"Every Man For Anne" - читать интересную книгу автора (Peters Staci)

Chapter 5

When John Martin recovered his senses, he could hardly believe the predicament in which he found himself. The room was obviously a girl's bedroom to judge by the furniture, but the walls were covered with large colored posters of popular models and television stars. Any one of them, with their flimsy bikinis and wet, half-opened lips, was enough to give a healthy male a real hard-on. Taking them all together they were overwhelming.

He reached up with his hand. My God, he thought, there's a collar round my neck. And, indeed, he was wearing the sturdy kind of dog collar you'd expect to find on a German shepherd or a Doberman but certainly not on a professor of English at New Concord University. The leash was secured to a stout chain that ran between the opposite walls and was secured by two massive hooks that were sunk deep into each wall. He tugged at the chain. It wasn't going to budge.

Martin sat up. He'd been lying unconscious on the girl's bed. The cork wall that ran down the side of the bed was covered in pictures torn Out of the glossiest kind of men's magazines. For the moment he completely forgot the weird jam he was in as he stared at the photograph nearest him.

The girl was lying sideways across a bed with her head thrown back toward the camera. Her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly parted in moist invitation. A delicate pale blue slip was pulled down from the shoulder to reveal her right breast, which was generously proportioned and topped with a dark brownish-mauve nipple of larger-than average diameter. The only other apparel was a pair of black stockings which contrasted vividly with the smoothness of her thighs and perfectly framed her dark triangular bush. In the background was a large oval mirror that afforded a detailed view of the girl's fingers as she explored her own outer lips.

The next picture had the model sitting on the edge of a window sill. The slip clung to her full breasts but the lacy hem was hitched up far enough to reveal everything below as the girl stretched open her long legs.

John Martin was getting a real hard-on. He felt with his hand to adjust his growing erection when he suddenly realized for the first time that he had been stripped to his shorts and T-shirt. He shook his head to clear it. What the hell was going on? He couldn't be dreaming all this; his balls ached slightly as his stiffened cock pushed out the front of his shorts. He looked back at the wall. No wonder he was as hard as a rod.

He looked, at another photo of the same model. This time the slip had been discarded and she was bending, forward across a dressing table as if checking her makeup in the mirror. This action opened up the lightly furred crevice to reveal her in that enticingly vulnerable pose which invites any red-blooded male to approach things from the rear.

"Enjoying the view?" a voice asked brightly.

John Martin spun round and the chain rattled out its warning of restraint.

"Anne? Anne… Anne Weston!" he stuttered incredulously. ‘What on earth is going on?"

"Going on? Why, nothing," she replied,… it's just that you've become our guest for awhile."

Anne stepped into the room and Silke followed her. She waved innocently at her professor as if she'd just run across him in the corner of the campus coffee shop.

"Silke?" said John, still pronouncing it ‘Silker.'

"Silke," she chided him. "I always have to correct your pronunciation."

"Silke," he repeated after her, "now just what are you girls up to?"

"Up to? We're not up to anything yet," said Anne. "We just wanted to welcome you for the weekend."

"Sorry about that stuff in your drink," Silke apologized; "We didn't want you to turn down our invitation, that's all."

"You are feeling OK, aren't you?" Anne asked.

John shook his head again, then said: "I think so, yes. What time is it?"

"Oh, about eleven o'clock or so," Anne told him.

"Well, I don't know what prank you had in mind, but I think you'd better let me go now."

"But you've only just got here," said Anne.

"Well, about three hours ago anyway."

"Look, I'm expected at home."

"No you're not, John. You don't mind us calling you John, do you? This is really a most informal situation."

"She's right, John," said Silke. "There's no one at home to expect you. Your wife is away at a three day conference on, what was it, ‘Sexual Roles in Infancy,' or something like that."

John suddenly remembered: "But how did you… "

"Here," Anne cut him short, "it's on page three of the University Bulletin." She put the paper down on the bedside table.

John remained sitting on the edge of the bed. Silke sat on the chair that stood against the opposite wall. Anne stepped back and dropped into a cross-legged position on the thick pile of the dark green carpet.

"Aren't you curious as to why you're here, John?" asked Anne.

