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The Frog 1 17

Frank really is a repulsive little slug, thought Susana, studying their
host as he lurched away from the bar in the corner of his living room,
carrying drinks for her and Neil. "Gross" was another word that sprang
to mind. He was short, balding and pallid, with pop eyes, yellowed teeth
and a bulging beer-gut. He was also very drunk, and more than a little
cross.
He'd left the club about ten minutes ahead of them, and when they
arrived at his apartment with Bob and Erica he'd answered the door
wearing only his socks, underpants and shirt, unbuttoned all the way
down the front. A moth-eaten carpet of black hair covered his chest and
ran in a thin line down the centre of his belly. Tendrils of the same
peeped from behind the sagging waistband and slack leg-openings of his
Y-fronts and wandered down the insides of his thighs. He reeked of gin
and cigar smoke, and Susana was absolutely fascinated.
He reached over her as she sat on the floor between Neil's legs, placed
the drinks on the low table beside the chair, and leered challengingly
down the gaping front of her kimono. Then he scuttled back to the bar,
collected his own drink, and sprawled wearily on the sofa.
Susana handed Neil his drink, picked up her own and held it up towards
Frank. "Cheers," she said, and took a moderate sip. Frank gulped down
half a glass of gin, mopped his mouth with the back of his hand, and
regarded her blearily from beneath half-lowered eyelids. He's not a
slug, thought Susana, he's a frog — a big, fat, drunken bullfrog. She
wondered if there was a handsome prince inside him struggling to get
out, decided there wasn't, and leaned back into the V between Neil's
legs. Frank waggled his tongue at her. She tugged at Neil's trouser leg,
got no response, and tugged again. Neil leaned forward and cocked his
head over her shoulder. "What?"
Susana muttered out of the corner of her mouth. "Look," she said. "Just
look what he's doing." Neil looked up from under his eyebrows. Frank,
entirely unabashed, smirked and waggled his tongue at Susana again.
"That's it," whispered Neil. "Finish your drink and let's get out of
here." She shook her head. "Not yet," she said, and Neil sat back and
picked up his glass. Frank grinned and scratched his belly. Susana stood
up. "Where's the loo?"
Frank left off scratching and raised his hand, pointed, and eyed her
speculatively as she swept past him and disappeared into the darkened
main bedroom. There was a brief gleam of light when she found the
en-suite switch, cut off as she closed the door.
Frank swallowed the rest of his drink, scratched his chest and glared
balefully at Neil. After a few seconds he heaved himself to his feet,
padded over to the bar and reached for the gin bottle, then turned and
growled belligerently: "Who invited YOU?" Neil nodded towards the
bedroom door. "She did," he said. Frank snorted. "Silly bitch." He
splashed gin in his glass, moved behind the bar and bent to the fridge,
hooked out a bottle of tonic and topped off his drink. Then he stared
fishily at Neil and demanded: "Why?" Neil shrugged. "You invited her.
She assumed the invitation included me. We go together. Like book-ends.
She's my wife."
Frank gaped. "Well, bugger me," he said. "Why didn't somebody tell me?"
Neil shrugged again. "Prob'ly did," he said. "Prob'ly you weren't
listening. You don't, you know." Frank reddened. "Fuck YOU," he said.
"Fuck you. And your fuckin' wife. Cock-teasin' bitch." He hiccuped,
picked up his glass and strode angrily back to the sofa, sat down
muttering further imprecations under his breath. He hiccuped again,
leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes, then opened them
again at the sound of Susana's voice, calling from the bedroom.
"Look what I found," she said, and her hand appeared around the
door-frame, waving a 25cm vibrator. Frank's eyes popped and his mouth
fell open again as she stepped out into the living room, her black silk
culottes dr*ped over her right arm and her kimono hanging open in front
from the neck to the hem at mid-thigh. "This party needs waking up," she
said. She tossed the vibrator on the sofa beside Frank, hung her
trousers over the back of the nearest chair, and walked over to the open
hi-fi cabinet. She riffled quickly through the CDs, made a selection and
slipped it into the player, nodded her head to the driving beat as the
music swelled from the speakers, then held out her hand towards Frank
and clicked her fingers. "Come on, frog," she said. "Dance with me."
