Lieutenant Hargreaves got the memo. He was to report to his supervisor. Dropping his briefcase on his desk he walked down the line of desks to the door at the end. He stood briefly, then knocked.
From inside his supervisor hollered, "Who is it?"
"Me," Hargreaves replied.
From inside his supervisor shouted, "Come in and shut the door."
Once inside he pointed to a chair, "Sit down lieutenant. Bad news. I'm pulling you off the narcotics case. We've got something else."
Hargreaves started to object, "But we've got..."
His supervisor stopped him, "I know I know, but I've got something that needs immediate attention. Some Maryland people have uncovered an antique theft ring. Nothing big, but we're in on it. Seems someone's been stashing stolen antiques in a barn in Chambersburg. Barn belongs to a lawyer named Westerbrook, Madeline Westerbrook. Probably nothing, but go check it out anyway."
Hargreaves took the proffered folder. Under his breath he muttered shit.
His boss nodded, "Yeah I know. Waste of time, but talk to her. See if she can be of help. She's a lawyer, probably knows her rights and all, but just the same let her supervisors know she's been a little careless."
Lieutenant Hargreaves understood; a near total waste of time, but someone in Maryland was about to make a pinch.
~~~V~~~
Madeline arrived at the Inn a little before 5:00. She saw Dorothy's car so she decided to go straight in. The restaurant was nice, if nice applied to something commonplace and slightly worn. The lights were dim; partly for atmosphere, and partly to conceal the accumulation of dirt and grime that places like this acquire with years of overuse. She saw them before they saw her.
There were three of them; her lawyer compatriot Dorothy, former lover Brad Thompson, and a strange dark man she didn't know. As she approached the table Brad and the stranger both rose.
Brad spoke first, "Ah, Madeline, God to see you and right on time."
She held out her hand, "Good to see you."
He took it briefly and offered her a chair, "You know Dorothy Krause, and me well, but here's a colleague and good friend of mine," He pointed to the still standing dark figure, "this is Robert Kesselring. He works with us over at Lingtalevought."
Madeline stretched out her hand, "Good to meet you."
He took it and smiled, "Likewise."
Brad pushed her chair in as she sat, "Should we order first, or jump right into the business at hand."
Madeline adjusted her seat, "I'm famished. Perhaps an appetizer. And I see you've all ordered a drink. What are you having Dot?" She used the shortened appellation because she knew she disliked it.
"This is a Gin Gimlet. You want one?"
Madeline inwardly cringed; a Gimlet, Gin, Lime, and usually, for Dorothy anyway, some added sugary concoction, "Not for me dear," she replied. The waitress had just arrived, "How about a Glen Fiddich on the rocks."
The waitress responded, "We might not have..."
Madeline cut her off, "Forget it. Just bring the best you have."
The waitress looked about, "Anybody need a refill?" When no one responded she nodded and left.
The dark and somewhat foreboding Kesselring chuckled, "You like good whiskey."
Madeline tipped back, "When I'm not paying and can get it."
Dorothy, already tired of Madeline's foolish postings bored in, "You know why we're here?"
Madeline passed a glance from Dorothy, to Brad, and then to the dark man, "To close the deal I suppose."
Kesselring opened up, "If you've read our reports you know what the stumbling blocks are."
"I have and I do," responded Madeline, "Shall we look at some solutions?"
Pleasantries all aside the foursome started to negotiate. Dorothy and Brad listened and interposed when they could, but the core of the meeting was clearly not in their hands. Back and forth the pendulum swung; first this by Kesselring, then that by Madeline, followed by another of Kesselring's retorts, matched by something equally creative by Madeline with Dorothy unobtrusively but dutifully making notes on her panel.
Appetizers were ordered and consumed. More drinks appeared and disappeared. Dinner came, went and was followed coffees and sherbet. It was late, well past 9:00 when they finished.
Kesselring at last put up his hands and smiled, "Well Ms. Westerbrook he have it. Shall we go upstairs? I have my lap top and a small printer waiting where we can apply the finishing touches and call it a night."
She replied with a smile of her own, "Yes, and order a bottle of wine. We'll toast our success."
He queried, "Anything special?"
Her answer, "Something cheap. I suggest Pinot noir."
He grinned, "A dark red it is," he also knew the truer significance of the wine, a wine with a slight hint of musk, a manly wine, a wine some said served as an aphrodisiac with some women.
The four stood. Kesselring smoothly grinned at Thompson and Krause, "You two needn't bother," And then with a glimmer of something insidious he whispered to Madeline, "You and I can pen in the last words."
