Catastrophes Always Comes on Silent Soles

Several times a year, meetings were held to which Pico was invited. Dr. Kantor made it clear to him that he did not have to participate because he had expressly waived his right to vote and was therefore only allowed to sit was only allowed to sit there silently. But Dr. Kantor understood that Pico continued to come and listen. Actually, he rarely really listened; in truth, he wanted to interrupt his monotonous daily routine, to be among known people from time to time.

Dr. Kantor had once asked him to join him in the office during a break in the meeting and asked for his opinion on a case. While Pico was giving his impressions, Dr. Kantor was playing with a ballpoint pen, drumming it impatiently on a color magazine, because he was annoyed that old Pico was pointing out some little things that he himself had not yet thought of. The old Italian might be a crotchety fellow, but he was by no means stupid, and he could pick out the subtlest nuances as he listened. They smoked in silence when Pico had finished, and Dr. Kantor reminded himself inwardly to be fair. Good old Rizzi had been paying close attention and had observed some details where it was worthwhile to follow up. He thanked Pico for his assessment and asserted that their opinions were in agreement; he would therefore follow up the matter closely. He considered the conversation over, but Pico stared at the color magazine lying on Dr. Kantor's table.

Dr. Kantor saw the curiosity in Pico's eyes and handed him the magazine, a sailor's magazine. He said Pico was welcome to have it; he had already leafed through it. As Pico left, Dr. Kantor had no idea that this was the beginning of a new era in Pico's life. Pico, already in his fifties, fell instantly and madly in love with these beautiful creatures that plowed sleekly through the waves and seas. Within a few days, he bought everything he could get on the subject of sailing in the bookstores and read deep into the night.

He took a sailing course, studied seriously and doggedly for the exam, and to everyone's amazement passed it as the best. After that, he signed up for practical training in an Italian sailing school and sailed on a training ship for several weeks, learned all the moves required for the exam, and began to love the sea. For the first time in his life, a real passion had taken possession of him.

On one of these training trips he met Peter Weichsler. Pico, who had never never had a friend in his life and in truth had led a bizarrely isolated life, felt something like friendship for the first time. Peter, who was more than ten years younger, joined him without saying much, was also from Vienna, as were most of the participants, and after the first trip together they decided (or Peter decided, to be precise) to book the next training trip together again. After passing the exam, they met several times in Vienna, mostly in coffee houses or wine bars. Their Topics circled for the time being only around sailing.

As the months went by, they got to know each other better. Pico, who was very keenly observant, was inwardly moving further and further away from Peter, because he didn't like his way of clinging relentlessly to a victim like a limpet. Peter's curriculum vitae even less. And, if Pico had known that Peter had only approached him because Pico had told him that he worked at a bank, he would have avoided him like the plague. But Pico didn't know anything at first.

Peter had a picture‐perfect career ahead of him after graduating from high school, studying economics and working in his first job at a federal tax office. There he, who liked to get rich, rich and rich quickly, was soon unpopular and when he was caught for the first time accepting money without permission, his career as a civil servant was over. He knew enough about the dirty laundry within his department that he could blackmail the department head: a clean report card and not a peep about the illicit money acceptance. Or else.

At this "or else" at the latest, Pico would have liked to run away, but he literally couldn't get rid of Peter. Again and again this showed up, again and again Pico gave in, if Peter suggested a meeting. No, Pico could not go on the next sailing trip, not by any stretch of the imagination, he was pretending bank appointments. When Peter went away for a few weeks, Pico dared to rush to book a sailing trip and enjoyed the beauty of the sea.

Of course, Peter was sorry that Pico had to sail alone, but Pico deftly evaded skillfully evaded new cruise proposals. In the course of time, when Pico asked about Peter's work, Peter revealed piece by piece another knavery: he had, after the inglorious departure from the tax office, he had worked for an international financial services provider, whose specialty was for artists and other celebrities to launder dirty money and managed it. Peter, who wanted nothing more than to become rich, rich and rich again, began to quietly and secretly move money aside. Money that belonged to the clients. Then wrote to the clients — anonymously, of course — that they should not complain, otherwise he would reveal their true identities. Of course, one or the other of the defrauded had then described the situation to the boss of the house and so it did not take long until Peter was suspected.

Before the trap could snap shut, Peter had packed the most intimate documents into his car and fled. For months, he moved through half of Europe, now procured the money directly from his former company. The blackmail became a lucrative business. The company was not willing to make a big fuss about everything and struggled with him for months to find a solution. Peter Weichsler was sneaky and cunning enough to take on his company's lawyers and actually reached a gentleman's agreement: he would return the documents and receive an exculpatory declaration of honor and a multi‐digit sum in return.

