Made For Sex (7 page)

Carla could hear movement at the other end of the phone, together with the clack of keyboards and the occasional jangle of a telephone. “Is that true?” the man's voice said.

“Yes,” Carla said, strangely no longer embarrassed. “I'm very excited. My thighs are open and I'm getting wet.” Ronnie opened her eyes and nodded her approval.

“Wonderful,” Rick said. “It sounds like the arrangement is working well.”

In the distance, a woman's voice interrupted. “Mr. Holloway. Can you take Mr. Malone on line two?”

“Not right now,” Rick said. “Tell him I'll call back.”

“You mean you can't take another call right now?” Ronnie chuckled.

“Not a chance,” Mr. Holloway said. “Our business is more important. Where were we?”

“You'll have to refresh my memory,” Ronnie teased.

“Shit,” the voice whispered. “Okay, we were talking about the irrigation project.”

Carla laughed. “Yes we were. I was telling you how wet I am.”

“Snow White is just waiting for you, Mr. Holloway. Are you hard enough for her?”

“Certainly. What about the rest?”

“Well, Snow White is wearing pantalets trimmed with white lace. They're getting wet in the crotch as her pussy gets hotter. Should we have her take them off?”

“A fine idea,” Mr. Holloway said.

“Take off your pantalets, Snow White,” Ronnie said. “Hold the phone so Mr. Holloway can hear your clothes come off.”

Carla raised an eyebrow and Ronnie nodded. Carla stood up and pulled off her jeans, holding the phone so the man at the other end could hear the rustle of each leg as she pulled her feet through. “Did you hear that?” Carla said. She heard the man's breathing, then continued, “I'm now naked under my dress, but I'm pulling my skirts down so you can't see or touch…yet.”

Ronnie made an okay sign with one hand. Carla was continually surprised at how easy and enjoyable this was. And Ronnie got paid for this?

“It's about time you got to the meat of the proposal,” the man's voice said.

“Honey,” Ronnie said, “it's your meat I'm proposing.”

Holloway's deep laugh echoed through the phone line. “I'm not used to this kind of work being amusing. I guess that's why I like doing business with you,” he said.

“Does a laugh make your cock any softer?” Ronnie asked.

“Of course not,” he answered.

“Good. Now, where were we? Oh yes, Snow White is sitting on her throne, one leg draped over each arm, her skirts pulled down between her spread legs. Can you see her?”

“Uh-huh.”

“She reaches down and dips her red-tipped fingers into the sweet valley between her breasts and pulls first one, then the other, out of the bodice of her gown. Her nipples are sensitive and deep pink. She pinches them so they're hard, like large pebbles. She tweaks at one with her nails and rubs the satin palm of her glove over the other. Tiny pains and satiny pleasure. She switches pinching and stroking, going back and forth until her tits are aching.”

Carla massaged her breasts, feeling exactly what Ronnie was saying that Snow White felt.

“Is your cock aching too, Mr. Holloway?” Ronnie asked.

“Most assuredly.”

“Is anyone looking at you right now?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Just a moment, please.” The two women heard Mr. Holloway shift the phone. “What is it?”

“I need your signature so I can get this into Express Mail by three o'clock.”

There was some shuffling, then Mr. Holloway said, “That's done.”

“Your poor cock,” Ronnie said. “It must be hurting. Your balls too. And you can't do anything about it or everyone will see.”

There was a barely audible groan.

“Wonderful,” Ronnie purred. “Now, as Snow White sits on her throne, her pussy gets so itchy that she had to reach down and touch it. Can you see her? She's sitting with her legs spread wide apart. She slowly pulls up her skirt and slides her fingers up the inside of her creamy thighs. Do it, Snow White,” Ronnie said, looking at Carla. “You know you love to have people watch you.”

Carla stroked her pussy through her panties. She was soaking wet. She knew that if she caressed herself just right she would climax immediately but she found that she wanted to wait and continue to amuse Mr. Holloway. And, amazingly enough, she liked the fact that Ronnie was watching her.

“Mr. Holloway?” Carla said softly.

He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“I'm right here, scratching the insides of my thighs with the tips of my long red nails. Now I'm using one nail and touching my clit, just brushing it, flicking it. It's so good.”

“I bet if you play with it, you'll come,” Ronnie said. “Right Snow White?”

