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Subject: {ASSM} Wicked People? {Varkel} (bF+ bM+ bm bf oral anal pedo first) [6/9]
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Date: Wed, 07 Nov 2007 09:10:03 -0500
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Wicked People?

a Novelette by Varkel
Fall, 2007



Chapter 6: _Sammy and the Undertaker_



The next day Sammy, now in his own third-floor bedroom, straggled 
downstairs in time to eat lunch in the kitchen with Sherry.

"I'm sore," she announced accusingly around a mouthful of egg.

He chewed and swallowed before responding, "You never did tell me what 
hurt."

Her eyes widened.  "You really don't know?"

"What was it?"

"You dummy, you busted my cherry!"  Her voice had risen.

Sammy saw the cook look around with a startled expression.  He faked a 
smile and asked loudly, "Who eats cherries for breakfast?"

She blinked at him and glanced over her shoulder as the cook turned away
with a sniff.  "Oh," she said, smiling and lowering her voice.  "Well, 
you did."

Sammy recalled a conversation in the church yard before Mamma resigned 
her membership.  Girls' "cherries" had been the subject.  He studied 
this girl thoughtfully.  "Because you insisted."

She made a face.  "I thought boys loved to bust cherries."

"Not me.  It's another reason to stay away from young girls."

She glared at him.  "Well, you can't bust one _twice_."

"Okay."  He shrugged.  Apparently she was the only available female.  
"You want to go upstairs and fuck?"

She snarled but recovered her composure after taking a deep breath.  "I
have to get well first."

"How long will that take?"

"They say about --"

An impatient voice sounded behind them.  "Sammy, there you are!"

Adelaide appeared beside their table.  "At least you're up and awake.  
Good afternoon, Miss Morgan."

Sherry stared up at her.  "You're Sammy's mother."

"I have that honor, thank you," said the woman dryly.  "Finish eating, 
son, and come up to my room.  We have to talk.  You and I are going to 
the viewing early, around four."

"The _viewing_?"

"Yes.  I'll expect you in five minutes."

"Yes, ma'am."

When the woman had departed, he asked, "Viewing what?"

Sherry said, "Grandma.  It's not really supposed to start until seven."

He cocked his head.  "You mean you can see her?  Is she like a ghost?"

The girl stared incredulously, sniffed and shook her head.  "I can't 
believe you're that dumb!"

He pushed back his chair, got to his feet, leaned over the table and 
declared softly but vehemently, "Dumb enough to bust your silly cherry."

He whirled away.  She stared after him, chin sagging for more than 
disbelief.


* * *


The formal clothes the housekeeper had packed did not fit.  His mother 
found a boy's suit with short pants, necktie and matching jacket.  He 
donned it, added knee-length argyle socks and stood before the mirror in 
her bathroom.  She smiled fondly.  "You look even younger."

"How do we _view_ Grandma?" he asked.

"By going where she is.  She'll be lying on the catafalque.  We'll spend
some time with her and you can look as much as you wish."  Adelaide 
hugged him and pressed his cheek into her shoulder.  "I'm sorry, son, 
that you didn't see more of her in life."

"It was too far," he said, remembering earlier discussions.

"And that was my fault.  When I found out how ...  Nevermind that now.
I want you to respect her memory.  I hope the undertakers have managed 
to recapture ..."  His mother drew a deep breath.  "She was a beautiful
woman once.  Ah, son, in regard to Sherry Morgan: she's either your 
first or second cousin-in-law."

"What's that?"

"Your grandmother was her mother's stepmother.  You don't actually have
a blood relationship with her.  And, son, the Morgan branch is not ... 
not well regarded."

He studied her face in the mirror.  "Are they wicked people?"

She smiled with a tinge of embarrassment.  "Some of them, I believe.  
Don't get too close to Sherry.  She lives in New York."

"A lot of wicked people live in New York, don't they?"

"Well, yes, but not all of them by any means.  I meant to ask: how did 
you get along with Uncle Bern?"

The boy's eyes lit.  "He's a lot of fun.  I met some of his friends.  He
took me golfing at the country club."

"Golfing?  I'm pleased to hear that.  I was so afraid ..."

