All Sexual Activity In This Story Is Between Characters 18+ Years Old
******
When Arlene Hart arrived at Acme Distributors for work, an hour earlier than her required eight o'clock start time, her boss, Jock McGuinness was already at his desk. She saw his suit jacket, hung, as usual, on the corner coat tree below his old brown snap-brim fedora. He chewed on a pencil and stared at a stack of invoices in front of him. "Good morning, Jock," she greeted him brightly.
McGuinness harrumphed and tossed the pencil down. "Hello, Arlene," he replied, then looked at the wall clock. "Oh, Jesus! When I saw you, I thought I had lost an hour figuring these damned invoices." He grinned and said, in a much lighter tone, "You're in early."
"Well, you told me, Friday night at the movie, you might want me, didn't you?" As she talked, Arlene hung her hat on the tree beside Jock's coat, set her purse on her desk and pulled off her white crocheted cotton gloves. "I distinctly remember saying I 'could come anytime.'" Retracing her steps to the front door, she flipped the deadbolt and secured its pulled down window shade.
Jock watched her move through and about the room. He knew Arlene was thirty-seven years old, and remembered meeting her eighteen-year-old girl, Cynthia, but still, to him, she looked no more than twenty-five. He admired her young face and wondered if his twenty-eight year old daughter would maintain her lovely figure as well as had Arlene. "She'll no doubt blossom like Isabel," he thought. "They all do. But, there's nothing wrong with a soft plump butt, so long as a woman remembers how to shake it."
Arlene's hundred and thirty-two pounds were well distributed over her five-foot two-inch frame. This morning, her medium-full bust, trim waist and inviting hips were wrapped in a simple, modest, professional outfit. Her pulchritude, however, was not well hidden as she paraded past Jock's desk.
Her gray wool pencil skirt, hemmed at her kneecaps, met a matte-finished, pale baby-blue raw silk blouse, which was tucked into a wide patent-leather black belt with an oval silver buckle. The razor-thin dark seams of Arlene's brand-new sheer beige nylons ran ruler-straight from her unadorned shiny black pumps' two-inch block heels over her toned calves. The lines of her bra band were implied beneath her semi-sheer blouse and opaque silvery sateen camisole.
Leaving the door, Arlene walked around McGuinness' desk and stood behind his chair. His tie's loosened knot hung beneath his white dress shirt's opened collar button. He already had his long sleeves rolled up tightly around his big biceps. They bulged beneath the constricting cotton. Lightly dropping her hands to Jock's shoulder tops, she squeezed her fingers and cooed, "Hmmm, you ARE tense, today. We have an hour before the office opens... How about a little massage?"
Jock's throat rumbled a deep purr as Arlene worked her fingers over his trapeziuses, out to his shoulder points and back to his neck. She pinched deep into his hard twisted muscles. He tipped his head backward, against the draped false ascot of her blouse, resting in its soft folds, against her bountiful breasts. "Uhhnnn," he answered with a groan. "Flip the window sign to nine o'clock... I think I need MORE than... uhhn, a massage, Lena."
Arlene grinned over the top of her boss's head and looked down at his expanding barrel chest as his breaths deepened while his words stumbled out. "I can always tell when my big boy needs exercise," she said, softly kissing Jock's pate. She let go of him, returned to the door and spun the clock-face hands on the 'Back At...' sign to show 9:00 a.m.
Jock stood, opened his desk drawer and pocketed his tube of K-Y surgical gel. Remembering why she missed work the previous Friday, he diplomatically inquired, "You're sure you're recovered?"
Arlene turned her head. Showing lots of teeth, she said, "Oh yes... FULLY." Her fuck-filled Saturday with Trotter and Cynthia crowded into her thoughts and activated her cunny. "I had a VERY nice weekend, and now I'm back in top form." Spinning about-face, she sashayed, with extra oomph, to the converted storage room and turned the door knob. When the door opened, she noticed the iron cot was unmade. Wrinkling her forehead and narrowing her eyes, she questioned, "USED the bed recently, have you?"
"FUCK!" Jock exclaimed to himself, realizing he had not tidied up after screwing Greta Van Der Molen. Glad that Arlene's back was turned and she could not see the pissed shock on his face, he answered, in a calm tone, "Oh... yeah. I came in Saturday. After tossing some crates with the crew, I had a little lie down." He stepped quickly behind her, looked over her shoulder, and was gratified to see only rumpled, tossed-back covers. There were no obvious traces of his juicy late night Dutch romp.
For a further distraction, Jock curled his strong right forearm around Arlene's black belt and pulled her body back against his. His left hand undid the three pearl buttons at the back of her high neckline. Spreading the collar, he kissed her nape and buzzed, "Shall I make it all tight and smooth... so we can... WRECK it again?"
Arlene shivered with his kiss. Chuckling, she replied, "I guess not." She slipped her hands under his, on her tummy, and unbuckled her belt. Leaning back, flattening her scapulae on his starched shirt, she turned her face and whispered, "I know how you like to undress me, Jock, but go easy on my new stockings... They're like spider-webs."
McGuinness smiled into her neck and growled, "Sounds like a challenge. I can't promise what'll happen, but I'll... TRY not to damage the goods." His muscles rippled as he slid her blouse over and off her shoulders. Unhooking her waist-tab, he slid her skirt's zipper to the middle of her bottom and let the garment fall on its own to the floor.
Arlene side-stepped out of her skirt and shoes as she pivoted and faced her horny valet. Her hands opened his belt and trousers while she stretched on tiptoe and kissed his soft lips. Jock hugged her closer and enjoyed the sensation of her sateen camisole against his palms as he slid them from the middle of her back to the top of her panties. Passing his hands over her suspender belt, he pulled it away and released it.
"OH!" Arlene yelped as the wide off-white elastic band snapped back. Breaking their kiss, she breathed, "So, THAT'S how we play today, eh?" She twisted Jock's scrotum in her left hand and smiled her satisfaction when, groaning, he sucked in a short sharp breath. Letting go, she pushed his shorts and pants down while he, more gently, rubbed her moons through her briefs' thin rayon shielding. Arlene shimmied against Jock's chest and forced her hands between their stomachs to work his remaining shirt buttons.
Reminded by her flattening full breasts that there was more to be undone, Jock returned upstairs and released her bra strap's hooks. Arlene inhaled deeply, crushing herself against his hardpan pecs as her lungs expanded. Stepping backward a half-step, she spread his shirt front and smoothed her hands across the ribs of his undershirt. Her fingertips tweaked the pebbles poking through the cotton.
