Peter Jensen - The blackmailed mother book II

"Jennifer… my daughter, my love…" she groaned.

"Mother…" came the responding mewl of undisguised misery.

"Damnit, it's either you two make love, or I go to your simpering prig of a do-gooder you call husband and father! Now, do it, you fucking sluts, do it!"

Lonnie's arms went around her black-haired, quivering daughter even as she felt Jennifer's arms go around her. They touched one another as they were drawn together by their mutual need, their mutual pain, their mutual goal, their mutual familial love. Their breasts touched and their nipples pressed against the other as if mother and daughter were trying to fuse together in their bondage.

With a spasming cry of exaltation, Zeigler witnessed their defeat, and he threw the switch. Slowly, with creaking and groaning and an odd, weightless vibration, the bed began to descend. Sam Zeigler leaped on the bed, his eyes slavering at the incredibly lewd and corrupting sight of mother and daughter, Lonnie and Jennifer Carmel, locked tightly in each other's arms.

Roger Carmel descended from the jet, maintaining his pose of shock and moral indignation and the effects of too many drinks as he moaned his plight to Martin Oliss. Oliss had been most sympathetic during the whole trip, buying Carmel drinks in his role as comforter and companion in grief until Carmel was in fact slightly tipsy. He had a hard time playing the part of an anguished cuckold, for inwardly he glowed with satiation and revengeful pleasure, and he made sure that Oliss, who undoubtedly felt the same mental satisfaction at the thought his evil plot was working perfectly, was run ragged with putting up with a seemingly demoralized and wronged husband. If the traitorous Martin Oliss concluded that he, Roger, was more of a prig than ever, well so much the better.

"Now… now what, Martin?" he asked in a servile whine as they entered the terminal. "Now what do we do?"

"According to my private detective," Oliss said, licking his thin, taut lips with hardly contained zest, "we can catch our wives with this sonofabitch who's been sleeping with them while they're at the Club Royale. You know of the place?"

"No," Carmel lied. "I've never been there."

"It's a sort of roadhouse, not far from here." Oliss made a face as if he disapproved of the club. "Lots of rather, ah, questionable goings on there, I understand. A place that a rat like this blackmailer would be apt to take another man's wife." He curled his lip with disdain, and walked toward the baggage collection point with hurried forcefulness. "I've even heard rumors that decadent entertainment is run for a certain type of low-life that likes that kind of thing."

Carmel still wasn't sure exactly what Oliss' final game was, but he was certain that to give the executive enough rope would allow him to find out in time – and then hang him. Kim Copeland hadn't been told by Zeigler all the details, for she wasn't in a position to need them for her part in the lewd sedition of Carmel – a debauchery which had backfired so badly that if the gangster were to have known of its true outcome, it would have sent him fleeing – so Carmel was still ignorant that Oliss vitas plotting to show him his wife and daughter on stage and then with the aid of his wife convince Carmel that the only way he could rescue his abandoned family was to cooperate with Zeigler.

Oliss watched Carmel with a degree of contempt that he didn't know he felt for the vice-president before. It was all he could do to keep from laughing in his silly face right now, but he knew that he had to wait and keep up the facade of outraged decency or he would destroy the confidence Carmel had in him. He was caught a little off guard by some of Carmel's reactions, and had been careful to not make any rash, loose moves during the whole trip back – and then Carmel threw him another curve when the distraught man beside him asked: "Didn't you say just now that both our wives are at the club? Isn't that odd that the guy who seduced our wives would be able to escort them together? I mean, that is what you said, Martin, isn't it?"

"Why, er… yes, yes, I said that, Roger," Oliss stammered. "What I meant was that my detective said your wife was with the man and my wife was… was also there, but alone. That's it. She's alone because… well, I'm not sure why because he never said." He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, damning the way Carmel could pounce on every word he uttered even though so high-strung. Never seen him this want before! What a job it turned out to be to maintain a hurt, gentlemanly attitude with this prudish fop.

Carmel smirked to himself as he picked up his suitcases. So both olives are going to be there, are they? This should be interesting… I wonder what they'll be doing? For all of his feeling that he had the situation under control, that he now could pull the strings as he desired, Roger Carmel still wasn't prepared for the totally heinous sybaritic saturnalia which would be thrust before him when he arrived at the Club Royale. If he had, he wouldn't have been in such eager hurry to go there.

Lonnie Carmel and her daughter, Jennifer, stared into each other's pain-flecked eyes and seeked solace in them, and the pained mother knew, as instinctively she was aware that her teenage child knew, that they were both the same, having committed lewd, unspeakable acts of the flesh, and were now caught helplessly in the evil, enslaving web of Sam Zeigler's depravity. The immoral bonds tied them more closely than the best of friends, for they were of the same blood, and a mute empathy and bond of love was sewn between the two ravishingly beautiful young women, and somehow that knit helped blank out the hot, hard lights which bore down upon their exposed bodies from the circle of spots around the open stage, silenced the hoarse urgings of the naked and lewdly incensed gangster who was on his knees with them on this bed of public display. Things were a little less terrifying for both mother and daughter, and together, they fought to hold their sanity during this longest of all nights.

The warm, comfortable air of the stage area was like a blessed covering, and the lights were bright mirrors which no matter how hard one might try, could not be seen through, but Lonnie knew what was on the other side of the lights, surrounding the bed like pits of hungry carnivores; she knew because she had been on her back herself getting fucked half senseless the previous night in one of the ringing small rooms, and had gaped in fascinated excitement at the lewd performance transpiring on the bed which now supported her and her own daughter. Now, wanting to protect her Jennifer, she didn't say that a few feet in any direction would bring them face to face with glass-enclosed voyeurs, devoted to the worship of vice and gross sexual immorality. She didn't say anything at all, for the time of talking was past…

Slowly, Jennifer pressed the soft, young curling fleece of her pubic hair into her mother's loins, and arching her back, she moaned in the bitterness of what had to be done for her father's sake, and she kissed her mother, kissed her hard the way she had kissed Stan Lubin, and found to her shame that her mother's lips were enticingly agile, pliant and soft. And, in spite of the guilt of knowing that her daughter was kissing her as if she was a lover, Lonnie stiffened her resolve to show Zeigler that she was cooperating and she fluttered her tongue out, entering the opening of her daughter's hot, moist mouth as an answering tongue invaded her lips; she sucked the pink, trembling tongue and found that she could not help running her hands over the fresh, firm skin of her child, touching her naked, taut breasts and buttocks. They squirmed on the bed, locked in their lewd, incestual embrace, and the tiny puckered little anus puckered more from her mother's finger as the girl's firm, white, young buttocks parted inadvertently.