Peter Jensen - The blackmailed mother book I

"How… how do you do, Mr. Zeigler," Lonnie said hesitantly.

"Fine, thank you. And call me Sam… Lonnie. Everybody does." He grinned infectuously, and then was interrupted by the bartender who placed another drink in front of him. "Your martini, Mr. Zeigler." The gangster chuckled at the two women. "Except for bartenders," he added. His cock stirred heavily in his pants. Jesus, so this is Mrs. Carmel, the woman he's to fuck! God, was he wrong! She's a knock-out, an absolutely tasty dish.

Lonnie stood and slightly blushed under the brazen gaze of Sam Zeigler. She tried to not show that his roving assessment of her curves were making her feel warm and embarrassed. Of course, she'd had that same shame-faced emotion ever since Cylvia had disapproved of her clothes and taken Lonnie to her house and selected one of the outfits hanging in her wardrobe. There had been the inevitable couple of drinks to steady her nerves, and so she'd been unable to put up more than weak resistance when Cylvia had insisted the wife put on a see-through gossamer blouse with only two small dark cups to hide her nipples, and a wet-look green plastic mini-skirt which barely covered her buttocks. And instead of her usual panties, the other woman had given her a tiny G-string which covered her actual vagina, but left her cunt lips exposed. The string rubbed against her still aroused clitoris, making her tingle every time she moved.

It was as if she was naked… and she blushed at the mere thought of allowing such indecent public display. But Cylvia had dressed similarity, and the blonde-haired woman's influence was still too strong to deny. They'd used the Oliss' flashy new Buick and before she'd realized it, they were parking in the large macadam lot of the Club Royale. She'd been here a couple of times before, on special occasions like her anniversary and Roger's birthday. After a few timorous hesitations, Lonnie screwed up her courage, and with her girlfriend's encouragement, walked through the marble foyer, keeping her eyes averted from the frank ogles which passing males gave the couple.

The interior of Club Royale was a combination of Gone With the Wind – which went with the Old Plantation style of Colonial facade – and Gay Nineties. The main dining and cocktail salon was impressive with white pillars and rich burgundy wallpaper and polished hardwood, and the booths were even out of the dim, indirect lighting, giving a romantic seclusion to their atmosphere. Their very design connotated knee-to-knee and head-to-head sitting while sipping cocktails or fine wines and talking in dusky murmurs, caught in a timeless void of sensual magnetism. The bar, at which Lonnie and Cylvia had "bumped into" the Oliss' wife's old friend was ornated carved oak with a gilt-framed mirror along the back-bar and low-hanging chandeliers of curved brass stems and rose-cups.

Lonnie was affected by the pervasive atmosphere, whether she consciously knew it or not; much time and money had been spent in making sure that the effect was not wasted. Somehow, Lonnie found that she was looking back at Sam Zeigler with less embarrassment, and with more interest. Detached interest, of course; she was not thinking in terms of him as a sex partner, but just as a good looking man. Sam was a six-footer, with a boyish and clean face and a strong, jutting jaw line. He was muscular and had a rusty brown color to his hair. In the soft light he was a handsome virile man; it wasn't until he was seen in daylight, a rare occurrence, that one could notice the softness to his skin, the slight moistness in his eyes, the small indications of beginning ravagement from his life of prolonged dissipation.

"Well, look," Zeigler said graciously, "if I wouldn't be butting in, why don't you two girls join me for dinner? I was about to eat, and," he said with a slight shrug, "who likes to eat alone?"

"Well, I don't think…" began Lonnie.

"Sounds delightful," Cylvia said strongly. "Of course we will."

"It's an expensive gesture, Cylvia," Lonnie protested. "I don't think it's fair to make Mr. Zeigler – Sam – pay for us."

"Nonsense," Zeigler said, waving his hand. "All on the expense account." He winked at Lonnie. "You're just a couple of my customers tonight. That's what I like about being a salesman."

Cylvia Oliss laughed at the harmless deception; her inner mirth came from the more evil joke that Zeigler was no more a traveling salesman than she was, and that the "expense account" was the gratis of the management. She hooked her arm through the gangster's arm and said: "Take your drink and find us a table. We're hungry!"

Yeah, I bet, Mrs. Oliss. Hungry for the show upstairs and the fun to begin. Zeigler signaled for the maitre d', outwardly pleasant, but filled now with burgeoning desire for the luscious black-haired young wife on his other side. The way she looked so damned worried! So blasted concerned and frightened! Zeigler was nearly unable to get off his bar stool as her innocent appeal made his cock stiffen into an erection and bulge his pants.

"We can't do this," Lonnie whispered urgently to her friend. "We're married women! What if somebody sees us?"

"Oh, don't be so silly," Cylvia admonished the wife. "Sam's a nice guy I've known for years. Best protection I can think of, and perfectly respectable." Before Lonnie could protest further, Cylvia grabbed her arm too, and the three of them followed the maitre d' to one of the darkest corners of the room.

Zeigler sat between the two women and while they had a delicious dinner, he steered the conversation artfully around a dozen different, innocuous subjects, fully in command. Slowly, inexorably, he moved into other, more intimate channels. He was a master of timing and could sense the most subtle of moods, knowing when to change and when to retreat or advance.

Lonnie Carmel, by her own admission, drank too much. Again. She always seemed to have a full glass in front of her; and the spicy food she'd allowed Zeigler to order for her was excellent but thirst provoking. If it wasn't the drink that was ordered before the main dinner arrived, it was the white wine with the fish course; if it wasn't the red wine which came with the meal, it was the port which was served with the dessert of cheese and crackers. By the time she was sipping her after-dinner coffee and the tulip-stem of Grand Marnier, she was more heady than she'd been at her house. It was an odd, worldly, devil-take-the-hindmost feeling she had, sitting so close to a strange man as if on a date – though she knew that it really wasn't any such thing as that, merely a friend of Cylvia and Martin. Zeigler was awful witty and even his off-color jokes kept her giggling. She'd never heard such course language before in mixed company, but it only made the jokes funnier, and she blushed at a few but laughed anyway, to be a good sport.

"Well, now," Zeigler said, sitting back from his coffee. "What did you two lovely ladies have planned now?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Cylvia said.

"It so happens I've been invited to the party room upstairs," Zeigler said expansively. "Are you interested in being my guests?"

"A party?" Lonnie blurted out. "At this hour? Why, it's almost one in the morning!"

Zeigler burst out in laughter. "It isn't that kind of party."

"Well, I'm all for a little fun," Cylvia said, "but Lonnie here likes to go to bed early."

Her chiding remark irked the young woman, and she was just drunk enough to take umbrage. "I'd love to go. What kind of party is it?"

"Well, I don't know," Zeigler said, as if reconsidering a hasty offer. "It's a strip show, and I wouldn't want to scare you."

Now Lonnie was really stirred up. "Don't worry about me," she boasted. "I've been around a bit." Hollow words, and she knew it – but she wasn't going to admit being little more than a baby.