Jock dropped his hands to her waist, grabbed her cami and lifted it, saying, "Alley OOOP, Lena!" She raised her arms and ducked her head. He whisked away the sateen flimsy and her bra, then pushed her backward onto the bed. Surprised, Arlene sat awkwardly, but corrected gracefully. Rolling into a ball, she extended and lifted her legs high, keeping her knees together. Jock bent down, re-engaged her garter belt, and pulled it past her panties, over the dark borders of her nylons' tops. "Wish us luck," he said huskily.
Slowly, he peeled her legs, without detaching the garter snaps. Alternating left and right, he rolled down the stockings bit by bit until they were loosely bunched above her heels. His strong calloused hands were wondrously deft. Arlene felt like she was being brushed with goose down. Her pussy juiced itself liberally and her chest ached with need. At last, Jock tugged the hosiery over her arched feet and pointed toes. Shaking them out, he carefully draped them over the back of a nearby straight chair.
Arlene clapped. "Bravo! That's my boy... that's my very good, very BIG boy!" She pivoted her bottom and laid herself centered lengthwise in the iron bed. Raising her arms and opening her legs, she warbled, "Come HERE... come get your treats!"
Jock climbed over the foot of the bed and hunched between Arlene's thighs. Her sheer ivory rayon briefs were dark where her leaking lips kissed them and where her brunette thatch was thickest. He licked his lips, and then her cunt, tasting her as he pulled her hips forward and slipped his hands beneath her ass. Arlene moaned and closed her legs about his ears. McGuinness sucked the soaked gusset and stabbed it back into her excited camel-toe. She arched her back, hiked her hips and cried, "Take them AWAY, Jock... PLEASE!"
He backed off and yanked the underwear clear. Re-targeting, Jock attacked her cunny proper, with gusto. She groaned, whimpered and came promptly as he nibbled her unsheathed nubbin and flexed his fingers in her buttocks. Lifting her, he scooted forward on his knees and plowed her climaxing rut with his iron-hard rod. She sighed and pulled him closer by his arms. His joint slipped to its maximum depth as his torso slid over her heaving breasts.
They kissed deeply. She pulled his tongue with her mouth, and his prick with her pussy, while scraping her fingernails over his spine through his shirts. Electric jolts shot non-stop along Jock's back from his head to his hips. He twitched and flexed as he pumped. Arlene stiffened and clawed his lats; his nuts surrendered. Their imprisoned seed flooded, in strong bursts, seeking a new home. Arlene welcomed them with a stifled scream as she bit hard into Jock's right shoulder.
When her second and third crises were past, Jock patted Arlene's hip and breathed into her ear, "I still feel sort of... STIFF, Lena... are you done in?"
"NOT... by a... LONG shot, Jock," she answered, gulping air. "Are you stiff enough to scrub my back porch? Have you got any SOAP left?"
Jock pulled out of her cunt and raised himself up for inspection. His shaft was softening fast. Arlene hurriedly scooted up the bed into a seated position, with her back against a pillow on the head rails. "Come over here, fella," she ordered. "At least let me get my LICKS in."
Staying astride her body, Jock scrambled forward until his shrunken nutsack bumped her chin. Arlene opened her mouth and took the whole pungent bag into her mouth for a quick strong suck, then exchanged it for his bobbing plum, which shone with his drizzled jism and her cunt's honey. Jock grabbed the iron bars beside the pillow and rocked on his knees, pushing his semi-hard dick to the back of her throat. She salivated and caressed the tangy sponge with her taste buds.
Arlene tongued and tickled the tuber while her right index finger played with Jock's asshole and her left palm bounced his balls. His tumescence returned with a vengeance. Her cheeks billowed as she blew and sucked around his swelling bone. Jock groaned. Arlene felt his buttocks spasm. Quickly she shoved her hands against his chest and pushed while she dropped his dick from her mouth with an audible pop.
With urgency in her voice, she demanded, "Did you bring the jelly for my donut?" Jock rolled off the bed and fished the K-Y from his trousers' pocket. After unscrewing the cap, he extruded a thick six-inch rope along the top of his erection, from its base to the glans' collar. Grasping himself, he greased his stick while Arlene rolled over.
Jock climbed back up on the bed, behind his bookkeeper's bottom, and spread her cheeks with his slick thumbs. His glistening cock pressed her winking anus as she flattened her face to her pillow and held fast to the rails. "UHNNN!" She grunted, as she always did, with the first real pressure of a soft fat dickhead going the wrong way up her chute.
Jock, undeterred from long experience, pushed steadily inward. He pulled Arlene's hips and then held them firm while he shoved. She groaned less and moaned more. Her butt twitched as she pushed back, helping him. In short order, he was buried and she was squirming. Arlene let go of the bed with her right hand and frigged her pussy.
Even though he had just blown his nut in a big way, Jock was quickly ready to empty his reserves. He huffed and pumped. Arlene wiggled and fanned her clit, whimpering into the pillow. Jock lost it first. Jamming himself to her haunches, he squashed his eggs against her taint. His load, necessarily light, was no less potent as it powered out of his prick. Arlene, only moments later, sucked her lips over her teeth and clamped her jaws. Her orgasm was eye-crossing, throat-closing, toe-curling strong.
Jock fell forward, draping himself like a saddle over Arlene's balanced stance. His undershirt was soaked through with sweat. His heaving chest bounced on her backbone. Arlene rolled her forehead in her pillow and waited for the strobing stars in her mind to clear. Pushing herself up, and Jock with her, she rose to all-fours.
Jock took the cue and withdrew his shrunken sticky penis from her gaping rosebud. Gray cum strands followed, festooning from her crack to her pussy. Half-falling, half-crawling, he climbed from the bed and stared at Arlene's collapsed naked body. Reaching down, he stroked her brunette hair and said softly, "No rush, Lena... Get dressed and come out when you can."
Jock gathered his clothes, shut the storage room door behind him and crossed the office to the washroom. Twenty minutes later, he was back at his desk working when Arlene, perfectly dressed, except for her make-up and hair, stepped into the office, picked up her purse and entered the lavatory for her final repairs.
While Arlene and Jock were coming to a renewed understanding, Ted Trotter cajoled Arthur at 46 1/2 Garvey Street. "Let's GO, Champ! Cecie's probably already waiting for us!" Ted laughed, as he gently prodded the nine-year-old's shoulder.
"Oh, Pop," the boy replied, clearing his cereal bowl to the sink, "you KNOW that's not so." He grabbed his beanie and books. Then, with a grin, he added, "But, just in case, drive FAST... I'll keep a look-out for policemen."
Chuckling with him, Trotter pushed his father-in-law's unknown true son through the backdoor screen into the mid-May Monday morning sunshine, toward the family sedan. "Ha! I don't think so," he rebutted amiably.
