Poor Little Rich Girl

a Short Story by Kellis

Copyright © October, 2000, Kellis



“Freeze, damn you, or I’ll shoot!”

But then his voice lost its harshness.  “Hell, you’re Prissy Perrin!”

At the instant he flicked on the light, she had been standing across the room, body extended over the couch, one hand holding the picture aside, the other inside the safe, clutching a stack of money.  She snatched her hand back, scattering a few loose bills on couch and floor, and released the picture, which swung down upon the open safe door with a clunk.  Langley almost smiled; he had broken the glass that originally covered that print the same way years ago.  She sagged with one knee on the couch, both hands on the couch back, body twisted uncomfortably, and stared at him from a pale, anguished face.

He advanced into the room, closing the door to the dark hall behind him, letting his pistol point slightly away from her.  “Tell me, my dear:  what is my neighbor’s daughter doing dressed in black like a cat burglar with her hand in my ready cash?”

Her eyes darted right and left, then back to his pistol.  She swallowed and answered weakly, “T-trying to be one, I guess.”

“A cat burglar?  Well, I agree that you’ve almost dressed the part, even to black sneakers.  But what is that on your head, your father’s golfing beret?  It covers up your hair but is probably easier to see even than your blonde curls.  And don’t you know you should blacken your face?”

Her mouth twisted.  “I was afraid I couldn’t get it off.”

“Is this some college prank?”

She hesitated.  Her chin trembled.  “Would you believe me if I said it was?”

“No.  Turn around and sit down, Prissy, before you hurt your back in that contortion.”

She obeyed with a sigh, hands falling on her black bejeaned knees.  She was wearing a black sable short coat, also not the recommended texture for nighttime invisibility, though he forbore mentioning it.  She stared up at him anxiously, licking dry lips, as he stood in front of her, the pistol still only slightly averted.

“The last I heard, you were a sophomore at Fieldsmith.  This is February, Prissy.  What are you doing home?”

“They threw me out.”

“Did they indeed!  Grades too low?”


“Then why did they throw you out, Prissy?”

“Will you quit calling me that?  My name is Melissa.”

“Well, I can't see much change since you swam with my daughters.  I think you’re still Miss Prissy.  Why did they throw you out of school?”

“Your daughters — especially Edna — are the prissy ones!”

He nodded slightly.  “I might agree with you about Edna.  Why did Fieldsmith ask you to leave, Prissy?”

She sighed.  “They said I’m a delinquent.”

“A delinquent!  I thought delinquency was Fieldsmith’s main prerequisite for admission.”

She smiled tightly.  “It may be.”

“Did they catch you cheating, Prissy?”

Her shoulders slumped and her face dropped.  “My history prof’s wife caught him cheating.”

“How did that involve —  Oh, I see.  Were you trying to improve your grade, Prissy?”

“No.  Well, that too.”

“I know a professor of history at Fieldsmith.  It wasn’t Carstairs, was it?”

She sighed, nodding.

“What happened?”

“She walked in on us in his office.”

“What were you doing?”

“He was …  He was eating me.”

Langley chuckled.  “And a gourmet feast I’m sure it was, too!  That sounds like Carstairs.  He always wanted to taste.  I take it that wasn’t your first time.”

“Oh, no.  I went to his office every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon all winter.”

He nodded.  “Always at the same time of day, I’m sure.”

“Three o’clock, when neither of us had a class.”

“Of course.  And Madam Carstairs grew suspicious, did she?”

“I guess.  God, she’s a big woman!  She had a key, walked right in, grabbed my arm and threw me out in the hall.  She threw my clothes after me.”  The girl rubbed her upper arm.  “Still got the bruises.”  Her chin rose and red spots appeared on her cheeks.  “That’s what caused all the trouble, I think.  I had to dress in the hall.  The dean heard the commotion and came to investigate.”


“Catcalls and whistles.”  Her expression changed.  “His wife said something to him I didn’t understand.  ‘You’re certainly no Marc Antony.’”

He chuckled slightly.  “Permit me to enlighten you.  Carstairs once wrote a paper claiming to deduce that Cleopatra demanded cunnilinctus from all her lovers.”

“Oh…  Oh!”

“What then befell my good friend, Professor Carstairs?”

“I don’t know.  They put me on the plane before dark.”

“This happened recently, I take it?”


