Miami Bound

by Henry Morgan

  Donna waited for the electronic gates to swing smoothly open before driving her Jaguar slowly and respectfully up the stone cobbled drive to the carport, in which a red Mercedes convertible sat in polished splendour shaded by the marble-faced sandstone. David, who had gone back for his RV, followed her through the gates, but parked outside the carport.

  ‘Nice piece of architecture,’ he said to Kelly when they met again beside the Jaguar. ‘It lacks the personal touch of Wayne and Vince’s place, but it has its merits.’

  ‘It’s the bullet holes,’ she declared, ‘I should have my designer put some in for effect.’ She reached in to the backseat of the car and picked up her jacket, which she threw jauntily over her shoulder. ‘Wayne and Vince supply a service for my husband, and that’s how I think of them, as servants.’

  The entrance hall was a riot of colour created by sunlight streaming into the large space through a stained glass window above the entrance, and through glass-panelled doors. David paused to enjoy the warmth, and to watch luminous colours playing their way up the sweeping staircase.

  ‘Drinks, anyone?’ Donna called from a room adjoining the hall.

  He turned towards her voice. ‘Please,’ he said, but then stopped again to admire the colourful play of light. He was remembering his time in the tundra and how the snow and ice sometimes split the light into dazzling spectrums very similar to the ones before him now.

  The inviting clink of glasses eventually drew him into the room, and he asked Donna to pour him some vodka. She was standing before an antique bar set between two French doors covered by transparent white curtains.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Kelly said from where she reclined on a dark leather Chesterfield, ‘a martini, shaken, not stirred.’

  David went to collect his drink. ‘We share similar tastes in many things,’ he said, ‘but we do differ on how to take our vodka. Just tonic please, Donna... thank you.’ He seated himself in a wingback chair, and looked up at a large portrait of a man. ‘Rickie?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kelly got up to collect her bourbon, and then went and stood beneath the painting. ‘Handsome, isn’t he?’ she gazed admiringly up at her husband.

  ‘I thought his most endearing quality was money,’ David remarked cynically, deliberately baiting the rich young woman he had just seen fucked up the ass by a poor black man.

  ‘Lots of money,’ Donna corrected him.

  Kelly continued gazing up at her husband’s portrait in a seemingly genuine display of wifely pride and affection. ‘He’s strong... he’s powerful.’ She glanced at David before returning her attention to the portrait. ‘That’s what really makes a man, isn’t it, how strong and powerful he is?’

  ‘Definitely,’ he agreed. ‘In my experience most women prefer men with power, and power usually, if not always, means money. What women love to feel is a man’s power, and wealth certainly constitutes power in our society. Women also appreciate the security it offers.’

  Kelly and Donna glanced at each other.

  ‘Will I be meeting him?’ David asked.

  Donna stared out through the French doors. ‘Actually, he’s pulling up right now,’ she announced.

  David caught a glimpse of a burgundy Rolls Royce as it turned the corner in the direction of the carport. He sipped his drink, and abruptly realised he was feeling tense. A quick glance at Kelly and Donna convinced him that they, too, were on edge, although not in a negative way. They made him think of little girls waiting on their favourite uncle who always arrived with a pocket full of exciting treats.

  Rick Goldman took his usual side entrance into the house, and in so doing startled David with his sudden appearance. For a seventy-something man, he was in remarkably good condition. He noticed David immediately but paid him no attention, and he also ignored Donna. His eyes, alight with happiness, were fixed on Kelly.

  A man should enjoy all his possessions, David thought with a touch of envy.

  Kelly approached her husband, and bent her right leg up behind her as she reached up to kiss him on the lips. He smiled down at her, and then stepped behind a large mahogany desk as she moved over to the bar to fix him a drink. By the time she set a glass containing an inch of tawny bourbon in front of him, he was clipping the end off a cigar. He put it in his mouth and waited for her to light it, which she promptly did. After several puffs the cigar was lit evenly, and Kelly had opened a silver cigarette case. She extracted an unusually long and slender cigarette, lit it, and leaned casually back against the desk.

