Vogel House

by John Forrester

  Keary slides his way on top of me, positioning himself over my pussy until his cock is grinding against my pants so hard it hurts. His lips return to kissing my mouth and his hands keep rubbing my breasts, fingers pinching my nipples softly. God, I’m so wet. This is fucking killing me.

  “I want you. I seriously want you.” I lean forward and pull my spandex pants and panties off easily. While I’m down there, I grab ahold of his pajamas and pull them off his lean hips until his beautiful, enormous cock is staring me in the face, like a gigantic Pez candy dispenser that’s happy to see me. I grip it with both hands and squeeze, then softly stroke the shaft up and down until his cock makes this rigid bouncing movement. Jesus, fuck…it’s alive. Am I supposed to lick it now? Suck on it?

  I lean my in and inspect it with a hesitant kiss, like a peck good night from Father. My tongue slides along the head and the texture feels weird and tasty at the same time. Keary is dead silent as if waiting to see what I’ll do next. In my opinion, his cock is too big to fit in my small mouth. I wouldn’t go about trying to eat a sausage whole. Despite never wanting to remember them, images of Therese sucking on Keary’s cock flood my mind. Her movements were so raw, so disgusting, so expert—like a fucking porn star. I shove the images out of my mind, cautiously place his head inside my mouth, and suck, softly at first, then a little harder, like I sucked on his mouth, all while my hands squeeze his shaft.

  Keary moans and squeezes his hips, which causes his cock to go deeper into my mouth back to my throat. I instantly feel like gagging, and push myself away from him, suppressing the urge to vomit.

  “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Keary rubs my shoulder and leans in to study my face.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I flash him a smile. “I’ve just never done that before. Sorry, I’m probably terrible at it.”

  “No! Hell, no. You were good…that felt so good.”

  “Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”

  “No, seriously, that was great. Feel free to practice away. Use me as you wish.”

  I punch him in the chest and make a face. “I bet you want me to practice on you. It’s just difficult because…is it always this big?” I stroke it softly and feel delighted when it jumps out, super stiff again. “It’s like petting a cat or something; it’s practically purring at me.”

  “You’re driving me crazy. Don’t you know how good that feels?”

  A sly smile forms on my face. “You want me to kiss it again?” His nod is quick and decisive so I lean in again, kiss the head, and grip his shaft hard, sucking his cock slowly until I can feel it pushing against the back of my throat. This time I’m ready, so I hold down the urge to hurl and suck it back and forth as deep as I can stand it. It actually feels really good to kiss him like that, and his hands are caressing my breasts and playing with my nipples while I move back and forth.

  I want more, so I grab his hand and push it between my legs where the brush of wetness rubs against my wrist. His fingers touch me tenderly at first, then find their way to my clit and he rubs it so perfectly that my knees squeeze in together and stars bloom in my mind’s eye. I let go of his cock and moan like a tigress being fucked by her mate. It feels so good I want to cry and scream at the same time. Finally, I come and my body contorts and seizes like an epileptic.

  A light flicks on in the hallway and my skin goes cold and my heart thuds in my chest. Holy fuck! Keary’s parents are going to catch us naked in bed.

  CHAPTER 16

  “IS EVERYTHING ALL right, Keary?”

  Fear flashes in Keary’s eyes and he clears his throat. “Yes, Mother, I had a…strange dream, that’s all.”

  I hear footsteps outside walking closer to the door. “I can bring you something—a sleeping pill, if that will help. Would that make it better?”

  “No—” Keary takes a deep breath and calms himself. “No, I’m feeling better already. I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep. You can go back to bed. Sorry for waking you.”

  There’s a long, hesitant pause, and then Keary’s mother’s voice sounds resigned. “All right then, sleep tight.”

  Only after I hear her footsteps recede down the hall do I allow myself to breathe again. I turn to study Keary’s worried face.