“Oh yes,” Carla groaned. “I want to come.”

“That sounds acceptable to me,” Mr. Holloway said.

“Stroke your cunt, Snow White,” Ronnie said. “Put the phone near your cunt and let Mr. Holloway hear your fingers moving.”

Carla held the phone close to her pussy and slid her fingers under the crotch of her panties. She knew just how to touch herself because she'd done it so many times in the past five years.

“Yes,” Ronnie said. “I can see you with my eyes and Mr. Holloway can see you in his mind. Rub it harder.”

“Yes,” Carla whispered, panting. She was so close. Just another moment.

“Rub it faster, Snow White,” Ronnie said. “Can you hear her, Mr. Holloway? Hear how close she is to coming? Hear her breathing, how fast it is? She's going to come…right now!”

Carla let out a low moan as she spasmed. She held very still and reveled in the waves of pleasure that washed over her body.

“Does your cock hurt, darling?” Ronnie said into the phone as Carla slowly recovered from one of the best orgasms she'd had in a long time.

“I think that will work out nicely,” Mr. Holloway said. “I have to go now.”

“Are you going into the bathroom to take your big hard cock in your hand and massage and fondle it until you spurt hot come all over?”

“I think that will be enough for now,” he said, laughing. “Otherwise it won't go well for any of us.”

“Right,” Ronnie said, laughing too.

“Thank you, darling,” Carla said into the phone, her breathing not yet back to normal. “That was wonderful.”

“I'll speak to you soon,” Mr. Holloway said. “And thank you for your help in this matter. I'll handle it from here.” As he hung up, everyone was laughing.

“O
h, Lord,” Carla said, curling up in her chair. “If that's what it's like all the time, then I'll be both exhausted and delighted.” Strange, but she wasn't embarrassed by Ronnie watching as she came.

“It is if you want it to be. You understand most of my rules and know that I stick by them, no matter how much money is involved.”

“Spell them out again.”

“I never do anything I don't think I'll enjoy and I make it clear to my friends that I always have the right to call things off at any time, as do they. That's part of the reason for having dinner with a new acquaintance before our first encounter. Doing what I do takes trust. Everyone must have the right to say stop and we always agree on a safe word.”

“Safe word?”

“I usually use ‘popcorn.' At any time, if anyone says that word, everything stops. Immediately. And if I can't trust my friends to obey if I say it, and to say it if they want to stop, it's no deal.”

“Why is it important that they say it too? You're the one who needs a way out.”

“Not really. Take men who enjoy being dominated. If I can be sure they'll use the safe word, I can do anything that takes my fancy. I describe what I'm going to do if it's the first time and I don't have to worry about going too far. The safe word is there so they can yell, ‘Please stop,' and know I won't, but be sure I'll stop when that's what they really want.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Carla said, still catching her breath after the phone call.

“Also, no heavy drinking, although a glass or two loosens things up. No drugs of any kind and, as you know, I insist that my friends use condoms. He can have seventeen blood tests or whatever, but condoms are mandatory. Period.”

Carla nodded. Everything that Ronnie said seemed, if anything, overly cautious.

“You're still interested, aren't you?” Ronnie said.

Carla took a deep breath. “After that phone call,” she said, “more than ever. But I'm a little apprehensive about where to start.”

“I have a suggestion,” Ronnie said, stretching out on the sofa and crossing her long legs at the ankles. “An old friend called me a few weeks ago. His name's Bryce and I've known him for over a year.”

Carla had learned in college that Ronnie's particularly delightful, slightly mischievous smile meant that she was deeply involved in hatching an inventive plot. When Ronnie didn't continue, Carla said, “And….”

Ronnie picked up the glass of wine from the table next to her and took a sip. “He's had an ongoing fantasy about wedding nights and seduction. He's heavily into romance, music, wine, all that.” Carla could see the dreamy look in Ronnie's eyes. “He's also into a bit of control, which I think you'll find irresistable. And he's dynamite in bed, a deliciously creative man who gets his satisfaction from giving as well as taking pleasure. We've spent some memorable nights together.”

“He sounds too good to be true. Is he married? And if he is, why does his wife let him out of her sight?”

“His wife died several years ago and part of the reason he plays with me is that he's surrounded with matchmaking friends who bombard him with suitable women. I think that, when he's with me, he's comfortable. We have wonderful times together, great sex, and there are no strings, no commitments.” Ronnie smiled. “I hope you don't mind but we talked about you.”