The deal was struck. Step by step, the declaration of honor, the money and the ominous documents were exchanged. Everything would have been in order, had not the lawyers after some years discovered that Peter Weichsler had still kept some documents and, after he had run out of money again, had gone back to collecting directly from the clients black money accounts.

Of course, Peter Weichsler only told Pico this because he was up to something. Pico, who wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible because he wanted nothing to do with such a defraudant, he who had worked in the bank all his life and had a clean slate. But Peter Weichsler had a sophistication and a criminal cunning that Pico was no match for. Peter Weichsler's chess moves had it all.

Peter didn't know very much about Pico, but it was enough for him to use him as a perfect straw man if he had to, even against his will. Peter somehow had a magical‐criminal sense of where to start. He had to know more about Pico, had to rummage through his private sphere, perhaps seduce him into an impure act or otherwise make him susceptible to blackmail. Peter Weichsler's most obvious thought was called Angel.

His former lover Angel was actually named Angelika, but called herself Angel because it was just fashionable to Americanize first names. Angel was in her early thirties, quite good‐looking and got the money for dope and booze by bodyly work, as Peter described it with a grin. She couldn't get away from her addiction, and it was also to blame for Peter had broken up with her a time ago. Even if he was a criminal, he was not stupid and he knew that the money he could get by blackmailing could never permanently satisfy her drug use. So now Peter sought out Angel again, gave her money and tenderness and refreshed their relationship; of course, Angel didn't find out what it was all about at first.

The logical next step was that Peter, who had not bothered Pico for several weeks, showed up at his place again. Pico was about to turn him away when Peter described his predicament. He had had just fallen in love, or to be more precise, had fallen in love again with his former girlfriend; now he wanted to take on a decent job and to separate from his previous life. But he had no apartment, was searching hard and had to find shelter with Angel, the name of his flame, for a few days, until he found a place to live. (Angel he told that he had a goldfish on the hook and that they would both gut him with Sex, Love and Rock‐n‐Roll, yeah!).

Pico had had no friendships, he had no idea how crooked sometimes relationships can go, and his sharp eyes, prized at the bank, apparently failed him completely in private. He was touched that Peter had fallen in love. What Pico knew nothing about love, he only knew about sex! He was touched that Peter wanted to fundamentally improve himself, to rearrange and completely clean up his life for this love. What did Pico know about love, except that love could turn your whole life upside down. He was moved, because his timid criticism of Peter's blackmail was apparently bearing fruit, because for the first time in his life he was able to give someone support and direction. Perhaps he, Pico Rizzi, had ended Peter's criminal career.

Pico, the jerk, was really deeply touched.

His apartment, which had remained to him from his mother, consisted only of the bedroom, the huge living room, the kitchen and the bathroom. He expressed to Peter that he had no room for all three, but if they all made themselves small, then it would work for a few days, like on a sailing trip, where you also have to make yourself small and get along with each other in the smallest space. Peter surfed intoxicated on his wave of success and wheedled Pico until he moved into the bedroom with Angel and Pico was content with the the living room sofa. Pico was immediately deeply impressed by Angel's erotic charisma and lascivious demeanor. He had never met a woman like her; she was surprisingly tall, certainly twenty inches taller than Pico, and very pretty. Her tight blouse and skimpy skirt accentuated her curves. Peter grinned because Pico's mouth literally fell open when he saw her for the first time, and his eyes could not detach themselves from her breast, which was exactly at eye level.

Angel smiled.

Won!

Peter and Angel stayed with Pico for five days. On the fifth day, Peter "found" an Apartment (the one he had been staying in for years unannounced). During these five days they partied as if the world would end on the fifth day. Perhaps with the restriction that only Peter and Angel knew that and how they would celebrate, day by day; but Pico had no idea what each day would bring.

Peter and Angel arrived with two small suitcases, then together they went to the supermarket and bought lots of alcohol. Pico was no slouch when it came to alcohol, for when Aunt Lila was alive they had always drunk copiously, but even more so since she had left him for heaven. Where Angel got her drugs from, Pico didn't know, but she always had some with her.

Initially, Pico always withdrew when they had drunk a lot and the two began to cuddle. But Peter waved it off and told him not to be a frog. Sex and Love and Rock‐n‐Roll. They drank and drank, smoked and looked at pictures of sailing. Peter had discovered Pico's color magazines with a sure grip, they leafed through the porn magazines together and giggled like teenagers, because their heads were already fogged by alcohol.

