Extending the MILF List Ch. 04

"Just close the door, won't you. I don't want anyone to know I am here."

"Anyone but me." I hate it when I don't count. I closed the door and she sighed. From the bedroom I heard a new scream. It warbled for a moment and this dissipated. I wondered for a moment what they were doing to Dannielle but they refocused my attention on this woman. I realized I had to be nice to Sam's latest conquest. In that moment, staring at this woman I realized that if I was female, I would certainly fuck Sam Honeywell. That threatened to run my mind off at Alissa and the antipathy between them but I shook myself and put on my good breeding, like an expensive toupee. I doubt anyone was fooled though. "Care for a drink? The bar is pretty well stocked."

She shook her head. The bedroom screamed again. She casually turned her head in that direction then equally casually turned to look at me again. "On second thought, bourbon rocks. If it isn't too much trouble."

I gestured. "Mi casa, su casa. Please, have a seat." My lizard brain was back. Everything else was forgotten. I was seeing this voluptuous woman barely dressed for what she what she was, a woman barely dressed pushing into an apartment while another woman screamed in ecstasy just "over there". This had potential. But then I remembered, pretty much at the same time, that she had been with Sam and I had just offered her a drink. I could not tell if I was being smooth or stupid. They both start with the same letter, maybe they are actually related. My brain was definitely still out of service. I chuckled, thinking my brain had been well serviced and it had retired for the night. The chuckle got me a glare.

I fixed the drink. When I handed it to her, she sipped and smiled, a joyous smile that looked unnatural on her face. Somehow happiness did not become her but the drink did. She drained it and handed me the glass. I took it. "Another?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I will be going soon. I need to be able to drive."

"What do you want?" I asked for the third time, trying to hear the tone of my own voice to see if I sounded put out by her appearance. The bedroom screamed again and I was put out. I wanted to go see what who was doing what to whom back there. It sure sounded like Dannielle but I could not imagine Ellen was still on the sidelines spectating. When my eyes returned to the woman and realized she was looking the same direction I had been and I was standing before her like a servant, I asked, "Want to go see who is doing what to whom that is making such a racket back there?"

Her eyes snapped away from the bedroom door as though it had just rattled in its frame. "What? No. What? I, I thought, you know Sam I presume? I, I was wondering if you could call him, find out where he is."

"I don't really care where he is." I said. The words came out harsher than I had intended but then I wasn't saying what I meant either. What my tone matched was the thought that I certainly did not want Sam Honeywell here. Not now. The woman did not seem to notice me or my tone. She went on speaking as though it was natural for me to stand before her like that with her empty tumbler in my hand.

"I, I was foolish. Sam, Mr. Honeywell, he said he might be back later this evening. I had to get my hair done, as you so kindly pointed out the roots were showing. I have very mousy brown hair, but it looks black when it first appears, at the roots. Well, at least it was the last time I let the it go back to being natural, which, I believe was back when I was still a virgin." She smiled then and the smile was blindingly charming. Dannielle punctuated the moment with another well-placed squeal. The woman's eyes flickered but remained fixed on my face. I wanted to go see but she seemed unaffected by the woman humming her few bars of ecstasy back there. That took some poise and I respected that. I see why she acted like she would always get what she wanted. Women like her were like a sore in the rough of my mouth. They irritated me but I could not leave them alone—the tongue part of that metaphor is pure accident. I went to the bar and poured her another drink. She was still talking.

"I took my bag with me but never checked to see if I had my phone. I took a taxi to the spa because my husband checks the mileage on the car and I could not get to the spa from here without putting too much mileage on the odometer. He is very jealous, you see." She primped. I handed her the drink. She took it. "Thank you. That is good bourbon, what is it?"

"It is from a bottle," I said snidely, to cover the fact that I didn't know. For some stupid reason being unable to remember the label of a bourbon bottle intimidated me and I wanted to hide the fact. What really irritated me though was the throbbing desire to impress this woman sandwiched between resentment that I wanted to so bad and the sure knowledge I was never going to be able to do so. This woman was far beyond my league. Hell, she was not even in the same game I was playing.

Dannielle screamed, putting her will into it this time. Not pain, though, it was a wordless cry of exultation wrapped in a warning to not stop whatever you are doing. It had that ragged edge that threatened to kill if you denied her.

