Peter Jensen - The blackmailed mother book II

Stan Lubin stared in awe at the quivering, quietly moaning young girl on the floor, as thunderstruck with the overwhelming perversion based actions she had be a party to as the others were. She was the most fantastic, most insatiable girl he'd ever encountered. Great God, you couldn't wear her cunt out! One or a thousand fuckings were all the same to her, spurring her on to wilder uncontrollable frenzies of lust. He took a deep, trembling sigh, and even though he'd cum twice already the very prurience of this virginal looking, innocent-acting little girl enticed his prick to give a little jerk of renewed interest.

"We'll take her on again, fellows," he said to the panting, excited group of teammates. "We'll fuck her all day if you like, because she doesn't have to be at the Club Royale until this evening."

"Can we… can we go to the club, too?" Ken King asked. "I hear tell they've got some wild shows in the upstairs rooms, and… and if this little sweetheart is going to be an attraction there, oh God, I'd love to see her then!"

Stan Lubin shook his head sadly. "Naw, not even I can go. You know how strict the state is about under-age drinking, and Zeigler won't let us in because of our age. We'll have to make-do with her until he comes to pick her up." He grinned lewdly. "What are you worried about, Ken? You fuck her enough here and now, and you won't be able to move a muscle tonight anyway."

"Yeah…" King responded, licking his rubbery, wide lips.

Time, after that, became a meaningless and blurred merging of cocks and more cocks to the hapless, sex-drugged young daughter of Roger and Lonnie Carmel. She was beyond emotion, her body still reacting with orgasm to several of the boys' fuckings, but her strength was gone and she followed mechanically. Many long hours later, she was dressed and cleaned up by Stan and a couple of the other teen-agers, her limbs too weak and satiated to be able to perform for herself, and only dimly she heard the gravelly voice of an older man directing Stan to take her to his car. Slowly putting one rubbery leg before the other, she leaned on the boy and allowed him to take her outside and to a large, gold-colored Cadillac parked near the door. Exhausted, soiled, but pleasantly satisfied with a euphoria of drugged unawareness of what she had done, she tottered as he opened the back door of the large limousine and almost fell inside, lowering herself to the soft cushions and unconsciously feeling the warm, heavily breathing body of a woman next to her. She looked up, and then her eyes flew open with startled, abject bewilderment. Torment surged like a stimulant through her, sending all of her previous torpor from her in one split second of comprehension as she recognized the woman, but she still didn't understand why she was there, why she was in the back of this strange man's luxurious car.

"Mother!" she gasped, and collapsed in a dead faint.

Sam Zeigler, for all of his aching desire to once more delve into the hot, tingling pussy of Mrs. Lonnie Carmel, wasn't able to drive to her house until the early afternoon. Business before pleasure, he ruefully had to admit, and there were many things to take care of at the Club Royale before he could break free.

The girl performer from last night, for instance. She had been due for a bonus, after letting Fang, the German Shepherd, fuck her with his long animal penis during the show, but Zeigler had discovered that the girl was still moaningly delirious, almost insane from the perverted act, and he'd had to arrange for sanatarium care for her instead. Which was too bad, because she was a star attraction on his second-floor theater-of-the-lewd. They couldn't get over the different way different women reacted to Fang – the lascivious, totally debauched wife of Martin Oliss, luscious blond-haired Cylvia, had nearly gone mad when she had let Fang fuck her, but in the opposite way; she couldn't get enough of the dog's immense wet shaft, and cried out for more, more! Idly, Zeigler wondered how Lonnie Carmel was going to react, when she met the carnally trained German Shepherd for the first time…

And then there was an order of broken glasses to take care of and an explanation to his superior in Los Angeles why the weekly take wasn't its usual high figure… little things, but what with one thing and another, he didn't park his Cadillac El Dorado in the tract-house driveway of the Roger Carmel home until after one o'clock.

Lonnie, black-haired and eyes swollen with fear and regret, tremblingly answered the door. She meekly let him in and the gangster had a hard time controlling his cock from leaping into full erection just at the clothed sight of the lovely wife. She was as delicate as an orchid, and her eyes were half-lidded and sensually downcast, and it was obvious that she'd spent the torturous hours while she agonizingly had been waiting by drinking… Good, good…

Lonnie was in a disparaging, irrational state of panic; the frozen kind, in which the body is too confused and terrified to really plan out a course of action, and now facing the gruff, not unhandsome but craggily ruthless face of the sneering gangster she was ready to bolt and run past him, out into the quiet Saturday afternoon suburban street, screaming at the top of her lungs for help… but then her desire to protect herself, her marriage, her family occurred to her and she stifled her first impulse. "Come in," she said softly, with a choking catch to her normally smooth, warm voice, "come in, Mr. Zeigler. I-I expected you before now."

"Business, Lonnie," he said, grinning and entering the foyer. "And call me Sam. After all, we're good friends. Intimate friends," he added with a snicker. He threw his hat on the hall table and rubbed his hands together, eager to get down to business.

The trembling, misery-and-guilt-laden wife of Roger Carmel felt unsteady, and the room swayed as she stepped with him into the living room. She'd had too much to drink, she knew that, but she'd hope that the headiness the scotch gave her would act as a blessed covering over her naked shame, and she felt naked under his lascivious gaze, naked and dirty, even though she had showered twice and was wearing a dress. Perhaps it was the black brassiere and panties. The very thought of what he had so pruriently demanded her to wear, had made abundantly obvious on the phone this morning would excite him to see, was the implied filth crawling over her white, satin smooth skin…

She took a seat on the low couch, aware that her shapely legs were provocatively exposed to his gleaming, salacious vision, and as she looked up at his reddening face and saw how hard he was breathing, there was no more doubt in her mind as to his intentions. Sam Zeigler was after only one thing: her body. The gangster walked slowly around her and sat down close to her thigh, leering at her ripe, quaking form, his lips glistening with saliva and his left eye ticked slightly from his obvious anticipation.

"Now, Lonnie, let's consider you and me," he said softly. "I want something you've got, and you want me to give you something in return. I think a straight trade can be arranged very easily. Don't you?"

"Mr. Zeigler – Sam," she said hastily, catching the fire in his eyes, "Sam, I love my family… I want to forget about what happened between us last night… I've never been with any other man except my husband before… please let me alone."

"You joke," Sam replied, his voice cool and contemptuous. "A great deal of money was spent on you last night, and I don't like throwing money away. I like to get a return for my investment, and damnit, you're going to work it off, let me tell you."

Lonnie stared wild-eyed at the sweating, greedy gangster, his beady eyes glowing like burnished wet olives in their sockets as he devoured her full, rich body. "Money… I'll pay you back. I'll give you money," the hapless wife babbled. "How… how much?"