"Of what, Mamma?  I like him a lot."

"That's good.  He's your blood uncle, you know."

"He says such funny things."

"Umm.  Can you give me an example?"

"Well ... that a book can make a woman's bowels move."

Her eyes widened.  "Did he indeed!  That _is_ a funny saying, however 
you define funny."  She sighed.  "At least you're out of that palace of
sin."

"Is Sherry going to the viewing too?"

"I suppose they'll take her tonight."

"May I go talk to her?"

"Now?  Well ... if you wish.  But don't get your clothes dirty.  It'll 
be another hour before we leave."

"I'll probably take them off."

"Well, come back early so I can retie your necktie."


* * *


He found the girl watching TV in the third-floor den.  She looked up 
when he entered, performed a creditable double-take and laughed harshly.

He asked, "What's funny?"

"Your clothes."

"What about them?"

"You really don't care about being a teenager, do you!"

Again reminded of Helen's words about fast-changing bodies, he shrugged.
"I don't see any advantage in it."

"Your mother made you change?"

"Well ... yeah."

"If you were a teenager, you would've refused."

"Why?"

"Because teenagers are rebels.  They practice doing things their own 
way."

So far Sammy had seen nothing to recommend such behavior.  He sneered.
"So when a woman wants to play with my cock, I should push her away, 
right?"

Sherry's eyes widened.  "You're dreaming!"

He remembered another line from the churchyard.  "And you're nuts."

Her face went red and her lips pinched together.  She leapt to her feet
and dashed out of the room.  With a shrug he took up the abandoned 
remote and began to scan television channels.


* * *


The limousine stopped under the portico of an imposing two-story 
building in a meticulously groomed setting.  Sammy accompanied his 
mother along with an aunt and uncle.  Inside they were met by a short 
man in formal clothes who ascertained their identity and gestured them 
into a large room down the hall, speaking so quietly as to be barely 
audible.  "Ms. Pauly is resting in here."

"Come to the casket, Sammy," whispered Adelaide, taking his arm.

"Why are we whispering?" he asked in a normal voice.  The other adults 
paused to regard him.

"Out of respect," whispered the attendant.

Adelaide sniffed and said in a tone that matched Sammy's, "There's 
really no reason, is there?  We won't disturb Mother."

No one argued.

A long generally rectangular box, seemingly molded of gold, sat on a 
stand against the wall.  Around it clusters of flowers filled half the 
large room, their odors saturating the air.  Hand in his mother's, Sammy
drew near and studied the woman who lay as if asleep inside the box.  
Her eyes were closed and her complexion was powdery as Helen's had been
in the bar, but unlike Helen's her chest did not rise to breathe even 
during a long scrutiny.  He detected a faint chemical odor despite the 
sweet flowers.

Adelaide asked, "Do you remember her at all, Sammy?"

He shook his head but said, "She looks like the picture on your dresser
at home."

"Which was taken 30 years ago," she said dryly.  "I'm sorry, Sammy."

The aunt behind him commented, "This is a competent mortuary.  Indeed 
they've made her seem fortyish."

"Only in looks," said the uncle.

"Wish I looked that good.  I'd almost trade places with her."

The man hastened to say, "I much prefer you the way you are."

Sammy lost interest in the motionless figure.  When his mother released
his hand at last, he strolled away.  Behind him the three adults were 
reading aloud from the cards attached to the flower stands.

He shrugged and wandered into the hall to explore.  Several doorways 
opened off it into rooms like grandmother's.  At the far end was a solid
door with a sign, _Employees Only_.  Its knob would not turn.  He saw no
people and heard no voices except those he had escaped.

The building was very quiet.  He found a staircase through one of the 
doors and climbed it noiselessly except for the creaking of steps under
his weight.  At the top was a shorter hall.  Through a door at the end 
he saw a brightly lit room and a woman sitting behind something.  
Looking at him, she smiled when he spied her and motioned for him to 
approach.

In Sammy's life so far some women had ignored him, many had smiled and 
spoken affectionately and a few had thrilled him ineffably.  He strolled
confidently to her doorway, returning the smile.  She was a blue-eyed 
brunette, made up with restraint, hair massed atop her head, wearing a 
gray business suit over a ruffled blouse, sitting behind a mahogany 
desk.  She seemed about Helen's age.