____
Although it was Friday Neil had brought home a pile of work, and when
Bob and Erica dropped in and offered to take him and Susana to dinner at
the club he begged off. But he was content that Susana should go with
them — it would keep her off his back while he worked, he said — and he
promised to be along later. Susana left the three of them chatting over
sundowners while she showered and thought about what to wear. Erica, the
tart, was underdressed as usual, in a little blue-and-white polka-dotted
playdress with a deep-scooped neckline, buttons all the way down the
front, and a skirt that barely covered her bum.
Susana chose her black silk pants-suit — long, wide-bottomed culottes
and a kimono top which wrapped around and was secured at the waist with
a bright green sash. She tried it on without a bra, decided she liked
the feel of the slick fabric against her nipples, and dug around in the
bottom of the wardrobe for her patent heels. Then she checked her
make-up, gave her throat and forearms a quick spray of Coco Chanel,
dropped the vaporiser into her purse and stepped out into the living
room. Bob stood up as she entered, and whistled admiration. Susana
smiled smugly, settled on the couch beside Erica, and demanded a drink.
Then another. It was a full twenty minutes before, to Neil's obvious
relief, they were finally on their way.
Dinner at the club, on Friday night, was a family buffet affair in the
main hall, with kids running up and down, babies crying and drinks
waiters neglecting their duties while they gawped at the footy on the
big-screen TV. They ate quickly, then adjourned to the more congenial
atmosphere and better service of the Aircon. Lounge, where they were
lucky enough to find two stools at the bar. Thirty minutes and three
drinks later Erica and Susana were both well away, giggling and ogling,
making the most of the Aircon's traditional male-to-female ratio of
about ten-to-one. It was all good, clean fun — grubby jokes and sexual
innuendo included — and over the course of the next two hours they
chewed up and spat out upwards of a dozen admirers while Bob stood by
and chatted diplomatically with his mates.
As the succession of suitors came and went, there was one who persisted
— a pudgy little cigar-smoking lecher who Susana didn't remember seeing
before. Erica knew him, though. She introduced them ("Frank, say hello
to Susana. Susana, this is Frank. He's a filthy little beast.") and
Susana gathered he was one of Bob's more important clients. Frank
shrugged off Erica's unflattering description, bought a round of drinks,
and tried openly to peer down Susana's front. Over the next ten minutes
he told two of the dirtiest jokes Susana had ever heard, and had three
drinks to their one. When Bob excused himself and trundled off to the
toilet, Frank leaned over Erica's shoulder and blew cigar smoke into her
cleavage. Erica picked up her purse. "I need to powder my nose," she
said, and looked enquiringly at Susana. "Me too," said Susana.
As they slipped off their stools, Frank stuck his hand up what little
there was of Erica's skirt. She slapped his hand away, smiled
dangerously and hissed: "Do that again and I'll bite your cock off." He
simply grinned, waited until they were halfway across the room and then
called after them: "Promises, promises. Always bloody promises." He
turned back to the bar and ordered another gin.
Erica was boiling by the time they entered the toilet, and Susana
developed a nagging suspicion that there was more between her and Frank
than met the eye. The idea of Erica balling that pop-eyed little perv,
although grotesque, was intriguing. But she didn't ask, and Erica simply
stewed in uncharacteristic silence.
When they got back to the bar Frank was still there, deep in animated
discussion with Bob. He made way for them with an exaggerated show of
courtesy as they reclaimed their stools, then went on moaning about the
parlous state of the economy. Susana was just beginning to marvel at his
transformation from out-and-out sleaze to simply boring businessman, and
wondering which of the two she liked least, when he quite deliberately
dropped his cigar on the floor between her and Erica, apparently for the
sole purpose of taking a long look up Erica's legs as he bent to
retrieve it.
A couple of minutes later, reaching for his drink on the bar-top, he
contrived to grope Susana's breast as she chatted over her shoulder to
another passing acquaintance. "Watch it, worm," she muttered. He leered,
belched and bent his mouth close to her ear. "I'm watching YOU," he
whispered hoarsely. "You're HOT."
Susana searched for a suitable rejoinder, found none, and waved at Neil
as he pushed through the swing door. Neil waved back and threaded his
way through the standing knots of drinkers towards their group. "Well,"
he said to the world in general, "I made it." He studied the disposition
of drinks in hands and along the counter-top, decided a round was
unnecessary, and motioned to the barman for a single "handle" of beer.
