The Creep (20 page)

"I want you to turn around." His strong arms helped move
her,
she wasn't quite sure what to do.

"That's
it,
I want you down there, where I can eat you properly."

Anita stuck her ass in the air and she to
ok Harvey in her hand. He was l
ying on his back, with her pussy nuzzling in his face.
Purrrrfect!

Harvey gently started the procedure again
...
licking, teasing,
probing
. Crinkly bits as well. Anita slowly took Harvey in her mouth, licking and sucking, gently, slowly but surely taking it all in. It was
huge,
the texture felt perfect, no ugly veins bulging out. She licked it from the top of the helmet right down to the base, teasingly slowly, then from the top again. It was her turn to tease, and she did it wonderfully. She took him in her mouth over and over again. Her jaws actually
ached, but it was so good she wasn't about to complain.

He kept teasing and probing her and gently started to finger her. First one finger, gently probing, then a little more licking of the lips and the clitoris, all over, slowly, just the right pressure. Anita came time and again. Sometimes she let Harvey know by breathing hard and others by squealing with delight and other times she came and didn't let on at all.

She tried hard to get her hand around his cock, but no matter what she did or how hard she gripped she couldn't.
How
is this thing
going to feel up inside me
,
she was thinking and as she did she came again, her whole body shuddering with ecstasy, juices flooding out like sluice gates being opened.

Every now and then Harvey would just gently kiss her pussy and the cheeks of her ass. She and Harvey were perfectly in tune, as though they had been lovers for years.

They stopped for a moment. "I've never come so many times in my life, I can't believe it," she said.

They both took a sip of champagne as if to recover for a brief moment, then got back on the job. They assumed the same delicious 69 position, Anita carefully and sexily nuzzling her dripping wet pussy in Harvey's face. The aroma was scented heaven. Sheer, delicious, delightful, love juice.
A drink from the furry cup.

Harvey used four fingers and massaged them in and out of her soaking wet orifice. Every time he plunged his fingers into her he made sure
he nudged her clit, so as to stimulate it. Anita went up and down, flicking her tongue over the top of his helmet, a
nd gently caressing his bal
ls
. H
e could feel himself coming and to warn her, let out some "oohs" and "aaahs" and a few other symptoms and groaning sounds. She took the hint and went right down on him faster. He gently pulled back the hood to expose her clit, fingered her and flicked his tongue around her exposed clitoris in a circular motion, getting the pressure just right.

They both came together and when they did Anita knew her pussy was connected to her brain. He belted spurt after spurt of hot cum deep into her throat and she swallowed every sweet, precious drop. She could feel every inch of that cock in her mouth and she'd never felt anything so sensational in her life before.

Anita eventually turned around and came up for air, they kissed and nibbled each other's ears, and Harvey quickly fell asleep.

On his return from Springfield, Harvey's first concern was to have a session with Bishman. When they met at Harvey's office, after a short relaxation induction Bishman went into an altered state and, without any prompting from Harvey, continued the dialogue about Wally, the guy he had met outside the toy shop on 5th Avenue.

Harvey always felt he was making progress if Bishman actually finished the tales
because in that way the jigsaw would become complete:

At 10
pm, the duly-appointed hour, Wally arrived at the corner of Central Park. Bishman was already there. He'd forgotten what he'd told Wally his name was. He thought he'd wait and see if Wally called him by name. Wally had come for details about being a conversationalist; really it was an appointment with death, but how was he to know?

Immediately Bishman took the lead and started walking and began talking about going to nursing homes and hospitals and listening to old folk. Bishman made a real effort to explain to Wally that he must give value for money and even if these old people bored him he must listen to them. "Who knows," he said, "You may even get asked questions and if you haven't been
listening
you've had it."

He sold the story over and over again,
a
ll you have to do is talk and listen and you could earn a hundred or two hundred bucks a day.
Easy, right?
Of course Wally
kept wanting
to know addresses and phone numbers, where to go and how to start. Bishman kept him hanging on. They seemed to walk for hours. From the busy streets they wound their way through back alleys, all the time further and further away from anyone who could notice two guys just walking along, talking intently. They stopped behind a disused warehouse. Wally hadn't noticed that, now, there was no-one around. The place was deathly quiet.

