Conditional Return

I watched as Lana writhed on the bed as the group of men and women required she service their lust. Her lust was producing a babble that I had had to cultivate in her. Her muffled moans could still be heard as she sucked and licked vigorously at the pussy riding her face.

“Oh fuck me.”

“Fuck my cunt.”

“Use me like a whore.”

“Fuck this slut.”

At the moment a big black buck was fucking her mightily while another man and a woman sucked on her turgid nipples, the woman’s finger also fucking her ass. A second woman straddled and rode her face as Lana’s tongue danced and darted around in her crotch.

Several others stood by waiting their turn at my slavegirl. It was approaching midnight and these activities had been going on since late afternoon. Lana was determined to fuck and suck this group until none of the men could achieve erection again and the women’s pussies became too sensitive to allow her to eat them to further orgasm.

As I stood by directing and watching the activities, my primary job as I saw it was to insure no one abused Lana and to be certain that now that lust was at a fever pitch, reason didn’t go out the window. So I also served as the “safe sex police”.

I thought about the road to this moment and all that had occurred between when Lana and I first met and now.

Lana and I had lived together for three years. We had been engaged. Then suddenly she cheated on me and then ended the relationship.

I tried in vain to get her to reconcile. I loved this woman deeply and the way I had been a jerk with her (her words not mine), became a lesson all men should embrace or face the dire consequences I had faced. ‘No matter how upsetting a woman can be in your presence, her loss is far worse if you truly love her.’

Then she met and married a younger man. He was eight-years her junior at 36.

All our mutual friends gave the marriage three years tops. Also reassuring if not very comforting, they all assured me she loved me and was just going through a rough spot in her life, so she would be back.

I thought people went through these ‘rough spots’ in their 20s and at the very least their early 30s not in their 40s as Lana was. As a computer programmer I was a logical thinker and I theorized that her ‘rough spot’ came late in life since she had married early to an ultra conservative air force career enlisted man.

Then she had divorced him and met me. I was the opposite of her ex-husband and encouraged a bit of wild behavior. She had myriad sexual fantasies and I encouraged them. I had even tried to get her to agree to allow me to set up some of the ones that were multiple partner based. I had always wanted a slut wife and Lana could fill that desire if she only would. But she wouldn’t. This probably in the final analysis was the catalyst that drove her to cheat and break off the relationship.

The next several years were hell on me. 911 and the ensuing recession (I don’t care if the government will call it recession of not, to me it was almost a depression) left me unable to get a computer-programming gig. So I went from a highly paid consultant programmer to a convenience store manager as a period of famine entered me life.

I have heard it said that if you don’t experience the sour once in a while, the sweet isn’t nearly as tasty. This certainly proved true, in my case. Both in my professional business world where I went from $75 to $100 per hour to less than $10, and just as suddenly where I had ran around for years with a big money roll and bought what I wanted when I wanted, now I stayed just one step ahead of the repo man. Then my period of suffering ended.

The famine cycle ended and the feast cycle began again when I won a small Lottery. I could finally live my dreams. The Lottery I won though millions was to be paid out in 25-annual payments so I would get a small amount each year for the balance of my life expectancy. So I immediately retired.

I bought a few acres in the country and built a country Victorian home on it and moved ‘to the woods’ to get away from the world. I threw myself into the dreams I had cultivated for years.

I rarely left the farm. I stayed busy writing my novels, raising my horses, and gardening. These were all things I loved to do. I was content though a tremendous void existed in my life. I had my sons living with me and they occupied a lot of my emotional requirements, but I needed a woman to love. Yet, it was a Catch22.

I loved Lana, that was a given. Every time I had tried to start a new relationship, when that got to the intimate part I had experienced erectile difficulties. Sort of a built-in chastity belt I guess. Years had passed since our break up and not a day went by without my thinking of her and missing her. But I was legally restrained from contacting her.

She hadn’t got a restraining order or anything, but when I had persisted in trying to see her after she was married, she had called the police and a letter from them indicated if I bothered her again, charges of harassment and stalking would be levied against me. That was as good as any restraining order in my mind.