  “You have to leave. Father’s going to send Mason to check out my room and the house and grounds. He often makes him do it once or twice a night. I’m so sorry…I really want you. Someday, I promise it will be perfect.”

  He kisses me softly and then helps me find my clothes. I dress quickly, certain I’ve put my top on backward. Before I go, his arms envelope me in a warm, comforting hug and he whispers in my ear that everything is going to work out okay. I hug him back and give his cock a playful good-bye squeeze.

  “Next time I’m all yours, every part of me.”

  Keary flashes me the cutest crooked smile and gives me an apologetic wave as I slip out into the night.

  I can’t quite remember the next morning exactly how I escaped so quickly down the trellis, through the garden, and over the fence without being caught. It’s all a blur in my mind. I think I was smiling the whole time, thinking of how Keary’s skin felt against mine. I couldn’t sleep for hours. It was like I was high on some drug, with his smell and taste invading my senses.

  Mother notices something over lunch because she keeps glancing at me with these serious, knowing eyes. I am probably smiling like some stupid mime. Father is oblivious, lost in the darkness of his thoughts.

  “I can’t help but think we’re vulnerable in some way.” Father’s gaze pierces me. “McNaughton is the bastard spawn of the devil. You can count on him doing anything and nothing at the same time. We have to expect the unexpected but still not overthink his next move.”

  “What do you mean?” I hate it when Father talks in riddles.

  “McNaughton and I often played chess competitively at prep school. We were vicious rivals, in fact. He’s acting like he’s playing a game of chess with us. Trying to anticipate our moves.”

  “So far we’re losing on all counts.” After I say the words I know it’s completely the wrong thing to say. My father hangs his head in shame and shakes it back and forth.

  “We’ve lost our best pieces and now he’s just chasing us slowly, trying to humiliate and torture us until we’re completely beaten.”

  “But there has to be something we can do to win? This isn’t chess; there are no rules. This is life; we can make things up as we go along.”

  My father stares at me, surprise and respect in his eyes. “You’re right. This isn’t chess and we could do things to mess up his game. Just remember he plays brash and foolish. Trap and trick him, lure him in, then finish him off. You can beat him, Clarise. I’m sure he underestimates you.”

  I highly doubt Howard McNaughton underestimates anything or anyone, but I nod my head in agreement and flash Father a confident smile. The worst will happen, I’m sure of it. The only thing I can do is try and prepare myself for any number of terrible scenarios.

  “I’ll do my best but, honestly, I’m not sure what I can do to change things.”

  “Just don’t give up. We’re counting on you; Phillip is counting on you.”

  I want to scream, I’m just a girl! What can I do? But I keep quiet and eat the food my mother prepared, thinking this might be the last meal from her I’ll ever eat. And believe it or not, she’s a good cook. After we got back from the island it’s been the happiest time with my parents since I can last remember. I feel terrible for asking them to leave home and live in some filthy dump in a horrid part of Boston, but images of Phillip suffering keep flashing in my mind and I know I have to go through with the plan. Follow what Howard McNaughton asked me to do and keep Phillip alive. Or at least give myself enough time to figure out where Phillip is and get him out of harms way.

  Then it hits me: talk to Zachary. He’s Phillip’s best friend for Christ’s sake; he might know something, or maybe he’s seen him after me. Why the hell didn’t I think of it
before? I mumble an excuse to my parents and rush upstairs to find my phone and tap a message on the screen to Zachary. Have you seen Phillip? I stop myself from typing more and realize I should really call him. What if something has happened to Zachary also?

  The phone rings a few times and finally Zachary picks up and in his lilting voice says, “’Sup?”

  “Have you seen Phillip?”

  There’s a long pause and a deep sigh. “Shit. I thought he’d show up by now. He didn’t come home the other night?”

  “No, not for two nights. Listen, I don’t have time to explain things, but trust me, Phillip is in trouble and I need your help. Do you remember anything from the last time you last saw him?”