In fact, surprising them both, Cecilia McGuinness was standing on the front porch of 1024 Oak Avenue when Ted and Arthur drove up. As they got out of the Ford, in the driveway, Cecie skipped across the lawn toward them. Looking at her Lady Hamilton wristwatch, she crowed derisively, "Ha-ha-HA, Artie! YOU'RE the slug-a-bed TODAY!"
Arthur blushed and fumed, but Ted laughed. "Good job, Cecie," he complimented. Turning, he said, with a kind smile and a consoling hand on the glum towhead boy's shoulder, "Don't let it spoil your day, Champ. You can't be first EVERY time."
While the pair of third-graders scampered down the sidewalk to Clarence Darrow Elementary School, Trotter whistled his way past the bedded pansies in front of the bungalow. Walking in the front door, he called, "Jock? Izzy?" Such was his habit each Monday, Wednesday and Friday, since the children had begun going to school. He expected Jock was long gone to the warehouse, but it never hurt to ask.
Isabel answered back, as she nearly always did, "He's at work, Ted. Come and get some coffee."
Ted nonchalantly pushed through the swinging kitchen door, following the sound of his mother-in-law's voice. He saw her standing on a footstool in the pantry, organizing Mason jars of canned fruits and vegetables. His cock throbbed. Even after regularly fucking her for ten years, he still loved to look at her. Front, back or profile, notwithstanding her upcoming fiftieth birthday, Isabel was a solid, good-looking woman.
Crossing the room, Ted said, "Let me help you." He stood behind Isabel and unnecessarily steadied her with his palms. Extending his thumbs, he pressed her pink chenille robe deep into her soft butt muscles. "How's my favorite tomato?"
Isabel grinned, flexed her ass at his touch and shoved aside a quart jar of green beans. Teasing him, she looked back under her arm and retorted, "Your WIFE... might have something to say about that... if she KNEW."
Ted snickered. "Mary? Oh, she's a PEACH... a sweet, tender, juicy peach." All the while, Ted's busy hands slid down Isabel's legs and swiftly returned, under the hems of her robe and nightgown. He squeezed her left globe while his right hand pushed between her closed thighs and cupped her furry bare cunt. "But, YOU... you are a full, firm, vine-ripe TOMATO, which I never tire of plucking... and ENJOYING."
Demonstrating his truth, Ted plucked at Isabel's pussy's lips until they opened wetly. He slid his middle fingers two knuckles deep and folded her fat labia closed around them with his thumb and pinky. Isabel rocked her hips, moaning long and low. Squeezing her cunny hard around his hand, she thrilled as Ted's curled tips tickled her tunnel's roof.
"Dooo you... have TIME... Wwwwill you...," she panted.
"I DO, and I WILL... of COURSE. It's MONDAY," Trotter answered her silly, gasped, unfinished question. Withdrawing his hands, he pulled Isabel and turned her by her waist to face him. She rested her chin on his head while he spread the lapels of her robe. Ted grinned when he saw her shiny lilac charmeuse negligee. Sliding its thin straps, and the opened pink robe with it, off her shoulders, he let them fall, unveiling his American Domestic Goddess, on a three-legged pedestal, in all of her nude glory.
"Does Jock know you wear this for me? And that I take it off as quick as can be?" Ted's face glided across Isabel's heavy heaving bare breasts as, between light tugging sucks on her mature nipples, he asked his questions.
"J-Jock knows nnnyaah-NOTHING of... UHNnn-US," Isabel stammered. She clawed Ted's back through his suit coat and shirt. Her percolating pussy demanded more personal attention. Trotter bobbed his head and bounced his cheeks against Isabel's resilient pillows as he plowed through her deep cleavage and kissed his way south. On his knees, he stretched his neck, sunk his nose into her navel, and sucked her protuberant soft belly at the upper fringe of her mahogany beaver. Isabel pushed the top of his head downward. "N-n-no HICKEYS, Ted," she gurgled.
She was weak and weakening. Ted was strong and resolute. He kept a silver dollar size patch of her sensitive skin pressed tight to his palate and sucked for blood. Isabel squealed. Leaning back, with cruciform arms outspread, she rolled her wrists and gripped the pantry shelves. Ted pulled her, by her ass, closer to him and increased his vacuum. Isabel's pinpoint capillaries ruptured and her orgasm broke. Ted growled into her gut; shaking it with his teeth, like a terrier with prey. She howled and trembled. Her knees buckled and only Ted's wrapped arms and her own death grip on the shelving edges kept her from falling off the stool.
Trotter released his lamprey bite and studied the bright blotch he had left in Isabel's hairline. "That's my MARK, Izzy," he said, proudly. "And when it fades, I'll RENEW it." He stood and embraced her as she quaked and calmed. Scooping her into his arms, leaving her robe and negligee where they were, he carried her to the McGuinness' marital brass four-poster and laid her, deliberately, among the rumpled sheets, in the middle of the mattress depression on Jock's side of the bed.
Taking his time, but working efficiently, Trotter stripped himself naked while Isabel, stunned and anxious to be fucked, lay watching him. "I don't care WHAT you tell Jock, by way of explanation, or even if you say ANYTHING at all, Izzy," Ted said, calmly and firmly, as he shed his clothes. "But, know this: as of NOW, you're MINE and ONLY mine." He crawled onto the bed between her legs with his rampant cock waving. "I'm not SHARING you with him, anymore."
Isabel gulped, held out her arms and raised her bowed knees. Her wet beckoning pussy gleamed in her thick grotto. "OK, Ted," she said, "TAKE me. I'll be just YOURS."
Trotter snarled into her ear, "That's RIGHT, Izzy... and never FORGET it." He lunged his hips. His prick plunged hard and deep into her pussy, slamming its back wall. Isabel grunted with the collision. Even at their most rambunctious, she did not recall such a violent, thorough entry. She crushed his chest to hers and swooned, realizing his domination was the final missing factor in her world, but wondering how it would work.
"Yesss... YES! Oh, GOD! YESSSSS!" Isabel chanted repeatedly while her son-in-law staked his claim and her cunny claimed his stake. Ted pounded relentlessly. The great bed lifted from the floor and crashed noisily as he drove her through the mattress. She screeched and came more strongly than she could remember. Her climax seemed endless as it washed through her body and swept her mind of all thought.
Trotter's throbbing pulse and heavy short breaths summoned his nuts, requiring release. The soles of his feet pushed against the bed rails and he powered mightily forward, again parking his cock at the door to Isabel's womb. With a howling roar, he launched his load. His multitudinous sterile flotilla futilely breached her innermost door, seeking an egg that would never come.