Though I knew the charge of harassment could be successfully pursued and that I would be found guilty, that was only a low-grade misdemeanor in my state, and carried no prison or jail time, but I would still have a criminal record. I was in my early 50s and had never been arrested, a record I intended to take to my grave.

The stalking charge I felt couldn’t be prosecuted, because the law said there had to have been threats of physical violence. I had never nor would I ever threaten Lana or hurt her. This was good because it was a high-level misdemeanor that under certain circumstances could be elevated to a felony. Both carried prison time with them. Though I didn’t feel they could successfully pursue the charge, I couldn’t risk it. The law was ambiguous in my mind, because it said something like ‘activity that a reasonable person might consider threatening’. Though I had never threatened Lana, I wasn’t certain it wouldn’t be the DA that would serve as the ‘reasonable person’ test. So I left her alone.

When my house had been finished, I moved my household goods from storage and set up housekeeping. While unpacking, I ran across many things that belonged to Lana. I had returned those things I could easily locate a few years earlier and I had promised I would return her other things when I went through my storage. I kept my promise.

I reboxed all that belonged to her and shipped it UPS to her ex-husbands address, using that address as an anchor address I was aware of. I knew where Lana and her boy husband lived, but they had moved since I had gotten the letter from the police and I was afraid if I knew her new address, it would be immediately known I had ‘stalked’ her again. So I wisely sent it to her ex’s address.

I included a small note with the stuff, and asked her to email me and confirm she had gotten the stuff. I didn’t express any love feelings in the note, just closing it with ‘miss you’.

I got an email that was succinct and to the point. I merely stated she had gotten the stuff, and thanks for keeping my promise and that from what she could see I no longer held any thing of hers. I acknowledged the email thanking her for letting me know and that was it.

I went through a period of fleeting depression as a result, but my first crop of colts was hitting the ground, so I threw myself back into my farm, and soon got over it.

I was working on a new project now of raising marijuana in a green house where I could monitor and control the temperature and humidity and was now able to produce some pretty potent pot with various types of highs. One strain would get you mellow, another would make your extremely horny though you wouldn’t even realize you were actually stoned. Another would tank your butt it kicked so hard.

I wanted to try something else, so I set up my green house with a beehive half-in and half-out, to protect the bees from the extreme heat the green house could generate in the heat of a Texas summer and yet the bees could only feed on the pollen flowers of the pot plants or the sugar water I left around for them to supplement from. The pollination produced a bumper crop of pot and the honey the bees produced was laced with THC, the active ingredient in pot, so my experiment proved true. Now I could quit smoking and still get a buzz from my morning toast spread with honey. Further, if our federal government ever got away from its prohibitions to marijuana for medicinal purposes, I could sell my honey to AIDS patients to help stimulate their appetite and to provide a sugar rich source of calories.

I went on doing my day-to-day things and I was as happy as a man could be I guess, at least without a woman in his life. Then one day I got an email from Lana. It asked for my phone number and merely said she needed to call me.

I had expected this for years and so I replied with my phone number and the fact I was retired so available most of the time without delay or hesitation. It didn’t take long for her to call. The phone rang the next morning, early.

She knew I was a big coffee drinker and basically useless before I had consumed a pot, so perhaps she was attempting to get the upper hand. What she didn’t realize was that was a preferred mode of action and I had gone on more than one occasion with no coffee for days and so starting my day without coffee or getting into a discussion with her before I had gotten a pot drank wasn’t going to leave me at a disadvantage. Besides with horses and teenaged boys, I had been up for hours. I answered the phone when it rang.

“Hello” I spoke into the instrument beside my computer as I worked on my latest novel.

“Hi Carl, it’s me, Lana.” Was the reply on the other end.

“I recognized your voice.” That seemed harsh so I quickly added, “How are you.”