"Tastes like Veranda Jacque. Could you go see?" The woman spoke blandly, regarding me with half-closed eyes. Just as I turned to do her bidding, I caught her eyes flicking towards the bedroom.

I was looking at the bottle label as she suggested when I came to and realized I was acting like a lap dog. It bothered me a little and I set the bottle down on the bar. Okay, I was really irritated. I went to the couch and flopped onto it, being sure my knees were open and she could see my dick under the robe if she cared to duck down and look for herself. She didn't. "What do you want? Why are you here?"

"Oh, that is a very funny thing." Suddenly, the imperious bitch with the superior attitude was gone and she did not even leave a number. "I took a taxi back from my spa and got into my car and was going to call Borland. I was sitting there in my car and realized my phone was not in my bag. Rather than using the car phone, I got out immediately to come up here and retrieve it and shut the door. I always click the door locks when I get into the driver's seat." She actually blushed.

"You locked our keys in the car." I said dryly.

She smiled like she was proud, as if I had complimented her on her ass—which by the way was spectacular. This woman was clearly seven versions of crazy all wrapped up in one tight, sexy not so little package. She was maybe a couple inches shorter than me. Standing next to me I could look right down the part in her hair, like a farmer gawking down a furrow in his corn field. Well, as always, the heels made her a little taller.

"I locked my fob in my car. And, well, now I am in a bit of a bind. I, I cannot call my husband because..." she smiled so sweetly my teeth hurt.

"Because you were riding the African maypole all night when you were supposed to be somewhere else." I finished.

The woman looked blankly at me. She tossed her head like she was accustomed to having a passel of curls to throw about. "I have an app on my phone that will open the car, if you know the code..."

"But your phone is in Sam's apartment."

She nodded once. "You are a smart one."

"Brilliant as balloons in the wind." I said. She thought I was talking about myself and look pleasingly puzzled. "You don't want to call the car company to remotely open the door because that goes into the log, right?"

She nodded again.

In the next room, someone screamed. "Want to go see what they are doing? Leave the kids alone for a minute and the next thing you know they are making a racket, don't you find?"

She looked sidelong at the open door to the bedroom but otherwise did not respond.

I was talking in someone else's voice but it was lost on this woman, probably because she had no idea what was my normal voice. So now she must think I am gay. I wanted her attention and had it but feared if I was just plain old me, I'd see the light in her eyes die, the interest I saw there would vanish and in its place would be disappointment. Despite my self-loathing, I ran away from that moment and affected some accent I heard somewhere. I remember, Katherine Hepburn. Seems like I could have picked a man to mimic but no, Sonny the wonderkind, mimicked a starlet! The woman was speaking again and I had to refocus all over again.

"I wonder if you could call Sam and ask him where he is and if he could pop over and open the door to his condo? Be a dear and give him a jingle for me, won't you?"

I wondered who she was and if anyone would miss her if I strangled her. After I fucked her silly, though. No sense in wasting something flashy and sophisticated like this. I felt dirty and wanted to crawl behind the curtains. I felt all guilty and shit. But then my other head took control of my eyes and I was trying to figure out how to look down the front of her dress. I reviewed that thought and picked out the part that had some value. "I am sorry, Ma'am, but I don't think you mentioned your name."

"No. I suppose I didn't." She sniffed and took a sip of the bourbon, cooed and drained it, holding it out for another. I snapped to my feet and took it and wondered over to the bar and set the tumbler down. I went into the bedroom, the other bedroom, and got my phone out of my pants, happy I could find them. I dialed Sam's number, the number left from when he used my phone to call him yesterday. The phone rang five times before he answered. "Who's this?"

"Sam? Mr. Honeywell? This is Sonny Duncan."

"Sonny. I can't really talk. My plane is boarding."

"Shit. Sam, uh, the blond from yesterday, she left her phone in your apartment." I stopped, unwilling to ask him to miss his plane to wherever to come get voluptuous Veronica's phone for her. She could ask him herself. I walked into the living room and extended the phone to the blond. "It's Sam. You talk to her, I mean him." I glanced at the bedroom, suddenly unwilling to explain to Sammy who I was talking to or why.

