Pinball Read Online Free Page B

where would your precious Goddard be without jukeboxes?”
    Andrea disregarded him. “All I’m saying, Domostroy, is this: become as inventive in life as you once were in music—and, apparently, in sex—by working for me. Help me find Goddard. You won’t regret it: I too can play sex slave and wear kinky costumes, you know.”
    “I’m sure you can—but I’m wrong for the role of the master,” said Domostroy, standing up abruptly to get his jacket and leave.
    She walked over to him and put one hand on his shoulder; with the other, she unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders so that it fell to the floor. Then she stretched to her full height and stared at him, forcing him to look her in the eye. She knew she had won him over.
    “Money will be only half of your payment,” she said. “And this”—she nudged him with her thighs and glanced at the bed—“will be the other half. At least you won’t be wasting your time playing pinball joints anymore.”
    “But wasting it, instead, on Goddard!” he said.
    “You won’t be wasting it!” She laughed and kicked off her shoes. Her hands slid down to her waist, and she slipped off her skirt and pantyhose and unbuttoned her blouse, letting it fall from her. As she lay down naked on the bed, another of Domostroy’s records dropped onto the turntable.
    While she waited for him to speak or react, her fingertips began to brush and circle her breasts, then move slowly to her belly and below, to stroke and rub her thighs. Standing there under her gaze, he felt clumsy andill at ease: here he was, trying to save his dignity while trading his middle-aged wisdom and experience for sexual favors from a young woman. He would have preferred to undress her. Now, instead, it was she who was watching him, as if with a magnifying glass.
    Before his last record ended, he switched to the radio, already set on her favorite station.
    The mechanics of undressing further distracted him, and for a moment he sensed a loss of arousal. Afraid that she would notice it, he pretended he had to sit down to take off his pants, and he remained sitting, with his back to her, while he removed the rest of his clothes. Then, still hiding his now limp flesh, he crawled over to her and began stroking her shoulders, kissing her neck, bringing his body slowly over her belly while keeping one hand between his thighs, lowering his head to her breasts, kissing, licking, and rubbing her nipples with his lips and tongue. He was aroused again.
    When he felt her prompting and hurrying him, he was tempted to restrain her. He always took the initiative, and tended to establish dominance over any woman who in the heat of lovemaking strained insistently to bring about his orgasm, which she seemed to need as a proof both of his arousal and of her control. To him, his own climax brought a definite end to his excitement and stemmed, temporarily at least, the flow of his passion.
    Andrea reached over and turned off the light beside the bed, and in the darkness, in the midst of the music pounding from the speakers, Domostroy allowed himself to become engrossed in the images of her he conjured up, sensing her body with every part of his—until he was jolted by what seemed like a man’s whisper, uneven in its tone, almost like a cough. He strained to hear the sound, which seemed to come through a hole in the ceiling or high up on the wall. Realizing that the noise had thrown off his concentration, he made a strong, conscious effort to regain it and gave himself entirely to the task of lovemaking.
    Andrea began to play more forcibly with him, to fondle, finger, stroke and caress his body, and he was about to yield to her, to make her scream and toss andfight as if he were splitting and tearing her, when the sound came down to him again, no longer a whisper, but a deep voice with a Latin accent.
    “C’mon, José, what did you say, man? Say it again, man …”
    Then the voice was gone and the music returned.