Pico kept looking curiously at Angel. She was certainly a beautiful woman, but Alcohol and drugs had already left deep marks on her face. A few days earlier, Peter had remarked in an aside that Angel was already quite dulled and lethargic by the drugs, but now he could see for himself. She really had stopped mentally in some strange way, was dull and slow in thinking. She barely spoke, sometimes breathing a "yes" or "okay," but hardly ever spoke, certainly not in complete sentences. To Pico, she sometimes seemed like a hard‐of‐hearing toddler who often had to think about words over and over again for seconds when spoken to directly. In stark contrast, she was horny and sex‐obsessed, had a beautiful, enormous bosom and beautifully curved hips. All in all, a beautiful giantess who bubbled with sex and eroticism. And — what surprised Pico the most — she had not the slightest inhibitions, was extremely exhibitionistic and knew no shame at all.

Angel knew Peter was up to something with this little dago. He was the goldfish, Peter had told her, who would solve her financial worries forever. She had to be, Peter had impressed upon her, erotic, sexy and seductive. She had to do everything, but really everything, with him and the goldfish. Above all, she had to do everything so provocatively that her little goldfish would get very, very horny and could hardly stand it any longer; only then would she be allowed to grab him and eat him up. And, Peter added with a conspiratorial wink, Pico is an addict voyeur; so let him watch and do it to you as often as you like, and do it even if you don't like it. The main thing was that Pico's eyes fell out of his head. Angel had smiled at Peter and nodded. She had it all figured out, the goldfish would get the full, big show, and she and Peter would never have any more money worries. She had taken her whole battery of pills with her, she especially needed those red pills that made her horny because without those pills she didn't like sex at all anymore, that was long gone. She knew, despite the fog in her brain that she needed Peter's money urgently and didn't think long. She was going to get horny, so she swallowed lots of lot of pills, red pills, until she was really horny.

So sometimes she would sit down in the corner of the living room, tie a rubber tube around the crook of her arm and give herself a shot. Then she was quiet for a few minutes and silent, only to join the two men as if reborn. In between, she swallowed pills or took powders, which she washed down with wine or whiskey. If she was in a good mood afterwards, she got immense desire for sex.

When she and Peter got going while cuddling, Pico would go out to the kitchen. The kitchen door, which was completely warped and had not been able to close for a long time, allowed him a view of the sofa where the two of them were wrestling and making love. Pico pretended to just sit in the kitchen, but he watched them make love as long as he thought he was unobserved. Almost always Angel rode Peter, getting rid of her clothes piece by piece, until Pico saw her bare buttocks bouncing up and down. She orgasmed, and how she orgasmed! As if wracked with pain, she writhed forward and threw her head back into her neck, slowly raising and lowering her ass over Peter's hard‐on. Pico could see exactly how her labia closed around his shaft and devoured the wet prey. He was shaken as if by fever shivers as the giantess writhed — feigning an orgasm on Peter's cock.

Pico remained seated at the kitchen table, engrossed in the newspaper, for he imagined that the two were watching him after their fucking. He was very aroused, but he didn't dare go into the bathroom, because then they would have known that he was jerking off right now, and that thought inhibited him. Peter came in with his stallion dangling down and told him to come back in and not to be embarrassed, finally they were all adults. Pico hesitantly got up and followed him.

Neither Angel nor Peter minded their nakedness. Pico felt uncomfortable because he didn't know where to put his eyes. But he sat down dutifully and grabbed his glass. "To the young lovers!" he said for the x‐th time and drank after they had toasted each other.

The drinking and sex repeated loosely, in endless succession. Pico admired Peter, who did fuck Angel two and three times a day — the boy really had stamina! Pico waited impatiently for night to fall; if he was in the dark, he would slowly masturbate and pensively reenact their acts in his imagination. At night, Peter flicked on the bedside lamp once more and Pico could watch the two of them through the half‐open bedroom door. He fell asleep wearily.

Angel, who had sat down half‐naked on the rug in the corner of the living room, was busying herself with her syringe when Peter jovially leaned toward Pico bent and whispered, he could also fuck her, if he had desire to it. Pico startled and shook his head. Of course he wanted to, but he didn't dare; he never did it when someone else was around. Fucking was for him something dirty, something worth hiding, and he would have dropped dead of embarrassment if someone had watched him — especially not her newly loving fiancé!