"Cheers," he said to Bob, and drained half of the ice-cold contents of
the glass, then directed his attention at Frank. "G-day," he said. "I'm
Neil."
Frank blinked owlishly, ignored the proferred hand, and leaned close to
Susana. "Fuckin' wanker," he muttered, and seemed pleased when Susana
giggled. She signalled Neil with her eyes — "No problem" — and Neil
raised his glass to her and turned back to start a conversation with
Bob.
Susana looked up at the bar clock and noted it was half an hour to
closing time. She tapped Erica's bare knee: "Want to party after?" Frank
seized on her question. "Fuckin' good idea," he said. "Come back to my
place." It was not what Susana had in mind, and she was a little
surprised by Erica's response. "Why not?" said Erica, and tugged at
Bob's sleeve. "Party after at Frank's," she said. Bob looked at Neil,
who shrugged, then at Susana. "Fine by me," she said. "Okay," said Bob.
"Party at Frank's."
Neil bought another round, then was called away to discuss the perennial
subject of government corruption with a group of Tax Office types. Bob
bought another round, and Susana another, lining them up along the bar.
Frank lurched off to the toilet, came back with a triangle of
shirt-front caught in the top of his fly. He downed another double gin,
put a proprietary arm around Susana's shoulders, and launched into the
telling of another amazingly filthy joke.
The shutters came down on the bar, and the room began to empty. Frank
squeezed Susana's thigh. "I'll drive you," he said. She lifted his hand
off her leg. "It's all right," she said. "I've got transport." Frank
looked at Erica, then at Bob, and nodded drunkenly. "Oh, yes, of
course," he said. "She's got TRANS-port. Of course she's got
TRANS-port." He gulped down the last of his drink. "All right," he said.
"I'll see you there." He turned to Bob. "Got to clean up for the
guests," he said. "Goin' on ahead. See you there." He winked at Erica,
put down his glass and staggered in the direction of the door.
Neil finished solving the nation's ills and came back to the bar. They
polished off the remaining drinks, gathered loose change and purses, and
the four of them walked down together to the parking area. Neil had
found a space right in front of the main door. "We'll follow you,"
Susana told Bob as she slipped behind the wheel. Neil slid in beside her
and she fingered his crotch, then started the car. "Let's go and get
legless," she said.
They drove in silence, tailing the lights of Bob's car through the
business district and out along the harbor road, finally passing through
the security gates of a U-shaped high-rise apartment building. Bob led
them into the lobby, where one of two uniformed guards asked their
business and muttered into the house phone for a few moments before
ushering them into the lift and riding with them to the fourth floor,
furtively eyeing Erica's legs in the mirror at the back of the car. When
the lift door opened he pointed to a carved portal at the far end of the
passage, watched until Bob had rapped out a summons on the ornate brass
knocker, then ducked back into the lift and rode back to the lobby.
Bob knocked again, there was the snick-click sound of a key in the
dead-lock and the door opened to reveal Frank in his saggy Y-fronts and
unbuttoned shirt. He seemed a bit taken aback at finding Neil in the
company, shot a speculative look at Erica and reached the wrong
conclusion, and invited them in. They slipped out of their shoes just
inside the door and walked through into the living room.
Susana ran an appraising eye over the layout and furnishings — three
deep-padded armchairs and a sofa arranged in a broad horseshoe around a
low table, TV and VCR in the corner by the balcony doors, panelled bar,
built-in bookcase and hi-fi cabinet, carved sideboard, local artefacts
and a couple of paintings by one of the more respected indigenous
artists. There were twin kitchen and dining alcoves, two doors leading
to what Susana assumed were bedrooms, and a third which she took to be a
bathroom.
She flopped on the sofa. Erica danced over to the hi-fi, tuned in the
all-night request program on local FM radio, then joined Frank at the
bar and supervised the getting of drinks —beer-in-a-bottle for Neil,
whisky and water for Bob, whisky and Coke for her and Susana. Frank
drained his gin and tonic, poured himself a refill while Erica
distributed the other drinks. Bob settled in one of the armchairs and
Neil sauntered over to the bookcase, beer in hand, to check on their
host's taste in literature.