Two miles northwest of the McGuinness bungalow, downtown, at the corner of Adams Street and Central Avenue, a telephone rang. "Police. Flynn," the veteran desk sergeant answered brusquely. "Oh, yessir... just one moment, please." His tone changed notably. Placing the caller on hold, he opened a new line, dialed an internal number and said neutrally, "Doctor Sparks is on Line One, Detective." Flynn hung up and wrote, "8:15 a.m. - Dr. Albert Sparks called for Det. Howard."
Prescott Howard thanked Flynn and punched up Sparks' line. "Good morning, Doctor," he said. "I was just thinking about you."
"Yes," replied the doctor, "Well, I completed my tests and examinations on Farragut. It's exactly as I thought. Natural causes, which in his case means 'cardiopulmonary failure,' which is exactly how I worded it on the death certificate I just signed. For your report, you may record that he died in his sleep between one and one-thirty in the morning on Saturday, May 19, 1940."
Sparks paused while Howard asked, necessarily dotting i's and crossing t's, "So, no foul play, eh? Just 'gave up the ghost,' as it were? Did you check the cake for poison?" Prescott did not hope for a murder to add to his caseload, but he never shirked from due diligence.
"No, sorry to disappoint," Doctor Sparks answered. "The cake was clean and so was Farragut's system."
"OK, Doc, thank you," Howard said. "That's good news. He had no living relatives, but I found contact information for his attorneys in St. Louis. I'll notify them and they can handle his affairs from there." He cradled the phone and recalled the death-bed scene along with his memory and impressions of the lovely Mrs. Trotter. "Too much high living and hard exercise," he mused. "A tiger can kill a man, but so can a little pussy, I guess." Chuckling, he updated his manila folder and closed the file.
That afternoon, in the Trotter cottage, while Mary sat at her kitchen table mulling recent events over a cup of coffee, the phone rang in the front room. She had a weird hopeful premonition the caller would say, "It was all a mistake. Eli Farragut is not dead." She hurried up the hall and answered on the third ring, "Uptown five-four-three-six. Hello?"
"Hello. Is this Mrs. Trotter? MARY Trotter?" The stranger's voice, though not unpleasant, was serious.
Mary briefly considered hanging up, but instead replied, "Yes, this is she. Who is calling, please?"
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Trotter," the man's tone softened noticeably. Mary instantly felt less on guard and, oddly, comforted. "I am Robert Schuster, of the law firm, Schuster and Schuster, in St. Louis." After the introduction he hurried to put Mary at ease. "You don't know me and likely have never heard of us. But Mr. Farragut spoke often, and at length, about you... in only the kindest and most loving terms, I assure you... and I feel as if I know YOU quite well." He paused for a response.
When there was none, Schuster continued. "I have represented Mr. Farragut, and his many interests, for over thirty years. When he passed away, the police notified me. Let me say right off how sorry I am for your loss. I know that Eli, who was also my friend as well as a client, loved you and that he always believed that YOU loved HIM." Schuster waited, listened to the soft weeping on the other end of the phone, and checked in. "Mrs. Trotter... may I call you 'Mary'? Are you alright? I can call back, if you prefer."
Mary rubbed her streaking tears with her free bare hand and sucked in a gulp of air. "N-no, Mr. Schuster... don't call back," she said through quivering lips but with a strengthening voice. "I'll be alright. YES, I loved Eli VERY much... I appreciate your consideration and yes, you may call me 'Mary'. Please go on."
"Thank you... Mary," Schuster acknowledged her consent. "I know you're grieving and I won't take much time. I wanted to call as soon as possible, though, to let you know, in very general terms, that Eli provided for you, in all of his wills since 1932. Even when his sister, Alma, was living, he wanted YOU to be taken care of. When SHE passed, on Hallowe'en, in '35, he had no other family left. She was a spinster and he never married either. As a result, Eli updated his will, for the last time, that November, naming you his sole beneficiary."
Mary felt faint. She put the receiver on the table and sat abruptly in the padded straight-backed wooden armchair by the phone desk. Schuster's voice squawked distantly through the instrument, "Hello? Hello, Mary? Are you still there?" Trembling, she picked up the phone again.
"Yes, Mr. Schuster," Mary said, bringing herself under control. "I'm sorry. The news was surprising, yet NOT so, as I think about it, now. I remember he and I had a... PRIVATE moment, at Thanksgiving in 1935. He told me he loved me and that I was all he had, or wanted. He frequently said wonderful romantic things like that, and, since you are, or were, his attorney, I may tell you, with confidence and IN confidence, that I believed him. However, I always thought it was lover's hyperbole. We WERE that, you know... 'LOVERS', in the truest sense of the word, from the moment we met." Mary's voice trailed off as she allowed her mind to drift with sweet memories.
Schuster wisely held silent. Indeed, nothing Mary Trotter had just said was news to him. After a time, he coughed lightly into the phone and brought Mary back to their conversation. "Yes, Mary, I do know that, and because of the way Eli structured his estate, even after his passing, I remain his attorney... and YOURS, unless and until you say otherwise. But, for the nonce, you may rely on me to keep our conversations strictly confidential."
Mary breathed an audible sigh and said, "Thank you, Mr. Schuster. What else do I need to know, or do?"
"As I said, this is a general, and brief, notification. Mostly to share immediate condolences and to assure you that ALL details regarding Eli, his personal effects, his estate, and..." here, he took a deep breath, hoping he was on solid ground with his upset new client, "...his funeral arrangements, are provided and will be carried out."
When he did not hear Mary break down again, he went on, with confidence. "You need do very little, for the moment. In a week, or perhaps two, we can meet, preferably here in our St. Louis offices, but anywhere, really. The immediate paperwork is complete, but there will be things to take care of, on a go-forward basis."
Schuster paused again and then concluded, "MEANWHILE, Mary, you might begin considering whether you will want to keep the Garvey Street property, or dispose of it to your best advantage. Everything will come to you, with no strings attached, although Eli specifically asked me to give you the following posthumous message: 'Dearest Mary, ma petite douce chérie, ma seul vrai amoure, walk in sunshine and follow your heart. When one door closes, another may open. I will always be with you.'"
Mary was stunned by the words, so eerily like those Eli's apparition spoke in her dream. "Th-thank you, Mr. Schuster," she said, bravely choking back her tears. "Please DO call again... TOMORROW. I'll be better prepared to hear about Eli's... funeral arrangements and... other things." She drew a deep breath and exhaled. "I'll come to you in St. Louis, as soon as can be, following that. Eli would want this done swiftly and efficiently." Schuster smiled as he heard the phone disconnect.
