Guilty Pleasures (31 page)

“I promise,” the sultan said.

“And I too,” the caliph added.

“I could fuck you all night, my beauty,” the khan admitted.

“Then let us come together, my lords,” Hestia told them, and they did. Their juices flowed copiously as they spermed her, their penises jerking as they released their tribute to her. Finally they all collapsed in a heap, lying amid the pillows and gasping for breath with the ferocity of their exertions.

At last Hestia suggested that they go to her bath and wash away the excesses of the last hour. When they returned, they found the pillows had been replaced with fresh ones, and there were wine and sugar wafers for them. Hestia poured them each a goblet of pale golden liquid, knowing it was heavily laced with aphrodisiacs so that her lovers could keep up the same pace the entire night. It wasn’t long before the four were entwined again in another lustful bout. It was her husband’s turn to have her cunt. The khan and the caliph watched avidly as the sultan brought his wife to a screaming climax. So aroused were the two men that they wasted no time in each mounting her in turn after the sultan had rolled away from her. So it went on throughout the night, and to her great surprise, Tiffy never tired. Indeed, she could not seem to get enough of the three men. Suddenly this was a fantasy she wanted to have forever. It wasn’t going to matter anymore if Joe was too tired to have sex with her. What had ever made her think that just having a regular sex life with Joe again would be enough? With a fantasy like this, who cared?

Her breasts were sore from being sucked and nipped. She had allowed the caliph to ass-fuck her three times. His thin cock was indeed perfect for it. Balin Khan was a vigorous lover, and he loved sucking on her clit. Never, he declared, had he seen such a perfect one, or one of such a size. His tongue on that delicate bit of flesh had her shrieking a half dozen times. But then too soon, too soon the syrupy voiced called out that the Channel had closed, and Tiffany found herself back in her own bed.

Carla had the decency to wait until eleven a.m. to call her. “So,” she said, “how did it go? Was it everything you hoped it would be?”

“More!” Tiffy said. “There isn’t a part of me that wasn’t licked, sucked, and fucked. I want more! I can’t live without that fantasy. When I think of all the years I wasted on that dull old sultan-and-the-slave-girl routine. This was incredible. Three men. Three different penises, and each one perfect. The caliph had a long, thin dick, and he loves to ass-fuck. Not my favorite thing, but he’s gentle and surprisingly nice. The khan is this big bald-headed guy with a cock that has to be ten inches at least. But he knows just how to use it. And then there’s my sultan, who fucks like a dream. I’ve got to figure a way to keep Joe asleep so I can play in the Channel, Carla. Maybe I’ll get Dr. Sam to check him out. If it’s nothing serious, then maybe he can give him sleeping pills.”

“Tiff, I’ve never heard you talk like this before,” Carla fretted.

“You don’t know what it was like,” Tiffany said, “to have three cocks going at you at once. It was unbelievable. I need more of it.”

“Did you ever make those reservations for a winter trip?” Carla asked.

“I don’t know if I want to go now,” Tiffy replied.

“You’re starting to scare me,” Carla said. “The Channel is fantasy, not reality.”

“So says the woman who spent years playing a libidinous pirate queen on the Spanish Main,” Tiffy shot back.

“I don’t deny it,” Carla replied. “But I knew when I had had enough, and canceled my subscription to the Channel.”

“Well, I haven’t had enough yet,” Tiffy said. “In fact, I’m just getting started.”

“I’m not suggesting that you do what I did, but you weren’t so nutzo with your original fantasy,” Carla pointed out. “You’ve gone over the top with this one. Make some reservations for a luxury winter trip with Joe, and get back to your reality.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tiffy answered.

“Hey, Joe is just dropping Rick off. Your guy will be home in a minute,” Carla said. “Gotta go. But for heaven’s sake, think about what you’re doing.”

“Sure,” Tiffy responded, hitting the OFF button and putting her phone back into its cradle.

Carla sighed. Tiffy had always been a little naive where the Channel was concerned, but Carla had always felt she was safe in her simple fantasy. This new fantasy, however, had turned her friend into a raving sex maniac. It scared her. Then she considered that Tiffy usually had a good head on her shoulders. When the twins had gone off to college, she had gone back to school and become a paralegal, and she now ran the law offices of Johnson and Pietro d’Angelo. She was going to calm down in a couple more days, and everything would be okay again. Carla laughed at herself for being such a worrywart.