“I’ll have to give him a call.”  Langley grinned maliciously.  “I’m sure he’ll enjoy discussing it with me…  Well, Prissy, you’ve accounted for your presence in Newport, but you have a bit more ground to cover before we get to your hand in my ready cash.”

He pulled up a straight chair before her and sat in it.  She eyed the pistol still pointing near her, then his lounging robe, the almost hairless bare legs and the slippers on his feet.  “Were you in bed?  It’s not even eight o’clock.”

“I was on my way.  I noticed the light indicating my safe door ajar.  I had heard a noise earlier but passed it off.”  He looked toward the French doors and smiled.  “Did you stumble over that smoking stand?”

She nodded with an expression of chagrin.

“I put the two together and fetched this new Beretta with me when I came to investigate.  Isn’t it a lovely piece?”

“Ah, ah —”

He chuckled.  “Perhaps not from your end of it, eh?  Now tell me, Prissy, why didn’t you just ask your father for the money you need?”

She looked away.  He saw a tinge of red on her cheeks.

“Don’t tell me he took your delinquency hard!”

“Huh!” she grunted and shook her head.

“He’s upset over a little fucking, Prissy?  Oh, excuse me, of course you don’t use that word.  Believe me, he’s done more than a little improper fucking himself!  If he’s gone all hypocritical in his old age, I may be able to furnish you some ammunition.  What did he do, reduce your allowance?”

She watched him for a moment.  At last she heaved a very deep sigh and said in a low voice, looking down, “He threw me out, too.”  Her head came up to gauge his reaction.

“For fucking?” he demanded incredulously.

“For fucking him,” she answered in the same low voice.

He thought a moment, staring into her almost defiant eyes.  “What do you mean, Prissy?”

“He …  You know I’m not his blood daughter, don’t you?”

“Yes, I knew.  Your mother married him when you were two or three, then she died a while back in that plane crash.  I see.  You meant it literally, didn’t you?”


“When did that start?”

“Start?  Huh!  It started and ended yesterday.  He was … very sympathetic.  He comforted me.  I sat in his lap.  I felt his thing get hard.  When I went to lie down he came to my room.”

“And did what?”

“You know.”

“Tell me, Prissy.”

She looked away.  “He ate me.  I sucked him.  Then we fucked.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Oh, yes.  And I thought he did, too!”

“I think I see.  This morning he was different, was he?”

“Oh, god, yes!  He said that I was 19 and that he wouldn’t owe me anything even if I was his blood daughter.  He said I couldn’t live there anymore.  He —”  She choked but continued gamely.  “He made me leave with just what I was wearing.

“I hid in the bushes and waited until his car left.  Then I went back in through the kitchen.  Martha said he left orders to call the police and charge me with trespassing if I came back.  She let me cry on her, gave me a coke and watched out while I ran upstairs for a few clothes.”

“Including the ones you have on?”

“Yes.  I found his beret in the back of the suitcase.”

“So what did you do all day?”

“I had about 40 dollars.  I hung around at Sloppy Joe’s.”  She smiled.  “Mr. Kilmer offered me a job.  All I had to do was dance with the guys that come in there and let them buy me fake drinks.”

“Did you take it?”

She sniffed.  “I may be a blonde but I’m not that dumb!”

“Then what happened?”

“I remembered Edna showing me your safe that you never lock.  I thought I’d get enough money to go back to Fieldsmith, to the town.  Jeffrey — Professor Carstairs once offered to rent me an apartment.”

“And if his wife has changed his mind?”

Slowly she shook her head.  “I thought about that.  I don’t know if my idea would work, but it might.  I would just offer myself to the first man who looked prosperous, then the next, until I found one that would feed me.”

“A well thought-out plan!  You like fucking that much, do you, Prissy?”

“I wouldn’t have much choice, would I?  But I do like … fucking.”

He chuckled.  “Oh, you do know the word!”  He took a cell phone out of a pocket of his robe.  She eyed it, her face again turning white.  “If I call 911, you think it’ll just be my word against yours, do you, Prissy?”

“Please don’t call 911, Mr. Langley.”

“Why not?  Don’t you think our community needs protection from a desperate thief?”

Her face tightened.  “I’m not a thief!”

He nodded.  “True, only because I caught you before you could get away.”

She shivered.  “Mr. Langley, isn’t there some way …”  Her eyes narrowed as her voice trailed off.

Suddenly she dived forward off the couch to his feet.  Ignoring the pistol, whose barrel now almost touched her temple, her hands parted his robe.  “I thought I saw it,” she cried.  “It’s already a boner!”

