"Oh, Hank, you have absolutely led me astray, tonight! But we're back when I'm a high-school girl eager to be led astray for the first time, because it wasn't fair to count my mad uncle. So. Where we we? You were putting your prick up between my breasts…"
"Which is a very special trick, limited to girls whose breasts are very firm and resilient. That's when you ought to envy the men, Helen. When they find a girl with tits they can press together and make a fuck-slot that is lined with breast tissue, because there is nothing like breast tissue to feel sliding along one's hard and happy prick."
"I remember how you slid your great big wonderful prick between my breasts as I pressed them together, and then I made a nipple rub along your prick and for a moment I thought you had fainted."
"Came close. The nerves can stand just so much."
"And right through my nipple, where it slid along your prick from the base up to the bottom of the head, and hit the kind of flange you have there, and slid back again, right through my nipple I felt the spasms in your prick and I felt how hard you were trying to stop yourself from sliding in and out there but you hardly could."
"You bet I hardly could stop. Wow, girlie, what you have there! Somehow I did stop, when one more slide would have zowied my balls into the squirt of the year. But I wanted more of you. To taste, to excite, to feel, to kiss, to lick, to caress. So I drew away."
"Not very far."
"Only down to your wet little cunt where I found that my tongue could have a lot of fun. And also I ran into a little fellow down there, the one they call the man in the boat."
"My clitoris. Oh, yes. Hank, a girl can do all sorts of things to her own itty-bitty-bumpy clit. She can tickle it and put an ice cube on it and put a vibrator to it and she can heat it and I've even heard, back there in the high-school locker-room is what we're talking about, when girls are at an age when they'll try anything for a sensation in the crotch, I've even heard of rubbing the clit with red pepper, but you have to be careful not to get any down into the cunt itself or you'll be sorry."
"Like liniment on a man's prick. The trick there is to dilute it till you get it just right, somewhere between a burn and a thrill."
"Well, I've just learned something. But oh, Hank, when you really tongued me down there I knew that nothing a girl could do to her clit, absolutely nothing, can equal the sensation of having a mouth and a tongue take care of working that clit up into its absolute peak of jittery jumping excitement."
"A man's tongue or a woman's tongue, Helen?"
"A man's, yours!"
"Very good. Well, there we were in that hotel room in Milwaukee and I knew I was going to have you for a hostess and I wondered how I could possibly wait while you got the schooling you needed. Let alone that you were only a highs school junior and you had to have your diploma before the school would let you in."
"But one day I would have you as a hostess in my plane. And then. Well, fuck and pilot. Pilot and fuck. But meanwhile I would have to wait, no getting around it. But meanwhile I had you in bed and I went kissing on down your legs and along your inner thighs and back to your cunt and up to your breasts again and nuzzled them and licked them and sucked those young sweet nipples till I got so hot I…"
"And got me so hot that I…"
"That I said, I'll he on my back and you'll sit on my prick and take it in and I want you to writhe around and make your tits shake so I can watch them while I fuck you upward. Which we did, and when you writhed around on my upright pecker that was getting so heated and juicy way up there in your absolutely terrific, tight twat…"
"I was a bit worried about making you come in that position because I still wasn't sure, when I was seventeen, how many times a man could come in a couple of hours, and I had to get back before my aunt got worried about me and I did want to feel your prick slam wham into me the downward way, with me on my back, because I had, oh, such an yen to feel you fuck me with all your weight behind it."
"Which I did, lovable child, not half an hour later. Hey wasn't I raring to go and slam down to the bottom of your sex department, come three-quarters of the way out, let you tickle the exposed part of my prick for a few seconds, and then I slammed down in again."
"Oh Hank, if I could only tell you how it felt when…"
Someone cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me, Captain Hastings, madam."
They looked up at the headwaiter who had a phone and a plug-in cord in his hand.
"Urgent call from O'Hare, Captain Hastings." O'Hare International Airport, of course. Chicago's pride, the busiest airport in the USA.
"Let's have it," said Hank Hastings resignedly.
"Hastings, here. Yes. Right. He broke his wrist? I see. Well, it can happen when a man goes to a health club. Oh. Absolutely nobody? But look, you see, I… Okay. On my way. Have the plane set to go and I can catch up on the schedule by riding the jet stream eastward."
Hank hung up.
"Yeh," he grunted. "Once in three years we have a shortfall on pilots and it had to be now. Off I go into the wide blue yonder."
"But Hank, our date!"
"I'm a pilot, Helen," he said.
That was all he had to say. She wasn't one of those dumb things who would attempt to interpose her yearning twat between a trained man and his duty. A gal might feel proud that her sexy attractions had kept a man fucking when he should be working, but too often, late, he got into trouble and she lost him.
Down in the hotel's driveway Hank shouted for the attendant to get two cabs. He put Helen into one and handed the driver a ten-dollar bill for a three-dollar trip. But he made the driver promise to see the lady right up to her door and wait till she had closed it and locked it.
"Oh, Hank," Helen said helplessly, and kissed him. "Where are you going?"
"London."
"When will you return."
"Don't know. But when I do, girlie, you and I have to take care of some very important unfinished business."
She was able to smile, then.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Which was all very well so far as the general glow of sexy friendship was concerned, and the promise of something doing, when Hank showed up again, that would be hot and lively and very, very good.
But at the same time, Helen suffered from a condition known as unsatisfied cunt. This condition also involves unsatisfied lips, unsatisfied nips, an unsatisfied and itchy clit, and nerves left on edge and not at all comfortable to live with. Worse yet, the nasty, edgy feeling brought Helen back to the last day she had worked as a Wanderlust hostess. That time in Conference One. That bitch of a Cleo. Walked out, her own twat (and all the rest) made quite mellow with lesbian techniques, but Helen left unsatisfied and unhappy, reduced to the juvenile occupation of playing cunt-finger.
So Helen had two reasons for feeling not at all placid as she walked down a corridor toward the apartment she shared with Tina McGill.
She had not expected two men to walk out of the apartment as she approached. Nor to hear Tina sing out gaily from within: "So-long, fellas. Keep your cocks up."
One of the youngish men called back at Tina: "Keep your twat hot, kiddo."
The other looked too tired to talk, and he was walking bowlegged.
Tina McGill. From the "Tina" one might infer she was tiny, but she stood a good five-nine and had big bones and heavy breasts, broad hips and big blue eyes. She looked as though she might have stepped off a Viking ship, or as though she ought to be wearing armor and singing Brunnhilde at the opera.
The "McGill" might infer that she had Irish ancestors and, marched in the St Patrick's Day parade. But Tina never walked when she could ride.
Entering their apartment Helen felt herself glowering. She simply couldn't rise above her twitchy-cunt condition and be pleasant. "Been getting well screwed, I see," she said to her apartment mate.