"What a lovely lad!" she said approvingly.  "And so well dressed!  Are 
you here with the early party to view Mrs. Pauly?"

Belatedly he recognized Grandma's last name.  "Yes, ma'am."

"Are you a relative?"

"Her grandson, Sammy.  Samuel Canfield."

"Adelaide Canfield made the arrangements for Mrs. Pauly."

"She's my mother."

"I see the resemblance.  I'm Leila Strump."

Fixed on the open door was a brass plaque engraved _Leila Strump / 
Proprietress_.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

The woman's smile broadened.  "Oh, the pleasure is mine, I'm sure.  Did
you have a message for me?"

He blinked.  "A message?  No, ma'am."

She cocked her head and looked him up and down with a sparkle in her 
eye.  "Then how can I help you, Samuel?"

"I ... I just ..."  He straightened, feeling suddenly out of place.  
"I'm sorry."

"For what?" she asked immediately.  "Are you here with your mother?"

"Yes, ma'am.  She's downstairs."

"She'll miss you."

"I know.  Guess I better --"

"But not right away.  How old are you, Sammy?"

"Twelve."

"That's an interesting age.  Things change so much from twelve to 
thirteen.  Have you noticed any changes yet?"

He stared at her, unaware that his eyes had widened.  Could she mean ...
"One big change."

"In what?"

"Women."

She chuckled throatily and leaned back in her chair.  "Do you really 
think it's _they_ who have changed, Sammy?"

"Well ... the way they act."

"Could that be because of some change in you?"

He regarded her thoughtfully.  "Like my cock?"

Her eyes enlarged briefly.  She got to her feet and whirled away to a 
door standing open in the corner of the room.  Like mother and aunt, 
instead of slacks she wore a skirt to her knees.  "Come in here for a 
moment, please, Sammy."

He went toward her around the desk.  The small room contained a large 
overstuffed couch, a table and chairs.  Through another door he could 
see a bathroom.

"Shut the door," she told him, taking a seat on the couch.  When he had
complied, she shook her head as if in disbelief.  "God, you're a pretty
one!  Come to me."

He took the few steps necessary and stood before her.  She smiled and 
licked her lips.  Smelling Helen's signal, he opened his britches and 
pushed them down.

She stared at the exposed organ, already lengthening, and said dryly, "I
can see how it changed."  Her eyes rose curiously.  "Why are you showing
me?"

"Helen thinks it's pretty too."

"Helen who?"

"My friend at home."

"A grown woman?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Well, she's right.  What does she do with it?"

"She ...  We suck on each other."

"I'm sure that's true!"  She leaned forward.  Her hand went around his 
buttocks and pulled him closer.  Her mouth slurped upon the rising 
flesh.  Her cheeks collapsed with suction.  Her free hand dived under 
her skirt, pulling it up to expose the edge of a white thigh above a 
stocking top.

Because of Sherry's intransigence, he had last climaxed upon his own 
belly while lying beside the complaining teenager.  This woman's tongue
roused indescribable thrills in his cock.  Along with them rose his 
semen.  She froze at the first squirt and clamped him with firm lips.  
In the silent building he heard her swallow several times.  Her eyes 
were huge, staring up at him, when at least it ceased.

After a parting slurp that made him tremble, she withdrew and licked her
lips.  "God, Sammy, you're a mouthful in more ways than one!"

He staggered.  "I feel weak."

"I guess you do.  Sit here."  She leaned back and her hands guided him 
to a seat on her exposed knee.  She smiled.  "That took a lot out of 
you."

He leaned in to kiss her cheek but her mouth turned and their lips met.
He put in his tongue and she sucked it, stroking the tip, as she had 
done his cock.

When he drew away, she said thoughtfully, "You're so different, Sammy."

"Different?"

"I never knew a young man who would kiss me right after I sucked him 
off."

"Why not?"

"They seem to think whatever comes from a cock is unclean."

Suddenly he realized how one could think so but dismissed the idea.  
"That's childish."

She chuckled.  "Oh, yes."

