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Subject: RP: Spamhater Decoded: Blackmailed Mother 09
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(Note: I am not the author, I am only the decoder.

If you are the author, please email me.  I'd like to get your name
re-attached to your work.)



                              BlkMthr.zip -- 9/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 9

      Saturday morning arrived all too soon.

      Jennifer Carmel, the day before an innocent virgin teen-ager,
stared at
the blinds on the windows. Her skin was pale, as if the ice-water she
felt in
her veins was actually flowing in place of her blood.  She was as
confused as
any little girl could have been and she tried to sort her ambivalent
feelings
as she lay under the covers of her bed.

      She curled her legs up, letting the blankets fall away so that she
could
hug her knees protectively, and would have probably run to her parent if
she
had any to go to.  Father was out of town.  Father was not there to be
the
father she had needed before last night, and she knew that his upright
morals
wouldn't have allowed him to be the father on which she could rely on
for
judgment and understanding.  Mother -- hell, she hadn't gotten home
until after
Jennifer had, and the noise she'd made, whooping and hollering and...
well, it
had sounded like crying, but the young girl was too fogged with sleep
and the
effects of the marijuana, liquor, and the sex she'd seen and done to be
completely cognizant.  Mother was still asleep, and she wouldn't have
under
stood anyway.  No, Jennifer felt that she was alone, with no one to turn
to for
guidance.

      Mentally she was enmeshed in the guilt of having succumbed to
temptation
and allowed herself to display her sweet, tender pussy and taut breasts
in
front of all those kids -- even though they were doing the same -- and
writhe
abandonly in naked intercourse with Stan Lubin on the floor of that
cabin.  She
swallowed, her shame-parched throat and looked down at her nubile, firm
body
with its snowy crests of rounded breasts and flat stomach and the black
triangular silk of her sparse young pubic mound.  As she looked down at
herself, she miserably realized that although her dream had been
shattered
hopelessly and she had given up her virginity and her dignity all in one
wild
night, she wasn't entirely filled with self-abomination.  Oh, there were
the
long-standing agonies to contend with, the morals and ethics which she'd
been
weaned on since birth, but for all of the warnings she'd received about
allowing "advances" from a boy, she had to admit, if only privately to
herself,
that she hadn't broken out in warts or become wretchedly ill or really
changed
her basic nature much.

      She had had a dream of a large, soft double-bed with white, frilly
sheets
and a husband lying tenderly between her open legs.  She kept thinking
about
Stan Lubin buffeting her tender throbbing young cunt last night with his
lust-filled cock, her breasts swollen and hurting from his trembling
hands, and
the way she willingly allowed him to do it to her over and over... until
she
was ready to promise him anything for the pleasure of having more.  Now
she had
no dream, no bed, no tender patience, no husband...  The dream hadn't
become a
nightmare but it hadn't left her totally at ease, the way her
girl-friend
Tamera certainly would be this morning.  Of course, Tamera was
experienced at
letting guys fuck her -- the salacious way she'd been with her
boyfriend, Vic,
last night, and then let one of the other football team members fuck her
too
was an indelible imprint on Jennifer's mind.

      Physically she felt all right.  Her head was thick and stuffy like
muslin, but Tamera had told her afterwards, on the way home, that was to
be
expected until she got used to marijuana.  The little teen-ager
tentatively
explored her breasts and loins, found them sensitive, but in a
delightful,
tingling way. Her still moist vagina was a little redder than usual --
about
the way the pink, hair-lined little slit looked after she had fingered
it and
made herself cum -- and while her wet, tantalizing cunt hole was perhaps
a
little larger than before, it was more alive and healthy than she could
ever
recall.  She let one finger slowly draw its way up from the puckered
sphincter
ring of her anus to her trembling red nub of her clitoris.  Stan's white
semen
is still lying deep in my stomach, she thought, trying desperately to
feel the
overwhelming, inundating sordidness and dirty anguish that she had
believed she
should feel. But the more she dwelled on the episode, the more her
whirling
mind replayed the dizzy climb -- starting from when Stan had put his arm
around
her in Vic's car.  The drinking, the new sensation of marijuana, the
heavy musk
in the air as the other couples sank into their world of writhing,
naked, pagan
passion, up... up to where she was watching her girl-friend abandonly
making
love with her boyfriend while Stan kissed her firm, hard-nippled breasts
and
let his hand tease its way into her vaginal slit, her pink lips and
clitoral
bud and moist, quivering cunt mouth... and the lewd sight of his huge,
blood-swollen penis moving into her virginal pussy, the shock of
immediate
pain... and then the breaking of her hymen and his merciless sawing back
and
forth while the pleasure drove her nearly insane.

      How could she lie here now and even admit that she had liked it? 
But she
had!  The revelation that she had liked it, had liked the attention from
Stan,
had liked the comradeship from the others -- all this bothered her more
than
the smaller amounts of guilt her upbringing still made her feel.  Yes,
I...
like it, and... and Oh God, I want it again. I want to cum with Stan's
cock in
me.  She must be sick, must be a juvenile delinquent and pervert for
having no
true shame for her actions, but only an emptiness inside her belly which
was
crying for more.  Her body had not only betrayed her, but was forcing
her to
search out for further indecencies. Tears of humiliation cascaded down
her
cheeks in a tiny waterfall of self-incrimination.

      Slowly, like an automaton, she rose and began to dress.  Heaped in
one
corner were her soiled, even ripped clothes; souvenirs of last night's
debauched party.  She averted her wet, puffed eyes from them, a shiver
of
apprehension rippling through her as she zipped up a pair of stretch
pants.
They reminded her that Stan Lubin had made her promise to... to have
more than
himself, to let some of his friends take turns gang-fucking her, and
he'd
mentioned other... things he wanted to do to her too.  And it was all
going to
start that very day.  He was going to pick her up at the house, and as
he'd
threatened, she'd better be waiting and ready.  Or else.

                                *    *    *    *

      Sam Zeigler sat in his luxurious appointed office and toyed with a
miniature Spanish dagger he used as a letter opener.  His swarthy face
was lit
by the glare of his desk lamp, making the evil smirk which crossed his
mouth
that much more devilish.  He leaned back in his leather chair, pricking
his
thumb with the opener absently. Yeah, Oliss and his wife had cooked up a
wild
scheme, and whether it worked or not, he had been getting a lot of fun
out of
it.  He laid his head against the chair and shut his eyes and once more
he
dreamed of the salacious evening he'd shared with that innocent young
wife of
Roger Carmel, the black-haired Lonnie, and the insatiable Mrs. Cylvia
Oliss. It
had all taken place up one floor, in his "show-room" -- and peripherally
he
made a mental note to himself to raise the girl performer's salary by a
hundred
a week.  His lips curled into a slightly wider smile as he thought of
the
performer's near hysterical submission to Fang, his German Shepherd in
front of
all of his special customers.  She'd never been fucked by a dog before,
and
certainly wasn't aware that it was going to happen to her last night;
but the
best shows are the spontaneous types when the girl is truly terrified
and not
just acting -- just like she hadn't been acting when Fang had slipped
his huge
animal cock inside her pussy and made her writhe her naked young body
around in
lewd ecstasy.

      The girl had enjoyed it, Fang had enjoyed it -- the wild young
wife,
Lonnie, had enjoyed it, getting heated up from that and Cylvia's hot
lashing of
pink tongue against her raven-crested, clenching vaginal slit until
she'd have
been willing to let the whole Club Royale staff fuck her... which was an
idea
to file away for the future. Zeigler could still see in his mind's eye
how the
once-proud Lonnie Carmel had looked when he had finished fucking her
silly,
sprawled nakedly open on the couch, quivering, her satin legs
wide-stretched on
either side and her arms dangling doll-like over the edges.  Her belly
had been
filled to the bursting point with his hot, sticky cum, and her wet
matted pubic
hair had glistened lewdly in the room's dim light, the insides of her
creamy
thighs smeared with his white semen, which trickled together with her
own
co-mingling climatic lubricants and Cylvia's saliva between her soft,
yielding
crevice and puddled on the couch fabric below.

      The lewd, evilly erotic memories stirred the heat in his blood,
making
his throbbing cock jerk in his pants.  God, he wasn't sure he could hold
off
fucking that hot bitch of a wife again while Cylvia Oliss set up the
deal for
later on tonight. He wanted to have her stretched out again, her tight
little
cunt lips sliding smoothly around his hardened penis like a greased oval
ring...  He groaned and placed his hand down, trying to stop the
building
pressures in his testicles from making his now painful erection from
bulging
his trousers any worse than they were already.