"I doubt if any answer could possibly explain why, when I went out for a solitary drink earlier this evening, I should end up dressed only in my underclothes and chained like a troublesome pet in your bedroom!"

"It's Silke's bedroom, actually," Anne corrected him. She waved at the alluring pictures, "Of course, we designed the decor especially for the occasion."

"And what do you hope to do?" he asked. "Take compromising photographs to blackmail me with later?"

Silke looked at Anne and pursed her lips: "That's not a bad idea, at that. But, no, it isn't in the original plan."

"Oh, there is a plan." John's voice held an edge of sarcasm. "Do you hope to turn me into your sexual slave? I would have thought you'd be better off with one of the college's football heroes."

"Come on, John, don't sell yourself short. All that jogging shows… you're really in pretty good shape…"

"for a fellow of my age," John completed Silke's sentence. It was the first time he'd smiled.

"No, John," said Anne.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said ‘no.' We're not going to treat you as a slave. We want you to think of yourself as a very special pupil."

"A class of one," Silke aimed in.

"It should be a mind-expanding experience," Anne continued. "Anyone who could say, ‘this is merely an adolescent fantasy' is really out of touch."

"Adolescent fantasy?" queried John. "When did I say that?"

"It was just one of your many comments on my paper," Anne replied. She crossed over and picked up a sheaf of typewritten pages from the top of the bedside cabinet. She walked up and down the room as she flicked through the pages: ‘"This is not very convincing… do people behave like that in real life?'… here we are, ‘this sounds like merely a puerile adolescent fantasy.'"

Anne stopped quoting from his comments and held up the term paper, "I'm being generous in giving you a C-minus.' Quote, unquote. Professor John Martin."

Silke picked up the thread. She had her own essay in her lap. She read out: "‘You should try to more accurately reflect real life rather than concocting baroque situations… You don't expect me to believe this!… Very energetic and most unconvincing!' Do you want me to go on?"

John shrugged: "Well, that's what I honestly thought."

"Yes, but your thinking's a little out of touch," said Anne. "How old are you, John?"

"Thirty-eight… no, thirty-nine. Last December."

"And you've been married for how long?"

"Joannah and I have been together for, let me see, twelve years."

"When was the last time you went to the drive-in?" Anne asked him.

"Oh, good Lord, I haven't been to a drive-in movie for years. Since just before we got married. I can still remember it. It was a triple bill of Edgar Allan Poe pictures. Joannah hated it, but, as I recall, I thought they were rather well-done in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way."

"Twelve years ago, at least," said Anne. "You really have been out of touch."

"And when did you ever cross the Atlantic as a first-class passenger on a jumbo jet?" Silke demanded.

"Never, I'm sad to say," John said. "The last time I went to England was for a conference on the novels of Jane Austen. Even then it was a charter flight packed to the gills."

"Then you really had no right to decide as to what high-jinks passengers get up to nowadays."

John shrugged.

"And you certainly had no grounds for dismissing my description of this town's sexual activities as a… as a ‘puerile fantasy,'" Anne said quite bitterly.

John was at a loss for words. Slowly he said: "Perhaps I was too harsh in my comments. You're right, though, I don't have that much of an imaginative sex-life."

He hesitated.

"Go on," said Silke.

"Well, being married to a lady psychologist and political activist isn't all that much fun," he confessed. "By the time she gets through analyzing everything there's precious little spontaneity left. We get on all right together, but despite her rhetoric, it's not a very liberated marriage."

"Well, that's just what we're going to correct," said Anne.

"We're going to… how do you say it… add a few colors to your paint box," said Silke, most mischievously.

"Look, girls, I accept everything you say… now, why don't you just let me go?"

Anne completely ignored this last request. She was really beginning to enjoy herself. She stood up again.

"Some of the demonstrations will be given right here in this room. For others we'll use this as a blackboard." She took hold of the bottom of the heavy gilt picture frame hanging on the wall opposite the bed.

"Here, let me give you a hand," Silke said as she got up and moved over to join Anne. The girls gently lifted the frame away from the wall and revealed what appeared at first glance to be a window.