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, staring down.

“I’m going to do what you want,” she answered submissively, first looking up into his eyes, then suddenly leaning forward.

He gasped slightly, admitting after a moment, “Yes, Prissy, your assumption is quite correct.”  He slipped more forward in his chair, hips moving slightly in counterpoint to her head.  “This is a convincing argument, my dear.  If you continue as well as you’ve begun, you could win this first debate.”

She backed away slightly.  “Do you have to point that gun at me?”

He chuckled.  “Would you believe the last woman who fellated me at gunpoint was my nanny?”

Her face showed horror.  “You threatened to kill her if she didn’t?”

“Not at all.  She insisted on it, said it made her feel better about doing it.  But you don’t need it, do you, Prissy?”

She shook her head.  “Jeffrey was right.  Rich old men are weird!”

“Undoubtedly, only they prefer ‘eccentric.’  Take off your clothes, my dear.  Let’s see just how un-prissy you’ve grown.”

She shrugged, threw her fur coat to the floor, pulled her sneakers off, got to her feet and pushed her jeans down.  “How would you know the difference?”

He watched her while he let the pistol dangle negligently from a finger in the trigger guard.  “I remember studying you and the other girls in my pool a few years ago.  You say you’re 19, which would make you about 17 then.  Hooray for the bikini!  I recall thinking that your tits were well begun with a lot of room to expand.  What I admired most was your perky ass and a most seductive little belly swell.  Edna’s tits were better, but nobody could touch your pudendal pad.”

“I always thought I had nice legs.”

“It’s hard for a teenage girl not to have nice legs.”

“You enjoyed comparing us, did you?” she asked, her voice muffled by a velour blouse as it passed over her head.  “Even your daughters?”

“A man fucks every nubile female he encounters, at least in the privacy of his own mind.”  He chuckled.  “Some men end up paying psychiatrists because of that.”

“But not you, right?”  She was straining to unsnap her brassiere.  He watched closely without offering to help.

“No.  The idea that a man should feel guilty for his thoughts is a religious invention designed to profit the priests.”

“How about when you do it instead of thinking it?”

“That’s different.”  He smiled whimsically.  “Then it depends on the girl.”

She stepped out of her panties and stood naked before him.  “Well?”

He nodded critically.  “Impressive!  Lovely, full tits, and the pudendal swell is a bit more pronounced, if anything.  I’m forced to agree: you are Melissa, not Prissy.”  He got to his feet, put the cell phone back in his pocket and drew her against him with his free arm.

She resisted slightly.  “Mr. Langley, I can’t run away naked, and you know you’re stronger than I.  Would you please put that gun down?  It makes me nervous.”

“Then you hold it,” he said unconcernedly, putting it into her hand.  “And call me ‘Dickie-Pie,’ if you please.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment.  She hefted the weapon, then examined it closely.  “But this is a fake!”

“Please, dear.  It’s a replica: correct weight, color, everything but function.”

“God!” she declared in disgust, letting the thing fall onto the carpeted floor with a thud.

He grasped her breast with the freed hand.  “This feels so much better anyway.”

“God!” she said again, watching as his hand kneaded the soft flesh, rolling the puckered nipple between forefinger and thumb.  Slowly she smiled.  “What did you say to call you?”


“Like your nanny?”

“Like a sweet little cocksucker.”

Her hand grasped the organ that prodded her belly.  “Do you want me to suck, or do you want to find out what Jeffrey loved?”

“I know what Jeffrey loved.  Why not both together?”

“Let me on top.”

His eyebrows rose admiringly.  “That sounds like the voice of experience.”

“It is!  With my head on the couch you could jam it down my throat.  Lay down, Dickie-Pie.”


  *  *  *  *


After various permutations his torso ended atop hers on the couch with her legs wrapped around his hips.  He raised up, panting heavier than she, as her legs reluctantly released him.  “You do like to fuck,” he gasped, “don’t you … Sweetie-Puss?”

She grinned lazily.  “Told you so, Dickie-Pie.”

He shook his head, backed away and slipped off the couch to his feet, where he stood leaning forward, helping to support his torso by hands extended to his knees.  She frowned.  “You’re all right, aren’t you, sir?”

“Soon as I get my breath! … You’re a marvel, Melissa.  Do you have any idea how many times you came?”

“Who counts?”

He shook his head, straightening up.  “I don’t believe I ever knew a girl who could enjoy it so much with a stranger.”