He followed her hand under the skirt and plunged immediately into hair.
Brief fingering found the clitoral lump.  He caressed the nearby flesh 
as she spread her legs further.

After a minute she murmured, "You do that well.  Tell Helen I said 
thanks."

He was about to promise when someone knocked in the attached office.  
Leila raised her voice.  "Yes?"

A man called, "They're looking for a lost kid downstairs."

Leila whispered, "Your mother has missed you.  Pull up your pants."  
Hands on his hips lifted him to his feet as she called loudly, "Be with
you in a moment."

She paused at the door to whisper, "Ask your mother if you may come back
upstairs to watch TV with me."

"I will."

To the man waiting in the hall doorway, a scrawny fellow in formal 
clothes, she said, "Make sure he gets back to his mother."

"Yes, ma'am.  Come on, kid."

Sammy followed him downstairs, where he caught the lad's arm, pulled him
into an unused viewing room after surveying it for occupancy and 
demanded in a low voice, "How old are you?"

"Twelve."

"I thought so!  What was she doing to you?"

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

"Think you can stick to that?"

Sammy blinked.  "'Stick' to it?"

The man's eyes glittered.  He whispered fiercely, "If you know what's 
good for you, you'll keep your mouth shut about her.  I'll bet she came
on upstairs like peaches and cream, but you better understand that Leila
is one tough bitch.  Her husband disappeared somewhere around here last
month.  You know what happened to him?"

"No, sir."

"She knocked him cold and fried his ass in the crematory, that's what.
His ashes are in the garden out back, which is where yours will be if 
you talk about Leila."

Sammy recalled Helen's tale of scattering her husband's ashes at Key 
West.  Was that the adult custom?  But --  "Don't they wait for husbands
to die?"

The man chuckled sardonically.  "That's just the point.  For your 
information, kiddo, I need this job.  So keep your mouth shut.  Now go 
say hello to your mama.  Tell her you went exploring."  He released the
boy's arm and shoved him gently down the hall before turning back to the
stairs.

In the room they had vacated a woman stood up from a couch hidden by a 
stand of plastic flowers.  Her eyes glared as if she had seen a ghost.
She tiptoed out to the hall, looked swiftly around her, saw no one and 
proceeded through the foyer out the front door while drawing her cell 
phone from her purse.  


* * *


Adelaide was standing in the foyer with the aunt and uncle.  Her eyes 
lit when Sammy came through the hall door.  "There you are!  Where did 
you go?"

He returned the smile.  "Exploring."

"The attendant said you had probably gone upstairs."

"I did.  I met Ms. Strump.  She's nice."

The uncle chuckled wryly.  "I'm not sure I'd call her that.  She's a 
tough bargainer."

The aunt smiled primly.  "Oh, I'm sure she was nice to a pretty boy."

The uncle asked sarcastically, "Did she give you a lollipop, Sammy?"

The lad stiffened.  "I've outgrown lollipops."

"I'm sure you have!" the aunt agreed.  "Well, the boy's here.  Can we 
get on with it -- the argument, at least?"

Sammy stood quietly, hands crossed in front of him.  A wrist pressed the
remains of his erection through the cloth.  He wondered if he'd ever get
the chance to soak his fist in Leila's hot wet center.  He was sure of 
her willingness: that odor seemed to answer the question reliably.

The adults beside him were apparently in disagreement but reached 
consensus before his bulge recovered embarrassing dimensions.  Adelaide
stroked her son's blond head.  "Sammy, we have to stop by the attorney's
office, which will be no fun for you.  Unless --  Carl, does the TV work
in the limo?"

"I don't know.  Who cares?  The driver'll keep an eye on him."

Sammy had an idea.  He touched his mother's arm.  "Ms. Strump said to 
ask you if I could watch TV with her for a while."

"Well, that would be perfect, except ..."  Adelaide took a breath.  "She
was probably just being polite, Sammy."

"No, she wasn't," said a woman's low voice behind them.  Whirling, they
beheld the madam proprietress, who smiled at the boy then around at the
others.  "Our visit was concluded too soon.  Sammy is so uniquely 
educated that I found him charming."