"I want to dance," said Erica. She took the bottle from Neil, placed it
and her own glass on the sideboard, and pulled him into the open space
in front of the TV. Frank walked away from the bar and over to the sofa,
plumped down beside Susana and watched as Neil pranced around the gently
gyrating Erica in passable, if inappropriate, imitation of a Hoopoe rain
dancer. "Wanker," said Frank. Susana regarded him with mild amusement
and sipped her drink. He stroked the outside of her thigh, a minor
liberty which she decided to let him get away with.
Erica grappled Neil into a slow dance, nuzzling his neck and pressing
her belly against his crotch. Bob looked at Susana, stood up and walked
over to the bar to pour himself another scotch. Susana remembered the
one about the bloke with the headaches and the overtight underpants, and
told it to Frank. He spluttered with mirth, slapped her on the knee and
slid his fingers up the inside of her thigh. She picked his hand off her
leg and laid it on his stomach. "Naughty, naughty," she said, and he
leered happily.
The radio swung back to super-fast disco mode and Erica disentangled
herself and picked up the beat. Neil kept up the pace for a minute or
so, then pleaded weary and begged to be let off. He picked up his beer
and settled thankfully into his chair.
Erica danced on alone. Susana, fending off a renewed invasion of the
creeping fingers, stood up and joined her. They danced for each other,
clapping their hands, dipping and weaving, bumping bottoms and shaking
their shoulders. When the number ended, Frank applauded
enthusiastically. Susana curtsied. Erica bowed, then turned around, set
her feet apart and bowed again, flashing her white Cottontails panties
and waggling her bottom. Frank was delighted. "More," he yelled. "More,
more. Show us your tits."
Erica sprang up on to the top of the low table in front of him and began
a lap-dance routine, sliding her hands down her body and between her
legs as she rolled her hips, her knees bent apart and her pelvis
projected towards him. Frank clapped again and drummed on the floor with
his feet. "That's right, girlie," he shouted. "Show us more. Show us
your tits." Erica pursed her lips at him, caressed the creamy insides of
her spread thighs, then tiptoed her fingers back up her body and undid
the top button of her tiny frock.
Frank hammered on the sofa with his fists, made no attempt to hide the
developing tumescence in his underpants. "Tits," he cried. "Show us your
tits." Erica reached for the second button, then caught Bob's warning
look. "That's enough," she said, pulling herself together and stepping
down off the table. "Maybe it's time we went home." Frank came down off
Cloud Nine with a bump. "Don't go yet," he said. "Have another drink."
Bob stepped away from the bar. "No thanks," he said. "We have to leave.
I've got a squash match at six o'clock." He took Erica's arm and started
to propel her towards the door.
Frank stood up, looked hopefully at Susana. "YOU don't have to go, do
you?" he asked. "Stay and have another drink." Susana stepped up close
and prodded the bulge in his Y-fronts. "Okay," she said. "One more
drink." Bob, standing just inside the door with Erica, coughed politely.
"Well," he said, "we'll see you later." Frank recalled his manners, went
to the door to say his goodnights and see them out, watched until they
were safely in the lift, then shut and locked the door and turned
eagerly back to Susana.
Obviously, he'd forgotten all about his fourth guest. So he was visibly
put out at discovering Neil still sitting in his armchair. And he was
positively peeved at the sight of Susana, sitting on the floor between
Neil's legs, her back against the front of the chair and a look of
wide-eyed innocence on her face. She held up her empty glass. "Fill me
up, Frank," she said. Frank choked down an expletive, snatched the glass
from her hand and stomped over to the bar.
____
"Come on, frog," said Susana. "Dance with me." Frank struggled to his
feet, his anger forgotten, and joined Susana in the open space, pumping
awkwardly with his arms and stumbling over his own feet as he tried to
match her gyrations. His bulging eyes ogled her bare brown thighs, tried
in vain to penetrate the mysteries lurking beneath the filmy black lace
of her panties, and feasted on flashing glimpses of her breasts as her
top slipped tantalisingly aside from one or the other. He extended a
hand towards her and she danced out of reach. "Let me touch your tits,"
he gasped, and lunged towards her again. She evaded him easily, and
giggled. "Have some patience, frog," she said, and inflamed him further
by holding her kimono open with both hands and jiggling her breasts at
him.
He was no dancer, but she kept him at it for three tracks, until they
were both bathed in sweat and he could hardly lift his feet. Then she
took his hand and led him back to the sofa. "Brave frog," she said as he
sat down. She picked up his glass, held it to his lips and made soothing
noises as he drank. When he'd emptied the glass she set it down by the
end of the sofa and straightened up.
