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Chapter 16 Partying with
Portia
“It was a
fucking arsenal,” said Stacy as she and Portia walked into the school library
discussing the poker party. It was early
evening Saturday and the two hadn’t had an opportunity to talk until then. Stacy had slept till noon then spent her
afternoon at the skeet range while Portia worked ten minimum wage hours playing
for a dance rehearsal.
“Any hand
grenades, RPGs, mortars,” asked Portia?
“No,
don’t be silly. Semi-automatic pistols
for the most part. But there were
several assault rifles and automatic shotguns and a box of stun grenades like
swat teams use,” said Stacy as they reached the area in the back of the
building. Fortunately it was almost
empty. There were several rows of tables
equipped with computer workstations intended for research. The girls took a seat as far away as possible
from the other students.
“Did you
recognize any of the makes,” asked Portia?
“Of
course, my dad is a gun collector and for that matter I own several semi-autos
of the same make,” said Stacy.
“Oh yeah,
the skeet thing,” said Portia. “I keep
forgetting you are a gun nut. There aren’t a lot of those at Harvard. Name a brand.
I want to look it up.”
“Glock,
that’s what most policeman carry,” said Stacy spelling the name as Portia
launched a WEB search engine and keyboarded the manufacturer’s name.
“German
made, expensive, I had no idea a pistol cost that much,” said Portia looking at
her search results.
“They
were mostly expensive German or Swiss models, top of the line, Glock, H&K,
Walther. There was a Sig Sauer nine
millimeter identical to one my Dad gave me for my sixteenth birthday,” said
Stacy. “There were also several cases of
ammunition. And there was a box of
Saturday night specials sitting on the floor.”
“Saturday
night specials,” questioned Portia?
“Inexpensive handguns sold in the inner city and used to hold up
convenience stores,” said Stacy. “There
was even an MP5-N assault rifle. That’s
what Navy Seals use.”
“Why
would Mike Cabreeze need an arsenal?”
“Paranoia, preparing for Armageddon or he’s like my dad, a
collector. Policemen are often gun
hobbyists,” said Stacy.
“Value? What was it all worth?”
“Thirty
to fifty thousand being conservative, maybe more,” said Stacy after thinking
for a minute.
“I
suppose you weren’t able to look in the safe,” said Portia.
“I had
neither time nor combination.”
“People
have a tendency to forget combinations especially if they don’t use them that
often. It may be nearby written
inconspicuously or an anniversary date,” said Portia. “What else?”
“I’ll
remember that if I get another chance to look.
There was a file cabinet containing files with people’s names on the
tabs including a fat one labeled with my name.
It wasn’t alphabetized. I was
right in front.”
“Did you
recognize any of the other names?”
“A couple
sounded familiar but not really. There
were photos, video cassettes, and even DVDs.
I was too busy looking at my own to take a good look at anyone else’s. The bastard had a copy of my high school
transcript, my college grades, and the letters of recommendation my teachers
wrote to get me admitted to Harvard. And
pictures, lots of pictures, even my parent’s yearbook pictures the year they
graduated med school.”
“Pictures
of you,” asked Portia?
“Yes,
walking to class, at the skeet range, taken with a telephoto lens for the most
part. There was even one of me taking a douche
in the Ladies Locker Room at Universal Fitness.
How he got that I can’t even hazard a guess,” said Stacy.
“Probably
bribed someone. Was it covered with
pecker tracks,” asked Portia?
“Huh?”
“Had he
used it to jerk off? Were there spots of
dried semen on the picture?”
“Frankly I didn’t notice. The light wasn’t
that good,” said Stacy laughing at the image of Mike Cabreeze jerking off on
her picture.
“Blasting
your load all over a girl’s picture is considered the in thing among trendy
perverts. I wonder what’s in the safe.”
“Money
for sure, he gave Zack seventy five hundred dollars. They didn’t act like it was a big deal
either.”
“Probably
keeps a few thousand handy for emergencies.
The real money is either in an off shore bank in the
“Why? Are
we going to rob them?”
“No, but
there could be something useful inside although I cannot imagine what. My high school had several students who could
not write a simple sentence or multiply single digit numbers but who could open
a safe that would defeat Harry Houdini.
What was the name of the cocaine supplier?”
“Cardozo
Brothers, at least I think that was what Mike said,” said Stacy.
Portia
turned to the screen and keyboarded the search criteria. Seconds later the screen reported zero
results. Portia tried several different combinations of criteria but each came
up empty.
“Nada, if
they are Columbian drug lords, they need to hire a PR firm. The Internet has never heard of them,” said
Portia when the search engine failed to find a reference. “Any other names?”
“Leslie
Cabot, she will distribute the Ecstasy tablets the Israeli flight attendant
delivers.”
Stacy
watched as the screen filled with a list of WEB pages referencing Leslie Cabot.
