Peter Jensen - The blackmailed mother book II

The lewd, evilly erotic memories stirred the heat in his blood, making his throbbing cock jerk in his pants. God, he wasn't sure he could hold off fucking that hot bitch of a wife again while Cylvia Oliss set up the deal for later on tonight. He wanted to have her stretched out again, her tight little cunt lips sliding smoothly around his hardened penis like a greased oval ring… He groaned and placed his hand down, trying to stop the building pressures in his testicles from making his now painful erection from bulging his trousers any worse than they were already.

But on second thought, why couldn't he have the luscious Mrs. Carmel again? Right now, if he wanted to – which he did. It couldn't hurt the Oliss plan; all he had to make sure was that Lonnie was at the club later. Come to think of it, what difference did it make whether it hurt the plans or not? Zeigler had already started his own machination going, one independent of the Olisses for the simple reason he had no intention of sharing the money Carmel's invention would bring to them. If the Oliss plan worked, all well and fine he'd ease them out after they handed over the goods. If his own plan worked, then he wouldn't even have to put up with a scene of recriminations and threats which would be sure to follow the realization by the Olisses that they'd been taken. Besides, two ways were better than one – Zeigler like to hedge his bets; or, like so many of the underworld executives, he didn't gamble unless it was on a sure thing.

Along with the recruitment of the Olisses some months back, Sam Zeigler had also hired a call-girl that he knew. She had been a private secretary before turning to the profession of prostitution for the simplest of reasons: she liked the money and liked the work. What the hell, as she had said, she'd been going to bed with men for years; she might as well start getting money for what she'd always given away. Zeigler, spotting the combination of beauty – for Kim Copeland was one of the cutest girls he'd ever met – and talent in and out of the bed, told her to go to Kirsten and get a job at the Skopos manufacturing plant. She was to be a ringer, and one way or the other see if she could get information on the device Carmel was making.

Kim hated the small town; only the fat bonus Zeigler paid her every week made up for the dust and dumb characters and no action. She couldn't ply her trade without jeopardizing her job – which she had she had finally gotten – so Zeigler had to fork over her average weekly take on top of his bonus, and added to her paycheck at Skopos, she was able to salt away a sizable amount. But the only position which had occurred at Skopos had been secretary to the personnel manager and the result was that she had learned very little about the miniscopos, even in spite of the love affair she had instigated with the assistant chief of production. It seemed that all the important information was stored in Roger Carmel's head, and others only knew inconsequential bits and pieces of the whole jig-saw, and had no access to his files.

Martin Oliss had always considered Roger Carmel of such upstanding character that the man would never dream of having an extra-marital affair. Zeigler had gone along with the opinion just in case he could somehow use his "ace-in-the hole", Kim Copeland, but the gangster was shrewder than Oliss, and knew that just because a man is honest, doesn't mean that he can't be blinded momentarily and lose control of himself. Oliss, Zeigler concluded, confused an accidental fall from grace with a planned consideration by a person to be dishonest, for obviously Oliss had never done anything evil or lewd without a thorough review of exactly what he was doing. And even if Roger Carmel did reject the advances of a pro like Kim Copeland, it was worth a try…

Kim Copeland had been phoned that morning; Zeigler had just hung up the phone from talking to her. She had been enthusiastic about the assignment, and knew just the partner to get for the taking of the pictures while she and Carmel were in her home, fucking like hell on her bed. She'd used the man many times before when she was running a blackmail racket, and since the squeeze on Carmel was different only because there was going to be information handed over instead of money, she was on familiar turf and could handle herself and Carmel with practiced ease. After all, she'd told Zeigler, Carmel is just another man. A damned fine-looking one, she'd added, and she was getting tired of the production assistant anyway.

Zeigler laughed softly to himself. Sometime today or tonight, Roger Carmel was going to end up fucking Kim Copeland – and that called for a little celebration. Like fuck Roger Carmel's beautiful, naive little wife again. He reached for the phone-book to look up the Carmel number. Then he put the book aside and picked up the telephone. Knowing that he had fucked her silly for over three hours last night only made him desire her more, and he lewdly hoped that she would tease him again with her defensively resisting protests. All in vain, all in vain, he mused, and whistled as he dialed her number.

A sudden blast from a car horn awoke Lonnie Carmel. Then there was the fuzzy, distant, only half-jointed sound of the pattering of shoes and the slamming of a door… the roar of an engine, and the squeal of tires. Lonnie lay still for a time, listening. The house was now silent, strangely so, and the softness of her drowsiness was slow to dissipate, like fog on a cold, wet morning.

Lonnie moved at last, only to feel excruciating pain. "Ohhh," she groaned aloud, "what happened to me?" Her head was like a block of molten lead, and her muscles were tied in spasming knots which made her want to jump – but then the pain in her skull would begin and she had to lie still until it passed. She had a hard time thinking – remembering what had happened to her…

The drinking – the capitulation of her aroused, frustrated body to the blandishments, hands, mouth, and blonde-haired vagina of Cylvia Oliss – the obscene show with that nubile little girl and that monster beast of a German Shepherd dog – Sam Zeigler, naked and plunging his fiery cock deep, deep into her feverish, wide-splayed vagina… a vagina that had only been touched by her husband before…

The total impact of what she had allowed to happen to her hit hard and the traces of her sleepiness vanished. She shot upright, impervious to the pain. "My God!" Questions began to run through her head faster than her muddled brain could answer them. How did I get home? Who dressed me? Why did it happen at all? Why? Why?

She stumbled from her bed and lurched against the bureau, staring at herself in the mirror. "Oh no," she moaned thickly, "I must be dreaming it. I must be. I just must be."

Yet heavy lines marred her fresh, young skin, and her eyes were sunk deeply in their black rimmed sockets as though she'd aged ten years overnight. She looked down at her naked, curvaceous nude body and saw the mass of burnished marks and rose-colored bruises around her breasts and inner thighs. Her rich, full dark-tipped breasts were nearly raw, and light exploration of her pubic area with her fingers proved to be exceedingly painful. She tried to tentatively feel between her black soft hair and down between the swollen, inflamed lips of her well-fucked cunt, but she couldn't; she had to grip the edge of the bureau from the sharp spasm of ache which lanced from her pussy up through her belly.

"Oh, God, oh God, oh God," she chanted, and then forcing back tears and a wracking sob, she opened the closet next to her and took out a chenille robe Roger had given her the previous Christmas. She slipped it over her lithe, trembling nakedness and buttoned it part way down, then holding the bottom portion with her hand, she stepped out into the hallway, almost fearful that her innocent daughter would see her like this.