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BEST ENJOYED COLD
PART FOUR
‘Four
Letters, Two words’
She knew it was wrong. Even through the euphoria of joints and tequila and the extraordinary fireworks, she should never have snuck off like that. For years afterwards she consoled herself with the illusion that it was simply her karma. But she always secretly knew better. Fate is about choices.
Right and wrong choices.
Melanie had never been with another boy. Suddenly it hit her that she would be going up the aisle without experiencing … well, ‘different’.
It was 1976 after all. Not 1946. Or 1876 !
You just didn’t marry the first boy you slept with anymore.
And so it was, when Charlie passed out stoned on the bed, and John invited her outside for ‘some fresh air’, she stupidly hesitated.
“Come on.” He said, holding out his strong hand. “Trust me.”
As they walked out, Leonard Cohen was playing on the stereo. It was one of her and Charlie’s favourite albums, ‘Songs of Love and Hate’. She imagined it quietly soothing Charlie as he lay in his unconscious stupor. The particular track playing that moment was ‘Famous Blue Raincoat’, a song thus condemned to haunt her for the rest of her life.
It was a warm Sunday evening, 4th July, and they had all spent the day celebrating America’s Bicentennial.
John Cumber ! The rest of their crowd had already staggered home. She was alone with the one guy that every girl dreamed of. Six foot three of American Adonis, with the face of a Greek legend and the body … she felt herself moist in the humid, mosquito-laden night air.
Just once ! John Cumber slept with all the girls just once. Why not her ?
They reached the lake, the little porch overlooking the water.
“Feeling a bit better ?” he asked, his dazzling smile enticing her.
She gulped. “Yeah. Thanks.”
And then his strong right hand was behind her neck, pulling her face to him. She gasped in shock as he mashed his lips fiercely against hers.
“Mmmou … ch …” she mumbled, pulling away.
His left hand snaked up the back of her top seeking her bra clasp.
She tried to calm him, a battle raging within her. Just once.
He unclipped her bra and pushed his hand round the front, mauling her boobs. Her mouth hurt where he was attacking it with his face.
“Come on, Mel.” He insisted, with an impatient snarl. “You’ll love it. Trust me.”
And suddenly she knew this was all wrong. She was engaged. To Charlie. He was the only guy she wanted, needed.
But John Cumber wasn’t used to girls turning him down.
Certainly not prick teasers who accepted an invitation down to the lake. He pushed her onto the ground, tripping the back of her legs over his shins so she fell onto her back. And then he jumped on top of her.
The air exploded out of her lungs with a whoosh.
Wrong place. Wrong time.
Her karma.
*** *** ***
She peered into the guards’ common room. Gator beckoned to her, holding up three fingers. She guessed that meant there were just three minutes left of the soccer match to play.
Skink, one of the black mercenaries, was stood at the human urinal shaking the drops from his penis. He smiled. None of the men were embarrassed in front of her any more. Melanie was treated as an ‘honorary male’.
After the match ended 3-1, the TV was switched off and the pillory was wheeled into the centre of the room. It was on a wooden platform with castors that made it easy to manoeuvre.
The men rearranged their chairs from the half circle in front of the TV into a full circle around the pillory. They charged their beer glasses and lit up new cigarettes while a camcorder on a tripod was set up in position.
Lorna Cumber couldn’t speak. The spider-gag meant that drooling and inarticulate gurgles were the most she could manage. But her expression spoke eloquent volumes anyway.
Her face already glistened with ejaculate and urine and her brunette hair hung down in sodden strands.
Melanie stayed out of Lorna’s field of vision. She wasn’t wearing her lizard mask. Not that she needed to worry but she decided she would save up a face to face meeting for another day. She sat down with a nice view of Lorna’s naked and defenceless bottom.
Gator smiled at the poor, helpless girl. The rear vistas of fit, young ladies are so dreadfully attractive; the camber of their spines, the violin shaped curves with no lumps or wrinkles yet, the dimples and their peeking, unspoiled rosebuds.
At 6’ 5” of solid muscle, Gator was a contrastingly terrifying sight, with his missing ear and dreadfully scarred face.
“Hi !” he said to Lorna pleasantly, pausing as if she could reply.
“Feel free to chip in at any time.” He added, reaching down to push a few strands of her hair away from her face so they could both see each other.
“I’m afraid your mom had the opportunity to save you from all this but she chose not to. She’s in her cell sleeping, after a nice hot meal. You see we gave her the choice of being here now. Or your baby sis. Or you.”
He laughed.
“And she chose … you. What were her exact words, guys ?”
He turned to the circle of men, as if asking for help.
“Er … yeah … she said that she was too old to take this treatment, and she loved Rachel too much to sentence her to it, so it had to be you !”
He stroked the edge of Lorna’s eyes, flicking away tears.