*** FIN ***
******
When Arlene Hart arrived at Acme Distributors for work, an hour earlier than her required eight o'clock start time, her boss, Jock McGuinness was already at his desk. She saw his suit jacket, hung, as usual, on the corner coat tree below his old brown snap-brim fedora. He chewed on a pencil and stared at a stack of invoices in front of him. "Good morning, Jock," she greeted him brightly.
McGuinness harrumphed and tossed the pencil down. "Hello, Arlene," he replied, then looked at the wall clock. "Oh, Jesus! When I saw you, I thought I had lost an hour figuring these damned invoices." He grinned and said, in a much lighter tone, "You're in early."
"Well, you told me, Friday night at the movie, you might want me, didn't you?" As she talked, Arlene hung her hat on the tree beside Jock's coat, set her purse on her desk and pulled off her white crocheted cotton gloves. "I distinctly remember saying I 'could come anytime.'" Retracing her steps to the front door, she flipped the deadbolt and secured its pulled down window shade.
Jock watched her move through and about the room. He knew Arlene was thirty-seven years old, and remembered meeting her eighteen-year-old girl, Cynthia, but still, to him, she looked no more than twenty-five. He admired her young face and wondered if his twenty-eight year old daughter would maintain her lovely figure as well as had Arlene. "She'll no doubt blossom like Isabel," he thought. "They all do. But, there's nothing wrong with a soft plump butt, so long as a woman remembers how to shake it."
Arlene's hundred and thirty-two pounds were well distributed over her five-foot two-inch frame. This morning, her medium-full bust, trim waist and inviting hips were wrapped in a simple, modest, professional outfit. Her pulchritude, however, was not well hidden as she paraded past Jock's desk.
Her gray wool pencil skirt, hemmed at her kneecaps, met a matte-finished, pale baby-blue raw silk blouse, which was tucked into a wide patent-leather black belt with an oval silver buckle. The razor-thin dark seams of Arlene's brand-new sheer beige nylons ran ruler-straight from her unadorned shiny black pumps' two-inch block heels over her toned calves. The lines of her bra band were implied beneath her semi-sheer blouse and opaque silvery sateen camisole.
Leaving the door, Arlene walked around McGuinness' desk and stood behind his chair. His tie's loosened knot hung beneath his white dress shirt's opened collar button. He already had his long sleeves rolled up tightly around his big biceps. They bulged beneath the constricting cotton. Lightly dropping her hands to Jock's shoulder tops, she squeezed her fingers and cooed, "Hmmm, you ARE tense, today. We have an hour before the office opens... How about a little massage?"
Jock's throat rumbled a deep purr as Arlene worked her fingers over his trapeziuses, out to his shoulder points and back to his neck. She pinched deep into his hard twisted muscles. He tipped his head backward, against the draped false ascot of her blouse, resting in its soft folds, against her bountiful breasts. "Uhhnnn," he answered with a groan. "Flip the window sign to nine o'clock... I think I need MORE than... uhhn, a massage, Lena."
Arlene grinned over the top of her boss's head and looked down at his expanding barrel chest as his breaths deepened while his words stumbled out. "I can always tell when my big boy needs exercise," she said, softly kissing Jock's pate. She let go of him, returned to the door and spun the clock-face hands on the 'Back At...' sign to show 9:00 a.m.
Jock stood, opened his desk drawer and pocketed his tube of K-Y surgical gel. Remembering why she missed work the previous Friday, he diplomatically inquired, "You're sure you're recovered?"
Arlene turned her head. Showing lots of teeth, she said, "Oh yes... FULLY." Her fuck-filled Saturday with Trotter and Cynthia crowded into her thoughts and activated her cunny. "I had a VERY nice weekend, and now I'm back in top form." Spinning about-face, she sashayed, with extra oomph, to the converted storage room and turned the door knob. When the door opened, she noticed the iron cot was unmade. Wrinkling her forehead and narrowing her eyes, she questioned, "USED the bed recently, have you?"
"FUCK!" Jock exclaimed to himself, realizing he had not tidied up after screwing Greta Van Der Molen. Glad that Arlene's back was turned and she could not see the pissed shock on his face, he answered, in a calm tone, "Oh... yeah. I came in Saturday. After tossing some crates with the crew, I had a little lie down." He stepped quickly behind her, looked over her shoulder, and was gratified to see only rumpled, tossed-back covers. There were no obvious traces of his juicy late night Dutch romp.
For a further distraction, Jock curled his strong right forearm around Arlene's black belt and pulled her body back against his. His left hand undid the three pearl buttons at the back of her high neckline. Spreading the collar, he kissed her nape and buzzed, "Shall I make it all tight and smooth... so we can... WRECK it again?"
Arlene shivered with his kiss. Chuckling, she replied, "I guess not." She slipped her hands under his, on her tummy, and unbuckled her belt. Leaning back, flattening her scapulae on his starched shirt, she turned her face and whispered, "I know how you like to undress me, Jock, but go easy on my new stockings... They're like spider-webs."
McGuinness smiled into her neck and growled, "Sounds like a challenge. I can't promise what'll happen, but I'll... TRY not to damage the goods." His muscles rippled as he slid her blouse over and off her shoulders. Unhooking her waist-tab, he slid her skirt's zipper to the middle of her bottom and let the garment fall on its own to the floor.
Arlene side-stepped out of her skirt and shoes as she pivoted and faced her horny valet. Her hands opened his belt and trousers while she stretched on tiptoe and kissed his soft lips. Jock hugged her closer and enjoyed the sensation of her sateen camisole against his palms as he slid them from the middle of her back to the top of her panties. Passing his hands over her suspender belt, he pulled it away and released it.
"OH!" Arlene yelped as the wide off-white elastic band snapped back. Breaking their kiss, she breathed, "So, THAT'S how we play today, eh?" She twisted Jock's scrotum in her left hand and smiled her satisfaction when, groaning, he sucked in a short sharp breath. Letting go, she pushed his shorts and pants down while he, more gently, rubbed her moons through her briefs' thin rayon shielding. Arlene shimmied against Jock's chest and forced her hands between their stomachs to work his remaining shirt buttons.
Reminded by her flattening full breasts that there was more to be undone, Jock returned upstairs and released her bra strap's hooks. Arlene inhaled deeply, crushing herself against his hardpan pecs as her lungs expanded. Stepping backward a half-step, she spread his shirt front and smoothed her hands across the ribs of his undershirt. Her fingertips tweaked the pebbles poking through the cotton.
