Free (1987) The Celestial Bed by Irving Wallace Page A

himself for her pleasure.
    Without hesitation, and with a set smile, she had come off the ottoman to her knees before him. She took his flaccid organ in one hand. As she did so, he muttered his favourite non sequitur she had heard from him before. ‘Like W.C. Fields used to say, “I never drink water because fish fuck in it.” ‘ Then he chuckled.
    Skilfully, with one hand, she was arousing him. He responded quickly. She saw him close his eyes and lie back, as she lowered her head between his legs.
    In five minutes, he made a throaty sound and then exhaled a great puff of air.
    Later, seated across from him once more, Darlene waited for him to fully recover. Scrafield reached out and patted her on the head. ‘Good, very good, baby. How was I?’
    ‘Wonderful. I love to go down on you.’
    Scrafield frowned darkly. ‘You know I don’t like that expression. I’m against that kind of talk.’
    She felt defiant. ‘Well, it’s something. What is it?’
    ‘Just loosening me up before the big show, that’s all. It’s just diddling, just diddling around.’
    ‘Sounds OK by me, whatever the name.’
    They both came to their feet. ‘Now help me on with my trousers,’ he said. ‘Car should be here for us in five minutes.’ He picked up his script. ‘You don’t think I sounded like I was against sex, do you?’
    ‘Oh, no, Josh,’ she said. ‘Your speech was healthy. It was clearly just against immoral sex. Let me get your trousers.’
    When Suzy Edwards arrived at Chet Hunter’s apartment door, he admitted her at once, welcoming her with an enthusiastic kiss.
    She could see that he had the television set on, and was eager to get back to it. ‘Make yourself at home, Suzy.’ He indicated the television. ‘I have to watch the end of this. It’s almost over.’
    Unbuttoning her leather jacket, Suzy wondered what had riveted Chet to the television set. He was planted before it once more in his wide broken-down armchair. Throwing her jacket aside, she strolled over to see what he was watching. He patted a
    narrow place next to him on the seat and she eased into it close to him.
    Filling the television screen was a handsome man in his early fifties, with the beefy face of a Roman senator, broad shoulders, heavy arms, and wearing a clergyman’s collar and a dark blue suit. Now he was pausing to take up a glass of water from a table at the side of the pulpit.
    Suzy recognised him as the Reverend Josh Scrafield, the most popular evangelist on the West Coast, and immediately she scowled. ‘Chet, what are you doing wasting’your time listening to that bigot?’ she complained. ‘He’s awful. I saw him once, by accident, and I turned him right off. He was doing a terrible number against sex education in the schools.’
    ‘That’s just his usual routine,’ said Hunter, watching the television screen.
    ‘But you don’t have to spend your time - ’
    ‘Business,’ said Hunter. ‘He’s one of my research customers. He assigns me to do an occasional poll for him when he’s looking for issues to discuss on his weekly broadcasts.’
    Scrafield’s booming voice began to fill the small room again, and Suzy wriggled out of the chair, jumped up, and shut off the television set. ‘I can’t stand this any longer,’ she said. ‘We have more important things to do.’
    Hunter had begun to protest, but when Suzy returned and fell back into the big chair beside him, he shrugged, then smiled and wrapped his arms around her. ‘This suits me fine,’ he said. ‘I’m sure glad you came over.’
    Hunter’s hand moved across Suzy’s blouse, curving around her full-blown breasts. He began to undo her blouse. Suzy tried to stay his hand. ‘Listen, Chet, I wanted to talk to you about something first.’
    But his hand was already under her brassiere, his fingers searching for one of her nipples. ‘Make it second,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something else that’s first.’
    ‘Chet, I’m serious …’ Her voice drifted