“You knew that I was going to do this, didn't you.”

“You're not expert at hiding your feelings, and I know you pretty well.”

Carla smiled and pulled on her jeans. “You certainly used to, and after that game we just played with Rick Holloway, you know me even better.”

Ronnie laughed. “True. Anyway, I think he'd be a wonderful first time for you. He'd love it and, I can guarantee, so would you.”

“It sounds like he's
your
friend.”

“He's a special man, but he's just a friend. And I think you'd enjoy being together.”

“But….”

“Listen, Carla. I don't know whether you should do this at all. I understand myself and I've been doing what I do for almost four years. I love it.”

“I know you do. I've given this entire situation a lot of thought and, well, it titillates me. I've told you that I don't know much about off-center sex, but I know that I want to find out more.”

“And, of course, you can call things off at any time and go back to Bronxville and sell real estate,” responded Ronnie. Each woman wrinkled her nose.

The phone rang and Ronnie and Carla listened as the answering machine picked up. “This is Black Enterprises. Please leave a message at the sound of the beep, and thanks for calling.”

“Hi, Ronnie and Snow White, this is Rick Holloway. You're probably both listening right now so I wanted to tell you that I feel great. I'm in my private office right now and I'm sending you a check for three hundred dollars. I hope to talk to you both again soon. And Ronnie, thanks for knowing exactly what would increase the fun even before I did. Take care.” He hung up.

“He really liked it,” Carla said, still surprised at the power of the spoken word.

“He sure did. And you had a lot to do with that.”

“I thought he usually paid a hundred and fifty dollars. He said he's sending three hundred.”

“He's paying double. I guess he's sending half for me and half for Snow White.” Ronnie pulled out her wallet and handed Carla three fifty-dollar bills. “That's your share.”

Carla stared at the money in her hand. “This has to be immoral, illegal, or fattening. Maybe all three.”

“Well, it's certainly not fattening and, as far as I'm concerned, it's not immoral. I don't think you can have a crime without a victim and none of my friends is ever a victim.” She sighed. “Actually, some claim that what we do together makes them better lovers at home, either more creative or less demanding. However, it is prostitution and that's illegal…but what the hell.” She sipped her drink and gave a mock salute. “Anyway, Bryce would love to spend an evening with you—your virgin experience, as it were.”

Carla's hands trembled. “Now that I'm actually going to do it, half of me can't wait and half is scared to death.”

“That's exactly the fantasy that Bryce wants. He loves the scared little girl and the initiation part of this. And you can say stop at any time. Bryce knows the rules. So, if you're sure….”

Carla took a deep breath. “I am.”

“Good. I'll give you his number and you can call him, make your plans. He'll take you to dinner, dancing, then to a hotel room.”

“Not here?”

“You know you can use the house anytime, although we'll have to coordinate carefully. But Bryce likes the idea of neutral territory. He's got oodles of money and he can afford the best. By the way, as a present to him, I think we should forgo the fee for this one night.”

Carla chuckled. “I'm glad. Somehow it seems more honest for my first time.” As she lifted her wineglass, her hands shook. “I'm nervous.”

“Good.” Ronnie handed Carla a piece of paper. “Here's his number. Call him right now, while you're in this mood. Use the phone in the spare bedroom.”

Carla stood up and looked at the paper in her hand. “Bryce McAndrews—555-6749.” She walked into the spare bedroom, picked up the cordless phone, and settled on the bed.

With shaky fingers, she dialed the number.

“Hello.”

“Is this Bryce McAndrews?”

“Yes.”

“This is Carla.”

His voice was suddenly soft and warm. “Ronnie's friend?”

“Yes.” She had no idea what to say.

There was a warm laugh and Bryce said, “Are you free Friday evening?”

“Yes.” Shit, Carla thought. Why am I so tongue-tied?

“I'll pick you up at Ronnie's place and we'll have dinner at an intimate restaurant I know. They have a small dance combo. I hope you like to dance. Leave everything to me. Just be ready about seven. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice shook and Bryce was intrigued.

“You have no idea how I'm looking forward to meeting you, Carla.”

“Me too,” she said softly.

Bryce's laugh was infectious. “ 'Til Friday,” he said, then he hung up.

“Until Friday,” she repeated into the silent phone.

For the next few days, Carla was a wreck. She drove her children to and from Cub Scouts and swimming lessons. She cooked dinner, watched TV, and visited with her parents, all the while quaking inside with a delicious excitement that she was amazed no one noticed.

Thursday, on a whim, she had her nails done. She'd passed Plaza Nails often and had occasionally thought about treating herself to a manicure. Always before, however, the cost had stopped her. If I want to stay home with the boys and not work full time, she had told herself as she walked passed the door toward the supermarket, I've got to be a little careful.

As she drove past the mall on the way to Little League Thursday afternoon she gave in to temptation. It's an investment in my career, she told herself. Anyway, I have Rick's three fifties in my wallet.

So while the boys were at practice, a manicurist named Micki, who didn't stop talking for an hour, lengthened Carla's nails with linen wraps and glue, then polished them in a soft lavender shade called “Lilacs in the Spring.” As Carla left, Micki told her to come back in a week for a glue manicure, whatever that was.

“Hey, Mom,” said Mike, her youngest son in the car going home. “You've got stuff on your nails.”

“I decided to have them polished,” she said, glancing at her nails for the dozenth time. “Looks snazzy, no?”

“I guess,” Tommy said, “but it'll be hard to make pizza dough.” Practicality was Tommy's hallmark. “They'll get all ookey. We are having your pizza tonight, aren't we? You promised.”

“Of course. I promised.”

Thursday evening after pizza, Carla spent several hours standing in front of her closet debating exactly what to wear. After her call to Bryce, she and Ronnie had rummaged through Ronnie's closet in the brownstone, but nothing in Ronnie's wardrobe made just the right statement. As the boys did their homework and watched TV, Carla put on, then took off at least a dozen combinations, selected then reselected like a schoolgirl preparing for her first date. “I'm an idiot,” she muttered, throwing a beige, summer knit dress on top of the growing pile on her bed. She picked up the phone and started to dial Bryce's number to call the whole thing off. “God, this is really stupid.” Then she put the phone down. “I can always call it off during dinner.”

She hung everything back up, then closed her eyes and pulled a blouse from its hanger, coordinated it with a linen suit and stuffed all three garments in a tote bag to bring with her. Then she sat on the bed, pulled the items back out, folded them neatly, added a pair of low-heeled pumps and put everything back into the bag.

She gazed into the mirror, brushed her shoulder-length hair and shook her head slowly. Should I go down to the city early and have my hair done? she wondered. Somehow that didn't feel right. She had no idea why her nails should look better than her hair but it seemed wrong to have some fancy hairstyle. “Shit,” she said aloud, “this is ridiculous. I'll worry myself to death at this rate.” She stuffed a strand of hair behind one ear and went to tell the boys that it was bedtime.

The following afternoon Carla packed an overnight bag for each of her boys.

“Are we staying at Gramma's?” her thirteen-year-old asked.

“Yes. For tonight.”

“Got a hot date, Mom?” BJ asked as she packed.

“Where did you get that idea?” she asked, taken aback.

BJ put his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes. “I see all and know all,” he chanted. When Carla raised an eyebrow he continued, “Well, Mom, new nails, an overnight visit with Gramma and Grampa. I'm not a kid, you know. I watch TV.” When she continued to stare at him he continued. “It's okay with me. Mothers need some fun. Oprah and Dr. Phil say so. I'll be nice to Gramma and watch Tommy and Mike.”

Her kid was watching talk shows and telling her that mothers needed fun. She playfully swatted his bottom, then stuffed Mike's PJs into his bag.

On her way into the city, Carla stopped at a local mall on a whim and bought a pair of large pearl-drop earrings that matched her outfit perfectly but differed from anything she owned. With the new jewelry in her purse, she arrived at the brownstone at about five. Since Ronnie was in Dutchess County Carla had the place to herself.

She wandered upstairs, filled the oversized tub, poured in a large scoop of bath salts and, while the water ran, put a Sinatra cassette into the tape player. While the crooner's familiar voice filled the room, Carla settled into the deep tub and leaned back, letting the light spicy scent relax her. She spent an hour in the water, adding hot whenever it became too cool. She fantasized about the evening and what Bryce would look like. She pictured him undressing her slowly, touching and stroking her. She could imagine him whispering in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was. She almost felt his hot body entering her and slowly loving her.