The Waiting Game

"Would you like a drink, sir?"

Max paused. He was at the house of his lady friend, Gloria Dupree, who was missing. He was waiting on news of her disappearance, and he was alone with Gloria's housemaid, Leah. He shouldn't drink ... but he was wired. "Yes. I'll have a vodka martini. Do you know how to mix a martini, Leah?"

"Of course, sir!"

As Leah prepared the drink at the leather-clad wet bar, Max half watched the 11 p.m. news on the television and half-watched the sturdy curved figure of the housemaid. Leah carried his drink over and placed it on the low table in front of the sofa. As Leah bent down to put the frosted glass with its clear but dangerous contents near his knee, he caught the musk of her ... a sweet, fresh waft of girl flesh ... and for a moment he stared down at the ripe, plump swell of two very large breasts, unfettered by a bra, barely hidden because the top buttons of her uniform were undone. Had they been undone when he'd arrived some minutes earlier? His heart hammered.

"Thank you. I wish I could invite you to have a drink with me."

"Perhaps not, Mister Max. I do not drink alcohol, you know."

"I'm sure you don't. Very wise. How old are you, Leah?"

"Twenty."

"Oh, well."

They both stared at the TV screen for a while before Max rose to look out of the picture window at the driveway. He rounded on the maid.

"Where the hell is Mrs. Dupree, Leah?"

"Perhaps something important happened. She seemed very ... very jumpy this evening, sir."

Max stared at her, then swallowed the martini. He was normally a controlled drinker and often went for weeks without imbibing, but he felt strangely unsettled by Gloria's disappearance. Despite the silly disco music at the Tempest bar, he now wished he and his lady were there, bumping into other couples on the dance floor and making fools of themselves. He felt the effects of the martini hit him between the eyes. He strode over to the elegant white telephone near the TV and called Hotel Paraiso, asking to be put through to the cocktail lounge. The limpid tones of the bartender greeted him.

Max responded gruffly. "This is Captain Krueger. Remember me?"

"Oh, yes ... Captain. Of course I remember you. But your lady friend has not arrived yet."

"Well, if she does arrive, tell her to call her house. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

Max slammed the phone down.

"Relax, Mister Max," smiled Leah. "Here, I'll give you another drink. Perhaps it will calm you."

Max studied the dimples in the girl's cheeks, then the big innocent eyes, then the tumultuous breasts straining the front of her uniform.

"Yes, another drink might do the trick."

He heard his own voice slurring. Easy, Max, he said to himself. And why not call the police now? This was Manaha. This was Verubia. But he knew the cops would tell him to wait until the following morning. He knew enough about police procedures to know that. Gloria was healthy, had money, friends, contacts, a full social life, she could have gone anywhere. "Perhaps," the cops would suggest, "Mrs. Dupree had another date, Senor." "Perhaps, Mister Krueger, you are not the only friend she has." Max wondered if he shouldn't call Colonel "Diablo" Fernandez, his good buddy, the chief of police of this incredible city, but then thought better of it. If the lady turned up safe and sound, egg would seriously be plastered on Max's face. He hadn't spoken to Diablo for nearly four months. And as for the "good buddy" part, well, the police chief probably didn't have any good buddies. He wasn't the type. And Captain Cristobal, the Colonel's efficient aide? Maybe ... but later.

Max sped to the sofa, just in time to be there when the delicious young woman arrived with his second martini, and just in time to catch the visual feast offered him again. As he accepted his drink, which he noticed was a double, two thoughts crossed his slightly befuddled mind. Firstly, this wasn't his second martini, it was his fifth of the night, and secondly, Leah's breasts had grown larger, if that was possible since his first ... no, his fourth martini.

"Thank you, my dear girl," he said pompously, then stuck his finger into the cold silvery liquid and clumsily swirled it around, disturbing the olive.

The girl straightened and stepped back from the sofa. "I shall go to my room now, Mister Max. Roberto will wait at the gate. Please stay here if you wish. Perhaps you can sleep for a moment."

"Yes, I'll wait. I can do nothing else."

The girl left. Max rose and called his own apartment. Gloria had a key to his front door, the only woman who did. No answer. He called the hotel bar again. She hadn't arrived, and according to the bartender's tone of voice, wouldn't. He watched TV and finished the drink. He was sloshed. Zapped. Fried. He closed his eyes.

One of the lights in the living room went out. He opened his eyes with a start. He had been dozing. Leah was standing next to the TV. In the light thrown from the screen, he saw she was wearing a long nightgown made of cotton. The material was thin and he saw, very clearly, the shape of her legs and buttocks through the fabric. She turned off the set and the room fell dark, lit only by a soft lamp in the far corner of the spacious living room.

"Leah, I thought you had gone to bed."