"Now," she said, "Susana's got a reward for her brave little frog." She
slid the kimono off her shoulders and dr*ped it over the back of the
sofa, fended off his hands as he reached for her, then straddled his
belly and offered her right breast to his mouth. He suckled greedily and
she closed her eyes, willing her nipples erect. "That's right, baby,"
she cooed. "Good baby. Good boy. Mama's here."
She shifted position, transferred his attentions to her other breast.
"Yes, baby," she crooned. "Baby loves titty, doesn't he? Suck, baby.
Good boy. Don't fret now, don't fret. Everything's fine, mama's here."
She placed her right hand behind his head and bounced him gently against
her breast, singing: "Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree top . . . " Frank
whimpered, snuggled close and snuffled at her nipple. Susana reached
behind her with her left hand and groped his groin.
"Oooh," she said, dancing her fingers over the hardening lump in his
underpants. "What's this, then? NAUGHTY boy! Rude FROG. NAUGHTY frog."
Frank giggled stupidly around the nipple in his mouth. Susana delved
into the opening in his Y-fronts, fished out his semi-erect cock, and
milked it between her index and middle fingers. "Does the naughty little
fellow want to fuck his mama, then? NASTY boy. DIRTY boy. Wants to poke
his pee-pee into mama's pussy? DisGUSting frog. Needs a good SMACK!"
She pushed his head away from her breast and slapped him on the cheek.
Then, before he had time to react, she let go of his cock, grabbed his
head with both hands and covered his startled face with quick,
slobbering kisses. "Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry baby," she said. "Mama
didn't mean it. Mama didn't mean to hurt her baby. Don't cry, don't cry.
Here, baby, here." She cupped her left hand under her right breast and
pressed his face into her softness. Frank, torn between lust and anger,
fuddled with gin and exhausted from his recent dance marathon, turned
his head and petulantly refused the proferred nipple.
"Oh, sorry," said Susana. "Baby's cross. Mama's really sorry, baby.
Don't be cross with mama." She swung herself off his belly and sat
beside him, then poked a finger into his ribs. "Tickle, tickle," she
said. Frank refused to look at her. She put a hand under his chin and
tried to turn his face towards her. He resisted. She walked her fingers
down his chest and tickled his paunch. He twitched, testily, and the
soft fat slug of his penis wobbled.
Susana slipped off the sofa and, kneeling, insinuated herself between
his legs. "Frankie-wankie's still cross," she crooned, "but mama will
make him feel better. Oh, look, Frankie's got a weenie for his mama.
Mama LOVES weenies. Mama's going to EAT Frankie's weenie." She leaned
forward and slurped his limp prick into her mouth for a few moments,
then sat back to observe the results. The pale pink sausage oozing from
the flap in Frank's Y-fronts rolled slowly on to its back and writhed in
rapture. Susana clucked encouragement. "That's better, baby," she said.
She lowered her lips to within a couple of millimetres of his cock and
blew gently along its underside, then sat back again, her tongue poking
provocatively from her open mouth. Frank sighed. His dick writhed again,
and the foreskin peeled back as its head wriggled free and began
climbing blindly towards the waistband of his underpants. Susana lifted
it in her hand, bent forward again and lapped its tip. She looked up at
Frank and licked her lips. "Yum," she said. "Yummy, yummy, cock for
mummy." She put it in her mouth, took it out again, and Frank groaned in
frustration.
"Aww," said Susana, "does Frankie LOVE mama's mouth?" Lick, lick. "Wants
to be sucked?" Lick. "Wants his mama to munch his cock? DIRTY beast.
DisGUSting little boy." She regarded him in silence for perhaps ten
seconds, then shrugged her shoulders. "Say 'please', baby. Say 'pretty
please'. Say 'pretty please, mama, suck my pee-pee'." Frank groaned
again, whispered: "Pretty please, mama, suck my pee-pee." "What?" said
Susana. She smiled encouragingly, and tickled the tip of his cock with
her tongue. "What was that? Mama couldn't hear you, baby." Frank
practically shouted: "Pretty-please-mama-suck-my-pee-pee! NOW GET ON
WITH IT!" Susana tsked. "Well all RIGHT," she said. "There's no need to
get CROSS."


End of Story