Michelle Ma Melle

I took a few minutes to compose myself. Then I joined my daughters in the hospital room occupied by their mother, my wife. I was stunned when I saw how weak and pale Michelle appeared to be. Suddenly my mirth was completely erased and I felt real concern.

"Hi there," Michelle whispered. "You must be Billy Shears."

I had to smile at her acknowledgement of my unusual costume. Not every woman would know I was wearing a Sgt. Pepper jacket!

"I'm Getting Better," smiled Michelle, "With a Little Help Of My Friends."

The girls and I exchanged grins at Michelle's references to my favorite album. Then she had us laughing heartily when she stated, "They've been 'Fixing a Hole' and it hasn't been any fun!"

"Please, Mom, lay off the Pepper jokes, okay?" Becky whined.

I marveled at Michelle's sense of humor under such painful circumstances. It occurred to me that her humor was one of the things that drew me to her those many years ago.

"We all feel terrible that you had to go through this alone, Darling," I told her. "Why couldn't it at least happen when we were home to help you."

"No, it wouldn't happen then," grimaced Michelle. "It certainly isn't your fault. None of you could know this would happen."

Now I was feeling guilty! It was my fault! I knew there was a very good chance of it happening, if in fact, Michelle was having an affair with that damn asshole boss of mine.

The girls and I visited until Michelle fell asleep. Then the nurse insisted we leave for the evening, so we trudged back to the car and drove home.

Before going to bed, I had to find clean sheets and make the bed. There was no sign of the linens that had adorned my marital bed the previous evening. I retrieved the recorder from under the bed, but I didn't dare play it with my daughters at home. I wasn't sure what it would contain, but I was certain I didn't want the girls to hear it! I decided to wait until I could listen in complete privacy.

I was at work at my desk Monday morning when George Stowe strolled into my office. Was it my imagination or was he watching me closely for a reaction?

"How was the weekend, Eric?" he finally asked. "How did everything go in Cleveland?"

"If it went any better, George, I'd shit gold bricks!" I avowed. "The entire weekend went exactly as planned. How did you and the missus enjoy the show Friday?"

"Oh! It was quite, ah, interesting. The wife told me to thank you for corsage. It was very thoughtful," admitted George. "Your wife and kids got along okay with you gone all weekend?"

He was obviously fishing again. I wasn't going to take the bait, however.

"They're all pretty independent," I allowed. "All three are modern women and don't need some dumb man to help them get through a weekend."

After George left, I remembered the recording device under my desk and gave it some thought. I decided I wasn't done with George and would try to think of a way to use it again, if George was dumb enough to fall for the same trick twice. It would seem that an intelligent man would wonder about my anal advice to my brother, considering how he had hospitalized Michelle. Still, I frequently used the same gambit several times in a game of chess, against the same opponent, and often with positive results.

I wrote a meaningless note in large letters and taped it on the left side of my desk by the phone. It would serve to remind me that I was being recorded and to be cautious at all times.

I left work at lunchtime and went home to listen to the recording from that fateful night. I had mixed emotions about hearing it, but I felt it was something I had to do.

It didn't take too long for me to realize I had concealed the microphone too well. It clicked on and off a few times as I listened, but I was unable to make anything out until I heard the bed squeak.

"You'll be inviting me back after you get a ride on my big cock," laughed George. His voice was very clear.

"You Bastard!" spit Michelle. "It'll be a cold day in Hell before I ever even speak to you again. Now do it and get it over with."

"Is that any way for a woman to talk to her lover?" chuckled George. "Here. I want you to suck on this bad boy for a few minutes. I really like that."

"Well I really like considerate, intelligent men. It looks like we're both out of luck, Dickhead," snarled Michelle.

I was starting to get an uneasy feeling that things weren't exactly as I had perceived them to be. Somehow, George had fooled me with some daring move I had not anticipated!

"I expect a little more cooperation from you if you want to get those pictures back, Bitch!" growled George. "Now suck my cock or the deal is off. I've already missed my Friday night fuck session with you because your dipshit husband told my wife about the goddamn tickets!"

After that, Michelle was quiet and George only made an occasional grunt or moan. I was getting a real bad feeling about my clever act of revenge.

Eventually the bed springs began making a regular rhythm and George's groans increased. Then the sound stopped for a few seconds. Then there was a horrible scream! It was followed by language that would make a longshoreman blush.

"Goddamn dumb fuck!" Michelle screeched. "Take that out now, you miserable, rotten fuck-faced shit!"

"Relax, whore!" George replied. "You'll be begging me for more in a couple minutes. You know you love it, so shut the fuck up."

