There was a roll-out bar near the large stone and-mortar fireplace at one end of the living room. As she slid the compact unit out of the redwood wall, Lynn said, “I’m afraid we really don’t have much of a liquor supply here. We seldom use the cabin.”
Barry bent over to peer at the bottles. “Vermouth, sweet and dry; ruby port; and… what’s this?” He lifted a large bottle of clear liquid from the shelf.
“Ouzo,” Lynn said, smiling. She was standing very close to Barry now, her hand brushing lightly against his arm. “My favorite! Do you like it, Barry?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had any.”
“It’s very good,” Lynn told him. “It’s a Greek liquor. Tastes a little like licorice.”
“Well…“ Barry said dubiously. “How do you mix it?”
“You don’t,” Lynn said. “It’s served over ice. I’ll get some from the refrigerator.”
She moved away, returning moments later with a tray of ice. Barry had put two glasses on the bar face, and she dropped two cubes into each one. He uncapped the bottle and poured some of the clear liquid over the ice; almost immediately, its consistency changed to an opaque, almost milky one. “Hey!” he said. “I thought only Pernod did that.”
“No, Ouzo does, too.” Lynn lifted her glass, waited until he followed suit, and, then said, “A toast. To your novel, and its ultimate success.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Barry sipped the drink, found that it did taste a little like licorice and that it wasn’t at all bad; in fact, it went down quite smoothly.
“Like?” Lynn asked.
“Hmmm!”
“Shall we sit down on the couch?”
“All right.”
They sat down. It seemed to Barry that Lynn sat rather close to him. She crossed one slim, tanned leg over the other, tightening the material of her shorts into the sharply-defined slit of her crotch, making the folds of her pussy bulge out in baa-relief the brilliant orange of the material. She leaned forward slightly, holding her drink in one hand, so that a good deal of the creamy white mounds of her full, globular breasts were exposed to him-and just a hint of the ruby hardness of her nipples. He felt a slight flush start on the base of his neck, but he wasn’t able to take his eyes from her provocative lushness. His prick spasmed once, twice, beneath his trousers with beginning arousal. Quickly, feeling a little ashamed, he took a long deep pull at his glass, draining the Ouzo.
“I’ll make us another one,” Lynn said, taking a healthy sip of her own drink.
Before he could protest, she slid off the settee, took his glass, and went to the bar. She was chuckling quietly to herself as she refilled their glasses from the bottle of Ouzo. The liquor was one of the world’s finest and most subtle aphrodisiacs, though most people were unaware of the fact; she’d been drinking it for a number of years, and knew the effect it had on the masculine libido after three or four. It increased her own sexual fervor, too, though she could control herself if she felt like it; not that she was going to feel like it, of course. Yes, Barry Sutton was hers now, no mistake. She felt initial droplets of fluid begin to flow from the sensitive walls of her cunt as she thought about what would be taking place within the next hour. Oh, she was going to throw a fuck that Mr. Barry Sutton would never forget. Never! She carried the filled glasses back to Barry and handed him one. She was aware of his eyes on her, and she glanced every now and then at the front of his pants.
She could see his cock pulsing there, jumping spasmodically from time to time, pushing his trouser material out briefly, and her cunt juices began to flow faster with increased anticipation. The second drink disappeared even more rapidly than the first, as she knew it would, and she quickly poured him another one. He didn’t protest at all but drank thirstily from it when she gave him the glass.
Barry felt a warm, relaxed lethargy begin to flow over him. The drinks were beginning to have an effect on him, he knew that, but the feeling was so pleasant that he really didn’t care. So what if he got a little drunk tonight?
As long as he didn’t get really bombed, so that he had such a hangover he couldn’t work in the morning, why what the hell? Why not celebrate? The use of this cabin, and the philan… thropy of the godsends that were the Gorens, merited celebrating; and, of course, it wasn’t every day that a man had the opportunity of getting mildly looped with a woman as beautiful, as provocative, as Lynn Goren.
She was really something, he thought admiringly. She exuded pure animal sex, like a kind of miasma encompassing her invisibly as she walked, moved, spoke.
What he’d, like to do, really like to do, would be to reach out at this moment and take her in his arms, kiss her, love her up a little… oh, not anything more than that, he wouldn’t fuck her or anything, but Lord it would be nice to kiss those soft red lips, caress those hot-looking white breasts, tweak the nipples into rock-hardness, take each one in his mouth and roll it around and around his tongue.
He felt his cock jerk into sudden, instant rigidity, as if it were alive, as if it were straining for release from its cloth prison. He tried to will it limp again, to banish the lewd thoughts swirling in his mind, but it remained throbbingly blood swollen Guiltily, his eyes went to Lynn’s face.
She was looking at the bulge in his pants.
And she was smiling with half-parted lips and fervid eyes.
“Why, Barry!” she said in mock surprise, mock reproof. “Whatever were you thinking about to have that happen now?”
“I… well, I…“ he stuttered. Lynn laughed deep in her throat.
“Lynn, I… I’m sorry, it’s just that I…“ he faltered.
“I know what it is,” she whispered. “I know why you have a hard-on, Barry.”
His breath quickened at her vernacular term. “You… you do?”
“You have a hard-on because you want to fuck me,” she said. “That’s right, isn’t it, Barry? You do want to fuck me, don’t you?”
“Oh God!” he managed to breathe. His prick seemed to be palpitating wildly in his pants now, and his brain reeled. Had he heard correctly? Yes, yes, of course he had. But why was Lynn talking to him like that? What was the matter with her? Oh Christ, he could feel his balls begin to ache from the pressure of his gathering sperm; he really needed it, he really did, and Lynn Goren talking to him like that wasn’t helping matters any. Didn’t she know what might happen, saying obscene words like that to a man? Didn’t she know? He took another long swallow of his Ouzo, and found that his hand was trembling slightly.
She leaned close to him, and he could feel her breath on his cheek, like the scorching heat of a white-hot firebrand. She touched his knee, lightly, but her fingers seemed to sear right through the cloth. “Well, Barry?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to fuck me? Wouldn’t you really?”
“Lynn… Christ, Lynn, cut it out! I’m only human…
“And so am I, Barry dear. So am I,” she purred on. “My cunt is on fire right now. And the only thing that can put out that fire is a big, hard cock. You have a big, hard cock, Barry. I can tell you do.”
And she reached out and touched the throbbing bulge.
He almost leapt off the couch in a convulsing reaction to the electrical shock of her touch on his sensitive penis, encased though it was. Lynn stroked it lightly, tantalizingly, sliding closer to him as he tried to pull back, increasing the rhythm of her strokes. Her breasts pressed hotly, softly against his arm, and her lips found his jaw line, traced a pattern, upward along his cheek and then over to search for his mouth. Her tongue trailed a path of liquid fire along the skin of his face as her hand continued to rub his already uncomfortably swollen prick.
“Lynn… please, for Christ’s sake!”
“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” Lynn repeated, droning the words in an almost mesmeric voice, like a hypnotist practicing her art on an unwilling but nonetheless hypnotizable subject. “You want to fuck me, Barry, you want to tuck me.”