Jock dropped his hands to her waist, grabbed her cami and lifted it, saying, "Alley OOOP, Lena!" She raised her arms and ducked her head. He whisked away the sateen flimsy and her bra, then pushed her backward onto the bed. Surprised, Arlene sat awkwardly, but corrected gracefully. Rolling into a ball, she extended and lifted her legs high, keeping her knees together. Jock bent down, re-engaged her garter belt, and pulled it past her panties, over the dark borders of her nylons' tops. "Wish us luck," he said huskily.
Slowly, he peeled her legs, without detaching the garter snaps. Alternating left and right, he rolled down the stockings bit by bit until they were loosely bunched above her heels. His strong calloused hands were wondrously deft. Arlene felt like she was being brushed with goose down. Her pussy juiced itself liberally and her chest ached with need. At last, Jock tugged the hosiery over her arched feet and pointed toes. Shaking them out, he carefully draped them over the back of a nearby straight chair.
Arlene clapped. "Bravo! That's my boy... that's my very good, very BIG boy!" She pivoted her bottom and laid herself centered lengthwise in the iron bed. Raising her arms and opening her legs, she warbled, "Come HERE... come get your treats!"
Jock climbed over the foot of the bed and hunched between Arlene's thighs. Her sheer ivory rayon briefs were dark where her leaking lips kissed them and where her brunette thatch was thickest. He licked his lips, and then her cunt, tasting her as he pulled her hips forward and slipped his hands beneath her ass. Arlene moaned and closed her legs about his ears. McGuinness sucked the soaked gusset and stabbed it back into her excited camel-toe. She arched her back, hiked her hips and cried, "Take them AWAY, Jock... PLEASE!"
He backed off and yanked the underwear clear. Re-targeting, Jock attacked her cunny proper, with gusto. She groaned, whimpered and came promptly as he nibbled her unsheathed nubbin and flexed his fingers in her buttocks. Lifting her, he scooted forward on his knees and plowed her climaxing rut with his iron-hard rod. She sighed and pulled him closer by his arms. His joint slipped to its maximum depth as his torso slid over her heaving breasts.
They kissed deeply. She pulled his tongue with her mouth, and his prick with her pussy, while scraping her fingernails over his spine through his shirts. Electric jolts shot non-stop along Jock's back from his head to his hips. He twitched and flexed as he pumped. Arlene stiffened and clawed his lats; his nuts surrendered. Their imprisoned seed flooded, in strong bursts, seeking a new home. Arlene welcomed them with a stifled scream as she bit hard into Jock's right shoulder.
When her second and third crises were past, Jock patted Arlene's hip and breathed into her ear, "I still feel sort of... STIFF, Lena... are you done in?"
"NOT... by a... LONG shot, Jock," she answered, gulping air. "Are you stiff enough to scrub my back porch? Have you got any SOAP left?"
Jock pulled out of her cunt and raised himself up for inspection. His shaft was softening fast. Arlene hurriedly scooted up the bed into a seated position, with her back against a pillow on the head rails. "Come over here, fella," she ordered. "At least let me get my LICKS in."
Staying astride her body, Jock scrambled forward until his shrunken nutsack bumped her chin. Arlene opened her mouth and took the whole pungent bag into her mouth for a quick strong suck, then exchanged it for his bobbing plum, which shone with his drizzled jism and her cunt's honey. Jock grabbed the iron bars beside the pillow and rocked on his knees, pushing his semi-hard dick to the back of her throat. She salivated and caressed the tangy sponge with her taste buds.
Arlene tongued and tickled the tuber while her right index finger played with Jock's asshole and her left palm bounced his balls. His tumescence returned with a vengeance. Her cheeks billowed as she blew and sucked around his swelling bone. Jock groaned. Arlene felt his buttocks spasm. Quickly she shoved her hands against his chest and pushed while she dropped his dick from her mouth with an audible pop.
With urgency in her voice, she demanded, "Did you bring the jelly for my donut?" Jock rolled off the bed and fished the K-Y from his trousers' pocket. After unscrewing the cap, he extruded a thick six-inch rope along the top of his erection, from its base to the glans' collar. Grasping himself, he greased his stick while Arlene rolled over.
Jock climbed back up on the bed, behind his bookkeeper's bottom, and spread her cheeks with his slick thumbs. His glistening cock pressed her winking anus as she flattened her face to her pillow and held fast to the rails. "UHNNN!" She grunted, as she always did, with the first real pressure of a soft fat dickhead going the wrong way up her chute.
Jock, undeterred from long experience, pushed steadily inward. He pulled Arlene's hips and then held them firm while he shoved. She groaned less and moaned more. Her butt twitched as she pushed back, helping him. In short order, he was buried and she was squirming. Arlene let go of the bed with her right hand and frigged her pussy.
Even though he had just blown his nut in a big way, Jock was quickly ready to empty his reserves. He huffed and pumped. Arlene wiggled and fanned her clit, whimpering into the pillow. Jock lost it first. Jamming himself to her haunches, he squashed his eggs against her taint. His load, necessarily light, was no less potent as it powered out of his prick. Arlene, only moments later, sucked her lips over her teeth and clamped her jaws. Her orgasm was eye-crossing, throat-closing, toe-curling strong.
Jock fell forward, draping himself like a saddle over Arlene's balanced stance. His undershirt was soaked through with sweat. His heaving chest bounced on her backbone. Arlene rolled her forehead in her pillow and waited for the strobing stars in her mind to clear. Pushing herself up, and Jock with her, she rose to all-fours.
Jock took the cue and withdrew his shrunken sticky penis from her gaping rosebud. Gray cum strands followed, festooning from her crack to her pussy. Half-falling, half-crawling, he climbed from the bed and stared at Arlene's collapsed naked body. Reaching down, he stroked her brunette hair and said softly, "No rush, Lena... Get dressed and come out when you can."
Jock gathered his clothes, shut the storage room door behind him and crossed the office to the washroom. Twenty minutes later, he was back at his desk working when Arlene, perfectly dressed, except for her make-up and hair, stepped into the office, picked up her purse and entered the lavatory for her final repairs.
While Arlene and Jock were coming to a renewed understanding, Ted Trotter cajoled Arthur at 46 1/2 Garvey Street. "Let's GO, Champ! Cecie's probably already waiting for us!" Ted laughed, as he gently prodded the nine-year-old's shoulder.
"Oh, Pop," the boy replied, clearing his cereal bowl to the sink, "you KNOW that's not so." He grabbed his beanie and books. Then, with a grin, he added, "But, just in case, drive FAST... I'll keep a look-out for policemen."
Chuckling with him, Trotter pushed his father-in-law's unknown true son through the backdoor screen into the mid-May Monday morning sunshine, toward the family sedan. "Ha! I don't think so," he rebutted amiably.