Bishman talked Wally into going down on him. It seemed a reasonable deal and, as it happened, Wally gave good head. No-one's going to give you the details of how to earn two hundred bucks
every day
without getting
something
in return, right? He got Wally to drop his trousers and bend over, splaying himself over a trash can. Wally thought he was going to get butt-fucked. Instead he got gun-fucked.

Bishman rammed the .45 Colt automatic up Wally's ass and then, as Wally shrieked
Richaaaaaaaghhh!!!!
Bishman pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. The body acted as an efficient silencer. Bishman was amazed at how muffled the sound was. He was also amazed at the gaping
holes that appeared as exit wounds in Wally's back. Usually the .45 would inflict huge wounds but these were absolutely enormous, jagged, and the bullets had torn out huge amounts of bone and tissue.

Earlier, Bishman had been bored; with the rest of the afternoon to kill, he had played with the gun. He had emptied the clip and noticed the bullets were the flat-nosed lead variety. He carefully cut a deep cross into the lead with a razor blade and effectively turned them into dumdum bullets. The pain inflicted must have been excruciating. He left the gun up Wally's ass and walked off, thinking,
c
onversationalist my ass, talk your way out of that
...
pal!

Bishman had got the gun that same afternoon, from another aspiring conversationalist who thought a Colt .45 was a small price to pay for such a good business opportunity. However,
Bishman never kept his second appointment with him. By that time he was in Michigan, in the Purple Pussy Cat, sipping a Coors and talking to some guy who thought he too might like to earn a hundred bucks an hour by being a conversationalist.

Sometimes Bishman would seem to be set for a long session but then would only just come up with a tiny piece of the jigsaw puzzle. When this happened Harvey felt short-changed:

Bishman took out the .41 Smith and Wesson Model 57 revolver from the brown paper bag. He looked at it as he played with it. It was heavy and comfortable.

He'd stolen it three hours previously from an empty house, at around ten that evening. There had been lots of guns there - all loose and all loaded. This one wouldn't be missed for days. He wondered how any sensible adult would believe that a house was burglar-proof and that guns would not be stolen.
Guns get stolen every day of the week
. He fondled the gun and walked over to the stolen Toyota. It had been left in someone's drive with the keys in the ignition. That was in Trenton, New Jersey.

He started the car and joined the freeway, heading
South
toward Willingboro on Route 295. When he was sure there was no-one
behind him he indiscriminately fired at the oncoming cars, taking careful aim at the driver's side windshield. He knew he got lucky when he could see yellow and red lights in his rear-view mirror going in all directions, pointing ways they shouldn't have been, like across the road, into the sky, that sort of thing. Carnage! Mayhem! Murder! Boogaloo!

He parked up within ten miles, in Cherry Hill on a side street with a lot of other cars, and hid the empty gun in the top of an old elm tree that had rot in it. Presumably, it's still there.

The account that you probably read in the newspapers was that a twenty-eight year old nurse by the name of Millicent Toulanger had had her spinal cord severed by a .41
caliber
bullet and will be a paraplegic for the rest of her life, a life that would be spent in a wheel-chair.

Harvey made some notes about Bishman
...
they weren't all good.

The immaculate yellow Rolls Royce pulled into the drive and Harvey parked. As usual, he went around to the passenger's door and offered a hand to Anita.
Always the perfect gentleman.

The Rolls Royce cooling fan came on; the motor twanged as it cooled. Fireflies lit up in the warm Beverly Hills air as, arm in arm, they walked to the house. Anita was wondering if this was the night he'd
actually
make
real
love to her. She'd finished her period two days before.
Perfect timing.

"I fancy a swim - are you up for that or would you rather do something else?" Harvey asked as he slid a plastic card into the electronic security mechanism in Pinewood's front door.

"Depends on what the something else is. Let's swim now and do the something else later," she giggled and gently pinched his ass.

The outdoor swimming-pool was full-size Olympic and the water was cool and fresh. They played and joked and swam. After an hour the novelty wore off and they went back into the
house, leaving the smell of the freshly-chlorinated pool behind.

"Champagne, Bucks Fizz, Bloody Mary or what?" asked Harvey.

"It's OK. I'll fix the drinks, you tell me what you want," said Anita, already popping a cork from pink champagne, anticipating Harvey's answer.