In the next month, however, Tiffany began to look paler and paler. Joe insisted she see Dr. Sam, who prescribed rest.

“She’s obviously been working too hard,” he said.

“But she isn’t,” Joe Pietro d’Angelo said. “I don’t think she’s sleeping too good. I haven’t been for a couple months now, but suddenly I wake up and Tiffy isn’t there.”

“You okay?” Dr. Sam asked.

“Yeah. I just had to cut the caffeine and stop eating after seven o’clock. Once I did that, I began to sleep better,” Joe said.

“Make her stay home for a week or two,” Dr. Sam advised.

“We’re supposed to be taking a winter trip this year,” Joe told the doctor.

“The perfect prescription for overwork,” Dr. Sam answered. “In the meantime, keep her home. I’ll stop by and see her in a few days.”

“I’ll get bored staying home,” Tiffy protested.

“So be bored,” the doctor responded. “You’re showing all the signs of exhaustion, Tiffany. Stay home. Take naps. Drink wine. Eat chocolate. In other words, get some damn rest.”

“You’re playing out that fantasy every night, aren’t you?” Carla accused when she learned of Tiffy’s visit to Dr. Sam. “I’ll bet you’re hiding out in your craft room, aren’t you? You are going to get caught.”

“No, I’m not,” Tiffy said. “When I get to the bottom of the cellar stairs, I turn off the lights in the stairwell. You can’t see the door of my craft room from the stairs because it’s around the corner. I don’t turn a light on in the room, and I put a towel down so nothing shows through the bottom crack of the door when I have the television on. I carry a flashlight so I won’t fall. I have it all under control.”

“No one goes into the Channel every night,” Carla said.

“How do you know?” Tiffy countered. “The caliph has a new game. Instead of spanking me, he whips my bottom with a hazel switch. I get so wet so fast when he does that. The sultan and the khan tied me down last night and let my three slave girls make love to me. Then they forced me to watch while the three men fucked those little wretches until they were shrieking for mercy. Only then did they give me what I wanted.”

“You’re exhausted between work and the Channel,” Carla said. She was really getting worried now. She had hoped Tiffy would get bored and let go of this particular fantasy. Instead her friend was becoming more and more involved with it. The fantasy was almost taking on a life of its own.

“Now that I can rest all day, I’ll be fine,” Tiffy assured Carla.

Early the next morning, however, the local emergency team came howling into Ansley Court. Carla’s first thought was of Rina Seligmann, who was the oldest of the five friends. She hurried to the door, horrified to see the EMS guys entering the Pietro d’Angelo house. Opening the door, Carla hesitated. Should she go over? Before she could decide, Rina Seligmann walked quickly over to where Carla stood in her doorway.

“It’s Tiffy,” she said. “Joe found her unconscious and called Sam. Sam called the EMS when he couldn’t get any response.”

Carla leaned heavily against her doorjamb. “Oh, God, Rina, she isn’t dead, is she?” She felt light-headed, as if she might faint, and struggled to fight the sensation.

“What happened? Does Sam know?”

“She was down in her craft room watching television,” Rina began, and then she gasped. “That’s her Channel telly, isn’t it? She hides out from Joe there, doesn’t she?”

Carla nodded.
Please, no,
she thought. “When did he find her?”

“He told Sam he woke up about three a.m. She wasn’t in bed, so he went looking for her. When he didn’t find her downstairs, he headed into the cellar and discovered her asleep in her recliner in front of the television.” Rina’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, crap! He turned it off,” she whispered. “He turned the Channel off because he thought it was just an ordinary television channel. But he left her there because she had been having trouble sleeping too. Then he went back to bed. He got up, dressed, and fixed his own breakfast, thinking to give Tiffy a little more sleep time. When she hadn’t come up by the time he was ready to go to the office, he went down to her craft room again and tried to rouse her. He couldn’t. Poor Joe is all upset, to put it mildly. He keeps telling anyone who will stop and listen to him how much he loves Tiffy; how she takes such good care of him, not just at home, but she’s so smart in the office. He says he can’t, he doesn’t want to go on if anything happens to her. This is just terrible! Oh, God, Carla, what’s happened to Tiffy? Where is she?”

“In the Channel,” Carla whispered. “She has to be in the Channel.”

“She can’t be!” Rina replied.