“Leslie
Cabot, party person, she’s rich. I’m surprised you don’t know her,” said Portia
peering at the results of her WEB search.
“It may
surprise you to learn we rich don’t all congregate together like penguins on
the same ice foe. God, does the woman do
anything beside pose for photographers?” said Stacy looking at the computer
screen as Portia clicked through photo after photo of Leslie Cabot from the
Society Section of the Boston Globe.
There were multiple photographs of her with the movers and shakers of
“Goes to
the right parties, fucks the right people, what’s that old saying? The Cabots speak only to the Lowells and the
Lowells only to God,” said Portia.
“The
Cabots must have gone down market. I’d
say Leslie Cabot speaks to pretty much everyone,” said Stacy. “Of course many of those are charity
affairs.”
“Ever
been to one?”
“Once or
twice with my mother when dad couldn’t make it, boring, very boring.”
“I’ll
check the blogs for Leslie Cabot, socialite,” said Portia.
“Think
she’s an apt subject for bloggers,” asked Stacy?
“Anything
and anybody is subject to the bloggers. Bingo!”
“What?”
“Leslie Cabot of Beverly Farms,
“Weird.”
“Not
really, there are an estimated eight million bloggers in the
“I could
list and rate all the people I’ve screwed since I met Mike. But thank you, no. What’s on Leslie’s blog?”
“Parties,
restaurant openings, club dates, rants and raves, the girl gets around,” said
Portia looking at a picture of Leslie dancing at the opening of a new
club. There was another of her standing
on a bandstand singing with a band.
“She’s
pretty and she can sing,” said Stacy.
“She doesn’t look much older than us. I’d say late twenties, early
thirties.”
“You’re
much prettier,” said Portia.
“Thank
you, I was not looking for complements but I thank you anyway,” said Stacy.
“You also
have a better figure,” said Portia.
“Thank
you again, now stop,” said Stacy hugging Portia. “I feel like celebrating my surviving the
poker party without getting whipped, slapped, or having pliers attached to my
nipples. I give you credit for
that. Let’s go get a beer. I’m buying.”
“Before
we go, I want to show you something,” said Portia accessing another WEB site.
“Lt.
Michael Cabreeze receives award for outstanding service,” read Stacy aloud once
the screen filled.
It was the
WEB site for the Cambridge Police Department.
There was a picture of Mike smiling at the camera as he received a
plaque from the Mayor of Cambridge.
***
“Hi
Portia,” said Monk greeting Stacy and Portia as they walked by. He and Les were seated outside a coffee shop
in
“Hello Monk,
hi Les,” said Stacy making an extra effort to be friendly to Portia’s friends
something she’d neglected in the past.
The two girls had drunk four beers at the Harvard Brew Shop and were
walking back through the square to their dorm room. They were reasonably drunk. It was a warm late spring night and even
though it was after ten o’clock the square was still crowded.
“Sit down
a minute. Tell me what you think,” said
Monk handing the sheets of music to Portia.
“Where
you girls been,” asked Les speaking to Stacy?
“Getting
wasted,” said Stacy.
“You ever
figure out what happened to you that night you passed out,” asked Les?
“It was
like you thought. I was at a house party
over by MIT. Somebody slipped me some
drugs, probably Ecstasy. I passed out
cold. My fellow students took advantage
of my comatose state. Don’t remember
much,” said Stacy.
“And then
it was all aboard Stacy,” said Monk.
“What was the point of the writing on your ass?”
“Probably
just somebody goofing on me,” said Stacy.
“You
hadn’t been fucking some bitch’s man or woman,” asked Les?
“No, I
have been chaste since I got to Harvard,” said Stacy.
“The
motive was sex not revenge,” said Portia studying the music sheets. “This is pretty good. But you still need to work on it.”
“You
girls want to smoke,” asked Monk? “We
got some BC Bud, hydroponically grown in
“I’m up
for a smoke if Stacy is,” said Portia.
“But before you answer, Stacy, I should tell you that Monk and Les might
try to take advantage of us. Every time
they get me high I wind up accepting some of their body fluids.”
“Don’t
they know we’re not that kind of girls,” said Stacy laughing. “We’re saving ourselves for our future
husbands.”
“Portia
usually lets us fool around with her when we go in the alley to smoke,” said
Les looking hopefully at Stacy.
“Portia
Douglass, I am shocked. Have you allowed these young men to enjoy your favors
in return for drugs,” said Stacy.
“Guilty,
I’m a fallen woman. I should be
punished,” said Portia.
“Before I
decide your punishment, I need to see first hand what disgusting sexual acts
were committed on your person,” said Stacy.
Moments
later, the four were sitting on the curb in a dark alley near
“Are
these real,” asked Les slipping his hand inside Stacy’s bra?