His voice sounded harsh. His mouth felt dry. He was unable to pull his eyes away from the girl's nightie. She looked very pretty. Her hair fell in inky waves down her back. Neglecting to answer him, she walked to the window and looked out, perhaps searching for the figure of Roberto, the security detail, up the driveway. She drew the curtains closed. They were maroon silk, matching the sofa on which he slumped. To close them, she stood on tip-toes, reaching up and struggling with the heavy material, and Max could see, through the soft near darkness, the bunched muscles of her rounded bottom under the cheap cotton, and below that her strong calf muscles and the adorable white soles of her bare feet. He groaned and sat up straight, his hand knocking over the empty martini glass. He felt woozy and very, very horny. He looked down at the bulge under the gray material of his slacks. His dick was a stiff pole. My God, he said to himself, I'm waiting for my date in her house. She has disappeared into thin air. She could show up at any moment. Behave yourself.

But then another extremely cunning thought crossed his mind. If Gloria does return ... no, when Gloria returns in her BMW ... I shall hear the engine revving, a door slamming, footsteps on the gravel, a front door opening, the curtains are closed and ...

"Come here, Leah."

But the girl was already kneeling in front of him, between his knees. Her dark eyes, so innocent before, now searched his with all the knowledge of woman, woman eternal. He stroked her hair.

"Leah ..."

The girl placed a finger on his lips. "Don't talk, Mister Max. I must tell you a secret."

"What secret, little one? If you tell me, it won't be a secret, will it?"

Shut up, Max, he told himself.

"The secret is I love you. I have loved you since I first saw you here with Ma'am Gloria."

"That's silly. I'm much older than you."

Jesus, man, keep quiet.

"It doesn't matter, Mister Max. Anyway, where I come from in Benedet, girls get married much younger than I am now. Don't you like me? Am I not pretty enough for you?"

"Oh, you're beautiful. So beautiful."

It was true.

Leah smiled. "So? It could be our secret. Roberto is at the gate. May I kiss you?"

"You may."

He pulled her off her knees. She hiked up her nightdress, so that it bunched around her hips. He gasped. She straddled him, one knee on either side of him on the sofa, and placed her soft lips on his. They kissed deeply. His hands went around her. His strong arms hugged her tightly. She felt incredibly warm and soft and wonderful. She moved back, looked down and unzipped his slacks. Finding what she searched for, she gently pulled his rigid barnstormer out and stroked it. She moved up and forward, panting and shifting her buttocks urgently.

His hands slid up her brown legs. They felt silkier than the couch he was sitting on. He grasped her plump bottom cheeks under the nightie. She sank, moaning, onto his cock. It entered her hot wet cave of dreams. Her pussy was so smooth and liquid that he speared her without effort. She cried out. He grunted. In his half-drunken state he thought he had never felt anything so fabulous in his stormy life. He rammed himself all the way in, then she rose up, holding his shoulders for support and began sinking down and rising up at an ever increasing pace, and in this manner the two of them fucked madly while waiting for Gloria Jacobi Dupree to return. Their senses were incredibly alive, the danger of discovery at the back of their giddy, pleasure-crazed minds as she writhed and moaned and lifted her nightdress over her shoulders and head and cast it onto the sofa and she was naked while he guzzled at her huge breasts as they leapt in front of him. His eyes closed as he kissed and licked them and she cried, "Yes, yes, Mister Max, oh yes, kiss them, kiss them," as her bottom cheeks jolted and tightened and loosened and her fingers tore his shirt open and she bent to kiss his hairy chest, then raised her face to suck his lips and bite them and thrust her wet tongue into his throat and the heat rose and it was too late to hold on as they both came with frantic, strangled shouts of glee, they yelped and groaned their way to fruition and slumped and sagged on the couch.

Leah fell off him and sprawled on the carpet. Time passed. Max's sodden night warrior slowly subsided until it lolled damply against his slacks. The skipper slipped it back where it had come from and zipped himself up.

He cocked his ear for any unfamiliar noises in the night. The only sound besides the deep breathing of the girl on the carpet was that of a gecko, a large lizard, coming from somewhere outside near the mansion's front porch light. It called to a mate, or perhaps it called for a mate. Max heard the house creak slightly as the night cooled. He thought he heard the hoot of an owl, but no sound of a BMW crunched the gravel of the driveway.

He leaned forward and slipped one of the girl's small hands into his. With the other, he touched her shuddering breast. A spasm of guilt entered his mind.

"I love you, Mister Max," she whispered. "More now than I did before."

Oh, boy, thought Max. Now what?

"Thanks, Leah. You were fabulous. But I think you'd better go to your room now and I think I'd better go home. Is that okay with you?"

The girl lay still for a while, then slowly rose and pulled on her cotton shift.

Max stood and embraced her for a moment, then looked down at her. "I don't think we should tell Mrs. Dupree about this."

She stared up at him. "No, Mister Max. It is our secret, right?"

He wasn't too sure about her secrets. "No talk, girl. Only you and I should know about this."

You prick, he thought.

"Good night, Mister Max." She went to the door, then turned. "Do you want another drink?"

"No. Definitely not."

"When can we do this again, sir?"

He paused. "Soon, I hope."

"I cannot wait long."