“Ok, I guess.” I recognized the needy tone in her voice. She was good at milking what she wanted out of me at least, but I figured her tactics weren’t just employed on me.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” I asked, trying to set the stage for her to feel comfortable with whatever she was asking.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I need your help.” She had that little girl need and a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Likely she wasn’t certain how her request would be fielded after her cheating departure and the police call about me.

“No bother sugar, what do you need?”

The damn broke and she began to sob into the phone. Though the tears were likely real, it was apparent this was an act. Lana was a good actress, but I was keen to her tactics, so I saw through her act.

“Keith and I are divorced now, and though I was getting spousal support while the divorce was pending, it was final last month and now I can’t make ends meet. On top of that I lost my job and now I am about to screw up my credit I have worked so hard to build and lose everything in the process.”

“It is good that you called me before any permanent damage was done.” I tried to be sympathetic though in the final analysis I might tell her to take a flying fuck at a rolling donut on a rainy day.

“I wasn’t certain you would even talk to me after I was so mean to you.”

“No honey, you followed your convictions and if they are correct the Universe will never punish you. The ‘what goes around comes around’ doesn’t apply in those instances.” I was sort of buttering her up, knowing to lead her by the nose down the primrose path then rejecting her appeal would have greater impact.

In all truthfulness I couldn’t say how things would turn out. I wasn’t certain how I would approach her plea for help.

“What do you need?”

“I need a job if PCA is still active.”

PCA was my company. A corporation I had founded while we were together. She had been my CAO at one point, but had screwed me in that part too, refusing to perform her job and leaving me stranded on the road without wherewithal to sustain myself, because she was mad at me. The company still existed but in a different business pursuit, now.

“I don’t know sugar, our history as employer and employee isn’t very good.”

“Please Carl, you are all I have to turn to. I know I did you wrong before, but that was because we were emotionally involved and I let my emotion get the best of me. It will be different this time, I promise. You know I’m loyal to my boss in every other respect, and that I am a hard worker.”

There was a genuine plea in her voice now, and not some act and there was validity to what she had said.

“Ok, here is what I will do. You come here for the weekend. You aren’t employed, so come up on Friday and stay through Monday. That way we can decide if the past will interfere with a business relationship as it would if you were attempting to rekindle a personal relationship.”

There was a bit of hesitation in her voice, and I wasn’t sure if it was being alone with me, and the fact I might attempt sex with her, or if it was the comment about personal relationships and her ruse of destitution was just that to try to get back into a personal relationship, or if the thought of the drive up Interstate 35 for 250 miles from San Antonio to Dallas was daunting to her. She had only driven a little in her life. I sought to address these issues with my next statement.

“I have a small farm outside of Dripping Springs, that is only 75 miles north of you. I won’t try to get personal with you, and I won’t attempt sex. We can chill, relax, and get reacquainted, it will give us some time to talk and to see if we can stand to be around one another.”

She agreed and I gave her directions to the farm. I told her if she got lost to call me and I would come meet her and she could follow me in. She agreed and said she would be up on Friday.

Friday came and as expected she called me, lost. Partly because it was a convoluted maze of roads and turns to get to my farm, and partly because she was a blond, yet she had gotten to within 5 miles.

“I am at Herrick’s Country Store.”

“I know where that is. It is only a short piece from here. I will be there in less than 10 minutes.”

I drove to where she had called from and found her in the antique emporium next door when I arrived. Antiquing was something we had enjoyed together and this part of Texas was rich with antique purveyors. I approached her while she was looking at some little trinket of antique origin.

“Hello Lana.” She looked the same as she had always looked, except she wore glasses now. She had always dressed like a frump and still did. Her baggy off brand jeans and loose fitting tee shirt did nothing to accentuate her curves, but Lana really had no curves. Her breasts were mere nipples, the 34B padded bra she wore an illusion. Her skinny 5’8” frame devoid of a waist or butt.

Startled from her reverie, she spoke.

“Hello Carl. Don’t I get a hug?”

“Sure if you want one.”

I embraced her, but instead of a full body hug like I normally gave it was one of those where your shoulders touch, but you could drive a Mack truck between your lower bodies from mid-torso down. I did give her a peck on the cheek as we ended the embrace.

