Peter Jensen - The blackmailed mother book II

"Nothing, Roger," Kim said innocently. "It's just that so many nice men like you place their wives in ivory towers, and stop considering them flesh and blood. Sometimes," she added with a rueful almost ironic smirk, "it can be a rude awakening."

How true. How Goddamned true, Roger glumly thought. Kim hit the nail on the head. And what the devil, why shouldn't he go up and have a drink with this delightful, young woman? Surely no harm would be done… certainly nothing like the harm his own black-haired bitch of a wife was doing to him. If she was, he had to keep reminding himself, if she was…

"All right, you convinced me, Kim," he said, and his heart suddenly felt free, for in the sixteen years of marriage he hadn't so much as looked at another woman much less been with one alone and socially.

It was just like Kim said, he had placed his wife in the realm of the Gods, and she wasn't. His entire concentration on Lonnie had been unrealistic, and now that there was the possibility that she didn't consider her husband as the be-all and end-all of creation, and was unfaithful to his dream-like image of her. His ivory tower of devotion was crumbling rapidly now that its inherently impractical, sand-like foundation had been cracked by Oliss' lewd and evil lies. And Kim Copeland, amoral whore that she was, had been tipped to this by Zeigler, and with callous disregard or sympathy, started the final razing of Roger Carmel's idyllic world, coldly and calculatingly using her feminine and lurid wiles with all the effectiveness of a master game player. Roger Carmel never really had a chance.

Her apartment was facing the rear garden on the third floor, and was a spacious and attractive one-bedroom flat. Roger was a little surprised that a secretary could afford the obviously fine quality of Danish modern furniture and hand-rubbed walnut lamps and fine prints on the walls. There was a heady scent of musky perfume in the air – not unusual for a woman's apartment, but it nevertheless tickled Roger's nostrils, making him quiver with unexplained lightheadedness. He grinned as he sat down on the comfortable couch, thinking of candle-light and old crystal decanters and violins. Hell, there was no use denying it, for all of Kim's apparent shyness, she was a very sensual, very passionate woman. Her modesty was all the more appealing to him, for that meant she wasn't just a promiscuous bitch in heat, but considered the men in her life as important and desirable for their minds and affections as their prowess in bed.

May God! Stop thus kind of lewd thinking! Roger felt ashamed as Kim talked innocently from the kitchen while making the drinks. How wrong he was about her character never entered his head; the setting, the actions the whole web she had designed to lure and capture were too cleverly done; the stage backdrop was authentic, only the woman who starred in the leading role wasn't. Roger chastised himself for harboring lewd thoughts about Kim Copeland's love life – for all he knew she was a virgin. Hell, the next thing he knew, he'd be getting half-way romantic intentions about her, and just because she invited him up for a drink certainly didn't give him the right to entertain overheated and wicked notions. The shock of realizing that he was contemplating what she would be like in bed was enough to scare him…

"I see you made yourself comfortable, Roger," Kim said, walking in from the kitchen with two full glasses. "Slip off your shoes if you want."

"Oh… no, no this is fine," he replied and took the proffered glass. "Mmmm," he said after tasting the gin and tonic.

"You like? I make them strong, because that's the way I like them."

"Excellent, Kim." He looked around the apartment in obvious appreciation. "You certainly have a fine place here."

"Thanks to my husband," she said with a touch of girlish sarcasm. "He left me flat, with no money and no warning. All I had after he skipped was what you see here." A complete fabrication – she'd never married any of the men she'd lived with.

"You were married?" he asked inanely.

"Too long," she replied. "And never again. Couples lie to each other more than strangers do, I think."

Her comment raised the intangible devil of Lonnie again, sweetly cooing her affection for her husband, while Roger was kept blissfully unaware of her adulterous relations while he was gone. He shook his head and drank heavily. Well, one thing was clear; Kim was no virgin, not having been married, and Roger bet mentally that this sweet young secretary-divorcee was one holy terror in bed. Just watching how she walked and smiled and smelled was irrefutable testimony to that…

"Excuse me, will you, Roger?" Kim asked, jumping up. "I want to get cleaned up and out of this old stuffy work dress. Do you mind!"

"No… no, of course not…" Roger blinked, for her "old work dress" was anything but stuffy – not with that second skin look it had as it clung to her voluptuous young body, and the way it stretched around her firm pointed breasts and ripe thighs. But he knew how women love to get rid of the reminders that they have to work; when Lonnie had been a salesgirl in a local department store during their first, poverty-stricken years of marriage, she'd been the same way.

Kim kept the door of her bedroom open so that she could continue to talk to Roger as she changed. He could hear the zip as she took her dress off, and he quickly drowned his imagination of her standing naked in there, a few feet away, by swallowing his gin and tonic. He looked down at his glass again, embarrassed. How stupid he'd feel if the lovely girl in the next room knew he was thinking such things? He drained his glass, and as the gin swirled in his stomach and fused through his blood, a strange confidence that he'd never possessed before seeped through him. He was a man, wasn't he? Why shouldn't he be excited by the lascivious thoughts of a pretty young girl naked?

Across from him, between the living room and the bedroom, was a narrow door, which Roger subconsciously assumed was for a closet. It was – in a way. A special closet in which a man sat in darkness, between two windows, both two-way mirrors. On the living room side the mirror was an ornate framed decorative piece which matched a credenza and small table next to it. The man, named Harry Saunders, was not looking out into the living room through the two-way glass; he was busily watching through the other mirror, into the bedroom. On the bedroom side the glass was the dresser mirror, canted at a slight angle so that it overlooked the full expanse of the double bed. The man was moistening his parched lips and trying to stop the heavy sound of his breathing, for in the clear glass was the lovely and lust-enticing sight of Kim Copeland dropping her simple blue sheath on the floor. He felt a jerk in his pants as his cock began to throb with desire, and kept his beady eyes leveled on her beautiful body as she moved slowly around the bedroom, fully aware he was there, for she had hired him and put him in the closet and told him to be ready with his camera for another job of blackmail. He'd done this kind of work for her and some of her other whore friends before, and did it well – his fee was moderate, and all he asked was the added bonus of fucking them when the sucker left. His testicles ached with the lewd thought that in a couple of hours he was going to possess that desirable, soft young cunt as he had many times in the past. She was one piece of ass he had never grown tired of!

Saunders felt another slight jump under his pants, his prick hardening as Kim turned from the mirror and bent over to pick up her dress from the floor. The full rounded moons of her buttocks came into tantalizing view, and she couldn't have been more than three feet from him, and she gave the camera man a full, unimpeded view of the narrow nylon strip of her panties between her firm full thighs as they tightened into her vagina as she bent over. He watched her with bated breath as then she stripped them off along with her bra and stood running her hands up and down her satiny smooth skin, cupping her firm, molded breasts for a moment, then dropping down to rub her soft pubic hair and tease her pink-edged vaginal slit before opening a dresser drawer and selecting a pair of sun shorts and halter. He almost groaned as she slipped the tight clothing on, looked around once, winked directly at him, and stepped freshly into the living room.