Adelaide's eyes brightened.  "He has been homeschooled."

"That explains a lot!  Of course I understand if you must leave, but I'm
quite serious about him visiting."

Adelaide hesitated.  After a moment she said, "We have a meeting with 
the estate attorneys.  If you wish, I might leave Sammy with you for an
hour or so."

"Of course!"  She smiled again at the lad.  "I think we'd both enjoy 
it."

The uncle asked with a touch of sarcasm, "Is this service included in 
the visitation fee?"

The proprietress ignored him.  "An hour, you say?" she asked of 
Adelaide.

"We'll return at six and take him to dinner."

"Take whatever time you need.  I'd also enjoy dining with him.  I'll bet
his manners are impeccable."

Adelaide smiled.  "That's very kind of you."

"My pleasure!  Come along, Sammy, and tell me what TV shows you like."

Willingly the boy followed her down the hall.  Behind them his mother 
said, "I think Sammy was right.  She _is_ nice!"


* * *


She thrust him ahead of her to climb the stairs and asked, barely 
audible over the thud of their footsteps, "Do you have a banana in your
pocket, Sammy?"

"N-no."  He giggled.  "A banana!"

"Then you walked down the hall with a hard-on."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Tell me why."

"Because of you."

"What about me?"

"What you did.  What we're going to do."

"What do you think that is?"

"I want to put my hand in you."

"Do you!  Did Helen show you how to do that?"

"Umm."

They reached the top of the stairs.  She pushed him gently through her 
office and into the bedroom beyond.  After latching the door behind them
she gathered him backwards against her body.  Her hand parted his coat 
tails, slipped into the front of his shorts and grasped his cock, 
working the skin.

"Just as I thought: a boy banana!"

"Oh, wow!"

"Actually a man's.  Did you put your hand in Helen?"

"I ...  I mustn't talk about things like that."

"You can talk to me."

He thought that over, looking down at his jiggling pants.  "Yes, ma'am."

"And you want to do it to me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, call me Leila!"

"Yes, ma-- Leila."

"Let's see ...  How would it be comfortable for you?"  She pulled her 
skirt and slip up about her waist, exposing lush pubes and straps on 
either side that supported old-fashioned dark stockings, and sat down at
one end of the couch.  She caught his hand and tugged him after her.  
"Kneel here beside me.  You can bend over and reach whatever you wish.
Oh.  One moment.  This time you'd better take off your clothes."  She 
leaned forward.  "Let me help."

His clothing soon lay neatly on the bed.  He retained only his shoes and
socks before taking the position she had specified.  Forming fingers to
a point, he worked them between her labia.  Soon his hand had penetrated
to the wrist in her hot, wet interior.

"Ah, yes!" breathed Leila, leaning back.  "Generally only women are good
at this.  You are such a jewel, Sammy!  Make a fist and work it around 
in there.  Pull up, like you want to reach my navel."

He giggled.  "From the inside?"

"Yes, the inside.  Oh, my god, I'm coming!"

She moaned and rolled her hips as if fucking, fascinating the naked lad.
Breathing heavily, she stroked his smooth back several times before 
slipping her hand under his belly to caress cock and balls.  Her moans 
intensified.

"Work it fast!" she gasped.  Her body became rigid.  She screeched 
though a tight throat, caught his wrist and held it still.  Panting, she
worked the hand slowly out of her.

One heel rose high and passed over him.  She twisted her torso around 
until he was kneeling between her legs.

"Now fuck me right," she commanded.

He sat back on his heels, frowning slightly.  "With your clothes on?"

Her eyes widened in surprise.  "Don't tell me you have to play with my 
boobs!"

"Could I?"

She took his arm and popped his hand against her belly.  Whatever the 
raised skirt concealed was not soft.

"I'm wearing a corset, Sammy.  It's hell to put back on."

"A c-corset?"

She studied his face.  Her expression relaxed into a smile.  "Well, we 
know another way to please you, don't we?"  She leaned forward, caught 
him around the hips and pulled him up atop her breasts, knees on either
side of her shoulders.

"Put a cushion under my head," she ordered.

He propped her face forward.  She tugged him closer until her lips 
captured his cock and began to suck.

