The Beast House by Richard Laymon

Janice.”
    “Am I?” She put her hands on his sides, and stared into his eyes. “What kind of something?”
    “Later. We’ve got to get out of here, remember?”
    “No. Come on, you started it.”
    “You’re funny,” he said. “And crafty. And cute.”
    “Cute? Hamsters are cute.”
    “Okay, how about beautiful?”
    She tilted her head. “That’s nice. Now we can leave.” But her hands didn’t leave Brian’s sides.
    He eased her close and she pressed herself tightly against him, arms wrapping his back, mouth opening, sucking in his tongue. She squirmed and moaned in his embrace.
    Brian slid his hands under the back of her sweatshirt. Caressing her, he pictured himself gloating as he described it all to Gorman. Nothing to it, really. I just worked on her emotions, played on her fears till she needed some reassuring, gave a comforting pat here and there, a little wit to break the tension. Worked on her sympathy by leading into some sad talk about my poor departed Martha. Tried to keep a sexual undertone going, joked that I’d brought the blanket for making out, even took a leak out there so she’d have to think about my dick. Stayed close enough so she could hear the piss splatter.
    Masterful job, Gorman would say.
    He unhooked the back of Janice’s bra. She didn’t object. On the contrary, she stepped back enough to make a space between their bodies so Brian could lift the cups away and caress her breasts. Her nipples felt like rubber posts. She arched her back as he thumbed them.
    “Shouldn’t we leave?” he asked.
    Her mouth hung open, but she didn’t speak. She shook her head wildly from side to side, making her hair fly.
    He slid the sweatshirt up above her breasts, crouched, and used his tongue. Her trembling fingers pushed through his hair, urged his mouth hard against her breast.
    Actually, Gorman, it was a cinch. She was as hot to trot as they come.
    No, he shouldn’t admit that. Let Gorman think he’s a superstud.
    Which, of course, I am.
    As he sucked first on one breast, then on the other, his hands plied her firm rump through the seat of her jeans.
    I took it slow, he would say. Didn’t want to spook her.
    He brought a hand to the front. The crotch of her jeans felt warm and moist. He pressed against it, feeling the jut of her mons through the heavy fabric. She writhed on his rubbing fingers as if she wanted them in.
    Straightening up, he pulled her sweatshirt over her head. The bra came off with it. He caressed her bare neck and shoulders as she feverishly unfastened his jacket and shirt. When they were open, she squeezed herself against him. Her breasts, slicked with Brian’s saliva, felt cool at first, then warm. Her hands went to his shoulders. They pulled the shirt and jacket down his arms. The chilly night air made him flinch, but her hand took his mind off the cold as it pushed inside his pants and curled around his erection.
    “Let’s put the blanket down,” she whispered, her fingers gliding. “That’s what you brought it for.”
    “It is?”
    Grinning, she gave his scrotum a gentle squeeze. Then she took out her hand. They spread the blanket nearby. It was puffy from the weeds beneath it. She walked on the blanket, her moonlit breasts jiggling as she stomped it down.
    Lying on her back, she crossed each leg to pull off her boots and socks. She opened her jeans, lifted her buttocks off the blanket long enough to tug the pants out from under her, and raised her feet. “Give me a hand?”
    Brian gripped the cuffs and slid the jeans off her legs. The panties were around her thighs, very white below the dark triangle of her pubic thatch. Crouching beside her, Brian drew the flimsy garment down to her ankles and off.
    While he shed the rest of his own clothes, he watched Janice squirm slowly, caressing herself. She had her knees up, her heels dug in to keep her from sliding down the gradual slope.
    Her legs spread wide for him when he knelt. He kissed her inner thighs,