  “Fucking one messed up party. I told him not to go there. Heinous part of Boston—serious dope, screwed-up, coked-out chicks with these Russian Mafia dudes.”

  “And you just fucking left him there?”

  “No, no, he hooked up with this hot chick and told me he’d find his way home. I tried to talk him out of it but he was doing lines with the bitch and was all amped and shit—acting like he was invincible. Shit, he really didn’t come home?”

  “I said he’s in trouble, don’t you get it? Can you take me there, where the party was? I need to find out what’s happened to him.”

  “Back there?” Zachary exhales and starts breathing rapidly. “I’d do anything for Phillip, but I also don’t wanna get killed, you know? Those were some bad news fuckers. You don’t want to deal with those kind of people, Clarise.”

  “I don’t fucking have a choice. Phillip’s in trouble and he needs our help. Listen, I have money, we could pay someone to help us. Do you know anyone we could pay to help us out on this?”

  “Like…like professionals? Fucking hit men or something?”

  “They’re called security professionals, dumb ass. Do you know any? My father never believed in hiring security so I don’t know anyone. I don’t think it’s a good idea walking into trouble without some protection.”

  “I can ask my father—”

  “No, you dumb fuck! No parents, I don’t want anyone to know. I’m telling you, Phillip’s life is in danger. I need you to keep it quiet.”

  Zachary whimpers and his voice sounds subdued. “Don’t go yelling at me, I’m on your side. It’s not going to help or anything.”

  God, what a fucking wimp. Do I have to do everything myself? “Can you help me or not?”

  “Okay, so I remember now. My father uses a security firm…I think it’s called Black Dagger Security.”

  “Is your father friends with the McNaughtons?”

  “What? Those arrogant bastards? You know my family is from Atlanta. He’s not really connected to the old Boston money. In fact, now that you mention it, he’s always talking shit about Howard McNaughton. Why do you ask?”

  “Never mind. It’s just good to know. Can you go with me to this Black Dagger Security? Seriously, Zachary, I need your help. I’m gonna hire somebody to help protect us and we’re gonna go back to where you had that party and see what we can find out.”

  “I’ll help you, but I think you’ll need a small army to back you up. They were packing some serious heat. I’m talking drug- and prostitution-kingpin territory.”

  Maybe it is a bad idea going in there with hired guns; what the fuck do I know? But I have to try something. “I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes? We have to go now.”

  “Yes,” Zachary mutters, and I hang up on him to call the car service and tell them to come over right away. I scramble over to the safe, unlock it, and retrieve ten stacks of hundred dollar bills. I’m guessing $100,000 should be enough to hire a small army. I slam the safe shut and stuff the money in my workout duffel bag. The thought of hiring security professionals and interrogating drug dealers makes me realize I should wear something appropriate for the occasion.

  I scan through my closet and grin when I select the Burberry studded-leather jacket Mother got me in New York this summer. Would I appear more of a badass bitch if I wore black leather pants or a black pencil skirt? I opt for the pants and a pair of black punk combat boots I got at this thrift store in the East Village. They’re vintage and cost a fucking fortune. I seriously wish I had a Beretta handgun to match.

  The stupid pastel workout bag looks lame as shit with my outfit, so I dump the cash on my bed and put it inside a Louis Vuitton leather bag instead. I grab a black leather Valentino purse and stuff the money inside. I study myself in the mirror and chuckle at myself: I look like a hit woman.

  I scamper down the stairs, money bag in hand, and head out the side door to meet the driver. This time the driver is young and Italian and looks like he wants to fuck me in the backseat and lick gelato from my breasts. I jump inside and get the paranoid sensation that someone is watching us. Sure enough, I spot the same black Mercedes parked down the road behind us. I tell the Italian I think some stalker dickhead is following me and he glances nervously in the rearview mirror, nods, and says, “Si.” Then he guns the gas and makes a sharp left turn that slams me against the blackened glass. “Scusa,” he says several times over again as he swerves and brakes and turns in and out of traffic until he seems satisfied.