Immediately after, he would have loved to sink into the floor, because Angel, enjoying the effect of the red pills and the syringe with her eyes closed, cared neither for him nor for Peter in her hotly rising horniness. The latter just grinned and nudged Pico with his elbow; Angel masturbated completely absorbed and the men watched her. Pico's palpitations only subsided when Angel leaned her head against the wall and dozed off after her wild orgasm.

Pico turned over on the sofa, resting his head at the foot of it when the light came on in the bedroom and peered furtively through the crack of the half‐open door. Angel's ass looked wide and massive when she settled down on Peter's cock, riding him slowly at first, then faster and faster. Pico masturbated while he watched the two of them and when he had cum, he masturbated again after a while because they were far from finished. He almost jumped in arousal almost out of his skin when Angel slowed down and devoutly lowered herself onto Peter's cock. She she kneaded a breast or slapped Peter's thighs as she came. Peter, who had been straining mightily and holding back, was not allowed to squirt only when Angel had calmed down after her orgasm and licked his cock and jerked it. Then they turned out the light.

At some point, in the middle of this day‐long orgy, Pico was too intoxicated to keep a proper grip on himself. All at once he was sitting between the two of them on the Sofa; they were drinking and the half‐naked Angel kept bending over Pico to cuddle with Peter. Her breasts tickled Pico's belly, her upper arm touched the bulge of his pants as if by accident; she half sat up and pulled his pants zip open, very slowly. Pico grinned fatuously in his drunkenness, for he could not have guessed that it was a precisely rehearsed choreography. Then she reached in and slowly pulled his cock out.

Pico was still grinning, his befuddled brain reacting far too slowly, and he felt somehow light and elated. Angel bent over and took his cock in her mouth. She sucked and licked him, stroking his balls gently and rubbing the shaft ever so lightly. Pico closed his eyes and enjoyed the rocking sensation of being drunk; he barely noticed that he was squirting, squirting into Angel's mouth and she immediately took her mouth off his cock. Pico did not see her smile, the only expression of her victory and power. She simply held his cock until he stopped squirting. Then they continued drinking without restraint.

Pico's fear gave way from that moment on. Peter had watched their goings‐on with amusement and had not slain him. He drank some more and covered his initial fear with daredevil drinking. This could not go well, he slumped away and slept before hitting the carpet. When he woke up again, he made himself a strong black coffee and tried to clear his head. Late in the afternoon, the two woke up, and together they drank coffee in silence. Pico stared continuously into his cup, for his eyes were magnetically drawn to Angel's breasts, which were bare.

Peter went to check on the apartment, as he said. Angel and he remained alone, sitting across from each other in silence, and Pico didn't dare address her. She had opened a bottle of cheap white wine and poured it. The wine tasted sour at first after the sweet, strong coffee. After he had drunk a second glass slowly and sipped, his breathing calmed. He felt again the gentle indifference he got from the white wine. Angel left him alone, and after a while took her rubber hose and injected in the crook of her arm. Pico watched her in silence, watching her peacefully smiling face as she leaned back and listened to herself with her eyes closed, feeling the effects of the drug. Then Angel took a few more pills and leaned back. She smiled as if in a dream and ran a hand over her chest. Pico saw that she touched her pubis very lightly, again and again playfully over the cleft. Just a very little bit, but Pico noticed that she was very aroused. After a few moments she stood up smiling and sat down beneath him. The shirt, which actually belonged to Peter, was open, hiding nothing. She smelled of vanilla.

Before Pico knew it, Angel had laid him out on the sofa and was undressing him. He was still terribly hungover and wanted to protest, but her kisses stifled any such emotion. Passively, he lay there and let her. He thought about the fact that Peter's cock was thick and quite crooked, while his was a bit thinner but quite straight. He wondered if Angel liked his thinner cock as much as Peter's thick one. Angel stroked his testicles and cock, licking and kissing it until it stiffened. Suddenly she swung one leg up and mounted him. He enjoyed the moment when her vagina engulfed his cock. Although he was unaccustomed to the position, he liked it that way, seeing her large, beautiful breasts above him and feeling the tightness and wetness enveloping his cock.

She loomed high above him, and he groped for her nipples as she began to rock. She slid her vagina low down and then way up again. Pico was afraid his cock wold slide out of her vagina, but Angel stopped in time and sank back down low, swallowing him whole again completely. She caressed her breasts and belly, slipping her hand into her black thicket again and again. He could feel feel her vaginal muscles contracting in tiny contractions as her fingertips slid one by one over her clit. She rode him rhythmically, as if driven by an excenter she stood almost still at the climax of her riding motion, to let herself slide heavily low down over slide down over his cock. Smiling, she leaned back, forgetting him completely. Pico felt her fingers rubbing fast circles over her clit, fingertips touching his cock, over and over. Tirelessly, her outstretched fingers circled her clit, and he marveled again at her introverted arousal as she masturbated. She threw her head back and quickly fanned her clit with one finger until the orgasm came. The giantess slumped over him, burying his face beneath her breasts. Her grinding vaginal muscles worked the cock, flexing and rubbing it; he felt the intangible inner workings of her vagina throbbing urgently against the tip of his glans; the vaginal muscles tightened rhythmically, literally milking him. He gave a short roar like a deer and had to squirt.

