Message-ID: <3333eli$9708250925@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Bookman Subject: RP: Spamhater Decoded: Blackmailed Mother 07 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <3400A2C3.4614@wolfenet.com> (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 reattached to your work.) BlkMthr.zip -- 7/16 The Blackmailed Mother Chapter 7 The El Mecca was the best motel in Kirsten, Nevada -- which wasn't saying a whole hell of a lot for it. The town's two other motels had been built during the motoring craze of the Thirties; were peeling and yellow, little more than cracked wash basins and sagging beds that would collapse if they ever saw a married couple. The local trade frequented the two, and on Friday and Saturday nights they employed two cleaning girls to change the bed linen, the in-and-outers so fast and frequent. The El Mecca was a good ten years old, a drab stucco imitation of a Spanish hacienda, but it was clean and had a decent little combo six nights a week, and it catered to the salesmen and businessmen on the prowl and the divorcees and married women wanting to be prowled. There were the usual slot machines in evidence, but anybody who'd stayed at the El Mecca or frequented it for very long soon gave wide berth to the one-armed bandits -- the odds were set worse than the ones on the third floor of the Club Royale. Earlier in the same evening as Roger Carmel's unexpected return to the Skopos plant in Kirsten, he and Martin Oliss sat in the small bar, drinking a couple of scotch-and-waters and adding their own conversation to the murmur of other voices. Roger was moody, reflecting on his unpacified wife five hundred miles away and what the hell he could do about it -- which was nothing -- and how he could convince her that trips such as the one he was on were necessary -- which was an impossibility. Martin Oliss was busier thinking of the right psychological moment in which to spring his portion of the trap. They'd arrived after Skopos had closed for the day there. Carmel would be stuck in Kirsten until his invention was finished; theoretically Oliss would be in the town only long enough to take some pictures and ideas for stories, and then return to Rapier City. Oliss had the hunch that both he and Carmel would be back before the weekend was out. That was, if his wife and daughter played their parts successfully. If either or both of them failed, he was to have received a telephone call, but he hadn't as of yet, so he figured (correctly) that all had gone according to schedule. There would be that other phone call tomorrow or Sunday -- but that was in the future, and not included in the immediate task on hand. He had serious doubts that he'd be able to steal the figures and charts on Carmel's miniskopos while he was here; the nature of the set-up almost precluded that miracle, but even if he did land the prize, the insidious plot he'd hatched in desperation would still carry on. There was no way of stopping it, in fact, now that the wheels had begun to turn. Oliss ran his finger around the rim of his glass and stared at the amber fluid in it as if in deep, disturbed contemplation. "Roger," he said slowly, heavily, "I've got to talk to you." Carmel looked at his business associate, curious. He was never as close to Martin Oliss as his wife was to Cylvia or his daughter was to Tamera, but that wasn't through the fault of Martin. In spite of Carmel's feeling of uneasiness that he got occasionally when around the sales vice-president, it was more a matter that he, Carmel, wasn't one for any close ties save for his family. He didn't have either the time or temperament for pals and buddies, and the little spare time he did have he preferred to spend in the warm bosom of his family. So he was a little surprised by the tone in Oliss' voice. They'd been talking for the last few hours, on the plane and here at the El Mecca, but of inconsequentialities. That wasn't the kind of "talking" Oliss was now intimating. Something was on his mind, something that was troubling him greatly. "Yes, Martin," Carmel said. "About what?" "I..." Oliss pursed his lips. "Here, let me buy you another drink." He hooked a finger toward the bartender. "Well, if you don't want to tell me..." "It isn't that, Roger. It's..." He bit his lip. "Ah, hell. I'll be blunt. Sometimes we don't want to spill something to a friend because it's private and personal. You know what I mean?" "That's true," Carmel agreed, tasting his fresh drink. "I mean, it's sort of embarrassing, and it's difficult to judge just how much of a friend a person is at times like that." "Well, I don't think you should trust anybody too quickly, Martin. Where self-interest is concerned most people will betray you, and