He thought to excuse himself.  "I don't know if I can come again so 
soon."

She shrugged and worked her lips until she had enclosed the entire 
shaft.  He felt the flesh divide in her throat and exclaimed, "How can 
you do that?"

She chuckled nasally.  Hands on his hips withdrew him barely.  "Take my
head in your hands and make it work your dick."

"Y-you want _me_ to bob --"

"If I do it, my neck will get tired right away."

His hands encased her upswept hair.  While raising her head, he scooted
slightly forward and thrust himself into her throat.  The spectacle 
between his legs -- of a woman's neck relaxing while he forced her 
sucking mouth to bob through half the length of his cock -- so impressed
him that hardly a minute's work boiled the juice from his balls.  As he
spurted, she allowed him to pull her nose tightly into his pubic pad 
until he collapsed backward on the couch.

She swallowed, rose on her elbows, caught his arms and pulled him up to
see his face.  "Are you okay?"

Panting, he shook his head.

"What's the matter?"

Awe appeared on his face.  "Why didn't it ... strangle you?"

She chuckled and declared, "You had me worried."

"You didn't spill a drop!"

"Did you never hear of deep-throating?"

He slipped back until he was sitting over her groin, cock immersed in 
her thick pubic hair.  "What's that?"

"Just what it sounds like: taking a dick in your throat all the way.  
Yours is about average for a grown man, Sammy.  I learned on one half 
again longer."

"Wow!  Will mine get that big?"

"It might.  Measure it again in a couple years."

Thinking of the boy on the plane, Sammy said, "I'm glad mine wasn't too
long."

"You have a fine one, my dear.  Now get up and get dressed.  Deaver may
need something.  He always does, and he's got enough dirt on me now.  
While you're dressing I'll order supper."

He slipped off her and began to don his underclothing.  "Deaver?"

"The man who returned you to your mother."  The woman stood, 
straightened her clothing, patted her hair and held up Sammy's shirt.

"He told me something about you," said the lad conversationally.

"What did he say?"

"That you knocked on your husband until he was cold and then fried part
of him."

"Ah ... say that again?"

Sammy paused to recall precisely.  "He said, 'She knocked him cold and 
fried his ass in the crem... cremmy ...'"

Leila caught his shoulder.  Her eyes were huge.  "He told you _that_?"

Sammy took the shirt and shrugged his arms into it.  "I figured it out.
He meant to scare me into not telling what we did.  He didn't need to 
scare me.  I don't tell secrets."

Her eyes narrowed speculatively.  "Of course you didn't believe any of 
it."

"Of course not.  But are his ashes really scattered in the back garden?"

She coughed, hand to mouth.  "Everyone but Deaver believes he ran off 
with his receptionist.  I need to have a strong word with that fellow."

Sammy blinked.  "I didn't mean to get him in trouble.  He told me he 
really needs this job."

She shook her head.  "He'll find out how much!"

As she tied his necktie, her mouth was only a few inches higher than 
his.  He smelled semen on her breath and went on tiptoe to kiss her 
lips.  She smiled slightly.  "What was that for?"

"For what you did on the couch.  It almost knocked _me_ out!"

"You liked it, did you?"

"Oh, wow, Leila!"

She chuckled with pleasure.  "There's a name for using a woman's head 
that way."

"A name?"

"In mortuaries they call it a 'cold' blowjob."  She waved her hand.  
"Forget I said that, Sammy.  The one you just got wasn't cold, was it?"

"Oh, no!"

"Now what do you want for supper?  I usually have something delivered."

"Can we have pizza?"

She laughed.  "Refreshingly your boyhood still shines through.  What do
you want on your pizza?"

"Everything!"

"Silly me that I had to ask."  She glanced around the room.  "It looks 
ship shape.  Come on out into the office.  We'll eat there and you can 
tell me what you've learned in home school."


* * *


Sammy enjoyed spouting forth his knowledge of geography, history, 
government and math while they waited for the pizza, continuing around 
mouthfuls of it while sitting before Leila's office desk.  She was the 
perfect audience, listening with interest, asking detail-eliciting 
questions and smiling uncritically at his naive conclusions.

