Three-Way Weekend.pdf

BSS-640 Three-Way Weekend by Kitty Spencer Chapter 1 The two young men strolling along Sutter

Street might have been brothers. Each was tall, each had the same lightly tanned, dark-haired good

looks, and the same Italian ancestry showed in the boned modeling of both faces. But Nino and Carlo

were unrelated by direct blood ties. They considered themselves to be business partners. They walked

with easy strides toward the rows of cafe tables that lined the garden court restaurant, ignoring the San

Franciscians and tourists who strolled past them. Typically, Carlo was half pace in the lead. "Let's sit

here," he suggested, reaching for a chair at a back row table. They sat down and lit cigarettes, each

taking from his own pack. Nino produced a pair of sunglasses from the breast pocket of his jacket and

put them on. It was April; the sunshine was already bright. Carlo clicked his fingers in the direction of a

white jacketed waiter who immediately gave a nod of recognition.

"How goes it, George?" Carlo greeted the waiter as the man hurried to the table.

"I survive," George grinned. "What'll it be, gentlemen."

"Coffee, amico." Nino ordered the same.

The two young men leaned back in their chairs, each taking in the scene around him with a practiced

gaze. Only a third of the outdoor tables were occupied, for the tourist season had hardly begun. There

were still more pigeons than people in the court. Simultaneously they caught sight of the girl walking

across the patio.

She was not beautiful, exactly, but she was attractive in a strangely exciting way. Shining in the sunlight,

her straight blonde hair hung almost to her shoulders. She walked with a languid, long-legged gait,

unhurried and graceful. And her figure superb.

Twenty or twenty-one, Carlo estimated. More importantly, he could tell at a glance that although she

was casually dressed, her clothes were undoubtedly expensive. And she possessed that air of

impeccable carelessness that belongs only to rich men's daughters! "Nino, my friend," Carlo murmured,

leaning across the table, "Nino--- you'd better get to work. Business is already beginning to look good

this year ..."

"Did you fix up about the apartment?" Nino asked. The sun blazed momentarily from Nino's dark

glasses as the boy turned toward his companion.

Carlo nodded.

"It's all arranged. I checked everything with the landlord. Including the rent. It's ours for the season."

"How'd you get the place so cheap?" Nino's lower lip formed a suspicious pout.

"The landlord is a friend of mine ..." Shrugging, Carlo let his voice trail off.

Nino's petulant expression changed into a satisfied smile. Carlo had more "friends" in San Francisco than

anyone else Nino knew. Of course, in Carlo's line of business, one either had friends---or one starved.

There was no middle course.

For the official record, Carlo was a tourist guide. In reality, he was a highly versatile procurer.

Their coffee arrived, and Carlo and Nino began discussing the tourist season as they drank it.

"Christ---but I hope it's better than last year," Nino muttered as he glanced toward the table where the

blonde-haired girl sat. "I nearly broke my back on those women, and not one of them turned out to be

worth more than a week's keep."

"When one aims high," remarked Carlo, "one must be patient. This year, maybe you'll find your dream

girl. The dream girl who'll be young, beautiful, rich---and very, very stupid."

Carlo grinned maliciously to himself. Nino glanced at him, annoyed, his mouth setting in a pouting sulk.

Even with his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses, his features were expressive. Nino had long been

aware that women found his mobile features distractingly charming. "Is Benito going to share the

apartment with us?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Probably. He's supposed to meet us here to let us know definitely." "I wouldn't have thought he needed

an apartment. Those rich old gals he gets always have luxury suites in the best hotels. Or else they rent a

plush apartment."

Nino's voice betrayed jealousy. He sometimes wished he were less fastidious but, much as he

worshipped money, he couldn't bring himself to court and sleep with older women. "It offends my sense

of the aesthetic," he had tried to explain to Carlo on more than one occasion. "It's almost like a

perversion, but in reverse. If they're older than thirty, l can't screw them no matter how beautiful. It won't

come up properly." Carlo's response had always been both lewd and unsympathetic.

"Maybe Benito just wants some place to relax," Carlo suggested, his tone, as it frequently was, bored

and noncommittal. "His mother's an overpowering woman. He needs some freedom." Two o'clock was

chiming from the nearby clock tower when they saw Benito hurrying across the patio toward them. His

short, stocky figure moved along briskly with quick, neat movements, his light brown hair ruffled slightly

in the faint breeze. He gave the impression of an overfed bird.

"Ciao," he greeted as he dropped into a chair between Carlo and Nino. Then, in the next breath: "Can't

stop long. I've got an important appointment."

"Already?" Carlo raised an approving eyebrow.

Benito nodded. "The first of many, I hope," he smirked. "At the Fairmont. Not bad---only a small suite,

but her luggage looks promising."

"Are you planning to include the luggage in your sex games?" Carlo asked. The thought intrigued him

momentarily; within the limited scope of Carlo's interests, bizarre sexuality ranked high. Benito grimaced

and helped himself to a cigarette from Carlo's pack. "About the apartment ..." he began, as if Carlo had

not spoken. Immediately, the atmosphere changed. This was business. Carlo sat forward in his chair.

