Louisiana Stalker Read Online Free PDF Page B

down, grabbed his testicles through his trousers, and squeezed.
    â€œJesus, Cappy—” he said, but she squeezed harder and choked off his words.
    â€œIf I squeeze just a little bit harder,” she told him, “you won’t walk straight for days. Now, back up and get off me.”
    He backed away, his hands held up and out, and she released her hold on his jewels.
    She turned and went out the door, assuming he’d be following.

ELEVEN
    Jeannie Bartlett was a very talented girl.
    The shy woman who had been at supper with Clint and Capucine was gone. In bed, she was inventive and daring.
    Her body was supple and flexible beyond any he had ever encountered. At one point he was driving his penis into her, and she had her ankles up behind her head, spreading herself as wide as she could for him.
    Another time she was astride him, but with her back to him, riding him, bouncing up and down so energetically he felt like a bronc being ridden.
    And her energy never seemed to wane. At one point he woke from a deep sleep, finding her sucking on his hard cock avidly. After exploding into her mouth—she not releasing him from the suction of her lips until he was dry—he checked the time and saw that he’d only been asleep an hour.
    â€œJesus, don’t you get tired?” he asked her, sometime after that.
    â€œI just want to make sure you’re nice and happy,” she told him.
    â€œI’m happy,” he said, “believe me, I’m happy, but I could use some sleep.”
    â€œOh,” she said, “well, okay, I could use some sleep myself.”
    She proceeded to draw the sheet up to her neck, turn her back to him, and fall asleep. He went back to sleep himself, wanting to get as much shut-eye as he could before she woke him again for more.
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    The sun was streaming in the window when he awoke. Lying next to him, Jeannie was snoring gently. He checked the time and saw that this time he’d been asleep for five hours.
    He settled down on his back, stretched, and regarded the ceiling as he replayed the events of the previous evening. Jeannie had barely looked at him, or even spoken, during the entire meal, but once they were away from the restaurant—and away from Capucine—she changed from a shy young lady into a whore—well, practically a whore. No money had exchanged hands, but she did things with him even a whore probably wouldn’t have done—although he couldn’t be sure, since he did not make use of whores. Even as a young man, he’d been pursued by women of all ages, so he’d had no need of prostitutes.
    He turned his head and looked at her. The sheet molded itself to her body, so that he could even make out the crack of her ass. He felt himself stir, and figured this time he’d wake her up.
    He pressed himself against her, slid his hand down to her butt, rubbed her through the sheet, ran his finger along that sweet crack.
    â€œNow who doesn’t need sleep?” she asked, but she turned into him . . .
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    Clint watched as Jeannie got dressed to leave. He had offered to buy her breakfast, but she said she had to get back.
    â€œWill I see you later when I meet with Cappy?” he asked.
    â€œNo,” she said, “I won’t be there. She’ll want to talk to you alone.”
    He didn’t ask when he could see her again, and was surprised when she didn’t ask. Most women did.
    She turned to him when she was dressed and smiled. It looked like a very practiced and professional smile.
    â€œThanks for a great night,” she said.
    â€œIt was great for me, too.”
    â€œBye.”
    She went out the door without looking back.
    Clint had never paid for a whore, but he had a feeling this was what it felt like when you had.
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    He had breakfast in the hotel, just to get it over with. Maybe another