“You’re no stranger!”

“Perhaps I should have said, ‘With a mere acquaintance.’”

She chuckled, deep in her throat, as she sat up on the couch.  “You’re a lot more than that, Dickie-Pie.”

“Oh?”  He grinned in puzzlement.  “How’s that?”

“You fucked me once before, you know.”  Her eyebrows rose.  “Huh!  Then you truly didn’t recognize me?”

He stared at her, several expressions chasing each other across his face.  “Last Halloween?”

She nodded with a giggle.

“That was you?  My god, I thought it was Eileen Cam—  That is …  But, dammit, I gave her that Vesuvius mask myself!”

“She had to powder her nose.  I borrowed it.”

He shook his head.  “I can’t believe this.  I tell you, I recognized her perfume.”

“We can both afford that scent.  Well, I could until this morning.”

“Why didn’t you stop me, Melissa?  When I pulled off your pom-pom, as I recall, you grabbed the dick of my costume.”

“I wanted to see if your real one was in it.”

“Of course not!”

“So I found out.  But you make a good looking devil, Dickie-Pie.”

“You recognized me, then?”

“No, but when I told Eileen that I had fucked the devil standing up on the dance floor, she had to look.  I thought she would laugh her head off.  She knew you, of course.  I’m surprised she didn’t tell you about it.”

“Huh!  She let me believe it was she I was fucking!”

“Now I understand,” the girl observed sourly.  “She must be nearly 30 years old.  Is my body really so much like hers?”

“In a chorus-girl body suit, yes.”

“But you got past the suit.”

“Oh, yes.  I believe it was Benjamin Franklin himself who first noted that age matters little in those female parts.”

“And I kissed your devil’s dick while the real one was in my cunny.  Did you hear the woman beside us in the blue wig?  She said, ‘Too bad yours isn’t that long, Bugsy.’”

She laughed a silvery peal, but her expression grew solemnly reflective.  “That was a different life.”

“Carefree and gay, eh?”

She sighed.  “Gone forever, I guess.  Will you send me to jail, Mr. Langley?”

“I might as Mr. Langley, but never as Dickie-Pie.”

She rolled forward to the edge of the couch, hand extended to grasp his shrunken organ.  “Then how do I keep Dickie-Pie?”

“That’s the way, of course.  You can stay here awhile, Melissa, especially if you …  Hmm.  Yes, exactly, but if you suck it up now, it will only be sore.  I was about to say that both girls are away at school and Eleanor is in Acapulco on one of her sulks.  She won’t be back for a month or two, not till she runs out of beach boys and the weather improves.”

“Eleanor?  Oh.  Mrs. Langley!  What about the servants?”

“Old Granville died, you know.  Heart-attack while bringing Eleanor her morning coffee.  Made a mess on the stairs.  And Abigail left with an attack of terminal pregnancy.  Just now dinner is catered and a crew comes in once a week.  Nobody you know.”

“Then I could stay here!”  She looked up hopefully.  “Would you let me call Jeffrey?”

“Did you have some particular feeling for him, Sweetie-Puss?  I hate to tell you this, but you’re about the fifth coed his wife has caught him with.  I think it’s a put-on to terminate the affair.  Especially in your case, if you’d been fucking him all winter.”

“We started after a conference in October.  He said such nice things to me!”

“Of course he did!  Sweetie-Puss, to a man our age you are all the milkshakes, banana-splits, deep-dish cobblers and crusted bombas rolled into one package, the personification of sweet love.”

“Stop it!  You’re making me hungry.”  She sighed.  “You’re probably right about Jeffrey.  Even I noticed how much he had cooled down.”  Slowly her concern faded.  “Where would I sleep?”

“Do you have to ask?”

“No, I guess not.”  She regarded him quizzically.  “I’ve never actually slept with a … a grown man.  I hope you don’t snore.”

He chuckled.  “I’m told that when I do, my tongue comes out and wiggles up and down.”

“It doesn’t!”

“Where’s your suitcase, Sweetie-Puss?”

“Just outside those French doors.  By the way, Dickie-Pie, why did you put your safe in a room with French doors, anyway?”

“When the safe was put here, that wall was solid.  Eleanor cut the doors and built the balcony.  Did Edna also tell you about the key under the flower pot?”

“Yes, she did.”

“That girl!  I wonder who else she’s told!  Slip your shoes on long enough to bring in your suitcase, and lets go to the kitchen.  Even I can do wonders with a microwave!”


