Hartstein Ch. 01

By Paris Waterman

An X – Rated Novel

Illustrated version available on request

Paul Hartstein winced as the icy wind blew the swirling snow into his face and wished he'd thought to bring a scarf with him as he vainly tried to deflect some of the snow from his face and eyes.

He bent his 6'4" feverish frame into the stiff winter wind whipping down Danbury's Main Street. It was the coldest January in forty-seven years and he never doubted it; but he did regret not having taken his car to the pharmacy, but on reflection, it had been awfully low on gas and he didn't have the money to pick-up his prescription and put gas in the fifteen-year-old Dodge Charger.

Paul had graduated from the University of Connecticut with honors; had edited the University newspaper and played linebacker on the varsity football team for three years before a knee injury sidelined him his senior year.

Now 26, he was half finished with his first novel. His first work, a novella about a girl on a train had been submitted to several publishers after his former English professor urged him to do so; but as with most first offerings, it wasn't well received. Rejection slip after rejection slip arrived with almost no comment on the work itself.

If Paul's count was correct, only one publisher had yet to respond, and they may have just thrown his novella away and not bothered with the rejection slip. He was getting desperate, not having eaten in a day or so, and with very little money to his name.

Yet he felt his latest work was far superior to the novella, and was confident it would be picked up when finished, if he could last that long.

He turned right onto White Street, into an even stiffer wind. His one room apartment was still one block east when he smelled the aroma of food coming from the Mexican restaurant a half block away. He realized how hungry he was, and it occurred to him that Jim and Celia Masters, old and true friends from college, lived just two doors down from where he stood.

________________________________________

Inside the Master's home, Celia munched at a frozen Milky Way while watching an old video of herself and her husband they had made about two years earlier. In it, Celia was lying nude on their bed, on her back and with both legs pulled just past her head.

Jim, her husband, was alternating between licking her ass and her pussy and driving her crazy with pleasure.

Celia stared at the screen, breathing faster than normal as her arousal sent sensations of warmth and excitement spreading outward from her pubis. The ensuing wetness slowly moistened the tiny thong she had on under her jeans. Previous viewings of the same video had produced similar results, and Celia knew that in due course, this thong would soon be soaked through too.

A faint Mona Lisa smile played across her face as she recalled the tumultuous orgasm Jim had given her the day they made the video. The smile widened as she recalled without shame about the number of men she'd passed earlier that very day at the Danbury Mall and how shocked they'd be if they knew what she was doing now. Her fingertips furtively crept across her sternum to caress the contours of her breasts. She giggled on spying the goose bumps popping up on her areolas; took note of a hair now sprouting up there that required clipping and flicked at the nearest nipple until it began to harden.

Pleased with herself, Celia twisted both her nipples. A soft, pleasured moan left her throat and the dimples surrounding them played against her fingertips as she lightly tweaked them.

Another somewhat louder involuntary moan followed as Celia felt the juices begin seeping from her cunt, coating her labia and making the lips slick and ready for a cock, finger, or vibrator. The liquid continued seeping from her as she stared unblinking at the screen as her husband sent his cock into her, filling her with his thickness.

Celia ached for the real thing. Jim wouldn't be home until four or so. With all the snow he had no work to go to and so he was off drinking beer and playing pool with his friends.

Celia couldn't wait any longer; closing her eyes, she imagined a man–-any man—there with her, holding her close and running his hands over her body. Oh, yeah ... play with my boobs, my knockers, my tata's. What else does Jim call 'em? Kahunas and my twins, Fred and Ginger.

Celia looked at her beautiful melons in the mirror, hefting them up to show them off even better.

Shit, my areolas are so big–-I remember the other girls in junior high looking at them with envy and awe as if they were special because of their size, and I guess they are. My titties ... my pleasure domes! With that, she began slapping each of her boobs until the nipples stood up to her satisfaction. Fuck! I'm one hot bitch.

Opening her eyes, Celia noted the video had reached the point where she was cupping her husband's balls with one hand and feeding his cock into her mouth with the other. She moaned recalling the moment then shut her eyes to blot out reality and give in to her imagination, preferring the imaginary man to her husband in a reprised role.

The imaginary stranger teased her back with long fingers, ran his hand along her hip, and suddenly she was aware of the urgency with which his cock was pressing against her thigh.