In fact, surprising them both, Cecilia McGuinness was standing on the front porch of 1024 Oak Avenue when Ted and Arthur drove up. As they got out of the Ford, in the driveway, Cecie skipped across the lawn toward them. Looking at her Lady Hamilton wristwatch, she crowed derisively, "Ha-ha-HA, Artie! YOU'RE the slug-a-bed TODAY!"
Arthur blushed and fumed, but Ted laughed. "Good job, Cecie," he complimented. Turning, he said, with a kind smile and a consoling hand on the glum towhead boy's shoulder, "Don't let it spoil your day, Champ. You can't be first EVERY time."
While the pair of third-graders scampered down the sidewalk to Clarence Darrow Elementary School, Trotter whistled his way past the bedded pansies in front of the bungalow. Walking in the front door, he called, "Jock? Izzy?" Such was his habit each Monday, Wednesday and Friday, since the children had begun going to school. He expected Jock was long gone to the warehouse, but it never hurt to ask.
Isabel answered back, as she nearly always did, "He's at work, Ted. Come and get some coffee."
Ted nonchalantly pushed through the swinging kitchen door, following the sound of his mother-in-law's voice. He saw her standing on a footstool in the pantry, organizing Mason jars of canned fruits and vegetables. His cock throbbed. Even after regularly fucking her for ten years, he still loved to look at her. Front, back or profile, notwithstanding her upcoming fiftieth birthday, Isabel was a solid, good-looking woman.
Crossing the room, Ted said, "Let me help you." He stood behind Isabel and unnecessarily steadied her with his palms. Extending his thumbs, he pressed her pink chenille robe deep into her soft butt muscles. "How's my favorite tomato?"
Isabel grinned, flexed her ass at his touch and shoved aside a quart jar of green beans. Teasing him, she looked back under her arm and retorted, "Your WIFE... might have something to say about that... if she KNEW."
Ted snickered. "Mary? Oh, she's a PEACH... a sweet, tender, juicy peach." All the while, Ted's busy hands slid down Isabel's legs and swiftly returned, under the hems of her robe and nightgown. He squeezed her left globe while his right hand pushed between her closed thighs and cupped her furry bare cunt. "But, YOU... you are a full, firm, vine-ripe TOMATO, which I never tire of plucking... and ENJOYING."
Demonstrating his truth, Ted plucked at Isabel's pussy's lips until they opened wetly. He slid his middle fingers two knuckles deep and folded her fat labia closed around them with his thumb and pinky. Isabel rocked her hips, moaning long and low. Squeezing her cunny hard around his hand, she thrilled as Ted's curled tips tickled her tunnel's roof.
"Dooo you... have TIME... Wwwwill you...," she panted.
"I DO, and I WILL... of COURSE. It's MONDAY," Trotter answered her silly, gasped, unfinished question. Withdrawing his hands, he pulled Isabel and turned her by her waist to face him. She rested her chin on his head while he spread the lapels of her robe. Ted grinned when he saw her shiny lilac charmeuse negligee. Sliding its thin straps, and the opened pink robe with it, off her shoulders, he let them fall, unveiling his American Domestic Goddess, on a three-legged pedestal, in all of her nude glory.
"Does Jock know you wear this for me? And that I take it off as quick as can be?" Ted's face glided across Isabel's heavy heaving bare breasts as, between light tugging sucks on her mature nipples, he asked his questions.
"J-Jock knows nnnyaah-NOTHING of... UHNnn-US," Isabel stammered. She clawed Ted's back through his suit coat and shirt. Her percolating pussy demanded more personal attention. Trotter bobbed his head and bounced his cheeks against Isabel's resilient pillows as he plowed through her deep cleavage and kissed his way south. On his knees, he stretched his neck, sunk his nose into her navel, and sucked her protuberant soft belly at the upper fringe of her mahogany beaver. Isabel pushed the top of his head downward. "N-n-no HICKEYS, Ted," she gurgled.
She was weak and weakening. Ted was strong and resolute. He kept a silver dollar size patch of her sensitive skin pressed tight to his palate and sucked for blood. Isabel squealed. Leaning back, with cruciform arms outspread, she rolled her wrists and gripped the pantry shelves. Ted pulled her, by her ass, closer to him and increased his vacuum. Isabel's pinpoint capillaries ruptured and her orgasm broke. Ted growled into her gut; shaking it with his teeth, like a terrier with prey. She howled and trembled. Her knees buckled and only Ted's wrapped arms and her own death grip on the shelving edges kept her from falling off the stool.
Trotter released his lamprey bite and studied the bright blotch he had left in Isabel's hairline. "That's my MARK, Izzy," he said, proudly. "And when it fades, I'll RENEW it." He stood and embraced her as she quaked and calmed. Scooping her into his arms, leaving her robe and negligee where they were, he carried her to the McGuinness' marital brass four-poster and laid her, deliberately, among the rumpled sheets, in the middle of the mattress depression on Jock's side of the bed.
Taking his time, but working efficiently, Trotter stripped himself naked while Isabel, stunned and anxious to be fucked, lay watching him. "I don't care WHAT you tell Jock, by way of explanation, or even if you say ANYTHING at all, Izzy," Ted said, calmly and firmly, as he shed his clothes. "But, know this: as of NOW, you're MINE and ONLY mine." He crawled onto the bed between her legs with his rampant cock waving. "I'm not SHARING you with him, anymore."
Isabel gulped, held out her arms and raised her bowed knees. Her wet beckoning pussy gleamed in her thick grotto. "OK, Ted," she said, "TAKE me. I'll be just YOURS."
Trotter snarled into her ear, "That's RIGHT, Izzy... and never FORGET it." He lunged his hips. His prick plunged hard and deep into her pussy, slamming its back wall. Isabel grunted with the collision. Even at their most rambunctious, she did not recall such a violent, thorough entry. She crushed his chest to hers and swooned, realizing his domination was the final missing factor in her world, but wondering how it would work.
"Yesss... YES! Oh, GOD! YESSSSS!" Isabel chanted repeatedly while her son-in-law staked his claim and her cunny claimed his stake. Ted pounded relentlessly. The great bed lifted from the floor and crashed noisily as he drove her through the mattress. She screeched and came more strongly than she could remember. Her climax seemed endless as it washed through her body and swept her mind of all thought.
Trotter's throbbing pulse and heavy short breaths summoned his nuts, requiring release. The soles of his feet pushed against the bed rails and he powered mightily forward, again parking his cock at the door to Isabel's womb. With a howling roar, he launched his load. His multitudinous sterile flotilla futilely breached her innermost door, seeking an egg that would never come.