  *  *  *  *


“Why do you want to fuck in the servants’ foyer, Dickie-Pie?”

He pointed up to the mirrored ceiling.  “Because of that.”

“Oh.”  She grinned in anticipation, straining her head back.

“And this.”  He pressed a button under an arm of the heavily overstuffed couch.  The back obligingly swung down, forming a wide, soft bed.

“And one other reason.  That is an outside door, but no one is out there this morning, and you’ll notice there’s not a single window in this room.  Now trot over to that closet like a sweet puss and fetch back a blanket to cover this couch.  We don’t want to stain it, do we?”

Throwing off her borrowed peignoir, she scampered nakedly away and returned with a blanket, smiling up at her reflection.  “That mirror is the main reason, isn’t it?”

He grinned.  “Don’t worry, I won’t make you do all the pushing!”

“Why all this in the servants’ entrance?”

“Well, actually, that’s an old name for the place when my mother lived here.  The back drive is right out there.  When I was a young blade, that mirror often got sweated up at night.  The ceiling in this room is lower than most others, you’ll notice.”

“I’ll bet you fucked every girl for miles around.”

“No, dear.  It wasn’t like today.  The pill was new and a lot of girls were slow to use it.  But I got my share and then some.”  He grinned.  “Still do.”

“Yet you were home alone last night.”

“Well, I can’t keep up the pace I managed 25 years ago, can I?”  He chuckled.  “One way around that is to use this instrument more.”  He waggled his tongue at her.  “Lie down on the bed and pull your knees up.  By the way, can you make a Viennese Oyster?”

She grinned.  “Jeffrey told me about that.”

He would!  Can you?”

In a jiffy she was bouncing on her arched back, heels behind her head, buttocks and pudendum raised, shoulders and arms resting on the bottoms of her thighs.  She laughed at his popping eyes.  “This is what you meant, right?”

“Oh, yes!” he breathed.  He knelt on the bed and caressed the upturned cheeks.  “How remarkable, no acne!  Everyone who sits much has acne around the bottom of the butt.”  He leered at her smug expression.  “May I gather you spent more time on your back or knees than sitting?”

“Jeffrey gets the credit.  He gave me a cream to use and inspected me every time.”

“I can just imagine his inspection:  rather like the one I’m about to perform, wasn’t it!”

He spread her labia and bent to the aromatic fissure.  After the briefest licks, he raised up slightly to look at her.  “Thank you, my dear.  You applied the bourbon douche, I see.”

“I wondered if you’d notice.  How about using your fingers, too, Dickie-Pie?”

He chuckled and bent to her again.  She sighed, hips quivering, staring into the mirror.  “Oh, Dickie-Pie!  I love this view.”  But her eyes soon drifted shut.  Nostrils flaring, she moaned in time with the strokes of his fingers.  The moans soon became a scream when his tongue lashed her mercilessly.  She forced his head away roughly.

“You did that better last night!” she complained from a red face.

“I want you at maximum sensitivity this morning.  Now raise your heels and take some of my weight on your calves and thighs.”

He slipped into her as her legs rose.  Her heels hooked over his shoulders.  “Ah, yes,” he breathed with a smug grin.  “That deep enough for you, Sweetie-Puss?”

“Oh, god!” she said distinctly.  “I’m coming again!”

Her body convulsed under him.  He maintained steady, deep thrusts.  She began an orgasmic cycle of short screams, temporary rigidity, then gradually increasing hip motion and sphincter closure leading again to short screams.  “Magnificent!” he murmured, studying her flushed countenance with admiration and no little envy.

After several cycles the main door behind them swung open with a sudden crack of the latch, admitting a blast of cold air.  The girl stiffened.  Langley reached past her to the edge of the blanket and folded it back over her face before swiveling his torso to identify the intruder.

It was a man in casual clothing too light for travel in the snow.  Langley recognized him immediately when he turned back from closing the door.  “God damn it, Gil, have you forgot how to knock?”

“Sorry, Bob.  Guess I have.  I didn’t know you were fucking in here, for Christ’s sake!  Though I should’ve guessed.  Your phone is turned off again, isn’t it?”

The girl tried to lower her legs, but Langley caught them in his hands while his hips resumed a slow thrusting.  Her hands were poised on the couch to twist away, but she held still.

“Have you heard something or were you just feeling sociable.”

The newcomer sniffed.  “That girl!  Where is she, upstairs asleep?”