I could see the downtrodden look in her eyes from the lack of warmth in my hug, and began to see in spite of her protestations to the contrary her motive likely was the reinstitution of our personal relationship. At the moment those prospects looked bleak to her and this registered primarily in her eyes.

Of course it could be too, that she felt she had to seduce me to get what she wanted and my somewhat cold off-handed approach to physical contact might preclude her seduction.

Lana had zero confidence in her sexuality and her ability to woo and seduce a man.

“Follow me, it is only 5 miles from here.”

We walked to where her car was parked. It was a clunker from the mists of time. I explained my gate to her.

“Don’t try to piggy back in on me when the front gate opens. It closes too quickly. Once I am inside, I will manually operate the gate and allow you to enter. Otherwise it will catch the back of your car, which besides damaging your car will likely damage the gate.”

I wasn’t really concerned about her junker car as much as I was about my gate.

She acknowledged my instructions and we started our short trip to the farm. When we arrived at my place, I let her in and took her bag to the guest room.

Again she seemed a bit downhearted when I pointed to my room across the hall from hers. I went through the antique armoire and all but the bottom drawer were empty. I told her to unpack into it if she wanted. I made a point of calling her attention to the contents of the bottom drawer. The gift box in the bottom drawer had just been put there the day before and would serve a purpose in a few days.

“Would you like to rest or freshen up or would you like the nickel tour?”

“I’m fine, a cup of tea and then the tour would be nice.” She smiled that demure flirty smile of hers as she replied.

“Sure I have some tea bags I think.”

I led the way to the kitchen, Lana followed as I walked down the stairs. I gave a mini tour as we went along, of only the rooms we passed through, though. We arrived in the kitchen and I went to the cupboard where I kept her old teacup. It was one of those oversized china cups and an antique. When I had unpacked my things from storage I had run across it. It wasn’t really hers as I had purchased it and she had used it for her tea while we were together, so I hadn’t included it in the things I had identified as hers while unpacking and had sent to her. It sat in the cupboard a small silver spoon on the saucer and a tea bag in the cup. I had added the spoon on a subsequent antique hunt and the tea bag was in the cup because I was an old romantic. The cup was at the ready for her return.

She noticed the setup but never said a word, so it may not have registered with her the romantic significance of the setting and it’s meaning to me. I pulled the tea bag out of the cup and left it behind in the cabinet, so it might not have registered with her at all the cup was ready to serve. I went to the freezer and got a fresh teabag from the same box the other had come from. The tea had significance to me, as well.

During one of my pining phases I had worked briefly at Starbucks. One of their employee benefits was a pound of coffee or a box of tea bags a week. The first week of my employment I had gotten a box of Earl Grey and had kept it stored in the freezer in an attempt to maintain so semblance of freshness.

I brewed her cup of tea and prepared it the way she had always taken it, three sugars and healthy lightening of cream.

She took her tea and I got a glass of ice water and we sat at the table.

“I haven’t seen much, but it looks like you have done well for yourself Carl.”

“Yes, my company turned a corner a few years back and became profitable. I have been steadily growing it since, and as CEO, I get a healthy bonus each year, so I do well, thank you.”

I purposefully didn’t tell her of my Lottery win.

“So it would appear. Can I have that tour now?”

“Sure.” I stood and directed her toward the side door off the kitchen. My home was a cookie cutter Country Victorian, but it had been significantly added on to. The two-story ‘main house’ had the living room, the formal dining room, a study, the kitchen and a half bath downstairs and three bedrooms and two baths upstairs. To that I had had built two wings down each side. They were mirror images of each other. Each wing had a great room at the front of the house, then four bedrooms, with two each conjoined to a common bath, followed by a smaller great room. The east wing was my son’s bedrooms, all four having their own room and sharing a bath with one brother. The great room in this wing was divided in half and one side contained arcade size video games, a pool table and old fashioned pinball machines. The other half was a state-of-the-art home theater system. A wall separated the two halves of the room, so the game players wouldn’t disturb the theater users.