“Personally I can understand Rachel being her favourite daughter. I mean, we would all have preferred her too, as she’s a much better looker than you ! But a deal’s a deal. We said your mom could choose.”
He held open the palms of his hands as if to say, ‘what can you do ?’
“Now, I’m afraid this isn’t going to be pleasant. You’ve spent twenty three years living as a spoilt brat, so you’re not going to find it easy to learn the level of humility and obedience necessary to satisfy us.”
Melanie squirmed on her seat. Gator was so good at this routine, choosing just the right words.
“But then,” he continued, “we’ve got plenty of time. Weeks, months, maybe even years. Boy are we gonna have some fun, sweet cheeks.”
He showed her the bamboo cane he had been holding behind his back.
“Let’s start with ten introductory strokes, shall we ?”
He winked at Melanie and passed her the cane when she stood up.
Melanie looked at the watching men and then at the lovely pale buttocks stretched, and on a plate, facing her at just the right height.
But suddenly all she could see was a lake, with a little porch overlooking the water and a boy and girl standing on the bank in the fading light.
Slowly, she raised the cane and thrashed it down across Lorna’s butt.
*** *** ***
Charlie sneered down into Susan’s face as he uncorked his softening erection from her bottom.
“Open your eyes, bitch.”
She opened them again, full of pain and shame and who-knew-what-else.
“Thank me.”
“Th … thank you.”
He let her see him examining his cock.
“You want to lick this clean or you want Lorna to do it ?”
“I’ll do it.”
He walked up to the other end of the table, then pressed a button. There was a whirring sound as her back and head descended to knee height.
“You think about biting me and your kids will all pay.”
He gave her his glistening, streaked and dripping dick to suck. Man that was good. As that rhyme went; ‘Any soft mouth felt good, always did, always would’. But this was something else entirely; a beautiful face, an unwilling woman and a shit-stinking dish eaten real cold.
But he hadn’t finished with Lady Goody-Two Shoes yet.
He pulled his dick out of her lips.
“You know what rimming is ?”
She shook her head side to side. As he suspected. Lovely.
“I’m going to turn round and sit down on your face. You are going to stick out your tongue and shove it as far as you can up my arsehole.”
He beamed at her look of utter disgust.
“Look at it this way, at least you’re sparing your lovely daughters all this stuff. That is … unless you’d rather not kiss my butt until it gleams ?”
It was too easy. All the attempts at negotiation had ceased. It was going to be such fun in the days ahead pushing and pushing, until he found her resistance point. Then things would get really interesting.
She stuck out her tongue to signify she would do what he ordered.
“Say please.” He said.
A pause. “Please.”
He turned round, stood astride her head, and lowered his backside ever so slowly over her face, until he felt her nose tickling his crack hairs.
He reached round with his fingers and pulled the cheeks of his butt as far as apart as he could. That had to be one heck of a view.
When he was at junior high there’d been a toilet cubicle with a piece of graffiti that always made him chuckle; ‘One million flies can’t be wrong ! Eat Dung !’
He encircled her tongue and nose and let go with his fingers, closing as tight a seal as he could round her breathing apparatus. Yesss !
He settled his weight down and idly wondered what was going on in the rest of the house at that moment.
*** *** ***
The trading screens and digital ticker displays around the room shrieked out the latest development in the market in general, and the Cumber Corporation’s share price in particular.
It had climbed to $14 but kept meeting resistance as soon as it tried to move above. The information feeds sucked data in from numerous sources.
So far, John Cumber had already spent some $300,000,000 of his personal fortune buying back shares in the conglomerate he had founded and then floated fifteen years earlier.
“Please, Ellen, give me the figures.” He said.
Of all the people in the room, John Cumber was strangely the most composed, the coolest.
Not without reason was his nickname on Wall Street ‘Cucumber’, as in cool as a cucumber. He was a veteran of several bloody hostile takeovers and corporate battles and; when the going gets tough, the tough get going.
“John, you’ll understand these figures are only approximate.”
The speaker was Ellen O’Leary, the head of his private office. She was both a qualified lawyer and certified accountant. A formidable divorcee in her mid-fifties, she was devoted to her boss and friend.
Like any billionaire, nobody knew John Cumber’s net worth for sure on a day to day basis.
“You have around two point seven billion dollars at today’s valuations.” She continued. “That doesn’t include say a hundred million of less liquid assets; your homes, cars, the jet, jewellery, art and furniture. Obviously we could raise cash on the back of those but heaven forbid it will come to that.”
Her grey eyes peered at him intently over half-moon glasses.
Around the table, seven more people looked up, some scribbling on pads.
“Does that include the three hundred million already spent today ?” he asked.
“You would have to knock that off the two point seven.” She replied. “Except that you’ve purchased more Cumber stock with it so you could still include it. So long as the price stays where it is.”
“So, how much of my two point seven billion is held in our stock now ?”
“One point five billion.”
