Peter Jensen: The blackmailed mother book II

And then the phone rang.

Lonnie pulled her hand away from her moist, tingling pussy, and not bothering with the robe walked rapidly to the hall desk. She stopped the phone's insistent clamor on its third ring. Roger… maybe it's Roger… "Yes?" she asked hesitantly, hoping to hear her husband's reassuring and familiar voice.

Instead she heard a voice that sounded like coal rattling down a chute, a voice which was all too familiar and anything but reassuring. "Lonnie?"

A cold, clammy creepiness stole along her spine, as if a snake was crawling up her backsides. "What… what do you want?"

"You know who this is?"

"Y-yes," the hapless young mother moaned. "You're Sam. Sam Zeigler."

The voice on the other end chuckled confidently. "That's right, Lonnie-baby, Sam Zeigler. And I wanted to tell you what a pleasant time I had last night. I enjoyed fucking you greatly, I did." Again the lewd snicker, and Lonnie's body chilled as if suddenly plunged in ice. She wanted to hang up and then dress in something big and bulky and warm. "I've been thinking about what fun we had, and I'd like to see you again."

"No… never!" she gasped, the blood rushing to her face in an uncontrollable blush, the shock of his words and their implications striking her with deathly horror. "I'm never going to allow such… things to happen like that again! Never, you hear, Mr. Zeigler?"

"Oh, I hear you, Lonnie, but now you hear me," Zeigler snapped back, his tone rasping and menacing. "If you think your escapade last night is upsetting to you now, how would you like your husband to find out what you did? How you wanted me to fuck you over and over and how you licked that sweet pussy of your friend, Mrs. Cylvia Oliss, until she was cumming along with you and me. Huh, Mrs. Pure-heart? What would happen to your marriage and family then?"

"You – you wouldn't!" Lonnie groaned, stumbling against the table and almost dropping the receiver from her nerve-shattered hand.

"Not if we come to some kind of… arrangement, Lonnie, baby. We're both adults, aren't we? I'm sure that if you try hard you can think of ways to keep me happy and quiet."

"Blackmail!" the horrified wife cried out. "You're sick! A sick, degenerate blackmailer!"

"Don't call me names, Mrs. Carmel," Zeigler snapped back harshly. "I mean, you are the Mrs. Lonnie Carmel the adulteress, aren't you? You are married to Roger Carmel, but let me and Cylvia Oliss fuck you silly at my club last night, aren't you?" He barked out a caustic, lewd laugh at his rhetorical, if vulgar, question. "Of course you are. And I'll be at your house in a little while, Mrs. Carmel. Lonnie, baby."

"What – what for?"

"To see just how much my silence is really worth," came the smooth, assured reply. "Be there, and be ready to please me."

"But…"

"Oh, and another thing. I like thin black undies. You got any? Sure, you do. All women have. Well, wear them, bra and panties." With that last demand, the gangster hung up.

Lonnie shook desperately, gaping at the dead instrument. It took a long moment for her to get hold of herself, and then her mind was a seething torrent of agony and despair. He wanted her again. He wanted to debase and humiliate her again as he had last night, and what could she do to stop it? She had to think… but it was no use. To hide, to deny what she had done with him and Cylvia would be foolish. Zeigler was just the kind of slimy man who would do as he threatened. She was trapped, and she would have to submit or somehow muster the courage and fight him when he arrived. Thank God, at least, her daughter wasn't here.

Before going to the bedroom she poured herself a quick glass of scotch, and though the taste was harsh and the liquid molten fire in her throat and stomach, she downed the glass – and had an other for courage. Then she went and found the black bra and panties given to her on a past birthday, which because of their sheerness were impractical and embarrassing to wear normally. Over these she slipped a white cotton sheath with a gold chain belt, and then spent considerable time in front of the vanity putting on her makeup and combing her hair.

She wanted to be as alluring as she could when Sam Zeigler arrived in hopes of convincing him to give her the silence she needed without compromising herself too deeply. But she had the forelorn knowledge that if Zeigler insisted, she would not be able to resist.

Roger Carmel slumped dejectedly at his desk. The papers in front of him were all a blur to him, their words and diagrams so much confused jumbles of print before his weary, agonized eyes. He hadn't slept well the previous night; hadn't really been to sleep at all, in fact, for too much preyed on his mind, too much kept eating at him, and his infrequent dozings had been more light, dream-filled slumbers between his tossing and turnings.

Martin Oliss had implanted a bomb in Carmel's brain, a ticking time-bomb of dread and agony and suspicion which Carmel would have almost preferred having it explode and get it over with. As it was, he was tortured by the passage of time before Oliss' private detective either confirmed or denied whether Carmel's wife, Lonnie, had fallen into the clutches of this blackmailing Lothario Oliss' own wife had become prey to this evil perverter, whoever he was, and it had taken Martin a great deal of courage to admit the defiliation of his home and marriage – and Carmel was sure that the only reason he had finally broken down in the El Mecca lounge last night and told him anything was because Martin Oliss held the terrible secret that more than just Cylvia was involved, that now Lonnie was also part of the vile plot to corrupt and destroy Roger Carmel.

And Roger had absolutely no idea how he was going to handle the threat if and when the blackmailer came to see him, as he had Oliss. No plan of action, negative or positive, in defiance or in acceptance, had come to the miserable vice-president all of last night or this morning. He was stymied, thoroughly confused and wretched, unable to fathom the situation, much less how to handle it. The whole affair was so damned alien to him – so utterly foreign to anything that he'd ever had to encounter before in his entire life! All his whirling mind could dwell upon was the sordid, despicable picture of his wife, his lovely, black-haired loving wife and mother of his beautiful child, in the arms and bed of another man.

His brain had continually swirled with lewd pictures of Lonnie and the animal-like unknown lover… his wife's curvaceous and alabaster naked body displayed abandonedly before him, her svelte, tapered legs spread and her rich, warm, moist thighs pulsing, her once sacrosanct vagina and breasts maddened and demanding, the unquenchable fires of her lust making her cunt spasm with excitement as her lover hovered over her… the pagan debaucher was a faceless lover, for all that Carmel envisioned was his hard, erect, blood pounding cock standing out from his loins, his sac of sperm bloated testicles swinging down between his once faithful wife's open thighs as she ground her squirming buttocks up and reached out to grasp his great throbbing penis and lead it to ward her soft pink-rimmed pussy lips… and then the wet sluicing sound as the no-name man wormed his virile cock inside the quivering bearded mouth between her widespread legs, her cuntal tunnel clasping it with its own volition… The deep throbbing… the incoherent babblings as his desire-convulsed body reached for the magical apex of her climax… and then the lewd cascading of their subsequent cummings… and the pool of the man's white hot semen pooling in his wife's belly, mingling with her own sexual secretions…

With a piteous moan, Roger Carmel sunk his head to the desk, once more overcome by his lurid, treacherous vision, more vivid in his imagination than if he was actually there, seeing it all… and the horrible part, the thing that really made him feel sick, was that he wasn't sure he had reason to think such depravities. Oliss had emphasized last night and this morning over breakfast, that he could be wrong. The detective could have made a mistake… it was too soon to tell… wait and the phone call will tell all. So Roger, unable to stop the suspicions running rampant through his mind, was doubly damned for he could be doing his sweet young wife an injustice, a terrible slap against her purity.