The Butterfly Effect Page 3

  "There you are,” she said brightly. “We thought you might be lost."

  I handed her a snifter.

  She sipped and studied me.

  "You saw us, didn't you?"

  I nodded.

  "Are you angry with me?"

  "No, of course not. Surprised, but not angry."

  "We both still prefer men, you know."

  I smiled. “I never thought otherwise."

  "She wants you. She'll come to you tonight."

  "How does that make you feel?"

  She shrugged. “We're not in love with each other, Martin. We give each other pleasure once in a while. She's a friend and a part-time lover. If she wants you and you want her, that makes me happy."

  I looked directly at her and said, “When I saw the two of you, I wanted to join you, I wanted to fuck you, both of you, and I wanted to watch you fuck each other."

  She gasped. A sound filled with passion. “I know. I felt the same way when I saw her fucking you."

  "I didn't. Join you, that is. If I had, I would have fucked you."

  She chuckled. “I'm glad you didn't join us. But I must admit to the same nearly overwhelming urge. Incest is an interesting fantasy, very powerful, but it should not be explored."

  "You're very beautiful standing in front of me naked with hard, just-sucked nipples. You're extremely arousing. Tempting. I'm so hard right now, I hurt. I no longer want a role in your game, Ruth. I'm finished for the night."

  "No. You're not finished. There's Jill. You won't disappoint her."

  I nodded.

  "Goodnight, Bro. I love you.” She bent and kissed me, a sisterly kiss, but her breasts with their just-sucked nipples rubbed feather-like across my chest. She straightened and started to walk away, but turned and said, “I didn't bring the two of you together to play a game, Martin. Jill has a problem you might be able to help her with. We'll talk about it in the morning."

  "Ah, finally I understand your game,” I said to her receding form.

  She giggled.

  Jill certainly qualified as unusual. I hoped she had an unusual problem. I smiled. Ruth knew me well. A new project was just what I needed to give me purpose again.

  I sipped the brandy and waited.

  Jill entered the great room, and like Ruth, didn't see me in my hideaway at first. She dragged her gown behind her but let it drop when she spied me and moved regally toward me. Even as a child, Jill didn't tease, skip, or giggle. She looked sultry, walked sensuously, and her deep laugh resonated honestly and expressed self-confidence—regal. Her tawny red mane shined resplendently and waved sensuously around her regal profile when she cocked her head quizzically toward me. The tips of her hair were wet and took away from her beauty, made her more real, less of a fantasy.

  The chair was wide enough she could place her knees each side of me. She reached and removed the towel. I helped by raising my hips slightly. The damp towel, when tossed, landed atop her gown. Her fingers twined into my hair and her green eyes glowed with lust.

  "Did we shock you?"

  "Yes. And excited me."

  Her dainty hand wrapped my hard-on. It was rock hard and throbbing. She pulled its bulbous head through the crease of her cunt.

  "Did you watch us long?"

  "No. The sight was too intense, too erotic. I backed away."

  Again I felt her creamy inner membranes surround my cock and nibble as she lowered herself down over me.

  "I wanted you to watch,” she said. “I'm a bit of an exhibitionist, Martin. I saw your silhouette through the door. Ruth's fingers were busy in my pussy then, and when I saw you, I climaxed. When I recovered, your outline had disappeared. Disappointment flared, but I hoped you would return. I wanted to perform for you and guided Ruth to sit at the edge of the hot tub with her thighs on my shoulders. I had just climaxed but when I placed my mouth on your sister's cunt, my arousal soared again. She didn't cause the arousal. You did. The situation."

  "Did Ruth know I was watching?"

  "I don't think so, but she certainly knew you wouldn't be gone long. She climaxed quickly, too, when I sucked her clitoris into my mouth and lashed it with my tongue. If she didn't know you were watching, like me, I believe she hoped you were. Oh, God, you feel so nice in me again.” She ran her hands across my chest. “I love your body, Martin. You could have been the model for Michelangelo's David.” She chuckled. “Except for his cock. Michelangelo's David has a small cock, a little marble worm, not like yours at all. You fill me, Martin."

