William Davis - Blackmailed

He had hung onto the address… and after his rub-down and shower, he had dressed, gotten into his rental car and had driven down to Newport.

The party was going strong when he arrived… of course, he hadn't known any of the people there. They all seemed to be fans, and he felt comfortable; especially after he had downed the first two drinks, in rapid succession. He was there to have some fun! Christ! After living in a training camp for two months, he had been ready to break out and have himself a real ball… and a party… drinks… a willing woman… were some of the things he wanted for relaxation.

She had been there, of course. Her name was Carla… Carla Reynolds, a ravishing, auburn-haired beauty, with the clearest complexion Arnie had ever seen. He did gather that she wasn't the hostess for the party; she had been sent by someone else… to make sure he would come. Whoever sent her, Arnie decided, had chosen his messenger well… and she hadn't wasted any time in letting him know that that little thigh-rubbing deal in his dressing room was for real.

With a third drink in his hand, Arnie was seated on a plush couch, while the party swirled around them, Carla seated next to him, her long, tapering thigh, nylon-clad below daring hot-pants, pressed in tight against his.

She looked at him over the rim of her martini glass, her grey-green eyes smoldering, provocatively, and said, "Arnie… anytime you're ready… we can split this bash… for some real fun!" Her pink tongue snaked out between her full, sensuous lips and ran in a tiny circle around her lips, while at the same time, her fingers outlined the bulging muscles of his chest.

Arnie was pretty sure what she meant, but he asked, innocently, "Another party… some where…?"

"Sure…" she smiled. "Just you… and me… for some fun and games…"

"Can we run out… on our host… just like that?" he asked. "Which reminds me… whose place is this, because I'm not sure I caught the name… when I came in…?"

"Warren won't mind… I'm sure. He wanted you to come… and meet a few of his guests… which you have… and then just relax and have some fun." She smiled, as her hand dropped down to his thigh, where it caressed him, suggestively.

He tried to remember who Warren was; his memory dredged up the image of a short, square-built man with almost silvery white hair.

"Is Warren the guy with the white hair… only he's not really old…?" he asked, feeling embarrassment at her boldly brazen action. He felt the heat of a blush coming up above his collar.

"Yeah… that's Warren… Warren Ramsey," she affirmed. "He's got money… that doesn't stop… like Fort Knox!" she told him, leaning in close to add, "… But, I don't want to tall about him… it's you I want!"

The throaty seductiveness of her voice, her warm breath washing over him, as she made her point crystal clear to him, caused a natural reaction. Inside his pants, he felt the pounding blood rush into his penis, to be trapped there in a growing erection, while below, the strong sensation of the crawling lift of his balls by his scrotal sac made him fully aware of his demanding sex needs. Christ! He was getting hot, already! Damn! She's not bashful… about it…! So, if she's hot to trot… what in the hell am I waiting for…?

It was a good question. He had never cheated on Joan, before now… but he had known, when he had accepted Carla's invitation to this party… that he would do just that! He'd been angry ever since a week ago, when he'd called his wife on the telephone, trying to get her to change her mind. She was stubborn about it. Under no circumstances would she come to see the fight… and that was that! He could get on a plane and come home, right afterward; she'd be there… waiting for him.

All week long, his anger had seethed, just below the boiling point, and he'd had to fight with himself, not to let it affect his training for the fight… or the fight itself. Then, tonight… when Carla had pressed in close to him, seductively rubbing herself up against him, as she told him about the party, he had made up his mind. To hell with it! I'm not climbing onto a plane, tonight! I'll go home tomorrow… or the next day! He had told his manager, in the dressing room, while he was getting his rubdown, to cancel his flight reservations. He'd reschedule them… in a day or two.

Harry Nash hadn't liked the idea. "That little wife of yours'll go haywire… if you don't get home to her!"

"She can wait a couple of days!" Arnie had growled. "I'm going to take it easy… for a while… sit in the sun on the beach and relax."

"You sure you know what you're doing, Arnie?"

"Just cancel the God damned flight, Harry… and get the hell off my back!" he had barked. "Besides," he had added, "training's over… the fight's over… and I'm a free man… for a while!"

"Okay… Baby… it's your party, now," he told Carla, reaching down to cover her hand on his thigh… before she caused him some real embarrassment… right there, in front of everybody. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

They left Warren Ramsey's house party, together, in his rented car. Carla Reynolds snuggled up close beside him, as he drove, following her directions.

Arnie wasn't sure, exactly where he drove. He had belted down a couple of drinks, and he didn't really care. His impression was that he had driven South, possibly as far as Corona del Mar, where they had wound around through residential streets, arriving at her apartment house, in what seemed to be a very short time… Of course, he wasn't able to concentrate on his driving very well, anyway. Soon after he'd started off, Carla's hands were busy, again, down there, caressing and massaging his thigh, her hand moving up, slowly, tantalizingly… until her tiny hand was between his legs, her fingers teasing his throbbing cock to a fully elongated, aching erection. Then, expertly, she had found the zipper tab. The metallic sigh of the zipper was loud, in the car, as she lowered it… and her smooth, warm, lotion-softened hand wormed its way, knowingly, into his open fly, to find the hardened, throbbing shaft of his cock. She gasped as her exploring fingers found it and brought its turgid length out into the car.

"God… Arnie… you are a big man… in all ways… aren't you?" she crooned, lewdly.

Smiling to himself, glad that she was impressed with his more than adequate manhood, he told her, "Take it easy, Baby… it might go off in your hand!" The exquisite sensations that raced through him, at her touch, made him worry. Christ! It's been a whole two months… since I've fucked a woman!

"I'll take my chances!" she said, then asked, "Why the short fuse…?"

"You must not know much about prize fighters…" he grinned. "I haven't balled a woman… for two months… because of training for this fight!"

"That's terrible!" Carla sympathized. "You mean… you've had no sex… at all… in that time?"

He shifted, uncomfortably, in his seat, but decided to tell her, anyway, "Well… nothing except for a hand-job, now and then… when I couldn't stand it… any longer!"

"It's inhuman… almost like being a monk… or something!" she expostulated.

"Yeah… that's right," Arnie agreed.

"What about in between fights… are you married…?"

He wished, fervently, that she hadn't brought up that subject. There was already too much guilt crowding into him, and he didn't need any extra reminders. Hell! If Joan had only come on out here… like she should have… I wouldn't have to be out looking for a strange piece of ass! He had known that's what he would do… even before Carla had issued her sexy invitation to the party, tonight. Sure! It was wrong…! But, what the hell…! Even if Joan didn't want to watch the fight… she could've been here… waiting to take me to bed… like a good, little wife should!