Jazzy Girl Ch. 3

My penis shriveled, but she held me still, waiting for him to finish.

"I love you, too." he continued. "Bonnie McCallister-Stevens," he said in a formal, respectful voice, "Will you forgive me, and will you please, please marry me?"

He sphincter muscles relaxed and she released me, and I fell out of her, rolling back onto the soft Turkish rug. "Yes." she called down to her lover. "Come on up."

As I fell back my hand caught the drawstring and the window blind snappily rolled up with a FLAP-FLAP-FLAP. A gray light silhouetted Bonnie against the window, her ass smeared with butter and cum. She turned to face me, and I could see she was soaking wet, her t-shirt sopping and pressing against the flesh of her breasts, her nipples hard. She breathed heavily, lustfully. She looked aroused, feral, beautiful.

"I guess I should go." I said.

Without a word she crossed to the door (painfully, I noticed) and hit the buzzer, then waddled to the bathroom (to clean up I suppose) while I zipped up my fly. Moments later she returned, cleaner and drier, and picked up her sweat pants.

I was already halfway out the door when she said, "Wait."

I could hear the creaky elevator moving up from the lobby. "He coming up." I said.

She slid on her pants and came over to me. Her face was in shadow. She took my hand. "Freddy...", she started.

We heard the elevator door open. In seconds he would walk around the corner. "Freddy..." she tried again.

I pulled away, and ducked up a flight of stairs just as Tony came around the corner.

Below I could hear a soft slam as they went inside her apartment. I quietly made my way back down, and pressed an insolent ear to the door. "Oh, Tony..." I heard her moan, and I knew they were kissing, and would make love.

And I knew they would do it in the kitchen.

I took the elevator down, hit the wet street, and looked up through the drops to Bonnie's window. "Holy God." I whispered to myself, unable to believe what had just happened.

I tried taking the subway home, but it was too stifling, too steamy hot down in the tunnels beneath the city. I wanted to be outside, under the elements, so at Fourteenth Street I got out and walked the rest of the way home in the pouring rain.

First thing I did when I got home was to strip naked, towel off, and dial Julie's number. There was a new message on the machine. "This is Julie. I'm not here. Christie's not here. And Dean will never fucking be here again! Leave a message."

"Uh, hi, Julie," I stammered after the BEEP. "I got your call. You've got the number. Later." And I hung up. Whoa. What was up with that message?

I couldn't worry about it. I couldn't get Bonnie of my mind. I showered, put on my terrycloth robe, ate a little left over ham sandwich for dinner, made some hot soup, devoured it, turned off the lights, opened the window so I could listen to the rain, settled onto the bed, sniffed Bonnie's stolen panties, wrapped them around my penis and stroked until I was at the brink of cumming. It was going to be a small orgasm (after the last three days I had so little left), but just before spurting my tiny load the phone rang, and I heard Julie on the machine.

"Hello, Freddie? You there?"

Her smoky voice hardened my cock. I squeezed it and pumped faster now.

"Freddy, it's me, Julie."

I jerked myself off in a frenzy. I should have picked up, but I couldn't stop.

"Dean's out of the band." she continued. "He's out of my whole fucking life, if you want to know the truth. We had a fight."

Her voice was taught, and trebled. The cum was rising.

"The fight was about you."

"Oh shit!" I cried, blowing a tremendous jet of jism into the air, enough to fill a bucket.

I picked up the phone.

"I'm here." I said.

To Be Continued...