“Well, she is. Remember when that asshole Jeff Buckley was divorcing Nora and trying to take everything after all those years of marriage. Do you recall what happened? Nora was found unconscious in front of the den television. Well, she wasn’t unconscious. She had made a deal with the guy who owns the Channel to remain there until she had time to figure out how to thwart Jeff, keep her house, and protect the kids.”

“What?” Rina Seligmann was astounded.

“You can’t repeat any of this, Rina,” Carla said. “So you can remain in the Channel if you want to stay there and you have permission. However, that’s not what happened to Tiffy. What’s happened is that poor Joe turned off the television before four a.m. and stranded his wife there.”

“What can we do?” Rina was looking very distressed. She was teary-eyed as the local rescue squad rolled the unconscious Tiffany Pietro d’Angelo out of her house and into the waiting ambulance.

“I’m going to call Nora now. Remember, she works for the Channel Corporation and is very tight with the guy who owns the whole shebang. She’ll be able to help us out. In the meantime, they’re taking Tiffy to the hospital. Sam diagnosed overwork, stress, and so on. They’ll check her for stroke and other stuff. Hopefully, by the time they can’t come up with a reason she’s unconscious, she’ll be conscious again.”

“From your lips to God’s ear,” Rina said.

Carla slipped back into her house. Rick had signaled her from across the street that he was going to take his partner, follow the ambulance, and drive to their local hospital. With her husband out of the way, she could get to Nora Buckley quickly. Finding her cell, she punched in the number 6 and the phone automatically dialed.

“Carla,” Nora Buckley’s voice greeted her.

“There’s a problem here, and you are probably the only one who can help us fix it,” Carla began. Then she went on to explain Tiffy’s new fantasy, how she had become addicted to it, and what had happened a few hours ago.

Nora listened. “I have been warning Mr. Nicholas that we were going to have to eventually make the remotes touch-sensitive only to the women who possess them. That way if anyone else picked up the remote when a customer was in the Channel, it would awaken her. This was bound to happen sooner or later. The dem . . . delinquents who monitor this sort of thing for us obviously weren’t on the ball. There’s been no report of an incident. I’ll call Mr. Nicholas immediately and get back to you. Do you have Skype?”

“Yes,” Carla said. “Rick likes to see people when he talks to them.”

“Mr. Nicholas may phone you to hear this firsthand, Carla. He’s a real charmer. Reminds me of that old-time movie actor Claude Rains. You’ll like him, and you can speak freely with him.”

“Okay,” Carla said. She was actually curious about the mysterious Mr. Nicholas.

“I’ll be back to you in any case,” Nora said, and rang off.

In midmorning Carla’s cell rang. A crisp, impersonal female voice said, “If you would be kind enough to turn on your Skype connection, Mrs. Johnson, Mr. Nicholas will speak with you.”

“Okay,” Carla agreed, and did as she had been bid. She immediately found herself facing an elegant gentleman, and he did look like Claude Rains.

“Good morning, Carla,” the elegant man greeted her in a faintly British accent. “I’m so sorry you have been distressed by this little glitch in our services. I want to assure you that it’s being attended to as we speak. Tiffany will be regaining consciousness very shortly. Her condition will be put down as extreme exhaustion, but she’ll be fine otherwise. I hope you will tender her my personal apology, although she will get a form letter regretting the incident and a year of the Channel free.”

“This shouldn’t have happened,” Carla said bluntly.

“No, it shouldn’t have,” he agreed. “I am taking Nora Buckley’s advice. New remotes will be issued as quickly as possible to our customers worldwide. They will have new built-in safety features. They won’t work if anyone other than the female customer attempts to use them as they already do. If anyone else tries to turn off a television with them, their owners will awaken immediately. I suppose we should have done this years ago, but we corporations will nickel and dime everything,” he said and chuckled. “I’m sorry we lost you as a customer, my dear. Julian has been punished, of course,” Mr. Nicholas said. “He should not have invaded your fantasy.”

“He suspected he would be,” Carla answered.

“You were wickedly clever in your last encounter,” Mr. Nicholas noted. “I could use a woman of your talents in my business.”

“I’m happy being a wife and a nurse,” Carla told him.

“Well, even I can’t have everything,” he said with a sigh. “Go and see your friend now. And reassure her she is safe, for her last few hours have probably been overstimulating. Good day, Carla, my dear. Perhaps we will meet again.” And then he was gone.