Langley grunted.  “Do you think I stay in touch with her every minute?”

“Are you sure she didn’t run out again last night?”

“No, I checked on her before we talked.  As a matter a fact, I had breakfast with her about nine.  Now that you mention it, I think she is lying down again.  She needs it, Gil.  She’s had it hard.”

“Yeah.  She makes it hard!  But I think we’re getting to the bottom of it.  Bellingham’s operator uncovered a key fact last night, a contradiction in the bartender’s recollection.”


“Dammit, will you stop fucking and talk to me?”

“I am talking to you, Gil.”

“Say, that’s a nice cunt you’ve got turned up there!”

“Thank you, on the cunt’s behalf.  With a dick in them they don’t often have much to say.  What was the contradiction?”

“Who is she?” the newcomer asked, hand reaching for the blanket edge.

“Unh-uh!  Hold on, Gil.  You might know her.”

“I might, huh?  Madison’s maid that he had to fire last week?”

Langley laughed.  “Madison’s maid indeed!”

“Good god, not his wife!”  But Gil immediately shook his head.  “No, no, this cunt’s too young.  What a smooth ass on her!  Bob, are you treating her right?  Why don’t you let her put her legs down before your weight gives her a backache?”

“Look here, Gil, I thought you were concerned about your stepdaughter.”

“I am, Bob.  I wish I’d been a bit more sympathetic —  Say, that cunt looks familiar!”


“Bob, I’ll bet you a couple of Gs I’ve been in that one, too!”

Langley nodded sagely.  “It’s possible, I guess.  But I have to protect her identity.  After all, you burst in here on us.  Do you know, I could charge you with trespass?”

“Trespass?”  Gil laughed a little.  “As many times as we’ve walked in on each other before?  Remember the time you caught me with Melissa’s schoolteacher?  Trespass!  Don’t be silly.”

“Of course, I only mention it because you seem intent on exposing my partner, here.  If you raise that blanket, Gil, our friendship is at an end.”

“Good god!  She means that much to you?”  The man drew back, hand to chin, considering the gently moving couple with calculating eyes.  “Where are your girls, Bob?”

“You leave my girls out of this!”

“That’s one of your daughters, isn’t it?”

“No, you fool!  I wouldn’t screw my own daughter.”

“Prove it.”


“Let me raise the blanket.”

“Absolutely not!”

But Gil chuckled slightly.  “That’s Edna’s car under your south portico, isn’t it?”

“No, damn it!  That’s one I had for the maid’s use before she left.  Somehow it just never got put in its stall.”

“Yeah.  Somehow!  Which one is she, Bob?  Edna or Ruthie?”

“God damn it, Gil, you’re becoming insulting.”

“Am I?  If she’s not your daughter, then let me screw her.”

“Do what?  Don’t be ridiculous!  What would it prove if I did let you?”

“I bet I could identify her, if she isn’t your daughter.  Ha!  Dammit, one way or the other I’ll get to the bottom of this.”  He began to remove his clothing.

“Gil, what the hell are you doing?  Don’t you know you can’t just waltz into a man’s house and fuck his woman?”

“Can’t I?”  The man stepped out of his britches.  “I can if it’s not really his woman!  Now move over and let her put her legs down.”

Langley drew a deep breath, hips stilled at last.  “You won’t bother that blanket?”

“I won’t touch it.”

“Then see that you don’t.”

Langley lowered the girl’s legs.  He could feel her tremble.  Gil waddled onto the couch to take his place, hand working himself under his shirt tails.  He caught her under the buttocks and lifted them up onto his thighs.  He explained, “I have to sit up, sweetie, so as not to touch Bob’s precious blanket.”  He leaned slightly forward.  “But I think we can still get the job done.  Hey, a juicy one!  I swear to you, Bob, I’ve been in this cunt before.”

“You’ve been in a lot of them, Gil.  But I’ll tell you:  that’s a funny way to look for your missing girl.”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it.”  The man grinned, thrusting vigorously.  But shortly he desisted and pulled the girl’s hips higher in his lap.  “That’s not your juice in her!”

Langley agreed dryly, “It seems I was interrupted.”

“Look at that big rose.  Not much doubt about this one, is there?”

“What do you mean?  What are you doing, Gil?”

The girl’s body stiffened and her fists clenched but she made no objection to his slowly sliding penetration.  “Ah, good!” the man declared.  “When they’re that juicy above, Bob, they’re ready below.”  He looked up appraisingly at his friend.  “Did you ever do a Boston Treadle?”

