe make you look at me that way. You used to, you know, and it didn’t take a shred of garment to do it.”
Renee waited for a response, and when there was none, she continued. “Anyway, I went into one of those shops during my lunch hour. You know, the ones always tucked into some back alley or right next to a strip club. And I saw this dress hanging up in the window and I thought you might like it.”
Keith stepped back then and looked at the gathers of blue latex and black lace and string wrapped snuggly around his wife’s body.
“Well, actually, I could like it,” he said, “if I saw it on properly. You know, if it fit.”
Renee’s hands became frustrated fists at her sides. “Of course I didn’t try the thing on, Keith. I was too embarrassed. I just saw one in a color that I liked and I just wanted to pay for it and get the hell out of there.”
“Okay,” Keith said, holding up his hands in defeat.
“And I wanted to surprise you by wearing it tonight…except I couldn’t get the thing to zip all the way. Then, when I tried to force it up, it got stuck. So I just said to hell with it and decided to take the damned thing off. But when I started pulling it up, you know, trying to get it over my head since it clearly wasn’t going over my ass, it got stuck and I couldn’t breathe. I started panicking. I was seconds away from suffocating, Keith! Lord knows what might have happened if—”
“You were fine, Renee. You were fine the whole time.” Keith fingered the thin blue material that lay against her body. “This stuff is completely breathable. They make it that way. You had a panic attack at most and fainted, that’s it. Besides, if you felt like you were in that much danger, you could have called someone. Mrs. Frazier is always home, and Liv’s right across the street, and the phone’s right there beside you.”
Lust in Latex Page 15