  He tells me in his cute Italian accent that he thinks he lost the bastard and I flash him my warmest appreciative smile. I realize I haven’t given him Zachary’s address so I tell him where I want to go and he salutes and speeds off. I fucking love Italian drivers. And this one is way too cute for his own good. If I had more time I probably would go for something with him in the backseat. All the fast driving has turned me on.

  Zachary is waiting outside, wearing what looks like a Kiton skinny suit and a frown on his gorgeous baby face. The driver looks sorely disappointed as he lets Zachary inside.

  “You’re looking dapper as usual. Nice suit.”

  “You look like a gun.” He tries for a grin but it comes out looking like a snarl. He recovers and leans forward to tell the driver the address. Soon the car speeds off and Zachary collapses back into the leather seat and undresses me with his perverted gaze. I want to impale his dirty eyes with my spiked jacket.

  “I’m not here to be fucked by your eyes, bitch. Are you with me or not? If you tell me where the party was I’ll happy to go there by myself.”

  The driver chuckles and glances at me. I guess he understands more English than I thought. I ignore his feeble attempt at trying to be cool and turn my withering stare to Zachary.

  “There’s something you didn’t tell me. Why the fuck did you guys go to that part of town? Were you really that desperate for drugs and a party? I just don’t buy it.”

  Zachary’s beautiful face twists up into a scowl as he’s remembering the past. “I didn’t have enough cash for drugs and neither did Phillip—he was tapped out with all his school contacts for supply. So we were driving around Boston looking for a party and we end up downtown and see this club with a long-ass line. Turns out this club is an underage place with shady clientele.”

  “And that’s where you found out about the party?”

  “We met this girl, this disgustingly hot girl, who told us about this party we should all go to—that this club was getting lame. She knew they’d have a good stash there and could hook us up. So we end up driving together, following the girl’s directions, until we get to this warehouse on C Street. Outside it’s nothing but a quiet, dead warehouse, but this girl makes a call and this bulky sumo-wrestler-looking dude opens the door and lets us inside. Two sealed doors later and we’re in this loud, sumptuous, dark room with gorgeous, scantily-clad girls everywhere partying with these businessmen-type guys and several grim-looking dudes that looked like Russian mafiosi.”

  I can’t believe Phillip could’ve been so stupid. What was he thinking? The more I listen to the story the worse a situation I think we’re in. I gesture for Zachary to continue.

  “I guess Phillip blabbered to this girl about how rich we were, that he was going to Yale soon, and she whispered something
in the ear of this skinny shaved-head dude with a snarky expression on his face. He motioned for a few girls to come over and party with us and disappeared into the blackness. So we get high and dance and act fabulous. Phillip is stuck to this girl from the club—I can see he’s totally in love with her. She’s charming and witty and dangerous.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Mellia. She was so damned gorgeous.”

  “And seduced Phillip into being kidnapped and probably tortured.”

  Zachary’s face wrinkles up in worry. “What? How do you know all this?”

  “Because I got a message saying as much.”

  “So let me get this straight: these Mafia people are holding Phillip ransom for money?”

  “No, it’s much more complicated than that. If it was just a matter of money it might be easier, but it’s not. Well, maybe I can make it about money if I can talk to those people at the warehouse.”

  The car pulls up to this black building with a metal door and a buzzer. The driver stares dubiously at the building, no doubt freaked out by Zachary’s story. I ask the driver to wait for us at the corner, and follow Zachary to the door. The macho Italian driver wastes little time leaving veloce.

  Zachary pushes the buzzer and tells the nasally voice at the other end his full name and the door buzzes open. We tread carefully down a dimly lit white hallway with a black security globe affixed to the ceiling. When we near the next door it also buzzes open and we find ourselves inside an elegant executive-style lounge with a wall-mounted aquarium filled with a pack of piranhas stalking a few fright-crazed guppies. I’m instantly revolted at the sight and feel like smashing the aquarium.