“One or twice, when I was in school.  Takes a limber girl.”

“This one is limber, or I miss my guess.  Come on, help me raise her bottom.”

Stepping carefully, Langley crouched over the girl’s torso facing his friend while the latter rose to a similar crouch.  One hand each on her opposite hips, they raised her genital area to an appropriate height, dragging her face from beneath the blanket, still concealed from Gil by the intervening bodies.  She looked up with horror into Langley’s buttocks.

Gil used his free hand to present himself again to her anus, while Langley depressed himself between her labia.  Now supporting her hips aloft firmly, each with both hands, the men began an alternate thrusting.

“The only trouble with this,” Gil groused, “is that I have to smell your cognac breath.”

Langley sniffed.  “I was just thinking how much more agreeable this was in the frat house.  If it goes on much longer I’ll have back trouble!”

“Hey!” called a soprano voice beneath them.  “Don’t stop now!”

“The hell with this,” Langley declared.  “Gil, pull out and turn around.”

“What you got in mind?”

“A regular old Greek sandwich.  Soon as she’s on top of me, you put in from behind.  You’re the one that speaks back-street, after all.”

Gil turned around.  Langley stretched out beside the girl, helping her reverse and crawl atop him.  She sighed with an introspective expression as he slipped into her.  If recent developments worried her, they were not apparent.

“Okay, Gil, we’re ready.”

The younger man knelt behind her between the spread pairs of legs.  In a moment they had established a synchronous rhythm.

“I feel you,” Gil announced, licking his lips.

“This compression pattern is unique,” Langley agreed.

“You can say that again!” declared the girl.  She began to moan.

Langley said reminiscently, “Remember that bar girl in Providence?”

“Like it was yesterday.  She loved this, too.”

“And wasn’t it you with me on the lake at Buffalo?  That was a bunch who loved it.”

Gil nodded.  “I think all women love this, if they can find trustworthy men to do it.  Listen to her!”

Melissa had begun to utter soprano gasps that were small screams.  Her hips were rolling vigorously upon the vaginal penetration.  Suddenly she shuddered while otherwise rigid, though the men continued relentlessly.  Soon she relaxed and restarted her hip rolls.  The moans were not far behind.

“How long can she keep this up?” Gil asked in wonder.

“I think you probably know better than I,” Langley replied, moving easily, leaving most of the work to the tireless girl.

Gil smiled.  “I knew who she was as soon as she spoke.  How long have you been fucking her, Bob?”

“Apparently once last Halloween, then last night.  Didn’t you tell me your wife put her into your bed when she was 13?  That’s kinkier even than usual for Newport.”

“Mabel thought my enthusiasm was flagging.  She sure stirred it up, I’ll admit!”

Langley chuckled.  “Last night Melissa let me believe you only fucked her the once in sympathy for her problem with that asshole, Carstairs.”

“Huh!  The only truth in all that bull she shot you was the bit about Carstairs.  But I think I understand the whole thing now, and we’ve got a problem.  Can I count on your help with Judge Powell?”

The girl screamed out another orgasm.  When she relaxed into a quieter part of her cycle, Langley responded, “You mean the lad they thought was driving?”

“Yeah.  It doesn’t sit right, letting him take the rap.”

“Don’t jump the gun, Gil.  I want to hear what Melissa has to say about it first.”

Gil grunted.  “She’s in no condition to talk coherently.”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Hold still.”

“What?  Are you kidding?”

“Not a bit.  At present you and I are in excellent positions to judge her veracity.”

“‘To judge —’  All right.  How will you proceed?”

With both men holding themselves rigid, very shortly the girl raised her mouth off Langley’s shoulder.  “Why did you stop?” she asked aggrievedly.

Langley said quietly, “We want to hear you say who was really driving night before last.”

“Can’t we talk about that latter?”

“We will!  But that’s the crucial question, and Melissa, you know that neither of us will ever turn you in!  Hell, if we did you could probably charge us with worse.”

She sighed.  “I was driving.”  She craned her neck to look back at her stepfather.  “You’re in this together, aren’t you?”

He leered.  “And a wonderful this it is, too!”  He resumed his thrusts.

She turned wild-eyed back at Langley.  He smiled gently, pulled her face down and kissed her.  “Just enjoy it, Melissa.  We’ll talk later.”  He, too, resumed the slow rotation of his hips.