"Yes. Here's the deal ..."

After his short explanatory statement, the three men discussed the project community rental. At first,

Benito balked at the price, then reconsidered and finally agreed to join in, signaling his agreement with a

jabbing nod of the head.

"Done," he said. He held out his hand. Carlo clasped it briefly; so did Nino. Benito stood up. In the next

moment, with a hurried "Ciao" tossed over his shoulder, Benito was away and halfway across the court.

The other two men gazed speculatively at his rapidly disappearing figure. "I wonder if Benito cums as

fast as he does everything else," mused Carlo. "I should think those older women of his would hardly

have time to spread their legs before Benito's all through."

Nino gave a short laugh, but his attention was centered elsewhere. A group of four girls was being

seated at a table only a few yards away. There was much breathless giggling and whispering as they

settled down.

Without being obvious about it, Nino appraised them with expert speed:

they were all in their late teens. He shrugged. They weren't worth bothering about.

Still, a practice run always smoothed his vanity. Nino laughed again, this time throwing his head back

and displaying his perfect set of white, even teeth. The girls looked toward him.

"When can we start using the apartment?" he asked Carlo, still playing his side-line game. He leaned

back and made much of lighting another cigarette, spinning the spent match toward a bunch of pigeons.

The birds fluttered off, regrouping a few yards away. "Next week. D'you think you'll be using the place

much?"

"Who knows?" Nino shrugged elaborately. "Every night, God willing ..." "For me, it will be useful mainly

as an office," Carlo remarked. "Of course, there may be an occasion when I need the place for a night.

But I will usually make other arrangements. Otherwise, you and Benito can work it out between the two

of you."

"Do we use the same arrangement as last year? To let the other know when the apartment's being used,

I mean."

"Whoever wants the place calls the other two, to make sure we don't clash. If our ... uh, schedules clash,

whoever had the apartment last has to miss a turn."

Carlo paused slightly before adding: "And, to make sure there are no accidents, as you go through the

downstairs lobby, leave the mailbox door flapping open. In the first place, it's a signal to the other two

that you're in residence. Secondly, checking the mailbox makes it seem right to the woman with you, as

if you really lived there." "Bene." Nino's gaze drifted, as if by chance, to the table occupied by the four

young girls. "The one in red is pretty," he commented, "but they look as though they've come off some

cheap tour. They're probably counting every dollar they have."

"They'll get a shock when they see their bill," smiled Carlo. "Unless, of course, they find someone foolish

enough to pay for it." "Not enough tourists around. Only another tourist would bother with them."

"There'll be plenty soon. The season's beginning to warm up." Carlo drank the last of his coffee. "I've a

couple of tours lined up already for this week. And next week ... it sounds promising. I have a batch of

teenagers on my hands for three whole days. One of those educational trips."

"The Count will be delighted to hear the news."

"Yeah. They're just his type. Fifteen and sixteen. Although I heard he's been diddling a kid of

thirteen---the daughter of his housekeeper, or so the rumor goes " "So young?"

"He needs them younger every year. The Count's reaching the point where, as soon as they grow hair

between their thighs, he loses interest."

Supplying the Count with suitable bed material was indeed becoming a problem, thought Carlo, pouring

himself a glass of water from the carafe on the table. He drained the glass in a single swallow. As he

was setting the empty glass back on the table, he caught sight of the blonde-haired girl again. "Nino, my

friend," he said, rising, "I think I'll leave you to your work."

Nino's brow knitted. Then following Carlo's gaze, he smiled. "Ciao, my friend ..."

Chapter 2

After leaving Carlo and Nino, Benito headed for the Fairmont. He did not stop to wait for a cable car.

With his trotting walk, he could get there faster on foot. To avoid the solid mass of tourists blocking the

street which led from the cafe to the hotel, Benito ducked through a series of alleyways so narrow that

they remained in almost permanent semi-darkness. They smelled of cafe kitchens and cats. Christ!

Benito thought, glancing at the gold watch he had recently acquired. Nearly two-thirty, and he'd

promised to be at the hotel by two. Hannah would be angry with him. He couldn't help admiring the way

the watch looked on his wrist. The solid gold bracelet band showed up well just beneath his shirt cuff.

As he almost ran through the narrow alleys, Benito held out his left arm momentarily to admire the effect

again. It occurred to him that he could do with a gold signet ring. Carlo had a beauty that looked very

impressive. A businessman needed a signet ring, really. He'd have to explain about it to Hannah. Benito

did not check with the desk clerk at the hotel. The hotel staff all knew him by now. The first couple of

times he had come in he had asked for his women clients by name, but he no longer bothered. As he ran

toward the elevator, Benito saw out of the corner of his eye that the desk clerk had lifted the house

phone. He would be telling Hannah that Benito was on his way up.

"Honey, whatever took you so long?" Hannah Stanford's voice did not quite succeed in concealing her

irritation.