  I groaned and stopped her from moving. My urge to climax had reached a point that any movement at all would take me over the edge. The membranes of her cunt couldn't stop. They grasped and released, fluttered along the length of my shaft.

  "I'm going to come,” I said softly as the sensations of orgasm started their path through my body.

  "Yes. Yes! I can feel it, Martin. You're getting larger inside me. Oh, yes. Come in me! I'm ready, too. Come in me!"

  Her hips took off then. I don't remember the next few seconds. I was away in my private place feeling sensations so exquisite I wanted to scream with pleasure, but the void I occupied disallowed sound, disallowed taste, and smell and touch and sight. It was a place where only sensation existed. When the room focused again, I heard the end of my scream. I watched as Jill continued to fuck me. No longer regal, her grimace expressed animal-like lust. Her face was flushed at one side of her neck and another red mark on her chest to the right. I remembered that about her then, how she flushed in blotches when she started an orgasm. My climax wasn't finished. My body stiffened and I ejaculated inside her again, and another wave of orgasmic sensations gripped me. Jill, too, was climaxing. Her cunt fluttered madly around my shaft, and she threw her regal head back as her muscles strained, searched for and concentrated on the sensations wracking her body. The membranes inside her cunt grasped at my cock, squeezing and releasing it rhythmically, timed to her contractions. Neither of us moved. We throbbed, stiffened and released, shared our juices.

  My orgasm finished well before hers. I had not only started before her but also had decided early in life that the female orgasm is vastly superior to that of the male. The Creator fucked up. She should have made male and female orgasms equal. But watching Jill move through her orgasm delighted me almost as much as experiencing my own. Each time a contraction grabbed her, her green eyes rolled back in her head and she ratcheted her hips down forcefully, taking as much of me into her as possible. “Fuck me!” she exclaimed on each down stroke. “Fuck me!” My hands were on her breasts and I pinched her long, thin nipples each time she shouted, “Fuck me!"

  Finally she collapsed against me, searching for my mouth with hers, still greedy for more, but neither of us had any more to give, except tender touches, soft autonomous kisses and endearing, whispered words.

  A few minutes later she pushed herself up from my chest, gazed into my eyes and said, “Let's go to your bed. I'm not finished with you yet."

  As predicted, the day had been interesting and difficult, and it wasn't finished.

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  Chapter Four

  The next morning I awoke early. As I lay remembering the previous evening, it suddenly occurred to me that Jill was missing. My arms were around her when I went to sleep. Sometime during the night, she left me. I rose and donned my running gear and quietly let myself out of the house. I used the grass strip between lanes on St. Charles Avenue as my running track. If I started my run late, I had to compete with the trolley that ferried passengers up and down the famous avenue, famous enough to claim a square on the Monopoly board. Today, I had the track to myself.

  As my legs pumped, my thoughts drifted. When Dianna was alive, she ran with me and kept pace for the three-mile trek I tried to take every morning. Dianna was my best friend as well as my wife and lover. We did many things together, and it was during activities like this one when she usually joined me, that I missed her most. Breast cancer had taken her from me. I donated
a substantial part of my income every year toward research for the treatment and possible cure of the dreaded disease.

  I thought about Dianna in connection with the game Ruth had put in play last evening, and grinned as I huffed along the grass. Dianna would have spun the game into even more bizarre directions. She loved my sister's games and participated in them enthusiastically. She had once encouraged me to fuck Ruth. “That will bounce her out of the cat-bird seat,” she had said with a nearly evil laugh. I could still see Dianna's expression turn inward as she rethought her suggestion. “No, I take it back,” she said. “Her ultimate goal might be to have you fall between her legs.” She had laughed then. “The bitch is going to win again, isn't she?” I remember I didn't answer my wife's rhetorical question. Ruth's games were mostly storyline, plot and characterization fodder for her novels.

  As I turned back toward my sister's old Southern home, I wondered what problem Jill could possibly have that would attract the use of my avocation. I would know soon enough.