The four separated; two for the parking, two for the elevators. The ride up was quiet. Neither spoke. Neither had anything to say. He looked down on a flashingly beautiful woman, a woman at the height of her sexual prowess. Somewhat tall, dark, almost black hair, perfect complexion, slightly pink at the moment, probably from the several Scotches, partly from the warmth of the evening. Dressed immaculately; she still wore the dark blue suit and white blouse elegantly. He liked her, he liked women like this. He was going to enjoy her.
Madeline cast upward. He was tall, tall and muscular. Hair faintly blond, much like Colton's. Why did he have to intrude? But Kesselring looked different, more like some 1940's German she'd studied in school, like, yes, like that Heydrich, Reinhardt Heydrich, Hitler's "Blond Beast", architect of the Holocaust. And she was...well her mother was Jewish. A spark of fear flitted across her skyline, he was going to hurt her. She knew it.
They found the suite and went in. Across the room was the printer, his lap top, and a stack of papers, presumably the bulk of the agreement.
Halfway across the room they heard a discreet muffled knock. Kesselring's lips twisted into a half-smile, "The wine." He turned to the door, accepted the wine and handed the deliverer something. Turning back he smiled again, "And now the prize," wine in hand he re-crossed the room.
Downstairs she'd sensed his masculinity, his male heat. Her body had involuntarily replied with a heat of its own. Downstairs she'd thrilled at the prospect of having this man, of taking his seed, of subduing his manliness. She'd done it before. Twice before' to two men whose bodies had gone seriously to flab, whose sexual strength had long before elbowed its way into childish fantasy. Those men like many others, she'd subdued- she'd conquered. The man approaching her now wasn't like any of them. This man was strong, superbly ready. Yes, he would hurt her; simultaneously it thrilled and terrorized her. She thought of Colton. This man wasn't anything like him.
He said, "Turn around. The glasses are right behind you."
She turned around. Before she lifted a glass she felt the scissors, or was it a knife as it tore smoothly and meticulously up her skirt.
Skirt gone, belt on the floor, coat in a heap on the floor, he had her over the table. She felt her blouse and brassiere fall away. Tempted to run, she cringed. If she could turn around it would be different, but he held her so firmly.
He leaned forward, whispering in her ear, "I have my own, 'special' tastes." His penis penetrated her ass with a suddenness and savagery she'd not known. She lifted her head to scream, but before a single sound was released her mouth was ensnared, engulfed in cloth, his cloth, his tie, his dark grey tie. Just as swiftly he had her hands behind her back. Cords or something like that wrapped around her wrists binding her hands tightly. All things sexual vanished; only to be replaced by sheer stark maddening terror.
He smacked her behind, then slapped her face. All night long he used and abused her; some moments she felt frightened, others like cheap chattel, but mostly she just felt nauseatingly miserable. He took her every way imaginable, anally, vaginally, and to her chagrin orally.
The anal was bad, awful, not because it hurt, which it did, and horribly too, but because it had never happened to her before. He'd forced her to her knees and pushed himself inside her mouth, and she felt degraded, disgraced, but yet somehow in some ways delighted. The delight came not from him, but from her own wild imaginings, her flights of fantasy. She feared, she hated, she despised this man, but in her wilder fantasies she dreamed it was Colt, that it was Colton Stewart who was using her. Yes, it hurt, but had it been Colton she would've enjoyed it, she knew she would. Yes, she could love it with him. She'd love it because she knew he would have prepared her, warned her, made her want it, but also because she knew she enjoyed giving to him, because she...
In other ways the truer vaginal was good, not great; this Kesselring was no 'superman'. Face on, watching him grunt and groan, with his eyes closed he meant nothing, she felt nothing, nothing more than any of several men she'd allowed to use her. But yes again and again, when she closed her eyes she only saw Colton, her hick, her, her, whatever.
The oral was the worst. She had to look at him, he insisted. By then he was largely used up, a spent force, but still, oral was something that hearkened her back to college, her freshman year, the boy who'd used and manipulated her. Still, even with the man's penis lodged in her throat, with her need to watch his perverted ecstasy she could see still see Colton and she knew. Had it been Colton's penis she would've relished the sensation. She would've treasured every drop of swallowed semen.
As he finished his last imagined sexual subjugation, he leaned up and tauntingly laughed, "You know Brad is my nephew."
He stood up, looked at the clock, "My, my, 3:00 a.m. Time to go."
Madeline leaned up on two elbows; a questioning look on her face.