She took the phone and I went to the bar. Since I didn't have anything else to do, I poured her another drink. I walked over to where the woman perched on the edge of the easy chair. She extended the phone back to me. "He wants to talk to you."

She wasn't making a lot of sense. I handed her the third drink and she sipped and then drained it again, knocking it back like cough medicine.

"This is Sonny." I said into my phone.

"Sonny, listen, can you do me a big favor? Go down and ask the bellhop to open my door. I think he'll do it for you. I have to turn off the phone. How many drinks has Suzanna had?"

"Two, well, she just had a third I guess."

"Shit, Sonny. You can't let her leave till you get coffee into her. She gets stupid drunk and when she does that, she is convinced that she can drive safely on the sidewalk. She has been DUI twice; once more and its the slammer for her. Or whatever they do to people like her nowadays. Gotta go."

I looked at the phone. He did say coffee, right? Not cock? I shook off the thought and what it implied. I focused on the problem at hand and the solution. Get her phone for her.

Sounded simple enough. Trouble was that the bellman, different from when I was last there, he had no idea who I was. It occurred to me that Sam assumed that since I was fucking his wife, Bickerstaff had loaned her and the apartment out to me before, often enough to be recognized by the help. I tried to call Sam back but, predictably he was incommunicado when I tried. Flying is the last place you can go to get away from cell phone traffic and even that is changing. I gave up and headed back up to the apartment. On the way up, I realized I had left the woman, 'Suzanne' Sam had called her, alone with Dannielle singing her solo in the other room. I hoped they were tired out. Still, the idea arrested me, more.

When I got upstairs, Mrs. Suzanna was standing in the doorway of the "other" bedroom watching Ellen use an exotic vibrator on Mrs. Bickerstaff who was once more sucking Sammy's cock. Blond Suzanne had a drink in her hand and managed to wobble while leaning against the door jamb. Dannielle was tied to the bed once more, on her back this time.

"Now put it in deep. I want to feel what that is like." Sammy muttered.

Ellen, sitting between the woman's legs shoved a vibrating cock deep into Dannielle's body. Dannielle's back arched and she guttered something around Sammy's cock. Sammy knelt over the woman's upturned face, gently fucking her mouth with his cock. The view was dim but I could just make out the shape of his cock thrusting into the woman's throat.

At that moment, Ellen looked around and saw me, us. Her eyes slid away from Suzanne to me. "Hey Sonny. We are just playing with Mrs. Bickerstaff. She came twelve times in a row. I bet you heard her. Now Sammy is testing to see how it feels to have his cock sucked when she comes. She hasn't been able to come yet. I think having the cock in her mouth is too distracting." Ellen grinned, not the crazy, wild-eyed grin I expected, just a relaxed, pleasant, content grin. "We are trying to get her to twenty. When will you be ready for me?"

I waved a hand behind the blond head and Ellen nodded and returned to pushing the vibrating dildo into Dannielle.

"Oh sweet, cornfeed Christ!" Sammy ejaculated. "Do that again!"

Dannielle hummed as she sucked his cock.

I leaned into the blond. "Mrs. Suzanne?" I whispered into her ear, "Come away from there." The trio on the bed did not notice me pull the door closed. Suzanne was swirling the drink in her glass, looking at it. She managed a charitable imitation of walking, good enough for me to get her to the other room, without touching her. I took the drink from her, or tried to. She insisted on "one more little taste" and downed it. I let her. By then, it was only a matter of degree, not reality. She emptied it and asked for another and I understood. I agreed but set down the glass and steered her into the other bedroom. She wobbled. I really did have to put my arm around her, a hand clasping her strong hip. She shimmied against me, cooing or sort of cooing. She managed to slur the coo. That takes some doing. She seemed to like my arm around her. I walked her into the other bedroom and got her to the bed. With some honest reluctance, I set her down on the bed.

She slumped over and rolled onto her face, twisting her body as she did so. She was impossibly contorted. I inspected her body. She was lax, sitting or lying on the bed, her high heels touching the floor, her face pressed into the mussed bedspread. I shrugged and lifted her feet. Her skin was warm, smooth and made me tingle down to my dangle. I had visions of opening her legs and taking a peak just to see if she had panties on. I resisted the little devil whispering in my ear. I lay her out, covered her with the blanket and tucked a pillow under her head. She heaved big sigh and snuggled down.