      But on second thought, why couldn't he have the luscious Mrs.
Carmel
again?  Right now, if he wanted to -- which he did.  It couldn't hurt
the Oliss
plan; all he had to make sure was that Lonnie was at the Club later. 
Come to
think of it, what difference did it make whether it hurt the plans or
not?
Zeigler had already started his own machination going, one independent
of the
Olisses for the simple reason he had no intention of sharing the money
Carmel's
invention would bring to them.  If the Oliss plan worked, all well and
fine
he'd ease them out after they handed over the goods.  If his own plan
worked,
then he wouldn't even have to put up with a scene of recriminations and
threats
which would be sure to follow the realization by the Olisses that they'd
been
taken.  Besides, two ways were better than one -- Zeigler like to hedge
his
bets; or, like so many of the underworld executives, he didn't gamble
unless it
was on a sure thing.

      Along with the recruitment of the Olisses some months back, Sam
Zeigler
had also hired a call-girl that he knew.  She had been a private
secretary
before turning to the profession of prostitution for the simplest of
reasons:
she liked the money and liked the work.  What the hell, as she had said,
she'd
been going to bed with men for years; she might as well start getting
money for
what she'd always given away.  Zeigler, spotting the combination of
beauty --
for Kim Copeland was one of the cutest girls he'd ever met -- and talent
in and
out of the bed, told her to go to Kirsten and get a job at the Skopos
manufacturing plant.  She was to be a ringer, and one way or the other
see if
she could get information on the device Carmel was making.

      Kim hated the small town; only the fat bonus Zeigler paid her
every week
made up for the dust and dumb characters and no action.  She couldn't
ply her
trade without jeopardizing her job -- which she had finally gotten -- so
Zeigler had to fork over her average weekly take on top of his bonus,
and added
to her paycheck at Skopos, she was able to salt away a sizable amount. 
But the
only position which had occurred at Skopos had been secretary to the
personnel
manager and the result was that she had learned very little about the
miniscopos, even in spite of the love affair she had instigated with the
assistant chief of production. It seemed that all the important
information was
stored in Roger Carmel's head, and others only knew inconsequential bits
and
pieces of the whole jig-saw, and had no access to his files.

      Martin Oliss had always considered Roger Carmel of such upstanding
character that the man would never dream of having an extra-marital
affair.
Zeigler had gone along with the opinion just in case he could somehow
use his
"ace-in-the hole," Kim Copeland, but the gangster was shrewder than
Oliss, and
knew that just because a man is honest, doesn't mean that he can't be
blinded
momentarily and lose control of himself.

      Oliss, Zeigler concluded, confused an accidental fall from grace
with a
planned consideration by a person to be dishonest, for obviously Oliss
had
never done anything evil or lewd without a thorough review of exactly
what he
was doing. And even if Roger Carmel did reject the advances of a pro
like Kim
Copeland, it was worth a try...

      Kim Copeland had been phoned that morning; Zeigler had just hung
up the
phone from talking to her. She had been enthusiastic about the
assignment, and
knew just the partner to get for the taking of the pictures while she
and
Carmel were in her home, fucking like hell on her bed.  She'd used the
man many
times before when she was running a blackmail racket, and since the
squeeze on
Carmel was different only because there was going to be information
handed over
instead of money, she was on familiar turf and could handle herself and
Carmel
with practiced ease.  After all, she'd told Zeigler, Carmel is just
another
man.  A damned fine-looking one, she'd added, and she was getting tired
of  the
production assistant anyway.

      Zeigler laughed softly to himself.  Sometime today or tonight,
Roger
Carmel was going to end up fucking Kim Copeland -- and that called for a
little
celebration.  Like fuck Roger Carmel's beautiful, naive little wife
again.  He
reached for the phone-book to look up the Carmel number.  Then he put
the book
aside and picked up the telephone.  Knowing that he had fucked her silly
for
over three hours last night only made him desire her more, and he lewdly
hoped
that she would tease him again with her defensively resisting protests. 
All in
vain, all in vain, he mused, and whistled as he dialed her number.

                                *    *    *    *

      A sudden blast from a car horn awoke Lonnie Carmel.  Then there
was the
fuzzy, distant, only half-jointed sound of the pattering of shoes and
the
slamming of a door... the roar of an engine, and the squeal of tires.
Lonnie
lay still for a time, listening.  The house was now silent, strangely
so, and
the softness of her drowsiness was slow to dissipate, like fog on a
cold, wet
morning.

      Lonnie moved at last, only to feel excruciating pain.  "Ohhh," she
groaned aloud, "what happened to me?"  Her head was like a block of
molten
lead, and her muscles were tied in spasming knots which made her want to
jump
-- but then the pain in her skull would begin and she had to lie still
until it
passed. She had a hard time thinking -- remembering what had happened to
her...