"Okay–-okay, now for some real fun!" she crowed to the empty room, and spreading her legs pried her thong up so that it wouldn't interfere and set her fingers to roaming over her hairy twat as the first droplets of juice ebbed from her vag.

Celia shoved a pillow between her legs, making it do for her imaginary man, and molded herself to him. With eyes clamped shut, she imagined his fingers slipping under her thong and into her wetness. Not satisfied with that, she rolled over onto her back, parted her thighs and welcomed his imaginary cock into her.

In actuality, Celia's clit had just emerged from its hiding place and she began to rub it, sending a vivid sensation from the delicate nerve endings coursing throughout her body. Her breath was more rapid than before, and her body began to lose itself to her lust.

Oh yeah–-oh yeah–-fuckin' right! Right–-right–-right there baby! Just you and me, baby–-just you and me!

"UGH! UGH! UGH! OHHHHH ..."

OHHHH FUCK ... I'M LOVIN' THIS!

Her body was undulating sensually as her other hand explored other areas of her body–- thighs, belly, breasts.

With a reluctant groan, Celia took the finger from her slippery cunt and brought it to her mouth and started sucking. As the taste of her cunt registered in her brain she shuddered with delight and had a little orgasm.

Moments later she was pumping three fingers in and out of her wet twat, thumbing her clit, and gnawing at the fingers on her other hand to keep from crying out too loudly. For she was certain the occupants of the adjoining apartment had come home earlier because of the snow.

Celia felt a huge cum coming on and flopped backward landing spread-eagled, and covered in sweat, her hair in disarray, and panting heavily, caught sight of herself in the mirror adjacent to the bed.

Christ, I never looked sexier!

"More ... I need more!" she croaked, and bending over from the waist while keeping her legs straight but slightly apart, Celia rummaged around her lingerie drawer, found what she was looking for and gasped, "Gotcha!"

She held the pink cock-shaped dildo she called Big Jim aloft then layback and smiled. Then with due deliberation, she teased herself by rubbing the pink cock up and down her pussy, then around her clit.

A minute or so passed before the first moan left her mouth. Slowly she eased the large toy into her cunt while using her other hand to rub lightly over her clit.

"Oh yes, oh yes," she gasped knowing her climax was close.

Suddenly it's on her!

"Oh fuckkk... oh fuckkk..." a mantra that went on for over a minute as wave after wave consumed her. Tom, Tom." Kath continues on for over a minute as a second wave consumes her, and then the room went silent.

That was the moment the front doorbell rang and catapulted her into action.

________________________________________

Perhaps it was because he needed to talk with another person, or possibly the fact that his teeth were chattering as his fever balked at being out in the sub-zero temperature that made Paul ring the bell to the entrance to the Victorian home that served as a trio of apartments for young couples.

He waited about a minute before ringing the bell a second time. He was about to ring it again when the door opened. Celia stood there, wearing one of Jim's old flannel shirts and a pair of tattered jeans, but no shoes or slippers.

Paul noted her flushed face and that she had dyed her hair blonde since he'd last seen her, and a moment later, that she had cut it short.

The startled expression she'd had on opening the door vanished as she smiled and said, "Well, look what the cat dragged in! C'mon in! Jesus, get inside here before I freeze to death!"

Paul opened his arms, and Celia threw herself against him, hugging him tightly as they stumbled into the middle of her very high ceilinged living room.

Disengaging herself from his arms, she gave him a pecking kiss on the lips and laughingly chirped, "Jesus, man, you're shivering like crazy! Brandy–-you need a brandy."

She hurried across the room to a bookcase containing three bottles of liquor on the top shelf, but noted that her jeans were not fully buttoned and deftly buttoned the top button before plucking a half full bottle of Hennessy off the shelf and made a dance-like move that would have pleased her old teacher immensely, whirling around and in one continuous motion grabbed two Brandy snifters off a side table and poured them both generous amounts of the coppery looking liquor before sitting down beside him on the couch.

"Good Health," Celia said, and took a generous swallow.

"Thanks," Paul said taking a small sip, shivering as the 80 proof brandy warmed his belly.

"Why have you been such a stranger, Paul? You know Jim and I love you; so what the fuck?"