Angel straightened up immediately as he squirted, looking up at him with wide eyes smiling; she slowly slid up and down on him so that his cock kept rising up and drilling into her while load after load squirted up into her vagina. When he was done, she sank down over him. She had buried him under her, buried and almost smothered him as she lay on top of him, rubbing her clit with tiny movements, only to stop immediately as she convulsed in orgasm. Pico already thought it was over, but she groped the clit again and took only seconds to orgasm again. Pico lay there panting and paused while she continued quietly. She rubbed her clit to a dozen orgasms and at the end she masturbated very violently and screamed aloud in excitement, orgasming passionate and hard. After some time, Angel straightened up and gasped, "Whew, that was good!"

It was hard for Pico when Peter came back; he had thought back and forth about how to confess it to Peter; but somehow there was a silent communication going on between Peter and Angel, for Peter knew it apparently already. He gave Pico a friendly tap on the shoulder and said that was okay, that he had been afraid that Pico was gay or that he was not good with women. It was all right for his relationship with Angel, he pretended, and he didn't mind at all if they fucked each other.

Parallel to the resulting reduction of inhibitions was Peter's announcement that the other apartment (the one he already lived in anyway) would soon be taken care of, that he and Angel would not be on Pico's heels for no longer on the pellet squat. Pico didn't know it yet, but Peter had now everything he needed for his further strategy.

That night, all three of them slept in the bedroom. Ever since Peter's return that afternoon, the unspoken question had been lingering in the room about who was going to get it on with Angel. Like in a cheaply made porn movie, they took turns teasing Angel, trying to bring her to orgasm with their fingers, although neither Peter nor Pico succeeded. Angel laughed and made a good face at this game, took red pills again and again and got very horny from it. She teased them both more and more until she had both men so worked up that they both wanted it at the same time. Peter laughed when he told Pico to take Angel from behind and Pico shook his head violently protesting. Angel could hardly wait for Pico to quickly slip under her, get his cock in position with his hand and start fucking her vagina quickly. "That's right," Peter grumbled, "let's get it on then!" and drilled his cock into Angel's ass.

Pico wondered how clearly he could feel Peter's cock. Peter seemed to be able to feel it as well, and grinning, pushed through the soft skin against Pico's glans. Pico felt Angel lying all soft and relaxed on top of him and Peter was actually fucking him. He pushed his hard‐on deep inside Angel while Peter was going at it like a steam engine. This was so horny that Pico soon squirted. He stayed soft and gooey inside Angel while Peter kept pounding. Pico licked one of Angel's nipples and teased the other with his hand. Angel became very aroused by his touch and Peter's hammering and panted loudly as Peter squirted; Pico could feel his squirting quite clearly.

The next morning, Pico was the first to get up and he made coffee. When he came into the bedroom with the three cups, they were still sound asleep. Pico went back into the kitchen and put the cups down. A considerable time later he quietly went into the bedroom to the two sleeping, lay down next to Angel and touched her delicately without waking Peter. He guessed that this had been their last night together, and he felt soft and sensitive. Angel woke up and followed him to the living room couch. For a while their mutual touches remained soft and gentle, but then she felt his cock become firm and swung herself over him. She humped him gently and slowly, then paused for seconds on the glans tip before lowering her hips again. Pico closed his eyes because it just wasn't working. He only looked up when Angel squatted down beside him to pleasure him with her hand. She did it very quickly and looked away as his semen splashed onto her hand.

They drank coffee in silence afterwards. Pico thought he might be able to help them move, but Peter shook his head vigorously and said the two or three bags with their belongings they could easily carry alone. The time passed infinitely slowly until Peter said they should leave now. Pico continued to look after them from the landing for a long time as they went down the stairwell.

In the last few days and hours, Pico thought, touched, he had come closer to the two of them as hardly anyone before. This closeness, this feigned familiarity, made him shiver. He didn't think for a split second that he might be just a bishop or a pawn in Peter's criminal chess game.

Pico, the poor fool, was once again deeply moved.

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