      The drinking -- the capitulation of her aroused, frustrated body
to the
blandishments, hands, mouth, and blonde-haired vagina of Cylvia Oliss 
-- the
obscene show with that nubile little girl and that monster beast of a
German
Shepherd dog -- Sam Zeigler, naked and plunging his fiery cock deep,
deep into
her feverish, wide-splayed vagina... a vagina that had only been touched
by her
husband before...

      The total impact of what she had allowed to happen to her hit hard
and
the traces of her sleepiness vanished.  She shot upright, impervious to
the
pain. "My God!"  Questions began to run through her head faster than her
muddled brain could answer them.  How did I get home?  Who dressed me? 
Why did
it happen at all?  Why? Why?

      She stumbled from her bed and lurched against the bureau, staring
at
herself in the mirror.  "Oh no," she moaned thickly, "I must be dreaming
it. I
must be.  I just must be."

      Yet heavy lines marred her fresh, young skin, and her eyes were
sunk
deeply in their black rimmed sockets as though she'd aged ten years
overnight.
She looked down at her naked, curvaceous nude body and saw the mass of
burnished marks and rose-colored bruises around her breasts and inner
thighs.
Her rich, full dark-tipped breasts were nearly raw, and light
exploration of
her pubic area with her fingers proved to be exceedingly painful.  She
tried to
tentatively feel between her black soft hair and down between the
swollen,
inflamed lips of her well-fucked cunt, but she couldn't; she had to grip
the
edge of the bureau from the sharp spasm of ache which lanced from her
pussy up
through her belly.

      "Oh, God, oh God, oh God," she chanted, and then forcing back
tears and a
wracking sob, she opened the closet next to her and took out a chenille
robe
Roger had given her the previous Christmas. She slipped it over her
lithe,
trembling nakedness and buttoned it part way down, then holding the
bottom
portion with her hand, she stepped out into the hallway, almost fearful
that
her innocent daughter would see her like this.

      In the kitchen, after plugging in the percolator, Lonnie glimpsed
a sheet
of ruled notepaper on the table.  She crossed and picked it up and saw
that it
was a message from Jennifer in her neat, round handwriting.

      Mom, it read, Have gone for the day with Stan. Hope you don't
mind.  Will
be back tonight.  Love Jennifer.

      Lonnie crumpled the note and flung it from her.  Poor, naive
Jennifer.
Her daughter was with this Lubin boy -- did her day also include being
with
Tamera Ollis and her boyfriend, Vic Cain? Lonnie shuddered and sunk to
one of
the chairs, miserably placing her chin in her palms.  Cylvia Oliss, how
that
"friend" had fooled her!  Was her daughter the same way?  Was Jennifer
safe
with Stan and Vic and Tamera... or were they all as depraved as Tamera's
mother, and were trying to lead little Jennifer into the same kind of
wild,
salacious life as Cylvia had introduced Lonnie to? The horror of having
her
young teen-age offspring having her tender mind and body warped by the
corruption that Cylvia represented made her almost want to vomit.

      Lonnie thought for a crazy moment of phoning the police, and
reporting
that her daughter was in danger... then the bubbling of the coffee
brought her
back to reality, and as she poured herself a cup and walked back in the
bedroom, her shoulders slumped and her head bowed with the knowledge
that such
a panicked move would be disastrous. For one thing, she had no way of
knowing
that Tamera was like her mother, or that even if she was, that Jennifer
was
with her or in danger. After all, it was daylight out there, and
Jennifer knew
enough not to drink or let boys get too fresh with her -- heaven knows
Lonnie
had told her about saving herself for her husband enough times -- and
tonight
she would have the chance for a real heart-to-heart, mother-daughter
chat.
Then, in the privacy and calmness of their own home, she could make
Jennifer
understand how important it would be to end her friendship with Tamera.

      To go to the police, hysterical and obviously overcome with fear,
would
force Lonnie to admit her own wretched part in the affair... and then
everybody
would know what kind of woman she'd allowed herself to become. Everybody
--
including her husband, Roger.  Roger would be repulsed, brand her a
whore, and
rightly so; he would divorce her, and she would be like so much
excrement in
his eyes.  And Jennifer could ever be taken away from her!  Dear God,
what a
nightmare she was living!

      Lonnie managed to climb back into bed and stretch out, the coffee
steaming on the table alongside her.  Some of the beginning hysteria
with which
she had awakened passed as she sipped the brew, and now her mind could
reply to
some of her questions.  She remembered the almost dreamlike trance she
had
fallen into after cumming... cumming how many times?  That was lost, the
count
not taken at the time.  Cylvia and Zeigler must have dressed her and
carried
her to the car after they'd had their way with her; there was the dim
recollection of watching Cylvia Oliss and the gangster obscenely fucking
together on one of the couches after she was unable to spread her
exhausted
thighs again.  They must have taken her home and seen to it that she was
in
bed...