"I ... I've been working on my novel," he said hoping that would suffice.

"You're always working on a novel. Is it the same one, um, about that girl on the train?"

"No, I finished that one," he said so lamely Celia couldn't hide her dismayed expression and quickly tried to cover her mistake by asking an ever worse question. "So you got it published?

"Well ..." He took another sip of brandy and this time enjoyed the fire it lit in his belly as it spread through his system. "Um, I do have a publisher looking at it. Favorable comments, but ..."

"No money, huh?" Celia said sadly.

"Yeah, no dinero."

"When did you eat last, Paul?"

He waved the question off as if it was of no consequence, but she was quick to overrule it.

"When Paul?"

He didn't answer her because he couldn't recall. "Um, maybe a doughnut yesterday, I'm not sure."

Celia put her hand on the small of his back and guided him into her kitchen and had him sit down at the small metal topped table. "You like scrambled eggs?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Sausage?"

"Mmmm, haven't tasted sausage in a while, Ceil."

"Good, I made too much this morning. Can you handle four links?"

"Yes, I think so. And thanks, I really appreciate it."

"You can come by anytime you run low on cash, Paulie. You know we love you. It's not charity, you know. Some day you'll be rich and famous and you can take Jim and me on a trip to Puerto Rico, or some other island paradise."

Paul nodded as Celia placed the plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, then handed him a knife and fork.

He quickly put away the scrambled eggs while the sausage sizzled in the frying pan, and she scrambled two more eggs for good measure.

When Celia thought the sausages and eggs were ready to eat, she brought them to Paul along with two slices of buttered toast.

She smiled contentedly watching him eat the impromptu meal, and poured him a cup of coffee, adding a shot of brandy to it.

Wiping some egg off his mouth, Paul smiled, stood up, and said, "I really appreciate you letting me thaw out and especially for the food. It hit the spot believe me. But Ceil, I'd better be on my way, or I'll fall asleep on you, Jim may not appreciate finding me here."

"Are you kidding? Jim will be delighted to see you. He's always talking about the fun we had back in college.

Paul wondered if she meant the time they had a threesome together, and while he was wondering, Celia ushered him into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, sheets still rumpled from the couple's slumber of the night before.

"Sit, I'll get you a blanket. I can see you're still cold. Just sit there. I'll be right back."

He gave her a shy look but sat down on the end of the bed. When Celia took a step toward joining him, he quickly said: "Can I use the ...you know?"

The facilities?

Sure, take your time."

Paul walked unsteadily to the bathroom and stood over the toilet, unzipped his jeans, took his penis out and began urinating. As the golden fluid streamed from his bladder, he glanced around the room. His training as a writer allowed him to see much more than the ordinary person might, and he took in the pantyhose with a hole in the right toe draped over the shower rod, and the frayed brassiere coiled up and lying over the drain in the tub.

Christ, they're almost as bad off as I am. I shouldn't have taken advantage of her. They probably needed the food themselves, he thought.

Suddenly the bathroom door opened and Celia walked in on him. He wasn't shocked, or even surprised.

"Still the neat freak I see," he said with a smile while gesturing at the pantyhose hanging from the shower rod.

She laughed, "Yeah, anal as hell, that's me," she said and laughed again. "Be sure to shake that thing. Don't want any pee stains on my glamorous sheets." Celia was obviously uncaring that she'd come in and caught him with shaking his dick.

They both laughed as Paul tucked his penis back into his shorts and zipped up. He did note Celia's eyes lingering on his groin for a beat longer than she should have and he realized it had been four long months since he had lain with a woman.

"You smoke?" she inquired, holding a package of unfiltered Camels out to him.

"No, I quit a while back; couldn't afford them."

"Great way to quit cold turkey," Celia laughed. "Go on, take a couple. Jim's bringing a carton back with him, if that is he can get the Brink's armored car to deliver them."

Paul calmly tucked himself away and smiled at Celia. "I guess you mean the high cost of cigarettes today. I haven't had occasion to buy any for a while so I've kinda lost touch."

Celia turned away and left the bathroom. Paul followed her into the bedroom and sat down in the exact spot he'd been in before.

She decided not to beat around the bush and asked, "So how badly off are you, Paul?"

