The Creep (26 page)

Then she put on
Unforgettable
, an exquisite black gown, with its satin bows and lace ruffles. The skirt had a slit up the side. She slowly, sexily, paraded up and down, her long blonde hair setting the whole thing off to perfection. She slipped off the skirt and handed it to Stanton.

Next was
Beautiful Bows
, a lace catsuit complete with convenience crotch. She made sure Stanton knew the meaning of convenience crotch; she got him to bring her off by fingering her through the slit. She was still dripping wet when she put on
Triple Dare
, a horny three-piece cami-set, fishnet stockings and G-string in jade green.

Stanton was bursting out of his seams. Lyn kept going. "This is the
Velvet Lace Ensemble
," cooed Lyn from above the screen. It turned out to be royal blue and had a sexy tulip-cup bra, garter belt and stockings. Lyn kept wiggling around so Stanton could see both the front and the back. She turned slowly and somewhat carefully slipped the whole thing off onto Stanton's lap.

Lyn came over and dropped a silky pair of French bloomers on his lap, but this time her hand stayed on his trousers, pressing. She slowly took his fly and unzipped him, leaving his trouser belt still done up. She took his grand cock out from his boxer shorts and caressed it ever so gently. "Gee whizz, fella, you are a big boy. I'm glad you're circumcised
too,
I'm not all that keen on guys who aren't. You know, when you pull back their foreskin and there's all that smegma
there. I usually tell them to go and wash up. Or if it's
a john who's paying me a lot, I may get a warm flannel and do it for him. Smegma, ugh!

"Reminds me of an article I read in
The Los Angeles Times
last weekend, about a shipwrecked sailor they discovered on a desert island after five years. All he had to eat was acorns and cheese."

Stanton knew he'd fallen for it, but he couldn't stop himself. "Where did he get the cheese from?" he asked.

"Under his foreskin."
The hooker laughed, so did Stanton.

While his palms followed the curve of her breasts, searching for her nipples, she sucked and gently licked the helmet, taking the thing in her mouth, deep down. He felt those tits of hers as though there was no tomorrow, while she plowed that monumental cock into her mouth up and down, never stopping. She went at it relentlessly with hungry intensity, and when he started to come she didn't ease up. She squeezed his balls harder and harder.
Hurt
me
gently
, thought Stanton, as she took the whole thing in her mouth. She sucked him dry then carefully tried to put his semi-limp cock back in his trousers and zip up the fly. She couldn't because he was still too firm, so she left it.

Lyn went through the whole routine again with some more lingerie until Stanton had a big erection. She suggested they lay on the four-poster bed. He carefully lent over to kiss her: "Hey, no kissing, fella." Lyn pulled back and he
tried again. "No kissing, fella, fuckin' only." She slipped off his shirt and trousers.

Lyn straddled across Trevor Stanton - he had a wicked hard-on. She carefully opened up the lips of her pulsating, dripping wet pussy, and gently eased his giant prick into her soaking orifice. She then started to ride him wonderfully slowly making sure that she went right to the top, nearly coming out each time, then slowly, all the way down to the hilt. Her thighs
and legs worked overtime. She rode and rode. He just lay there, taking it all in. Occasionally he reached up his arms and gently played with her full, perfectly textured breasts and large brown nipples. She went up and down like a steam train, really working it, really doing her job,
doing
all the work.

He watched her pussy ooze out white creamy slip-in-easy-juices and he could feel the muscles of her vagina gripping around his cock. He was sure she was doing it on purpose. The gentle, musky aroma of her juices kept wafting toward his nose. He just lay there - it was a dream come true. When Stanton started coming Lyn started humping, bucking and heaving even more frantically and he could feel the explosions. She could feel the hot jism hitting her insides and she just kept right on going, never faltering for a single moment until Stanton was well and truly spent. He'd never experienced such a powerful orgasm. Eventually she slid off from his still immense cock, although it was now slowly going down.

"We're through, fella." Lyn got up and went to the bathroom and brought back a warm flannel and mopped him up.
He tried to kiss her - he tried all sorts of
manoeuvers
- but he was told "No kissing, fella!"

Stanton picked up his briefcase and went to the front door. Just as he was about to leave, Lyn turned her cheek and allowed him to give her a kiss. She then slipped a small, prettily wrapped package into his hand.

"See you again, I hope," said Stanton as he walked towards his car, clutching his gift.

"I hope so too," said Lyn as she smiled sexily and closed the door on the warm Californian evening. She went to the refrigerator and took out the remaining bottle of pink champagne and thought,
profit
!

Trevor Harvey headed up Santa Monica Boulevard, towards Beverly Hills. On the way he ripped open his gift. It was a cassette. He inserted it into the deck:
Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
. He suddenly did an illegal U-turn and
headed back towards Venice. He drove to a spot along the Pacific Coast Highway by Topanga Canyon, parked the Rolls and strolled down to the beach. He walked for a while then took off his shoes and socks to let the sand squelch between his toes. Bill Stanton was in heaven.

Suddenly he heard a voice from behind, quite a way off. "Bill Harvey, Dr. Bill, can I join you? It's me." Bill Harvey recognized the voice. He snapped out of his trance,
Bill Stanton, Trevor Harvey, Bill Harvey, that's me,
he thought.