       Cylvia.  Her girl-friend's name was like a cancer in Lonnie's
mind.  The
thought of that bisexual bitch and the flagrantly lewd acts she had
performed
on Lonnie's body, of her willingness to have that Sam Zeigler seduce the
heretofore faithful wife, her constant desire for further perversions...
What
had possessed Cylvia to do such things?  What did the lovely blonde
woman have
against Lonnie?  Lonnie had trusted her, accepted her as a friend and
protector, and for her to lead Lonnie into perversion and participate
while her
helplessly drugged body was subjected to the most depraved indignities
-- was
there some thing in her nature which enjoyed seeing the humiliation of
others?

      Then, with an anguished groan of realization, Lonnie remembered
that she
herself had been drawn by the ravishment of the young girl by the
monstrous
German Shepherd.  She had been repulsed at first, but then she had
watched with
fascination, her own unleashed passions, permitting Zeigler and Cylvia
to take
possession of her hungry body.  She was no better than they were, merely
newer
at the games; hadn't her own body bucked and twisted in its own lustful
fulfillment beneath her attackers?  And hadn't she actually instigated
some of
the perverse forms of sexual delight?  God, yes... she had, she had...!

      She unbuttoned her bathrobe and once more inspected her radiant,
shining
white body, this time not looking for outward signs of damage, but
traces of
dissipation.  Strange, she admitted, no body would know that I had been
fucked
and sucked half-crazy by both a man and a woman last night...

      She concentrated on her breasts, and thought of how Sam Zeigler
and
Cylvia had taken their taut, puckish uplift and made them come alive. 
Yes,
made her come alive, she was forced to confess, come alive and beg for
Zeigler's huge, throbbing penis to salve her tortured, palpitating cunt.
Lonnie squeezed her eyes shut as the erotic remembrances flooded through
her...
she had never felt so alone, so helpless in all her life.  Going to her
husband
would be tantamount to ending her marriage, which was now her one
support;
going to the authorities was out for the same reasons she couldn't go to
them
with her fears about Jennifer; going to her daughter never occurred to
her.

      The torment which boiled through Lonnie Carmel's mind was worse
than the
agonies Jennifer suffered, for the black-haired young wife and mother
had had
nearly twice as many years to be come infused with the mores and guilts
of her
parents and society.  That, and she was of an older, less permissive
age, and
the strictures against what she had done were much stronger than the
ones
Jennifer faced.  Yet Lonnie also had many more years of sexual
experience with
her husband, and her body was not beginning to be awakened but already
the
product of fire and lust.  It had been channeled into a higher plane of
awareness by the Oliss' -- and that meant that Lonnie was that much more
demanding and conscious of her requirements. Even as she thought of the
night
before and the depraved way she and her girl-friend and Zeigler had been
with
each other, her hands brushed her bruised, violated body, reliving the
feelings.

      Her fingertips cooled her hot flesh and in spite of herself,
Lonnie
touched one tender nipple.  The little rosebud flowered into a hardened
chip,
and then in shock Lonnie sat up.  Oh God, I mustn't! Her breath
shuddered,
ragged and pulsating. Control yourself.  Stop this... this carnal
thinking! She
gazed down at her naked loins, seeing them outwardly calm but feeling
that they
were already a seething mass of sensual desire.  Her pink-rimmed cunt
lips
seemed to twitch and spasm through the covering of her dark curling
pubic hair,
and as sore as her vagina was, she spread her legs, drawing the lips
apart so
that the blood colored skin and her clitoris were visible, and the
darker, more
wet and sensitive opening gaped, tingling from the rush of cool air.
Groaning
she lay back, the blood rising in her cheeks as more vividly than ever
the
memories of Zeigler's virile body, his thick pulsing cock and heavy
testicles
swaying beneath his hirsute loins... and of Cylvia Oliss, taut-breasted
and
desire hot in her eyes, her blonde pubic hair a fleecy, moist blanket
around
her thin, pink pussy and her creamy, satin-soft inner thighs...

      Her hips dug back on their own volition and before she could
gather the
strength to resist the compelling flame in her belly, she began to rub
her
palms around her hair-fringed cuntal valley, her fingers gently moving
back and
forth over her moistening, coral-tinged vaginal lips, and the tide of
her
passion began to flow over her once again. I must be sick... I can't
allow
this... I must stop myself...  I...

      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.


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