  ‘Has she been to see her friends?’ Rick Goldman finally spoke, in a deep, slightly hoarse voice. The question was directed at Donna.

  ‘Yes sir, and both boys drilled her good.’

  Kelly moved to stand between her husband and the desk with her back to him. ‘Butt only, as always,’ she said.

  Rick finally acknowledged David by fixing him with a piercing stare.

  ‘David,’ Donna said by way of a simple introduction. ‘He’s a friend. We took him with us to the boys’ place earlier.’

  Rick knitted his eyebrows as if weighing some great question in his mind. Then he drank his bourbon down in a single gulp, thrust the cigar back in his mouth, got up, walked around the desk, and pushed Kelly forward across it with one hand. ‘Well, no time like the present,’ he grumbled to no one in particular as he lifted the hem of her white dress, and sought out her panties. With two firm tugs the flimsy lace material came away in his hand.

  As Kelly rested calmly on her elbows, her husband pulled the cigar out his mouth and held the torn panties up to his face. The heavy smell of tobacco mingling with the subtle but equally potent scent of fresh sex sent the blood pumping into his old cock. The wiry old guy impressed David with the solid tool he pulled out of his pants, and Kelly fell forward beneath his first thrust.

  The room was utterly silent as Rick stabbed his wife’s pussy with long swift strokes while David and Donna looked on, and Kelly herself puffed nonchalantly on her cigarette. Her husband made small, rather helpless sounds as he worked his way towards an orgasm, which came quickly enough as he pushed deep into her pussy with one final urgent motion. The release of his seed seemed to exorcise all the tension from his body, and his features took on a more kindly expression. While the last tremors of sexual pleasure subsided, the old man drew deeply on his cigar as Kelly remained casually smoking over the desk, and David admired her expensive cleavage. Then the real estate tycoon looked down at his deflated cock as it snaked its way out of his young wife. He appeared faintly troubled as he glanced over at Donna, and for a moment she looked back at him in confusion before suddenly springing forward.

  ‘Here,’ she said, ‘let me.’ She took her friend’s torn panties in one hand, Rick’s cock in the other, and proceeded to wipe him clean.

  ‘Be with you in a moment,’ Rick suddenly and unexpectedly said to David.

  ‘No rush, take your time,’ he replied, thinking the whole scene was somewhat surreal. He did not know if his first words to the multimillionaire sounded sarcastic but he had gotten into the habit of saying whatever came into his head. His reaction now bothered him, as he had never been overly impressed by wealth.

  Donna gave Rick’s cock a final wipe and a quick kiss before she dropped the torn panties into the wastepaper basket.

  As he watched her little performance, David abruptly realised what was making him anxious. He was impressed by the man, although not just his wealth. He was impressed with Rick Goldman himself, with his body, his perverse mind, his possessions and his confidence. David had not really considered his own age until now, not in any deep, meaningful sense. Here, however, was the living embodiment of what he hoped for in his own autumnal years.

  Rick gave his wife’s bottom a playful but firm slap, told her to go get showered and changed, and she and Donna promptly left the room together.

  ‘The accen
t sounds English,’ Rick commented once they were alone.

  ‘It is,’ David replied.

  ‘A bit far from home, aren’t you? Doing a bit of travelling?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘You turn up at a strange home with two beautiful women, one of whom calls you a friend although she’s never mentioned you before, a woman who just took you to watch my wife get drilled by two black studs, and you sit there as cool as a cucumber while she gets it again from me, this time in the right hole.’ He pointed at David with his cigar. ‘I think we got ourselves an enigma here.’

  The distinguished elderly man moved towards a door, and motioned for his guest to follow him into a room with a stunning view of the valley. The centrepiece of the games room was a snooker table covered with purple baize. There were numerous chairs scattered around the marble floor, and a white grand piano sat near one wall next to a row of French doors. Numerous mirrors reflected the sunlight streaming into the large space, and a row of lights hung over the table.