"My landlady asked me to help her. She wanted furniture moved," Benito lied quickly. He always told

his women friends that he had a landlady. He never told them about his mother; it would not have

seemed decent.

"You silly boy! You let people take advantage of you---you really do!" The older woman sounded

happier already. "Now then, be an angel and get your poor Hannah a nice, long drink. I'm nearly dying

of thirst. The gin's over there. And go easy on the ice cubes."

Benito handed the drink to her and noticed for the first time that she was dressed only in a lace negligee,

her voluptuously preserved curves almost completely visible beneath it.

Oh God! thought Benito, she wants it now, and, man, am I tired! "Come and sit beside me like a good,

sweet lover-boy," Hannah said, patting the sofa.

Obediently, the chubby youth perched beside her. Although the shades were half-drawn over the

window, enough sunlight filtered into the room for him to see that Hannah wore nothing underneath the

flimsy garment; one of the woman's pink nipples was plainly visible pushing up through the expensive

lace.

Suddenly he stood up and walked over to the window. From there, he said, "We shall be late. I wanted

to take you to lunch in Tiburon today."

"Lunch, smunch! Who cares about food?" She waved her arm in the air and some of the gin slopped

over onto the sofa. "Stop pacing about all the time, lover! You make me dizzy. For God's sake, come

and sit down." Her voice took on its familiar whine. "Come and give poor Hannah a kiss." With a quick,

bird-like step, Benito was across the room and bending over to kiss the woman on the cheek. She

clutched at his shoulders as he leaned over and forced his head around so that his lips were pressed

against her mouth.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" she said in a satisfied tone, and then put a ring-burdened hand on Benito's

leg. An upward movement, and then her hand began rubbing his thigh. For a moment, Benito

disinterestedly watched her fingers massaging his flesh, and then the sparkle of the diamond rings

reminded him. He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips.

"You have beautiful hands," he said smoothly.

"Yeah, Art used to tell me that, too."

Benito had been told all about Art. He had been Hannah's husband for what she referred to, from the

smugness of widowhood, as "twenty-five truly felicitous years." Mention of her husband's name made

the youth nervous because it invariably started Hannah thinking about bed. Art, according to Hannah,

had been able "to give it to me as often as I wanted it, and I always wanted it plenty!" And poor Art had

died at forty-six, Benito reflected gloomily ...

"I would like a signet ring, I think," he said bluntly. With the older woman in such a mood, he knew he

was wasting his time being circumspect. "It would suit me, no?"

"You may be right. Show me your hand."

Benito held his hand out for her inspection. She stared at it for a moment.

"You could be right," she repeated. Then, without warning, she seized his hand and pressed it down hard

between her thighs. With her other arm, she pulled the boy down hard on top of her. "Take me, take

me," she moaned into Benito's ear. "Like this, now!

Quickly!"

Pulling himself away, he asked, "Don't you want to go into the bedroom?"

In answer, Hannah moaned even more demandingly, and her voluptuously mature body started to writhe

beneath him. One of her hands groped at his fly.

"We can go into the bedroom later," she gasped, her face flushed and perspiring slightly as her fingers

fumbled with Benito's clothes. "I can't wait for that now! Give it to me, Baby, give it to me!" Moments

later, he was free of his clothing and she eagerly pulled him to the sofa. Her body was lost in the fire of

the moment and every muscle was tensed as she strained her loins upward in an effort to capture the

virile long shaft of flesh that pressed so tightly against the soft skin of her thighs. The nakedly chubby

youth levered her legs up onto the cushions so that she lay full-length on the couch, then pried her thighs

far apart and climbed up between them positioning his body over her eagerly writhing form.

Hannah could see the boy hovering over her through her lust-glazed eyes and she felt the hugeness of his

fleshy hardness lying against the full length of her impatiently quivering vaginal slit. The lurching head of

his stone-hard cock was hot between her wide-spread buttocks, and was insinuating itself up and down

the desire-moistened crevice in a lewd, teasing little motion that sent her hips twisting upwards in a

desperate attempt to capture the hard, lust-engorged top that would fill her aching need. Her belly was

screaming to be filled---she had to have it in her!

At last, in a panic of frustration, she reached her hands down between their bodies and grasped the full

length of the rampantly searching prick. Her tightly-closed fist stroked up and down the thick hard shaft

for a moment, feeling its heaving pulse against her soft palms and the warm sticky fluid that seeped in tiny

white driblets from the blood-inflated head. Then, she guided it into her cuntal crevice, carefully

positioning it between the moisture covered lips of her vagina. She steadied it there with one hand and

placed the other on the youth's buttocks, drawing with all her strength to pull it into her and let it drown

the gnawing hot heat that burned out of control in her belly. Her eyes closed in ecstasy as she felt its first

soft electrical contact against the sensitive ragged edges of her moistly hungering pussy, then she held her

breath for what seemed like an eternity as she lay in utter wantonness beneath the youth, waiting for him

to impale her on his massive rod of rigid, pulsating flesh.

"Oh God, hurry, baby! Hurry!" she pleaded, splaying her legs even wider to give him greater access to

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