Kitty Spencer - Three-way weekend

"Whoever wants the place calls the other two, to make sure we don't clash. If our… uh, schedules clash, whoever had the apartment last has to miss a turn."

Carlo paused slightly before adding: "And, to make sure there are no accidents, as you go through the downstairs lobby, leave the mailbox door flapping open. In the first place, it's a signal to the other two that you're in residence. Secondly, checking the mailbox makes it seem right to the woman with you, as if you really lived there."

"Bene." Nino's gaze drifted, as if by chance, to the table occupied by the four young girls. "The one in red is pretty," he commented, "but they look as though they've come off some cheap tour. They're probably counting every dollar they have."

"They'll get a shock when they see their bill," smiled Carlo. "Unless, of course, they find someone foolish enough to pay for it."

"Not enough tourists around. Only another tourist would bother with them."

"There'll be plenty soon. The season's beginning to warm up." Carlo drank the last of his coffee. "I've a couple of tours lined up already for this week. And next week… it sounds promising. I have a batch of teenagers on my hands for three whole days. One of those educational trips."

"The Count will be delighted to hear the news."

"Yeah. They're just his type. Fifteen and sixteen. Although I heard he's been diddling a kid of thirteen – the daughter of his housekeeper, or so the rumor goes."

"So young?"

"He needs them younger every year. The Count's reaching the point where, as soon as they grow hair between their thighs, he loses interest."

Supplying the Count with suitable bed material was indeed becoming a problem, thought Carlo, pouring himself a glass of water from the carafe on the table. He drained the glass in a single swallow.

As he was setting the empty glass back on the table, he caught sight of the blonde-haired girl again. "Nino, my friend," he said, rising, "I think I'll leave you to your work."

Nino's brow knitted. Then following Carlo's gaze, he smiled. "Ciao, my friend…"

After leaving Carlo and Nino, Benito headed for the Fairmont. He did not stop to wait for a cable car. With his trotting walk, he could get there faster on foot. To avoid the solid mass of tourists blocking the street which led from the cafe to the hotel, Benito ducked through a series of alleyways so narrow that they remained in almost permanent semi-darkness. They smelled of cafe kitchens and cats.

Christ! Benito thought, glancing at the gold watch he had recently acquired. Nearly two-thirty, and he'd promised to be at the hotel by two. Hannah would be angry with him. He couldn't help admiring the way the watch looked on his wrist. The solid gold bracelet band showed up well just beneath his shirt cuff. As he almost ran through the narrow alleys, Benito held out his left arm momentarily to admire the effect again. It occurred to him that he could do with a gold signet ring. Carlo had a beauty that looked very impressive. A businessman needed a signet ring, really. He'd have to explain about it to Hannah.

Benito did not check with the desk clerk at the hotel. The hotel staff all knew him by now. The first couple of times he had come in he had asked for his women clients by name, but he no longer bothered. As he ran toward the elevator, Benito saw out of the corner of his eye that the desk clerk had lifted the house phone. He would be telling Hannah that Benito was on his way up.

"Honey, whatever took you so long?" Hannah Stanford's voice did not quite succeed in concealing her irritation.

"My landlady asked me to help her. She wanted furniture moved," Benito lied quickly. He always told his women friends that he had a landlady. He never told them about his mother; it would not have seemed decent.

"You silly boy! You let people take advantage of you – you really do!" The older woman sounded happier already. "Now then, be an angel and get your poor Hannah a nice, long drink. I'm nearly dying of thirst. The gin's over there. And go easy on the ice cubes."

Benito handed the drink to her and noticed for the first time that she was dressed only in a lace negligee, her voluptuously preserved curves almost completely visible beneath it.

Oh God! thought Benito, she wants it now, and, man, am I tired!

"Come and sit beside me like a good, sweet lover-boy," Hannah said, patting the sofa.

Obediently, the chubby youth perched beside her. Although the shades were half-drawn over the window, enough sunlight filtered into the room for him to see that Hannah wore nothing underneath the flimsy garment; one of the woman's pink nipples was plainly visible pushing up through the expensive lace.

Suddenly he stood up and walked over to the window. From there, he said, "We shall be late. I wanted to take you to lunch in Tiburon today."

"Lunch, smunch! Who cares about food?" She waved her arm in the air and some of the gin slopped over onto the sofa. "Stop pacing about all the time, lover! You make me dizzy. For God's sake, come and sit down." Her voice took on its familiar whine. "Come and give poor Hannah a kiss."

With a quick, bird-like step, Benito was across the room and bending over to kiss the woman on the cheek. She clutched at his shoulders as he leaned over and forced his head around so that his lips were pressed against her mouth.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" she said in a satisfied tone, and then put a ring-burdened hand on Benito's leg. An upward movement, and then her hand began rubbing his thigh. For a moment, Benito disinterestedly watched her fingers massaging his flesh, and then the sparkle of the diamond rings reminded him. He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips.

"You have beautiful hands," he said smoothly.

"Yeah, Art used to tell me that, too."

Benito had been told all about Art. He had been Hannah's husband for what she referred to, from the smugness of widowhood, as "twenty-five truly felicitous years." Mention of her husband's name made the youth nervous because it invariably started Hannah thinking about bed. Art, according to Hannah, had been able "to give it to me as often as I wanted it, and I always wanted it plenty!" And poor Art had died at forty-six, Benito reflected gloomily…

"I would like a signet ring, I think," he said bluntly. With the older woman in such a mood, he knew he was wasting his time being circumspect. "It would suit me, no?"

"You may be right. Show me your hand."

Benito held his hand out for her inspection. She stared at it for a moment.

"You could be right," she repeated. Then, without warning, she seized his hand and pressed it down hard between her thighs. With her other arm, she pulled the boy down hard on top of her.

"Take me, take me," she moaned into Benito's ear. "Like this, now! Quickly!"

Pulling himself away, he asked, "Don't you want to go into the bedroom?"

In answer, Hannah moaned even more demandingly, and her voluptuously mature body started to writhe beneath him. One of her hands groped at his fly.

"We can go into the bedroom later," she gasped, her face flushed and perspiring slightly as her fingers fumbled with Benito's clothes. "I can't wait for that now! Give it to me, baby, give it to me!"

Moments later, he was free of his clothing and she eagerly pulled him to the sofa. Her body was lost in the fire of the moment and every muscle was tensed as she strained her loins upward in an effort to capture the virile long shaft of flesh that pressed so tightly against the soft skin of her thighs. The nakedly chubby youth levered her legs up onto the cushions so that she lay full-length on the couch, then pried her thighs far apart and climbed up between them positioning his body over her eagerly writhing form.