Peter Jensen - The blackmailed mother book I

And then with only the unadulterated viciousness of a human beast of prey, Oliss expanded his original idea to mull over the Carmel daughter. She was about due to get hers, or at least that's what Tamera had told her father two weeks ago. She'd really got him hot describing in minute detail how she had finger-fucked the little teenager in the high school shower room, bringing Jennifer to a climax which made her scream. And when he'd been hard, his penis jutting out of his bathrobe like a muzzle of a rifle, Tamera had let him screw her on the floor of the livingroom, which was a different way than they usually did. Cylvia had thought it was hysterical when she'd walked in from the kitchen. Thrashing around on the carpet with the TV on beside them, the sound of gunfire and horses coming from the old cowboy movie.

Jennifer would have to be dealt with, Oliss figured, or the plan for Lonnie Carmel wouldn't work. Jennifer had to be out of the home, preferably for the night or the weekend. He'd have to talk it over with his wife later on. Maybe Tamera could lend a hand, her and her boyfriend. Who knows? Maybe she'd like it!

He groaned inwardly at the exciting image of the two beautiful and provocative women in Carmel's life bowing to Oliss' debauched whims, crying for more… more… He placed his hand beneath the table and attempted to push his burgeoning cock down, without too much success. It was too provocative a dream! Lonnie and Jennifer Carmel, a mother-daughter combination in the swap group – at the Club Royale, on the stage, fucking and sucking and sucking and fucking… He groaned inwardly and shifted his thoughts to the immediate. He had to if he dared to stand up when the meeting adjourned.

"Excuse me," he said in his silky voice when there was a lull in the conversation, "excuse me, but I'd like to accompany Roger on this trip."

"Why?" Quarran asked warily, always watching the expenses.

"Well, for one thing because if I've got to promote the miniskopos in a couple of weeks, I'd better bone up on what the unit will do. Not just any one, or what we hope the production models will do – but the actual one we demonstrate. Also, I'm going to have to take pictures of it, metal cabinet and all. And I've been thinking that some copy and shots about the plant would be very impressive, especially in a little throw-away pamphlet. Give the company an image, an identity. After all, we're selling the name of Skopos as much as this particular product, aren't we?"

"Damned fine thinking, Martin," Quarran said. "You're about due for a trip to Kirsten anyway. You haven't been there since we expanded the east wing." He nodded. "All right, you go, too."

"Great to have you along, Martin," Carmel said, almost smiling as if relieved. He was; this way it would be easier to tell Lonnie this way. The two wives could console one another.

The meeting droned on, covering affairs which, as vice-president, Carmel was supposed to be aware of, but which he had no direct interest in. He mulled over his own problems; those of the inventions and those of his household while he chain-smoked a series of cigarettes and tried to look attentive. As usual, the meeting broke up in time for lunch, and he went with the three others to the dimly-lit cocktail lounge and steak house around the corner of Second. A couple of martinis helped – but when he got back to the office, his depression was deepened when his secretary told him, "I was very lucky, Mr. Carmel. I was able to book you on a flight leaving at three-forty-five."

"This afternoon?" he cried.

"It was either that or tomorrow night. Everything else is taken. I'm sorry."

"God almighty," he groaned going in his office. "Agnes, get my wife on the phone, will you, please?"

Lonnie was mopping the kitchen floor when the phone rang. She was in a very good humor, had been all day after her tremendous frustrations had been taken care of by her loving husband. She hummed softly to herself, following a song on the radio. She let her mind wander as to the pagan orgy awaiting Roger when he came home that evening. She was going to tear his legs off, she was…

Her thoughts were broken with the ringing, and she turned the radio down before answering. When she heard Agnes' voice on the line, asking her to hold on for Mr. Carmel, a dread settled with cold hands across the saddle of her back.

"Hello, honey," Roger said. "I, uh… that is…"

"Let me guess," she said darkly. "Another trip?"

"It can't be helped. It'll only be two weeks, and believe me, I tried to get out of it, but…"

"I'm sure you did," she interrupted sarcastically. "I bet you fought tooth and nail."

"I did! Please don't be this way. Oh – and Martin's having to accompany me, too. Maybe you and Cylvia can get together while we're gone."

A frustrated hiss slipped from between her teeth and tried to hide her annoyance he'd heard through the phone. "When are you leaving?"

"I'll be home in an hour, honey. Pack some clothes for me, will you?"

"When?" she repeated more firmly.

"Ah… this afternoon. Three-thirty, to be exact."

"Three…!" Her face blossomed with anger. "Do you know what's in the oven, Mr. Carmel? Do you know what I have slaved to the bone preparing for you, you bastard, just as a special treat for tonight and which Jennifer and I detest? Do you?"

"Now, honey…"

"Don't honey me," she stormed and slammed down the receiver. Another trip! Tears of humiliation and pride welled up in her eyes as she thought of his leaving her again.

Damn… damn… damn… she wasn't enough of a woman to hold a man, she was unable to satisfy her husband enough in bed to hold him at home for one day. Was there any reason why Roger stayed married to her other than to screw her now and then when he was around? What did he do the other six months? Have other women?

Oh no! The crazy idea that he was unfaithful to her crept insidiously into her brain, once unleashed by her torment of anger and frustration. If she could only go with Roger on his trips… but no, she had to stay home with their daughter, Jennifer. All she could do was wait and sit until he got back from wherever he went, never knowing what he was up to.

She walked to the closet and half-heartedly swung one of the suitcases she hadn't put away from that morning onto the bed. She began to put fresh clothes out, quickly filling the three-suiter and then put additional clothing in the smaller over-night case. Then, locking the lids, she wandered into the kitchen, her day ruined, and pondered about what the hell she was going to do for the next couple of weeks.

Do what Roger suggested she guessed. See a lot of Martin's wife. It certainly was a God-send having such a close, warm, understanding friend like Cylvia. She was almost more of a husband to Lonnie than Roger was.

"Oh God, Martin, I want to suck you," Cylvia Oliss moaned. She was writhing on their satin-covered double bed, her own fingers slipping wetly inside her cunt. Her back was arched, and her legs splayed wide, as nude, she masturbated before the lusting leer of her husband, one hand fondling her breasts and the other in her vagina.

Cylvia had short blond hair the color of wheat; it hugged her face in soft curls. She had high, classical features, with blue, cat-like eyes above a wide, bow-shaped mouth and aquiline nose. Her wasp waist was in contortions at the moment, and her full, thrusting breasts danced with delightful impudence on her tanned chest. She was tanned all over, not even with the normal tiger strips around her breasts and hips. Her straw-toned hair was natural, as anybody could see if they glimpsed her furry growth of pubic hair – and many men had not only glimpsed but tongued and fucked their way through the hair.