"Hi, Dr. Bill, I hope you don't mind me joining you - I saw your Rolls parked up the top and I thought if you were on your own, I'd join you. Been out for the evening, have you?"

"Sure
have, Bob. What about you?" H
arvey jumped over a small dead shark.

"Yeah, nothing much.
I've been strolling around. I know this area pretty good." Bishman lit his customary cigarette and they started chatting about this, that and the other.
Nothing heavy-duty.
Small talk.

Harvey and Bishman walked and talked until the sun, appearing just below the horizon, turned the deep blue above it into rose. The moon, robbed of it
s power, started to fade. It w
as morning, with that
chill in the air that always se
ems to precede the sun's first tentative rays.

"Hey buddy, you up for some breakfast?
My shout."
Harvey got up and dusted the sand from his trousers and put his shoes back on.

"I hope my Rolls Royce is still there, ha ha ha."

"It'll be t
here, the joyriders only like B
Ms, Corvettes and Porsches," said Bishman, as he rubbed his arms and lit another cigarette.

They walked across the sand and went up to the highway. His car was still in the parking lot.
A lone yellow Rolls Royce, untouched by human hand.

They drove for a few minutes and pulled into Patrick's Roadside Café, with the green shamrock symbol outside. The smell of delicious 'Wanda' burgers and roast coffee filled the air. They had eggs-over-easy with sausage, home fries, a full stack of pancakes with maple syrup and a bottomless cup of coffee. When Bishman had finished, he polished the plate with two slices of pumpernickel toast, and ordered the same again.

Harvey sipped strong black coffee. He was thinking two things. One:
by golly, that Lyn can hump
, and, two:
when you have a frontal lobotomy, the brain cannot tell when the stomach is full.

That day Harvey sent Anita a cuddly four-foot-tall teddy-bear clutching fifty red roses and a little note in one paw that read, 'In appreciation, with love and kisses from Trevor Stanton.'

It was unusual for Harvey, but he actually coaxed Bishman into picking up the tale about Leo Prendegast, the seven previous sessions having been nothing but verbal
diarrhea
, and Harvey was becoming increasingly impatient. Bishman obliged. Thank Christ for that!

Lenny the chauffeur drove hard for twenty miles to catch the 9:30 ferry. He just made it.

"Some people get out and stretch their legs and pick up a drink at the bar," said Leo. "My custom has always been, over the years, never to leave the limo. We can just sit here and chat for an hour, I hope that's OK. I think it creates mystery. They all know who I am, but they never see me, only what they've read about in the papers.
More whiskey, something else?"

For forty minutes they told an endless string of filthy jokes, each one trying to outdo the previous performance.

The stretch Cadillac bumped off the ferry and Lenny drove quickly for about twenty minutes to the far side of the island, which was practically deserted.

They passed mansions, palaces and castles on the way. The really exotic residences can't be seen from the road because the driveways are too long. The ones that can be seen from the road are known as hovels. It's a local joke.

The Cadillac swung into a pair of large wrought-iron gates that were just opening and two guards with black AK-47s and dressed in black tracksuits and black balaclavas, just like Ninjas, moved in behind the Cadillac as the heavy gates immediately swung shut. Bishman craned his neck. He didn't want to miss a trick.

The gates had had the words SKYBO CASTLE worked into their pattern of iron.

The stretch Caddy shot down the dead straight quarter-mile gravel drive, wheels spinning all the way, the chauffeur obviously enjoying himself. Either side of the drive was a vast expanse of well-kept lawn that had been groomed and landscaped with the occasional shrub or small tree.

Bishman could see the magnificent castle coming into view, its huge towers and turrets silhouetted against the skyline as clouds scudded eerily across the face of the full moon. It was truly awesome, like someone had gone to England and taken apart one of the largest, most majestic castles and brought it back stone by stone and rebuilt it on Fairfax Island. And of course that's exactly what Andrew Prendegast had done in the early 1900s.

The air was decidedly chilly and Bishman hadn't realized just how foggy it had been. But it was a pleasant evening. In the backgr
ound you could hear various fog
horns on the Sound and the occasional bell sounding on a buoy. As they talked their breath hit the air. It was good to get out of the limousine, no matter how luxurious it was.
What surprises are to come?
thought
Bishman.

Leo walked with a casual air of ownership and led Bishman into the castle to be greeted by Madelaine, a stunning cheerleader type woman of about thirty-five, wearing a bright yellow miniskirt and tight-fitting black top that showed off her voluptuous figure. Madelaine showed Bishman his suite, where he promptly showered in a massive bathroom that was full of
green
,
yellow
, violet and
golden ferns and lush
shrubbery and appointed with solid gold faucets.

He slipped on a dressing-gown as directed. It was heavy black silk, more like a kimono. It had a multi-colored dragon embroidered on the back. He felt like Bruce Lee as he went downstairs.

Leo arrived at the same time - also comfortably dressed in a dressing-gown - and switched on the full-size organ that had been converted at great expense to play as an electronic
player
organ. The piece he chose was
Prelude and Fugue on the Name of B-A-C-H
by Franz Liszt. It was
frightening, and awesomely loud. Leo let
it h
ost for a full five minutes of sheer hell. The whole castle reverberated.

Madelaine came through and showed them into the dining-room.