  ‘It’s a beautiful room,’ David commented.

  Between each door rose marble columns on which sat the busts of various Roman emperors. The highly polished pedestals were infused with streaks of amethyst, but each bust was snow-white.

  ‘Do you like snooker, David?’ Rick asked.

  ‘Yes, I do. I’ve never seen a purple baize before, though.’

  ‘It’s one of the few English games I care for. That cricket game of yours, does anything ever happen? How long does it last, a couple of days, I hear?’

  ‘Five,’ said David, ‘if it’s a test match.’

  ‘Well, let’s play a game of snooker and you can tell me how you came to be at my wife’s weekly servicing. I’m not used to others knowing so much about me before I’ve even been introduced. I like to be the one holding the cards, if you know what I mean.’

  David returned Caesar’s suspicious stare. ‘I can see that,’ he said.

  ‘You set up, and I’ll pour us some more drinks.’ Rick held his glass up inquisitively.

  ‘Vodka,’ David told him, ‘and a little tonic, please.’

  Rick handed David his drink, and played the first shot.

  ‘If I tell you how I met Donna, will you answer a question for me?’ David asked his host as the game got underway.

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Why do you do it?’

  ‘Send Kelly to the ream machines, you mean?’

  David nodded.

  ‘Korea,’ came the ambiguous reply. ‘I was in Pusan when the Chinese and the North Koreans turned up to take the city. I watched thousands of people die over a piece of real estate, and something inside me clicked. So when I got out of the army I set up this business, and for forty years I fought hard to make this company what it is today. I can have any woman I want, believe me. Young, beautiful, even intelligent women would all open their legs for me on account of my money.’

  ‘So, sending Kelly to be butt-fucked every week by a couple of black studs is a test of her love?’

  ‘Don’t know about that,’ the old man replied seriously. ‘Hell, every guy in the golf club has a young wife who swears love and undying loyalty to him. Yet the moment he croaks, she’s off with some young gun, and her millions.’ He puffed on his cigar, and said no more until he’d finished a good thirty-four break.

  ‘We all see it, all of us rich old men,’ he continued, screwing some chalk onto his cue tip. ‘We see it happening to our friends around us, and we look at our young wives working on their swing with one of the young and handsome club pros, and we wonder. We wonder if he’s plugging her, or whether they’re just waiting for her hubby to keel over before they sail off into the sunset with her. But you can’t give it up, not that beautiful trophy with the bouncing breasts and the big doe eyes.’

  ‘It’s a punishment then; that’s why you send Kelly to Vince and Wayne every week?’ David said, trying to understand.

  ‘Not a punishment, no.’ Rick took his turn at the table again. ‘It’s just that Kelly has to go to Pusan. She’s got to hear the shells and see the bodies. She’s got to work for her money just like I did. Hell, I don’t know if that girl loves me or if she’s waiting just like all the other young wives for me to kick the bucket, as they say.’ He took a long drag on his cigar, which was still going strong, and thought for a moment.

  ‘All I want is to know that when I’m gone, she’s worked hard for her money and deserves it. Then I couldn’t care less what she thinks of me. She keeps me happy and does whatever I tell her to. I got another twenty years, thirty tops. I can’t imagine the last few being too active, though. By then Kelly will be, what... fifty? By the time she’s got her hands on my money, she’ll have earned every last nickel.’

  There was logic in there somewhere, David thought, as his eyes met Caligula’s baleful stare.

  For the next two games, both of which Rick won, David outlined his relationship with Donna; how he had met her at the International Club in Karachi after fleeing the Afghan Russian war, and how he could do little to help her escape from the kidnappers who made her work at the club by sexually serving men from all over the world.

  His host showed little interest in David’s Afghanistan adventure. His attention was piqued only when David mentioned what went on in the club, and what he had done to Donna.

  ‘That explains a lot about her,’ Rick mused. ‘Her husband owns a construction company and he does a lot of work for me. We had dinner a few times, and I always thought she was a firecracker. You can tell, can’t you, the body language, the flirting. I love the way she keeps that hair in a neat little bob. Love the colour, too.’