“Which leaves me just one point two billion in usable assets.”
He had cut to the chase. She nodded, tapping her pencil on her pad.
“Of which I need one billion for the children’s ransom.”
A geeky lawyer type coughed and spoke up.
“Er … Sir. Mister Collins has already made it clear he’ll put up the two fifty for his own son.”
John Cumber bridled at the interruption. The problem was his. The solution would be his. He would pay Gene’s ransom.
“That’s most kind of him. But I will pay the full amount if it comes to it. I’ll call him as soon as we’ve finished.” John made a note on his pad.
“So I have two hundred million of other liquidity still available ?”
“Yes.” Ellen replied, with a grimace. “But around half of that is no longer in your name. You remember the trusts we set up for Lorna, Ryan and Rachel. It will take a while to get the trustees legally to agree to using the funds in that way.”
“So for now I have a measly hundred million bucks of liquidity and a bunch of useless Cumber Corporation stock that I can’t sell or the price will collapse.”
There was a silence in the room.
People looked down at their pads.
Suddenly one of the large screens in the room flickered and popped. Unlike the price monitors, it had been broadcasting Financial Media footage of talking heads and features with the volume set low.
Moments later the volume erupted into life.
“Daddy, we’re all okay so far.”
Rachel Cumber’s distinctive nasal voice was clear but petrified.
Her out-of-focus features slowly emerged from a blur on the screen.
“I’m fine.” She said. “Like, they haven’t touched me. But you just have to do what they say, daddy, and everything will be alright.”
Everybody in the room stared in horror from the screen to John and back again.
“Oh … my …” Ellen bit her knuckles and shut her eyes tight.
“Get the Feds !” A voice shouted, as a man pushed his chair back from the table and dashed out of the room.
Again, the calmest person seemed to be John Cumber. He stared at his younger daughter’s darling blue eyes, brimming with tears.
“Please get them their money quick.” Rachel beseeched him. “Please. I love you.”
He actually smiled. A steely grin, but a smile none the less.
“And I love you too, darling.” John Cumber mouthed to his daughter.
But it wasn’t love he was feeling.
It was hate. Hatred for the person or persons who had done this.
Love and
Hate. Two words, each of four letters.
How entwined those two emotions sometimes are.
*** *** ***
The masked Chameleon stood in front of Rachel.
“Thirsty ?”
The girl’s lips were cracked and split. It had been four days since she had a proper drink. Her mind had to have become delirious with dehydration.
Several more hours had passed since she had last teased her.
Rachel’s head nodded pathetically. “Mmm … yeth…”
The Chameleon placed the bucket of brown water on the floor at their feet. They were not far from the Sahara Desert. Fresh drinking water was valuable !
Rachel was still dressed in her sweat soaked and soiled ‘sister of the bride’ designer suit. Soon it would be time to strip her but, for the moment, the female Chameleon enjoyed postponing the fun.
“I’m fine.
Like, they haven’t touched me.” Hah !
For now, a drink of her mother’s enema water would suffice as an opening move in this game of revenge.
Melanie thought back to that night, when he had made her wash herself off in the lake afterwards, and rinse the evidence from her body and mouth. She could still taste the memory of the briny, muddy water.
She raised the pitcher to Rachel’s lips.
“Come on. Drink up.”
The girl was so out of it she didn’t even seem to notice the flavour.
Melanie smiled to herself.
Oh well,
even enemas are best drunk cold.
*** *** ***
In the cheap motel room, Lenny dumped the convenience store bag on the bed and pulled out one of the cans. He fired up his laptop and cracked open the beer while he waited.
He sat at the screen and spent ten minutes doing business, humming away to the tune on his ipod; “Four Letters, Two words” by The Urge. The St. Louis rock band had been one of his favourites before they split.
Man, he was a fuckin’ IT genius. Physically his PC was in the States but cyber-wise it relocated to a different country every minute. After he had done what he needed to do, he shrugged. Talking of ‘urges’, what’s a young man meant to do in a strange town all on his own !
Lenny opened his Favourites folder and clicked on his number one site.
The screen displayed the reassuring orange and red letters on a grey background.
He clicked ‘Stories’. Red and grey on white appeared.
‘Aha’. He smiled. One of his favourite authors had posted.
Lenny stood up off the seat and undid his jeans and shucked his briefs down to his ankles. He opened the ‘Whole Story’.
Soon he was hard, reading and scrolling, the mouse in his left hand and his dick throbbing in his right.
It didn’t take him long. He grimaced and accidentally hosed the keyboard with an extra long spurt. He laughed and, in his mind’s eye, imagined Rachel Cumber’s snotty little face covered with his jizz. Fictional stories were all very well but …
That’s what
he would like to do to her real soon.
END OF PART FOUR
BY VELVETGLOVE
CONTINUED IN PART FIVE
‘Five foot two eyes of blue’
TO BE POSTED SOON
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