John stood up and looked straight into the lounge. This hidden aperture afforded a panoramic view of Silke's front room. You couldn't quite see the chesterfield immediately on the other side of the wall but you could see everything else.

"A window?" John sounded puzzled.

"Not quite. But you're getting warm," Anne told him. "It's a one-way mirror."

She rapped her knuckles hard against it, "Very thick glass too."

"Think of it as a laboratory," Silke suggested, "where you're going to witness some very eye-opening experiments."

"Really, this is too much," John protested. "It's about time I shouted for help."

Anne looked at Silke and winked. The two girls screamed in unison: "Rape! Rape! Rape!"

"Don't be stupid. That old trick is hardly going to work when I'm found chained up like this."

"It wasn't meant to be a trick, John. We were just demonstrating that you can shout as loud as you like down here and no one will hear you. Not even if they were upstairs in the house." Anne patted the thick cork wall panels. "It's totally soundproofed… my brother used it as a rehearsal room for his rock band. Mom never once complained."

John looked defeated. "Will you at least remove this damned leash if I give you my word that I won't run away?"

Silke glanced at Anne, before they both shook their heads.

"I think you're being most unreasonable," he pleaded.

"Let's wait and see," said Anne. "Would you like a drink?"

"I think I could use one," he said, suddenly aware of the awful dryness of his mouth.

Anne opened up the bedside cabinet. It was fully provisioned with a stock of food and drink.

"Biscuits, in case you get hungry in the night," Anne indicated. "Chips to nibble on. An assortment of chocolate bars… we didn't know what particular sort you liked. Some cans of Coke and root beer. And a bottle of white rum!"

She pulled out three plastic beakers, then popped a can of soft drink, poured it out, and added a hearty splash of rum to each glass.

"Three rum and cokes. That should restore your spirits. Of course, we'll bring you cooked meals at the appropriate times. But don't bother to shout for your supper," Anne pointed at the ceiling. "Remember, it's completely sound-proof."

Silke left the room for a moment and slipped an Andrea True album on the record player in the lounge. She came back in, leaving the door ajar, and picked up her drink.

"Cheers, then, everyone."

"Yep. Here's to a successful, what shall we say learning experience." Anne held her tumbler out toward John.

He raised his eyebrows and took a long gulp of his drink, "And just what is it that you're going to teach me?"

Anne and Silke exchanged glances before looking back at John. Both the girls were grinning with anticipation.

"Well, for a start, we might want to show you that the younger generation," here Anne stressed the word ‘younger,' "are every bit as uninhibited as this writer reported them to be."

"Also," continued Silke, "we can demonstrate that most people who aren't shut up in-what do you call them-ivory towers, enjoy any number of permutations when it comes to physical encounters."

"You see, John, reality is what you make it. Reality is a function of the imagination."

"I see you have been paying attention to my lectures, after all," said John.

"Yes, but you meant the ‘reality' a writer constructs through his work. Didn't you ever realize that you can do whatever you like in real life as long as you have the imagination to suggest it?"

Anne told him. "When we feel you really understand that… well, then you can go."

John looked back at the pictures on the wall behind him. "You might say those photos are in the real world because there they are pinned to the wall. But all they're portraying is the fantasy world created by the photographer."

"Fantasy world?" Silke said. "There you go again."

"Well, I can pick up a copy of that magazine from the rack in the bookstore," he admitted, turning back to stare at the model's wide-open pussy, "but I never get greeted like that at home."

"You mean like this," he heard Anne say, and he swiveled forward.

Silke was tapping her foot and swaying her torso in time to the disco beat. Anne was standing in the center of the room rocking her hips to the music. Her hands were lightly slapping out the rhythm on the side of her legs. Slowly, very slowly, she began to inch the hem of her short skirt upward. She didn't miss a beat as she drew the cutely pleated skirt higher and higher. John just stared at her, his drink, forgotten. Silke was watching Anne, too, but now she was clicking her fingers in time with the background music.