  The house was still quiet when I entered, so I didn't pound up the stairs with a war whoop. I quickly showered, shaved and dressed. As I passed the master bedroom en route to the kitchen to brew coffee, I noticed the door was cracked open. I couldn't stop myself. The voyeuristic tendency that had surfaced forcefully last evening pushed itself out of the closet again. My eyes drank in the sight of the two most beautiful women I knew lying asleep in twisted sheets with one hand from each of them resting on the other's vulva. I suddenly wished photography were my avocation. I would love to capture the sheer beauty of the scene so I could revisit it any time the urge emerged. Curiously, the two of them naked and asleep touching each other didn't arouse me; rather it appealed to my aesthetic senses. As I looked, Ruth started to stir. I quietly closed the door and moved to the kitchen to start the morning coffee.

  I had just poured my first cup when Christie bounced into the room—wearing clothes. I relaxed. She went to the refrigerator and poured a large glass of orange juice and plunked down next to me at the kitchen table.

  "Morning, Uncle M,” she said and gulped. “Ms. Jill is with Mom. I thought she would sleep with you last night."

  Out of the mouths of babes.

  "So, you know about your mother and Jill?"

  "Oh, yes.” She scrunched her face. “They aren't very discreet."

  "What's your take on the two of them?"

  She shrugged. “It isn't serious. Neither of them are lesbians, or anything like that. I was shocked when I first figured out that they made love with each other, but after a while, it made sense. I know Mom isn't looking for another husband. A few men have asked her to marry, and she turned them down. She isn't interested or she hasn't found the right man, one or the other. And as beautiful as Jill is, attracting men can't be a problem for her. I think they just enjoy each other. They're very much alike, you know—independent, beautiful, wealthy and single. I have no problem with them being friendly lovers."

  Ruth entered, yawning with her hair still mussed and wearing a gauzy robe she had thrown on. Sexy. I knew she wore it because of my prudish request, but the damn thing might as well be invisible. In truth, she was sexier with it on than if she were naked. “Ah, I see you two have started the day. Good morning,” she said to no one in particular and poured coffee.

  She looked at me as she sipped. “I take it, you've already had your morning run?"

  I nodded. “Will Jill be joining us shortly?” I asked so she would know I was aware of the sleeping arrangement.

  "She's in the shower. I told her you insisted that she dress, so she'll be a while."

  I grinned. You get what you reap, my boy, I told myself. I took a swipe at Ruth, so she slashed me right back.

  Ruth poured another cup of coffee, for Jill I assumed. “I'm going to shower and dress, too. Plan on a serious conversation shortly, Martin."

  I nodded. “Maybe I can entice Christie into a game of chess until you and Jill are revived."

  "Good idea, Uncle M,” Christie said with a grin.

  The imp won the white pieces. By agreement and because her Mother and Jill would be joining us soon, we set the chess clock at ten minutes each for the game.

  Christie hurried her game. She had two minutes on her clock. I had only thirty seconds before my time would run out making me the loser when I noted a checkmate in five moves. Another approach allowed my niece to beat me in seven. I purposefully made the blunder with rook to king four, and the girl smiled and started to pounce. She hesitated and frowned. My chess blunder had become a social gaffe, I guessed.

  Ruth and Jill strolled into the great room looking beautiful and ready for the day.

  "Who's winning?” Ruth asked.

  "He's letting me win, Mother,” Christie said and grinned at me. “You had a mate in five, and you knew it. Please don't ever do that again, Uncle M. I'm not a child anymore."

  "No, you aren't, and I apologize,” I said.

  "Apology accepted,” she said and pushed her king over to resign. “I'll get you next time.” She looked up at her mother. “Am I allowed in your meeting?"

  Ruth shook her head. “Adults only. Sorry."

  Christie pouted and then smiled. “I'll take my laps in the pool,” she announced and started to shuck her clothes.

  My eyes rolled to the back of my head.

  "Let's use my office,” Ruth said.

  I smiled, grateful for my sister's suggestion. I don't believe I could have concentrated if Christie were bouncing around the room, in and out of the house, and in and out of the pool in her altogether.