a guy has only one or two genuine buddies throughout his whole life if he's lucky. But," he said, "on the other hand, I'm not the kind for butt-kissing or politics or petty gossiping. So in that sense, I'm a friend. At least a better risk than most." He shrugged. "Of course, it's up to you." Oliss contemplated his scotch again, and then swung to Carmel abruptly, his face wrenched by the seeming pain of his indecision. "No, Roger. No, it concerns you, too." "Me?" "Yes, and... intimately." Oliss gritted his teeth. "I... well, I'll start at the beginning." He took a deep breath, knowing that he had Carmel hooked. "A month back I learned my wife was seeing another man. I love Cylvia very much, just as you love Lonnie I'm sure, so you can imagine how I felt when I thought that she was running around on me." "Running ar --" Carmel's eyes bulged. "You mean, having an affair? Cylvia? Are you sure?" "Oh, more sure than I care to think about," Oliss said bitterly. "You see, her lover came to see me." He saw Carmel's mouth open, and he waved his hand. "No, not for a divorce. Worse than that." Oliss leaned toward Carmel and looked him in the eye. "He was one of those slimy Latin lover types; you know the kind. Worm their way in before the woman knows what's happening. Anyway, he threatened exposure, a scandal, all of the lowest and rottenest tricks he could think of if I didn't... cooperate." "Cooperate? I don't follow, Martin. Cooperate how?" Oliss dropped his voice as if utterly ashamed. "By spying on you, Roger. By stealing your invention and turning it over to him. He said he had pictures and proof. Oh, God, I was sick!" "My... invention! I can't believe it! You mean another company would stoop to such filth as to seduce your wife and then blackmail you into taking my miniskopos?" He shook his head, dazed. "I'm afraid so." "What... what did you do?" Roger gasped. "Oh, I was beset with indecision. You see, my wife didn't know that I knew what she'd been doing. I wasn't about to tell her and perhaps ruin my marriage. Neither could I see coming to you... then. What could you do for me?" He groaned in humiliation. "Neither could I bring myself to subvert the company I've given so many of my years to. It was horrible. A nightmare." "And?" Carmel was almost rocking on his stool with shock. "I hired a private eye. I told him what the problem was, blurted out the whole sordid mess. I wanted him to first of all confirm what this sonofabitch was telling me about my wife was true, and then take whatever means short of murder to get back the proof. Once I had the proof of my wife's infidelity, then this bastard wouldn't have a hold on me... or so I figured... and I could tell Cylvia that I knew what she'd done, and what her... mistake had almost caused. I'd forgive her, and I believe that she'd understand her foolishness and never do such a thing again, once she understood she'd been doped." "Martin, you poor man," Carmel sympathized. "Wait, there's more." Oliss shuddered, as if the worst was yet to come -- and for Roger Carmel, it was. "I... got a report from the detective late last week. No, Monday it was. Christ, this thing has me so shaken up, I can barely keep the days straight. Anyway, he confirmed that this cocksman had indeed been sleeping with my wife, that he'd followed him and Cylvia to a string of motels and a couple of times... in my own house." Tears nearly welled in Oliss' eyes as he poured forth his tale in choking words. "My... own house! My... marital bed, de-defiled by this bastard!" "Martin, "Carmel soothed. "Get hold of yourself." "I... asked him to see what he could do about the proof, and he said it might be wiser for him to dig up some dirt on the man -- you know, an eye for an eye kind of thing. He called me after lunch today, just before we left, Roger, with the most disturbing news of all. It... it seems as though this bastard has decided to make sure he gets the miniskopos plans, since I haven't helped him any." "How? What more could he do?" "He's..." And here Oliss paused dramatically. "He's seduced another man's wife. One... oh, shit, Roger, he may be fucking Lonnie, too." "Lonnie?" Carmel staggered under the impact. "My wife?" "I'm afraid so, Roger. I... hate telling you this, but it looks as though we're in the same boat together." "But are you sure it's Lonnie? I can't believe it!" "I couldn't believe it about Cylvia, either," Oliss said sadly. "But in all fairness, I'll tell you that by the description my detective gave and the other facts he learned, I'm almost positive it's Lonnie." "But you're not sure!" Carmel demanded, grasping at straws. "Ninety percent positive, Roger. I ordered my detective to find out without a shadow of a doubt and call me here