  *  *  *  *


“Now maybe you’ll tell me.  What was the bartender’s contradiction?”

The girl lay naked on the opened couch, legs drawn up with a hand between them, thumb of the other hand in her mouth.  She had collapsed so when the men left her.  Now her eyes were closed and her breathing was regular.  Langley had resumed his robe and sat in a nearby chair watching Gil desultorily recover his own clothing.

Gil paused to pull the blanket over the girl’s torso, then resumed buttoning his shirt as he answered.  “Bellingham’s man noted it last night before we understood the significance.  A bar fly who was there Wednesday night, too, heard the bartender — name of Kilmer — say then that Melissa was driving when they left, but last night Kilmer told Bellingham’s detectives that the kid, Pershing, was the driver.  Thinking it over this morning after I talked to you, and noting Sloppy Joe’s number on my Caller ID record, I realized what it all meant, that we didn’t have to interrogate Melissa.”  He grinned.  “Though it’s nice to have her admission.  And one other thing, if she’ll tell the truth.  How much was Kilmer shaking her down for?”

“$10,000,” the girl announced sleepily, not looking up.

“Have you already paid him anything?” asked Langley.

“The $5,000 I got for my car.”

“When were you supposed to pay the rest?”

“Tonight.  He said if he didn’t hear before supper he’d call the cops and tell them he made a mistake.”

“Who actually saw you in the driver’s seat when you left Sloppy Joe’s?”

“I don’t see how anyone could.  It was snowing awfully hard.”

“Did you tell anyone in the bar you would drive?”

“I let David lean on me to get out the door.  I guess anyone who noticed could see he was wall-stoned.”

“‘Wall-stoned,’” Langley repeated, chuckling a little.  “That says it, doesn’t it?  So you poured him in his car and set out to drive him home, did you?  What’s he to you?”

“A good friend.”

Gil, buckling his belt, snorted.  “For the past several years!  I caught them humping on a pool table when she was 14.”

She retorted defensively, “He and I could always tell each other anything.  But now he’s at odds with his mother.  He drinks too much.”

Langley continued, “The accident happened two blocks away.  You were still driving when you hit the city bus.  How did you manage to smack a lamp pole half a block further on?”

“I’d been drinking, too.  I already have two DWIs.  They’d take my license.”

“So you moved David into the driver’s seat, eh?  After all, it was his car.  Where was your car?”

“In the Sloppy Joe parking lot.  It stayed there until I met Harry from the used car lot to sign his papers.  At least he was willing.”

“Yeah,” Gil agreed dryly, “I guess he was: a 40 grand Corvette for five.”

“So you immediately turned the money over to Kilmer, did you, and set about locating the next five?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said in a small voice.

“I am, too,” Gil agreed, “but mainly that you didn’t understand you could have come to me — that you should have come to me right away!”

She sighed.  “Have you forgot what you told me at the last one?”

“That was just in hopes of slowing you down.  Don’t you know I could never really throw you out?”

“You said I was 18 then and even if you were my real daddy you wouldn’t owe me anything.”

Gil looked away shamefaced.

“What about David Pershing?” asked Langley.  “They’ve charged him with DWI and hit-and-run, plus a few other things like reckless driving.  Where’s his father?  Why is he still in jail?”

“His father’s dead,” the girl explained, eyes lowered.  “He’s afraid to tell his mother.”

“I see.  Gil, will you take care of the expenses, the repair bills, all that?”


“Okay.  Have Bellingham look into Kilmer’s past.  He’s bound to find something!  I’ll get David out of jail and speak to the judge.  He owes me one or two.  Melissa, look at me.  You’ve got to have confidence in your men.”

“My men?”

“I count myself in that august assemblage.  Let me say, have confidence in your old men.  Remember what I told you last night about sweet food?”

“Yes.  Now you’re making me thirsty!  Do my old men include Jeffrey?”

“Definitely!” declared Gil.

Langley regarded him curiously, then smiled.  “Ah, yes.  Now I remember how thick you and he used to be.  Did that have a bearing on your confidence in the Boston Treadle?”

Gil chuckled slightly.  “As a matter of fact, Jeffrey and I introduced her to it.  She’s right.  Aren’t we all thirsty?  I know you’ve got lots to drink in this place.”

Langley gestured to the inside door.  “The refrigerator next door is supposed to be stocked.  You two go ahead.  I need to make a few phone calls.”


Stories Gratis at http://www.dhp.com/~kellis