Gus Stevens: Love Me, Love My Dog

“Come on, Alice,” I hissed, angling my chin back over my shoulder. “Let's return to the game.”

“I'd prefer a quick hand here, first,” she replied, her eyes pleading. “Come on, guy, just for a second.”

“That would be crazy and dangerous and you know it.”

We listened to the voices again. “Not as long as we can hear them,” she whispered. Switching to a loud voice, she called, “I think you're getting it finally. Try running a little hot water over the lid.”

She turned the tap and water ran into the sink, but it wasn't so loud that we couldn't hear Amy and Sam chuckling together in the other room. I hesitated, my palms itching, sweat on my forehead. “It won't do any good,” I said at last.

“Please let me decide that,” she whispered, her lips moist and red as she licked away the extra spittle. “God, but I'm burning up tonight.”

“Take Sam to bed after we're gone.”

“I intend to, silly, but I need something to tide me over. Something like a quick feel and-with extra luck — an instant orgasm.”

“You're taking a hell of a risk,” I whispered, still paying close attention to the sounds from the others. They seemed to be engrossed in an argument about the relative merits of plastic water hose and rubber hose.

“Come on!” she hissed through clenched teeth, taking the jar from me, turning the tap up somewhat, and then planting her feet twelve inches apart. She put her hands on her hips and shoved her loins forward, like a stripper presenting her talent to a crowd of Legionnaires.

I decided there was nothing to do but help myself. If I didn't, she'd be eating me up under the bridge table the rest of the night and my knees would look as though I'd crawled across no man's land. I reached under the hem of her mini and ran my hand up her quaking thigh, which shimmered like a bowl of fresh pudding.

“Yes… yes,” she rasped, her whisper catching in her throat.

She felt good and, pushing thirty or not, I realized Alice Champion was no dog. No dog? For a moment Trudy Pipp and her charge, Alexander the German shepherd, popped into my mind. Just as quickly they popped out again and I returned to the business at hand.

“Keep going.”

I went higher, clearing the top of her stocking and running into the stiff nylon fringe of her pants. It gave way, stretching aside, and I was inside, on skin so tender it felt like a baby's bottom that had been dusted with talcum. Then I felt the first stiff hairs and they also parted on command of their anxious owner.

“What's going on in there?” Amy's call hit me like a glass of ice water and my eyes bugged at Alice.

“Our tiger is taking his time getting that damned lid loose,” Alice called back at one, her voice lilting with a half laugh. “Stay where you are. Another minute should do it,”

“Well, hurry up. My hand is cooling off.”

“We're coming,” I said.

Alice looked desperate. “One minute!” she rasped.

I rammed home, letting my fingers thread through her hairs and inside her spread and panting lips. At the same time she grabbed me between the legs, holding on as though she were swinging for the fences in Yankee Stadium. My Louisville slugger was in talented hands.

I worked my hand inside her vagina, groping frantically for the magic button that could set her off fast. I found it and worked it like a bomb toggle on a B-52 and she began to shudder like a ship taking a five-hundred-pounder right down her stack.

“Lordy… yes…”

Then she was getting her gun, pouring fresh milk into my hand like an obliging and talented dairy cow, except that no cow ever looked so sexy. Her eyes rolled and she squeezed my outlined penis right through my pants, twisting as hard as I'd twisted her button. No peanut jar lid ever was seized with stronger, more ambitious fingers.

She staggered and almost fell and I helped her regain her feet while she let go of me to brace herself on the edge of the sink. Then we heard a footstep and in a fraction of a second I had both hands on that peanut jar and Alice was watching my work like a student at the feet of the master.

I looked back to see Sam coming into the kitchen, empty glasses in his hands. “Got it!” I boomed. “Damned lid.”

“To hell with the nuts,” he replied. “Amy and I need refills. Where's the bourbon?”

I had to hand it to Alice. She was as cool as a model on a Seventh Avenue ramp. “We're all out, remember, genius man? And you forgot to stop at the liquor store on the way home from the office.”

I was in a bad way, but I though I saw an out. Alice had worked me over until I was maybe ten seconds away from blissful ejaculation, and God knew I needed it. Now the game was called and I was faced with the prospect of sitting in the front room until midnight, my groin aching like a cow begging to be hooked up to the farmer's milking machine.

No, I had to run and now there was a way. “I'll get a bottle,” I called, laughing on a rising note that might have sounded hysterical. “I know a place that's open until eleven. Just up the street. I'll get two bottles. Name your poison.”

Amy was coming into the kitchen, her eyes darting from Alice to me and back to Alice. I saw her look down at Alice's miniskirt and I knew she suspected, but the skirt wasn't marked. Apparently the nylon pants had soaked up her lubricant safely.

“Can I join the party?” Amy remarked, her smile a bit forced. “Or is it private?”

“Come on in,” Sam replied. “We'll need to start the game over again, anyhow. I've forgotten the bid.”

“I'll just run along for those bottles,” I snapped, leaning toward the exit.

“Forget it, partner,” Sam said, waving his hand. “We've got gin, vodka and Scotch.”

I shook my head. “Tonight's my bourbon night. Nothing else will do. I'll be back in twenty minutes. Maybe less than that.”

Amy placed her hands on her shapely hips, her beautiful breasts jutting in inviting fashion, and I wished she could go with me. “Want a ride?” I invited, leering at her in a way that the others couldn't see.

“You're being silly,” she retorted, waving me off. “Since when are you so choosy? Until now you'd be willing to chase bathtub gin with draft beer, if somebody made you an offer. All of a sudden it's got to be bourbon or nothing.”

I shook my head. “I have a terrific yen for it… bourbon, that is.” I edged toward the door. “You kids have fun with the peanuts until I get back. Then Sam and I will beat the pants off you girls in three straight rubbers.”

“Is that a promise?” Alice called after me, giggling, and I realized she was still giddy from her orgasm. Damn, but I envied her the feeling.

I raced out to the car and slid behind the wheel, fumbling in the darkness until I found the key. I raced along the boulevard, passing the liquor store and its brightly lighted windows without slowing down. I knew what I was going to do, and it had nothing to do with drinking. Not bourbon, anyhow.

In a couple of minutes I was turning into our driveway, my lights sweeping across the house. I cut the engine and the lights, leaping out. There wasn't much time to lose, not with Sam maybe drifting down to the liquor store himself to find out what had happened to me.

I went to the door and let myself in. From the other room I could hear the sound of the television, so I went to the door. Trudy Pipp was seated on the couch, her legs tucked under her lap, mini all the way up her crotch as she stared at the screen and ate a chunk of cold chicken. A piece of cake and a can of low-calorie cola were on the table before her. She was watching one of those game shows where they handed the fat lady from Jersey City a hundred thousand dollars in trading stamps because she could spell her own maiden name right the first time.