  ‘But I thought the girls sometimes did a little thing for you,’ David risked stating matter-of-factly.

  ‘Yes, so?’

  ‘Well, she’s a blonde, isn’t she, Donna? I thought you would have spotted that right away when the girls do whatever it is they do for you.’

  ‘Wouldn’t know.’ Again Rick chalked the tip of his cue, and blew away the excess powder. ‘She keeps it shaved. Always looks as smooth as that snooker ball when I see it.’

  David realised then that he had never actually seen Donna’s pubic hair either. The International Club employed a huge brute of a man called Javed to train the girls. It was also his job to shave them, and to keep them that way. Like him, Rick obviously preferred a woman’s smoothly shaved pussy, but Easterners positively insisted upon it.

  ‘She was shaved back then too, come to think of it,’ he said, thinking out loud, ‘but as I recall, she had beautiful blonde hair...’

  ‘You two boys getting along?’ Kelly asked as she suddenly swept into the room, with Donna following close behind her.

  Rick looked up from the table, and smiled. ‘I see you two have something planned,’ he observed, and David thought so himself. Both girls were wearing Merry Widows with stockings. Donna’s outfit was white and Kelly’s was black. They were freshly made-up, and both strode confidently across the marble floor in extreme high-heels whose colour matched their lingerie. Kelly sauntered over to David and liberated his glass as Donna did the same with Rick’s drink.

  ‘I think we’re all in need of some new refreshments,’ Donna declared in a seductive tone. The girls also fancied a smoke, for once everyone had a new drink in hand, they each took a long cigar from a large mahogany humidor, and lit up.

  ‘Oh, can we play?’ Kelly pleaded in what struck David as a deliberately coquettish tone.

  Donna stroked her fingers under Rick’s chin. ‘We want some afternoon fun, Rickie,’ she purred. ‘Can we go to our special room and play some games?’

  David watched, mesmerised. The girls looked absolutely stunning, and his head was spinning from all the fine vodka he was drinking. He had also accepted the Cuban cigar Kelly offered him, and he was definitely all for
some afternoon fun himself.

  ‘What the hell,’ Rick gave in without a fight. ‘If a man can’t have a little fun after work, what’s the world coming to.’ He deliberately sank the white ball, and then he and the girls quickly swept those remaining on the table into the pockets.

  David was intrigued, and his interest sharpened when Rick moved his hand beneath the table and pressed a button. A low electric hum told David something was about to happen, and he noticed the purple cloth slowly sliding towards one end of the table to reveal a slab of polished slate, which abruptly dropped away in two pieces. It was so perfectly made, he had not even noticed the join running lengthways down the centre of the table.

  He looked at his host, who smiled at him. The girls also seemed to be enjoying the puzzled look on David’s face as Rick stepped forward, and reached over the part of the table furthest away from the gathered purple baize. He was releasing a catch, and when it clicked, he pulled the cushion forward and the end of the table opened up like a gate. They were all now faced with what looked like the entrance to a subterranean mausoleum. The fallen slate of the table created the sides of a steep staircase leading down to a set of copper doors.

  ‘That’s one hell of a cellar,’ David remarked, seriously impressed.

  ‘Isn’t it just?’ Rick gestured for him to start down the steps, and the girls followed behind them. David reached the doors first, but they were locked, and while he waited for Rick to extricate the key from his pocket, he studied the swirling designs in the copper. Like the girls, he was growing increasingly excited.

  ‘Here it is,’ his host declared when he finally found the key. ‘I always keep it on me. We don’t want any strangers stumbling into our little fun room, now do we?’

  As the girls giggled their agreement the key entered the hole it had been made for, and the bolt ground its way back into the lock. Rick then turned the circular handles, and pushed. The doors opened silently and smoothly, but nothing was visible beyond them. The room remained in absolute darkness until its owner stepped forward, and then suddenly two cone-shaped containers came alive with real flames.