“Portia,
do I have your permission to kill Les,” asked Stacy after taking a deep puff,
holding it for eight seconds and exhaling.
“Only if
you promise to do it in some incredibly painful way where he suffers
unspeakably agonies for days,” said Portia.
“It’s a
legitimate question. They’re bigger that average,” said Les slowly massaging
Stacy’s right breast. He was surprised
she didn’t object as he filled his hand with her warm breast.
“My
mother’s were bigger than average.
That’s why my father married her,” said Stacy.
“So your
Dad is a tit man,” asked Monk.
“Stacy’s
dad is a famous thoracic surgeon,” said Portia.
“God, this dope is incredible. I
can’t feel my face.”
“Tits are
located on the thorax. Does your Dad do
augmentations?’ asked Les.
“No, he
doesn’t do cosmetic surgery. He’s pretty
much dedicated to heart bypass operations these days,” said Stacy. “He also does transplants.”
“Serious
stuff, my dad had a triple bypass. He’s
quit smoking and lost thirty pounds. So
yours are real?” said Les.
“Here,
find out for yourself,” said Stacy unbuttoning her blouse then reaching in to
remove her breast from the bra cup.
“How,”
asked Les?
“Suck
hard on my nipple. Augmented breasts are
filled with a saline solution. If you
taste saline, they’re fake,” said Stacy holding her breast toward Les.
“Saline
should taste salty, right,” asked Les as he bent over and took Stacy’s nipple
in his mouth.
“Yes,
moron, saline refers to salty like in the sea.
Here, Monk, suck mine as a control,” said Portia as she lifted her tee
shirt to allow Monk to suck her braless breasts.
“I could
taste a little salt,” said Les.
“Me too,”
said Monk after he had sucked Portia’s nipple.
“This
experiment could be tainted by the fact that it is a warm night and we have
been perspiring. Sweat has a salt
component,” said Stacy.
“We need
more data. Monk, suck Stacy’s other
nipple and Les you do this one,” said Portia holding up her unsucked breast.
“They’re
both equally salty,” declared Les after spending a few seconds on Portia’s
nipple.
“You
caught me. I was a thirty triple A
before I went to
“I must
confess also. My dad did mine in our home OR.
Now that you know our terrible secret, I suppose you don’t want to have
sex with us,” said Stacy.
“I don’t
care if they’re not real,” said Les leaning over to take Stacy’s nipple in his
mouth as he reached between her legs to massage her jean-covered crotch. Stacy pulled his head to hers and they kissed
as she reached for his crotch.
“You
guys are just feeling sorry for us poor pathetic females who in our misguided
desire to attract the male sex mutilate our bodies. I was so looking forward to a power
quickie. Now I know it will be a pity
fuck,” said Portia.
“I’m
sorry. I’ll never mention it again,” said Les.
“I think they’re very pretty even if they are fakes.”
“You’re
just saying that to be nice,” said Stacy.
“My unnatural boobs disgust you.”
“No,
honestly, I meant it,” said Les.
“And
you’ll still let me suck your cock if I ask pretty please,” asked Stacy?
“Yes, for
sure,” said Les.
“What do
you think, Portia,” asked Stacy.
“I think
they’re just feeling sorry for us.
However, we girls with false knockers can’t be choosy,” said Portia.
“All right,
let’s see your equipment. Stand up and
pull it out, pretty please,” said Stacy.
“Yours
too, Monk,” said Portia. “I just hope
you’re not doing this because you feel sorry for me.”
Stacy put
her hand around the shaft of Les’s cock as she put the head in her mouth. Her other hand cupped his balls as she passed
her tongue over the
“Let’s
switch,” said Portia after a few minutes.
The two
girls passed the boy’s cocks back and forth occasionally stopping to tongue
kiss one another.
“I need
to be penetrated,” said Stacy standing up.
Stacy unsnapped her jeans and pushed them down to her knees. She pulled the crotch of her panty out of her
butt crack to one side as she leaned forward placing her elbows on top of a
garbage can. Stacy spit on her fingers
then reached down to rub the spit on her clitoris.
“Me too,
mount up, Roy Rogers,” said Portia standing up to push her jeans down.
Moments
later, the sounds of licking and slurping had changed to grunts. Stacy and Portia were bent over resting one
forearm on the top of the same garbage can as Monk and Les pounded their cocks
into their vaginas. The girls were
kissing while one free hand massaged their clit.
“I can
feel the
“And,”
asked Portia?
“It feels
damn good.”
Stacy and
Portia focused their efforts toward providing the two boys the best fuck
possible in a garbage-strewn alleyway. Stacy pushed out of her mind that the
occasional movement in the shadows was one of the sewer rats that called
“How about
another smoke,” asked Les when they had caught their breath?
“Sure, why
not,” said Stacy.
“Then can
we do it again,” asked Monk?
“Sure, why
not,” said Portia.
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