"No worse than usual. I would have passed by, but it's so damn cold out and I thought I saw the curtain in your window move. I ... I didn't want you to think I was deliberately avoiding you guys."

"Are you really still writing, Paul?"

"Yes, of course I am. Some day ..."

"I know, and when that day comes you're taking Jim and me to the fanciest restaurant in town, or, maybe in New York City!"

It was her second reference to his taking them out when he struck it big as a writer. He didn't mind and made a silent promise to do just that if and when. He looked into her eyes and said aloud, "It's a deal, Ceil," then realizing that he was using her old nickname.

Celia grinned at him and placed a hand on his thigh. "You're too generous, Paul, much too generous."

Recalling a time or two several years earlier, Paul returned the favor, feeling her strong muscles through her skin-tight jeans as he leaned in closer.

"How'd you know to come by just now? She asked in a husky brandy laden voice.

"I'm an alien. I sense these things, Ceil," then he leaned in and kissed her under her ear.

Celia shivered and laughed. "Oh shit, Paul, you know what that does to me!"

"Mmmmm."

"C'mon Paul! I mean it. Jim will be back any minute!"

Paul knew her well enough to know she was lying. He also knew that in all likelihood, Jim wouldn't mind finding them in his rumpled bed. In fact, Jim would probably shed his clothing and hop into bed with them, filling whichever orifice Celia didn't have occupied at the time.

Paul had always been good with women; and no longer freezing with the cold, he reverted to form and casually grabbed the back of Celia's neck sending a delightful shiver that caused instant goosebumps to skin-surf her entire body.

"Damn you!" she bawled, but her shoulders were already scrunching in delight.

In the back of her mind Celia was thinking: Is Paulie my imaginary guy come to life? Jim hasn't done that in ages. Is it too much to hope for? Hasn't held my hair–-mmmm, yeah like that!

Christ, how did he know to do that? Yes ...tight ... oh, yes! Right at the root where the hairline meets the nape of my neck... please-please-please, pull it, but gently, gently, gently.

"Ohhh, yes, Paulie, baby, just like THAT! And hold it, hold it, HOLD IT!

"AHHHHHH, now please ... pull it again, ahhh, sooo good. Soooo fuckin' good!"

Paul did just that.

"AHHHHHH!"

Celia's heels and toes slowly and desperately peeled off the floor. A moment later her brain was teeming with urgency, craving, lust and ... hope. The shiver returned only to begin a new journey on the outer edge of her thigh then creeped serenely down the length of her leg leaving Celia in a state of flux. At which point Paul began opening the buttons on her flannel shirt and with the shirt peeled away, undid her bra and sent it fluttering to the floor.

With a moan that sounded like a growl to Celia, Paul cupped both her breasts in his hands, Celia came to her senses and mewed, "What am I going to do with you?"

"Fuck me?" Paul laughed. A second later, the shirt was gone and they were done talking. He kissed her chin, recalling the tiny dimple on its left side, and then her neck. At this point her hands were busy undoing his jeans while her breasts rested against his bare skin in a kind of celebration of their rekindling an old relationship.

With his jeans off and crumpled at the foot of the bed, Celia tore at the rest of their clothes, peeling her skin-tight jeans off with alacrity, and then almost tore his shirt off before wrapping her arms and legs around his naked body for the first time in at least four years.

Paul groaned happily and made his way down her body until her legs opened around his neck, and she cried out when his mouth found her.

"Wait–-wait," she shouted. And jumped from the bed, took two steps to a nearby dresser, found a box of condoms and ripped one open and returning to the bed, carefully placed it over his rampant cock.

Paul almost as quickly, positioned her so that he could go down on her; and did so.

"Oh fuck, I forgot how good you are at that," she purred happily.

As he licked and sucked and fingered Celia, Paul remembered something he'd written in a journal and shared with her and Jim that last time.

'Marriage is like an ice cream cone. When exposed to the heat, it gets drippy and sticky unless its participants are very diligent about licking the sides, keeping it even all the way around, ensuring the mound on top of the cone doesn't topple over onto the scorching sidewalk. This was why even the best marriages occasionally required help in holding the melting rate at bay.'

He decided to try a few things he'd thought about on Celia and without any warning began slowly dragging his tongue toward her throbbing clit, exulting in knowing she was already trembling from the heady sensations his tongue was causing.