  Ruth had a sitting area in her office, two love seats with a table between them. I settled on one of them, the ladies next to each other on the one facing me.

  "Ruth tells me you have a problem, Jill. Has she told you about my avocation?"

  "Sort of,” Jill said.

  "I enjoy solving unusual human problems for unusual individuals or groups. I use my own resources, refuse any compensation, but if I solve the problem, I ask that the individual or group involved help me solve other problems I accept in the future. I only ask for help if the individual has a unique ability that can be put to use in the solution of a problem I have accepted, and then only once. If I use an individual more than once, he or she will be paid the going rate for their services. Before I hear your problem, is my approach acceptable to you?"

  "I have plenty of money, Martin. I could..."

  "Then I'm not interested, Jill. My conditions are not negotiable."

  "But..."

  I rose and left the room.

  I was pouring orange juice in the kitchen when Jill entered.

  "Your conditions are acceptable, Martin."

  I waited. She wisely remained silent. “Okay, that's step one, Jill. Be aware, I don't accept every problem presented to me. Let's rejoin Ruth and hear your story."

  We settled into our previous positions. I nodded and Jill started.

  "Three months ago, I flew to New York City to meet with my modeling agency, check on my store in Manhattan, and do some buying for my boutiques. I don't do much modeling anymore, nothing too strenuous or requiring a youthful face and form."

  "Oh, Jill, you're more beautiful today than..."

  "Ruth, please don't interrupt. Go ahead, Jill."

  "Anyway, after I met with the agency and turned down the assignment they offered, I received a call from Evan, my ex-husband. He told me he needed to meet with me, and I invited him to my hotel suite. I usually stay at the Plaza when in the city, so I assumed my agency had told him I was in town. Our divorce had been amiable. My lawyers had prepared a prenuptial agreement he signed before we married that disallowed him access to any of my assets should a divorce occur. Besides, he was too macho, I believed at the time, to take a handout from me. Evan makes good money. He brought a bottle of wine with him, one he knew I favored, and poured us drinks.” She hesitated.

  "Go ahead,” I said.

  "The rest is ugly, Martin,” she said and t
ears welled in her eyes.

  I waited.

  She composed herself. “I sipped the wine, and that's the last thing I remember about the evening until I awoke in the middle of the night. I was hurting, felt bruised, Martin. And I was naked. I struggled in the dark to the bathroom and turned on the light. My lipstick was smeared and blotches of dried semen covered my body, in my hair and across my face. The son-of-a-bitch raped me, I thought. He drugged me and raped me! I touched myself. My vagina was sore and still wet, full of semen, also my anus! I noticed bruises on my breasts. I felt so dirty! Violated! I turned on the shower and scrubbed. I scrubbed until my skin became raw, and still I felt dirty. I douched, over and over again, and then used the device on my anus. All through the ordeal, I sobbed and cursed the son-of-a-bitch."

  Her tears overflowed and streaked her face. Her chin quivered and her shoulders shook. Ruth pulled her into her arms and let her cry. I waited patiently, knew there was more to her story.

  When her sobs subsided, and she calmed down a little, I asked, “What happened next?"

  "The next morning, a courier arrived with a package from Evan. The package contained photographs of me with men, men fucking me in every vile manner possible, more than one at a time. The faces of the men weren't visible, but mine was. My face was prominent in each photo. I looked drugged, and my eyes were closed, but I couldn't deny that I was the woman performing the vile acts with strange men. Evan is a professional photographer, a good one. The lighting was perfect. His cameras captured dramatic images of semen flying through the air toward my open mouth and splashing onto my face. I angrily tore the photos to shreds and slumped to the floor in despair. The phone rang. It was Evan. I cursed him, told him I was calling the police. He told me to go ahead, that I couldn't prove anything. He knew me well, knew I would shower and douche to try to wash away the dirtiness I felt and described my actions after I awoke. It was like he was a fly on the wall. He even knew I had destroyed the photos the courier brought in the package he sent me, an untraceable package, he added.” She took a deep breath.