Two miles northwest of the McGuinness bungalow, downtown, at the corner of Adams Street and Central Avenue, a telephone rang. "Police. Flynn," the veteran desk sergeant answered brusquely. "Oh, yessir... just one moment, please." His tone changed notably. Placing the caller on hold, he opened a new line, dialed an internal number and said neutrally, "Doctor Sparks is on Line One, Detective." Flynn hung up and wrote, "8:15 a.m. - Dr. Albert Sparks called for Det. Howard."
Prescott Howard thanked Flynn and punched up Sparks' line. "Good morning, Doctor," he said. "I was just thinking about you."
"Yes," replied the doctor, "Well, I completed my tests and examinations on Farragut. It's exactly as I thought. Natural causes, which in his case means 'cardiopulmonary failure,' which is exactly how I worded it on the death certificate I just signed. For your report, you may record that he died in his sleep between one and one-thirty in the morning on Saturday, May 19, 1940."
Sparks paused while Howard asked, necessarily dotting i's and crossing t's, "So, no foul play, eh? Just 'gave up the ghost,' as it were? Did you check the cake for poison?" Prescott did not hope for a murder to add to his caseload, but he never shirked from due diligence.
"No, sorry to disappoint," Doctor Sparks answered. "The cake was clean and so was Farragut's system."
"OK, Doc, thank you," Howard said. "That's good news. He had no living relatives, but I found contact information for his attorneys in St. Louis. I'll notify them and they can handle his affairs from there." He cradled the phone and recalled the death-bed scene along with his memory and impressions of the lovely Mrs. Trotter. "Too much high living and hard exercise," he mused. "A tiger can kill a man, but so can a little pussy, I guess." Chuckling, he updated his manila folder and closed the file.
That afternoon, in the Trotter cottage, while Mary sat at her kitchen table mulling recent events over a cup of coffee, the phone rang in the front room. She had a weird hopeful premonition the caller would say, "It was all a mistake. Eli Farragut is not dead." She hurried up the hall and answered on the third ring, "Uptown five-four-three-six. Hello?"
"Hello. Is this Mrs. Trotter? MARY Trotter?" The stranger's voice, though not unpleasant, was serious.
Mary briefly considered hanging up, but instead replied, "Yes, this is she. Who is calling, please?"
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Trotter," the man's tone softened noticeably. Mary instantly felt less on guard and, oddly, comforted. "I am Robert Schuster, of the law firm, Schuster and Schuster, in St. Louis." After the introduction he hurried to put Mary at ease. "You don't know me and likely have never heard of us. But Mr. Farragut spoke often, and at length, about you... in only the kindest and most loving terms, I assure you... and I feel as if I know YOU quite well." He paused for a response.
When there was none, Schuster continued. "I have represented Mr. Farragut, and his many interests, for over thirty years. When he passed away, the police notified me. Let me say right off how sorry I am for your loss. I know that Eli, who was also my friend as well as a client, loved you and that he always believed that YOU loved HIM." Schuster waited, listened to the soft weeping on the other end of the phone, and checked in. "Mrs. Trotter... may I call you 'Mary'? Are you alright? I can call back, if you prefer."
Mary rubbed her streaking tears with her free bare hand and sucked in a gulp of air. "N-no, Mr. Schuster... don't call back," she said through quivering lips but with a strengthening voice. "I'll be alright. YES, I loved Eli VERY much... I appreciate your consideration and yes, you may call me 'Mary'. Please go on."
"Thank you... Mary," Schuster acknowledged her consent. "I know you're grieving and I won't take much time. I wanted to call as soon as possible, though, to let you know, in very general terms, that Eli provided for you, in all of his wills since 1932. Even when his sister, Alma, was living, he wanted YOU to be taken care of. When SHE passed, on Hallowe'en, in '35, he had no other family left. She was a spinster and he never married either. As a result, Eli updated his will, for the last time, that November, naming you his sole beneficiary."
Mary felt faint. She put the receiver on the table and sat abruptly in the padded straight-backed wooden armchair by the phone desk. Schuster's voice squawked distantly through the instrument, "Hello? Hello, Mary? Are you still there?" Trembling, she picked up the phone again.
"Yes, Mr. Schuster," Mary said, bringing herself under control. "I'm sorry. The news was surprising, yet NOT so, as I think about it, now. I remember he and I had a... PRIVATE moment, at Thanksgiving in 1935. He told me he loved me and that I was all he had, or wanted. He frequently said wonderful romantic things like that, and, since you are, or were, his attorney, I may tell you, with confidence and IN confidence, that I believed him. However, I always thought it was lover's hyperbole. We WERE that, you know... 'LOVERS', in the truest sense of the word, from the moment we met." Mary's voice trailed off as she allowed her mind to drift with sweet memories.
Schuster wisely held silent. Indeed, nothing Mary Trotter had just said was news to him. After a time, he coughed lightly into the phone and brought Mary back to their conversation. "Yes, Mary, I do know that, and because of the way Eli structured his estate, even after his passing, I remain his attorney... and YOURS, unless and until you say otherwise. But, for the nonce, you may rely on me to keep our conversations strictly confidential."
Mary breathed an audible sigh and said, "Thank you, Mr. Schuster. What else do I need to know, or do?"
"As I said, this is a general, and brief, notification. Mostly to share immediate condolences and to assure you that ALL details regarding Eli, his personal effects, his estate, and..." here, he took a deep breath, hoping he was on solid ground with his upset new client, "...his funeral arrangements, are provided and will be carried out."
When he did not hear Mary break down again, he went on, with confidence. "You need do very little, for the moment. In a week, or perhaps two, we can meet, preferably here in our St. Louis offices, but anywhere, really. The immediate paperwork is complete, but there will be things to take care of, on a go-forward basis."
Schuster paused again and then concluded, "MEANWHILE, Mary, you might begin considering whether you will want to keep the Garvey Street property, or dispose of it to your best advantage. Everything will come to you, with no strings attached, although Eli specifically asked me to give you the following posthumous message: 'Dearest Mary, ma petite douce chérie, ma seul vrai amoure, walk in sunshine and follow your heart. When one door closes, another may open. I will always be with you.'"
Mary was stunned by the words, so eerily like those Eli's apparition spoke in her dream. "Th-thank you, Mr. Schuster," she said, bravely choking back her tears. "Please DO call again... TOMORROW. I'll be better prepared to hear about Eli's... funeral arrangements and... other things." She drew a deep breath and exhaled. "I'll come to you in St. Louis, as soon as can be, following that. Eli would want this done swiftly and efficiently." Schuster smiled as he heard the phone disconnect.
*** FIN ***