Anne wasn't wearing any stockings and her long legs were already lightly tanned by the early summer sun. Finally she held her dress up in front of her like a little girl might, so John could plainly see that she was certainly anything but a little girl. Anne continued her solo jive, grinding her hips in John's direction so the flimsy pastel panties pulled tight on the bulge of her pussy. He could clearly make out the dark shadow of her sugar bush through the thin material. Anne reached down with one hand and began massaging her cunt through the panties. John watched with half-opened mouth as she spun round and bent forward to touch the ground, which caused her skirt to jump up at the back and reveal quite the most enticing ass John had ever laid eyes on. Anne jumped in the air as the music reached its climax.

Without looking back Anne walked out of the room and flipped on a new record. Silke had already taken her place in the center of the bedroom floor and was now shaking to the music of CCR's "I Heard it Through the Grapevine;" She twitched her hips to the solid beat. John still couldn't believe what was happening. He took a long pull and finished his drink. Silke was wearing a blouse tied across her midriff and a pair of tailored blue denims which looked as if she had been poured into them.

There was a thin film of sweat beading John's brow. He stared at Silke's crotch. The pants were so tight that her cunt lips were revealed as bulging out slightly on either side of her pussy slit. Her hands sneaked down from her hips and with palms flat on her groin she stretched those jeans even tighter. Anne refilled their drinks and banded a fresh one to John. He reached out and grasped it without once taking his eyes from Silke's teasing dance. Anne now joined Sac at center stage and picked up on the rhythm of the rock band.

Anne was positioned behind Sac as they both swayed with the music. She reached around her friend and slipped her hands down inside the front of Silke's jeans. The German girl shook her bead with enjoyment and looked back over her shoulder with a smile. Anne blew sexily in her ear, then wriggled her hands deeper toward Silke's mound. John was breathing quickly now, and his second drink remained untouched beside him on the floor.

Anne gradually withdrew her hands until they were resting on Silke's taut flat stomach. She reached up and with one neat tug pulled open the knot securing Silke's blouse. It fell free and John caught tantalizing glimpses of Silke's tits jiggling in her half-cup bra. Silke turned around to face her friend. Still they danced on.

Next Silke shrugged one shoulder clear of her open shirt… then the other. She let it hang at her back for a moment before shaking it loose onto the floor. Her creamy smooth, back complemented her blond boyish hair-cut perfectly. Now it was her turn. She stepped forward and kissed Anne greedily as she felt down and undid the button on Anne's skirt band. Anne herself reached back and pulled at the short zip fastener. Holding Anne by the hips, Silke worked the skirt down until it too Len on the floor.

Anne stepped to one side and Silke turned around so they were now both facing toward John, Silke in tight jeans and hall-bra, and Anne with only flimsy panties and a short shirt on. They never once missed a beat. John was riveted. They spun around and ended up facing each other, bumping and grinding to "Bad Moon Rising." Silke reached out aid undid the top button of Anne's shirt. Anne responded by undoing the first metal button of her friend's Levis. Silke undid another button. Anne did the same. Soon Silke pushed back the shirt from Anne's shoulders. The open blouse was quickly shrugged off onto the floor. Anne's full breasts swung in the soft bra-she was wearing. Her nipples strained against the pastel pink material. Silke let her jeans fall to her ankles and with one swift movement she stepped out of them. The record ended and the two girls stood there.

"More," John breathed huskily.

The two friends remained standing in the center of the floor quite ignoring John. Silke put both hands on Anne's shoulders and moved her closer. Anne reached around and plunged her hands past the elastic grip of Silke's hip-hugging briefs. She cupped the cheeks of Silke's burn in her hands and almost lifted the other girl toward her. Very slowly, very deliberately, they brought their open mouths together for a deeply ‘satisfying soul kiss. John lost all track of time, he was so engrossed. A raging hard-on bulged in the front of his shorts, actually pulling the waistband away from the skin.

Suddenly it was over. Silke stooped down, quickly bundled up the clothes, and walked toward the door.

"Goodnight, prof," she said over her shoulder. "Sleep tight."

"But!… "

"But nothing, John. You've just had your first lesson," said Anne. "Breakfast will be served at eight o'clock sharp. Sweet dreams!"

Anne turned on her heel and followed Silke through the door. He could hear their girlish laughter before it clicked shut behind them.