sometime tomorrow or Sunday." "No man's come to me," Carmel blustered. "Evidently he just... started with your wife. He'll be by to see you, just as he came to see me. A matter of time." Carmel's mind whirled disconcertedly. What Oliss was telling him was the most wild, inconceivable story he'd ever heard! Lonnie would never... but then, he wasn't home much, and women are prone... no, no... it was ridiculous... absurd... the detective must have another woman mixed up with his wife! He knew Lonnie; she was strictly a one-man female, and she'd never.... "I know what you're thinking, Roger," Oliss said glumly. "Same thing I kept telling myself until I was shown by the detective that what I had been told was true. You're thinking I'm crazy, or that this affair has made me see ghosts in every corner. I wish that were true, friend; I wish I didn't have to tell you this." Carmel shook his head, numb to his bones. "I don't believe it." "Don't," Oliss suggested. "It's probably better if you forget what I told you altogether." "But how can I?" Carmel cried. "My wife! For God's sake!" "Yes, your wife and mine," Oliss pressed on, his voice calm and low now, well hiding his inner elation, his satisfaction and sadistic pleasure at seeing Carmel shaken to the very core of his soul. Good... good... and after a day or so of torment, he'll be ripe for the final phase of my plan. And then... he had a hard time keeping a straight face as he added: "And we're going to have to do something about it, too!" "My God, my God... what?" Confused, unready to accept the fact of his wife's infidelity, Roger Carmel swallowed his scotch and ordered another one straight and almost dementedly turned to Martin Oliss for help. His whole, wonderful world was teetering from extinction by the slender thread that what Oliss and the detective said were mistakes, and that Lonnie was not letting another man touch her. But Oliss was so insistent! So damnably sure! "Well, there's nothing either of us can do until the detective calls," Oliss said. "Then we'll know for sure whether your wife is involved as mine is. Then... well, then perhaps we should go back." "Go back..." Carmel moaned abjectly. Go back to what? A torn fabric of his love and happiness? And yet, he couldn't stay away, not fight for what he considered the most important objects in his life, his wife and home. Go back echoed through his brain. Christ, could he sit it out until the phone call? He'd go mad! Stark, staring, raving imbicilic! He downed the shot in one gulp. "If it isn't Lonnie," Oliss continued, "I imagine I will make the best of it... alone. But if it is --" He let the nameless terror seep deeper into Carmel's stricken mind. Damned right it was going to be both, he thought demonically. Both -- in some perverted bacchanal... and it won't be any imaginary detective passing on the news, but my sweet whore of a wife on the phone. I wonder what the hell my luscious twin cunts are up to now, anyway ? The lewd projection of Cylvia and Tamera Oliss in wild and licentious abandonment as strange cocks and mouths fucked their wits silly made his cock leap. And then the further image of Carmel's wife and daughter getting the same orgiastic treatment, whether to their delight or anguish, made his penis bloat with lust and press against his pants painfully. Soon... soon I'll know, and soon after that I'll be participating. And who the hell knows? Maybe old stick-in-the-mud Carmel will, too. For the first time in his idyllic marriage, Roger Carmel began to question its solidarity, and the values which he and it were living by. Had he been so inconsiderate a husband to let Lonnie fall prey to this Latin lover Oliss was telling him about? Was he that shallow a man as to not know how to hold her fidelity? He was beginning to think he didn't know. He loved Lonnie and Jennifer with all his heart, and in spite of what the detective would report, he knew that he would try to repair his marriage with the same panicked desire that Martin Oliss evinced. He couldn't leave Lonnie... would she leave him? Was her desires now changed and she no longer wanted him around? Is that what prompted her actions -- if that indeed is what was happening. If... if... the poisonous word berated his tortured soul. The next day or so would be a nightmare, and he knew that the only way he'd find sleep tonight was to drink himself unconscious. Thank God for the few drinks he'd had -- without them I'd have gone completely to pieces. Roger Carmel slumped to the bar, utterly dejected, his brain a cauldron of agony and fears. He never noticed as Martin Oliss peered down on him with a sadistically triumphant leer twisting his lips and mustache. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /