William Davis - The Polaroid club book II

"How?"

"By setting up a little session with her."

"What kind of session?"

"I've got a Polaroid camera, a good one with a timer and a tripod," Ralph said easily.

Samuels' beady eyes glittered evilly. "What kind of photos are you planning to take?"

"What kind do you suppose? Good ones, hot ones. The kind that you would call 'filthy' and 'degrading'."

The postal clerk's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and his chest rose and fell jerkily with labored breathing. "Just… just with you and Cindy Jamison?"

Ralph Taylor laughed sharply, a sound that caused one of the nearby customers to glance curiously at him. Then he smiled, smoothing his napkin on his lap, as the waiter brought their steaks. He began to dig into his immediately, eating hungrily and with obvious relish.

Samuels didn't touch his food. His eyes were almost fever-bright as he stared across the table at the automobile executive. "You didn't answer my question," he accused.

"You'd like to be there when I nail Cindy Jamison, wouldn't you, Samuels?" Taylor said around a mouthful of blood-rare sirloin.

"I… I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. It's written all across that ugly face of yours. Well, I'm a generous man by nature. I wouldn't want to deprive you of any of your warped kicks, Samuels. Providing you do as you're told, and set things up just as I tell you."

The venereous civil servant had spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth now as in his mind he pictured Cindy Jamison, being subjugated before him again as he had enslaved her that night ten days ago and not only him this time, but this big, brawny man across from him. Both of them meting out punishment to the brazen, haughty bitch well-deserved punishment for what she had tried to do. Oh, it would be fitting and just! He had not gotten in touch with her in the past ten days because he had wanted her to sweat, to know fear and trepidation every time the telephone or doorbell rang, to expect him back at any time but not to know when or where or what would happen when the time came. He had planned to torment her in this manner for another week or so, then call her up and submit her to a session which would make the last one seem tame in comparison a session involving him and his faithful German Shepherd, Ringo.

But now this – this was even better! It would not only be him, Steve Samuels, and Ringo fixing that little bitch's wagon – but this big, evil-grinning man across from him. The wizened clerk no longer feared the big man, for now that the stranger had shown his true colors, shown his playing hand and the cards he held and the wager he wanted to make, it was no threat to Samuels' welfare at all. The big man wanted the same things as he, and as long as the clerk didn't ruffle the man's feathers, as long as he was careful to work closely with him, they could be a team – two men after the same thing, looking for the same pleasures in life. Oh, Christ, this was too good to be true! He couldn't have asked for a better deal if he had arranged it himself!

He said, "Don't worry, mister. I'm on your side in this, all the way. You just tell me what you want done, and I'll do it. The only thing I ask is that I can be there when you give it to Cindy Jamison – and that I get the opportunity to give her some myself!"

Taylor laughed softly. "You'll get that chance, Samuels, as long as you follow orders."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Call Cindy Jamison on the phone late Friday afternoon. Her husband won't be home; I… have ways of seeing to that."

"What should I tell her?"

"Tell her that you want to see her again, that she's to meet you that night. Tell her that she'd better show up, or else you'll tell the postal authorities about those pictures you have, and that you'll tell her husband, too."

"She'll come, all right," giggled Samuels. "Where should I tell her to go? My place?"

"That's right. Nine o'clock."

"And you'll be there then, too?"

"I'll be there long before that," Ralph Taylor said, finishing the last of his steak and leaning back contentedly, sipping from the coffee he had ordered with his lunch. "With my Polaroid," he added meaningfully.

"Okay!" the venereous government employee said eagerly. "Is there anything else you want me to do?"

The automobile executive frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled again, slowly and anticipatorily. "You might have another girl there, too, on Friday night. One of the other Morriston housewives you've been blackmailing into your bed."

The evil light in Steve Samuels' eyes grew yet brighter, and more spittle gathered around his thick mouth. Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, Friday night was going to be an evening beyond his wildest dreams! One of the mad, ribald orgies he had often thought of having! His cock was throbbing hard, close to orgasm, in his pants as he thought of the potentialities inherent with two men and two beautiful girls and one huge, hungry dog…

"A pretty one, you want a real pretty one, don't you?" he husked to Ralph Taylor.

"That's right. A young and pretty one, one with a little experience. One who'll keep her mouth shut."

"I know just who I'll get!" Samuels wheezed. "Sally Reagan! I've had her before, a couple of times! Oh, Jesus, she's…"

"Keep your Goddamn voice down, for Christ's sake!" hissed the automobile executive, looking around him, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to the two of them.

Samuels dropped his voice. "She's a good one, the best next to Cindy Jamison. You'll like her! She's got black hair and a nice set of tits, and when she gets turned on she can really fuck, the little bitch! She deserves to be a part of this, she really does! Sending filthy pictures through our mails…"

"All right, all right, never mind any more of your Goddamned self-righteous speeches." Ralph Taylor looked smug once again. "Have you got it all straight now, Samuels?"

"I've got it!" the evil postal clerk assured him. "You don't have to worry none at all!"

"I'd better not have to." Taylor stood, found a couple of bills in his pocket, and tossed them on the table. "I've got to be going now, Samuels. Friday night. And if you value your ass, don't foul it up." With that, he walked off through the crowded tables and disappeared down the stairs to the main floor of the steak house.

Steve Samuels stared after him for a long moment, his eyes half-glazed with lust and excitement, then turned his head back again. Hot damn! Oh, Christ, he couldn't wait until Friday night! Cindy Jamison was really going to get hers – and so was Sally Reagan – both the little whores were really going to get theirs! He and the stranger and Ringo would see to that…

Even though the food was now cold, Steve Samuels finished every last bit on his plate with a ravenous hunger, as if it were the flesh of the two young and beautiful housewives he was consuming with his wet and ugly mouth.

Cindy Jamison performed her prosaic household chores like a mechanized robot on Friday, just as she had on each of the other two days since that drunken, hazy party on Tuesday night. Her mind seemed to be in a perpetual state of half-torpor, as if she were filled with some kind of deadening drug to ease the pain of the knowledge she carried within her.

She finished the cleaning and sweeping and laundry shortly past four, and made herself a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Then she sat with it in the living room of their cottage, drinking but not really tasting the strong black liquid. It was going to be a long day, an even longer night; at least on the past two days she had had Howard home to talk to her, to comfort her, for he realized she was still in a highly agitated state. He had asked her repeatedly to tell him what was wrong, to confide in him, and she almost had on more than one occasion – but then her guilt and shame, her strong desire to protect him from the terrible consequences of her actions with the Polaroid photographs and from the knowledge of her infidelities, became too strong and she was unable to speak.