I stood back. She snored, snorting once or twice before she found the right key. I gazed down on this drunk woman and marveled. She was fucking gorgeous. Okay, yes, I had the passing thought to take advantage of her memory wipe but that is just not my style. If the woman cannot see me, I don't fuck her. That is some sort of unwritten rule with me. I like participation. But that is not to say I wouldn't fuck a blind girl, or do her from behind for that matter...I don't mean that at all...oh, fuck it. Surely you know what I mean, right? If a woman don't want to play, I don't want to play and if there is any ambiguity—like she is too drunk to understand the question or the invitation, then she is too drunk to participate meaningfully and above all, I want meaningful sex!

I went out and got my phone, set the alarm for three hours and put it on the nightstand.

I walked carefully out of the bedroom and shut the door. It occurred to me that I had not checked in with the blisters and decided I should call Dalia. She answered and I told her, well tried to tell her I wasn't coming home tonight.

"Do you fucking know what time it is? Why are you calling so fucking late?"

"No, because I, well, and what time is it, anyway?" Seems like I would have noticed on my phone but, no, that little tidbit of reality escaped my notice in favor of the effusive blond drunk woman.

"It is nearly midnight."

"So you weren't asleep?"

"No."

"Then what's the buzz?" I always liked that question from "Jesus Christ, Superstar". It always sounded really hip to me and I am always grasping at hip straws.

"What?"

Grasping but missing. "Forget it. I'll be home tomorrow."

"Sonny..." Dalia started to say something but bit off the comment.

I could hear the aggravation in her voice. "What, Dally? What did I do this time?"

"Is this how you are going to treat me when its my turn? Georgia is jumpy as grasshopper in a skillet. You start with her and then you fucking disappear. It is just rude."

"Something came up. You, you would not believe it." I wanted to tell Dally what was happening in the worst way but could not figure out where to start. I changed the subject, changing it back to Nova. I chuckled. "She is my sister. Do you think she is going to worry about me calling her again? Is that it?" I was tired. Still, I should not have said that.

"Sonny! Goddammit, you are making Nova nuts..."

I cut her off. I wasn't in the mood. I had just avoided fucking a drunk MILF and I didn't feel like my virtue could be justly impinged on at the moment. "Don't worry, Dally, I will get to her when I am ready. She, she has waited this long...no, that ain't right. Waiting is good for her. Consider all the times she got her way growing up. I am just taking one step towards getting even. Anyway, I can't wreck her car, I have been drinking so I am crashing here. I'll be home tomorrow. I have to pick up D. Debra at seven tomorrow. Then we're off to the New Year's do. Georgia will just have to wait. Believe me, when I do get around to her, she'll be made whole. You too, sister dear. Okay?" I sounded a whole lot more reasonable than I felt. I felt crazy as a scarecrow smoking a cigar.

Silence. Finally Dalia said, "Okay, Sonny. You have done pretty good so far. Mom is in China riding the China clipper."

China Clipper? Whatever. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Uh Sonny, you know you called earlier today, don't you?"

"I did? Oh, right. I did."

"We knew you weren't coming home tonight."

"Oh. Mind fart. So, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Maybe." She said.

Something in her tone made me think she was not ready to let me go.

"Sonny?"

"Yes, Dalia?" She sounded so formal I answered in a similar tone.

"When, when you do Georgia, I can watch, can't I?"

My cock roused. I had a moment of clarity; I, or at least my cock, enjoyed an audience. I liked to have someone watch me elicit illicit pleasure from a woman. "Yes, sister of mine, I would be pleased if you watched me fuck our sister but only if it is okay with her. You have to ask her."

"Shit. She'll make me go down on her again."

"Dalia..." That was not my issue.

"I'll ask her. Anyway, thanks for checking in. See you later."

She seemed content and I was happy I remembered to check in. Just practically speaking, it is always good to let your family know where you are and what you are doing. Family needs to learn to let you do your thing and not try to live your life for you. That is another issue.

Just as I hung up Sammy sauntered into the room, a large towel wrapped around his waist, almost like a sarong. "Who's that?" He asked, pointing at the other bedroom.

"Drunk girl." I returned.

"Who is it?" He repeated.