"But what do you know about sex?" she asked, eyes twinkling, when his 
font approached exhaustion.

"It's to reproduce the species," he answered glibly.

"Ultimately, no doubt.  And you should consider that when you take a 
wife.  But what about in the meantime?"

"In the ... what?"

"I mean the fun side of sex, which is a lot more important to most 
people than reproduction.  It's a drug the damned governments can 
scarcely regulate, though how they would love to!"

"A drug?"

"I should say, 'Like a drug.'  What did your mother teach you about sex
for fun?"

He thought a moment and blinked.  "Nothing."

She chuckled.  "But you're off to a good start anyway.  I gather you 
only met Helen recently.  Is she your mother's friend?"

"Uh ...  I don't think so."

Leila studied him narrowly.  "Obviously you've only recently got out of
the house.  Well, why not?  You're growing up.  A boy can't be kept 
close like a hot-house plant."  She sighed and shook her head.  "No 
matter how much you wish he could."

Her words made him wonder.  "Do you have children, Leila?"

"No.  Never had any and never will, which I've learned to regret."  She
straightened up and patted her lips with a napkin.  "There's a couple 
slices left."

"I'm full."

"Full of pizza and empty of jizz?"

He grinned at the contrast.  "I think so."

"Oh, I'll bet I could get more out of that sweet dick.  But your mother
should be here soon.  You won't forget me, will you, Sammy?"

He shook his head adamantly.  "Never!"

She smiled and beckoned.  "Wipe your mouth, then come around the desk 
and let me feel your fist one last time."

He knelt beside her big chair and reached under her skirt.  Nothing was
said about lubricant but he soon learned that none was needed.

"Oh, god, your hand is so perfect!  Sammy, how can I let you get away 
from me?"

Hand working vigorously, he suggested, "Maybe I can come back tomorrow."

"Ooo, ooo!  I'll have to think of some way to persuade ...  Oh, god, 
Sammy, that's right -- lift up!"

Her odor, now very strong, seemed to harden his erection.  Suddenly he 
remembered her words about Deaver having dirt on her and that the door 
to the hall was open.  He looked over his shoulder and blinked, hearing
footsteps on the stairs.

Out came his hand, gradually as he dared, recalling Helen's admonition 
to admit air.  "Leila, I think --"

"God, don't stop!"

"Somebody's coming!" he whispered fiercely.

"_I_ am!"  Suddenly she straightened, eyes flying open.  "You mean --"

"Somebody's coming upstairs."

"Must be your mother.  Huh!  The whole crowd."

She shoved her skirt down and sat up.  "Quick, back to your --  What the
hell?"

Sammy quickly rose to his feet.  A glance into the hall showed a man's 
face and chest rising above the stair landing.  He wore a cop's uniform.
Behind him appeared another.

Quick footsteps brought the newcomers to the doorway before Sammy could
round the desk and fall into his chair.  The two cops entered the office
while a third man in a civilian suit stopped before the desk.

"Are you Leila McPherson Strump?" he demanded of the woman.

"I am.  What's the meaning of this?"

"Handcuff her.  You're under arrest on suspicion of murdering Perry 
Mellon Strump, your husband.  You have the right to remain silent ..."

While he recited her rights, the two in uniform closed around the desk,
lifted her out of her chair, pulled her hands behind her and snapped 
cuffs on her wrists.  Her face was white, mouth fallen open, as a hand 
on her shoulder pushed her around the desk.

She glared at the man in civvies.  "Damn it, everybody knows he ran off
with his receptionist!"

"Rehearse that with your lawyer."  He held up a sheet of paper.  "This 
is the copy of a search warrant for this place and the garden behind 
it."  He dropped the paper among the pizza scraps on her desk.  "Harve,
take her to the car.  Pudge, call Juvenile and find an empty room 
downstairs to hold this kid until they get here."

"Yes, sir, lieutenant," said the two in unison, moving to obey.

The man in the suit went out calling for a search party.  The heavyset 
cop who answered to "Pudge" took Sammy by the arm and lifted him easily
from the chair.  "You heard the man, kid.  Come on."  He snickered.  
"And don't worry about that hard-on.  It'll be gone in a sec."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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