Eventually Michelle's curses turned to sobs and then to a quiet crying. Even an insensitive shit like George should have been able to discern the pain in her sobs. He never slowed down and the bed was making that regular thumping sound again.

My hands were clenched and sweat was streaming off my brow. I listened in horror as George kept up a steady rhythm for another five minutes as Michelle cried and begged him to stop. It was the single most upsetting thing I had ever heard.

I had given up on my queen too soon! I could have, and should have, saved her. Instead, I had sacrificed her, and for what? A pawn maybe! The big laugh I had enjoyed at the hospital came back to haunt me. I had blundered badly, and Michelle had suffered greatly for it.

Why had she agreed to a tryst with George if she found him so repugnant? To what pictures had George been referring?

I returned to work bitter and confused. What was really going on? There was no way of knowing unless George or Michelle spilled the beans. One thing became abundantly clear. George was going down, regardless of the consequences. Of that, I was certain. The question was; how and when?

Michelle came home from the hospital Wednesday afternoon, but was still quite pale and in a fair amount of pain. I did everything I could possibly think of to make her comfortable. She wasn't totally without blame for her situation, but my guilt was almost tangible. I realized that I never wanted her to suffer again and it was my duty as her husband to protect her, not cause her harm. I had not done a very good job with that!

Days passed and Michelle gradually regained her strength. It was obvious to me that she was a troubled woman. Shit, I should know the signs and symptoms! I was struggling with guilt of my own. Together we were a pretty pathetic couple. Thank god the girls were around to bring some cheer and levity into the house.

Two weeks passed before an opportunity to strike a blow to George's position presented itself. I was called into a meeting of the top brass of the company to give a personal report on my Cleveland trip. It seems that I had done such a bang-up, kiss-ass job, that the business my company did with the Cleveland concern had the potential to double!

"The one thing to remember," I concluded at my presentation, "is that the CEO, and founder of the company, Mr. Thomas Bender, is a devout Christian. He will not tolerate any jokes that are even slightly off-color. He believes women should be demure and chaste. No low-neck lines, or high hemlines. It may sound old fashioned, but take it from me. It is his way or the highway. I cannot stress that enough."

I was thanked for my contribution, and then dismissed. The bosses, including the king of assholes, George, remained to discuss strategy. As I made my way back to my office, I formulated a plan for my next attempt to checkmate my nemesis. It wouldn't be simple, but I had to try.

Evenings at home still found Michelle quiet and reserved. I did everything I could to help her recuperate, but I couldn't help her heal emotionally. Looking back, I think I may have been carrying far too much baggage of my own to help anyone. I had no idea what George had over Michelle, but it appeared from what little information I had, he had somehow blackmailed her. I could have stopped it, but instead, I had allowed it. I was even responsible for George's heinous act.

Friday at work, I learned that Mr. Thomas Bender was going to visit our company, potentially to double the contract we had with his firm. Everyone was quite excited about the prospect and the general mood was very upbeat. George Stowe and another vice-president were assigned to handle the negotiations. This could be a real feather in George's cap and he showed some strain from the pressure.

"Eric, what can I say or do to impress this guy," he asked me Monday morning. "The old fart will be here Thursday and Friday and fly home Saturday. What does he like?"

There were several of us sitting around my desk discussing less important matters when George interrupted us. I looked him squarely in the eye and formed my response.

"Watch you language very carefully, George. Don't try to make any jokes, especially about women," I warned. "Praise the lord at every opportunity and stay away from sports. He thinks pro sports are the work of the devil."

George nodded and walked away. The others asked a few more questions after George had left. I maintained the need for ethical, highly professional behavior. It was all part of my plan to trap the king. I had made my position on handling Mr. Bender very clear to all levels of the company.

That night I spend a couple hours writing, and editing my next phone call to my brother, Chuck. It took quite some time to get it exactly the way I wanted it. I just hoped the results would be worth the effort. Even with an out of order number, the telephone can be a very useful tool.

Tuesday morning, I was prepared to give an Oscar-worthy performance. At least, that was my goal. I picked up the receiver and dialed that dead number again. As I spoke, I watched to see if the recorder was picking everything up. The red light came on and away I went!

"Hey, Chuck! How's it hanging, Bro? I asked. "No shit? You actually tried ass-fucking Nancy?"

I laughed about ten seconds and then spoke again.

"You dumb shit! How could you ever believe that story?" I demanded. "I was just pulling your leg. Is she still mad at you?"

I silently counted to ten and continued.

"Wow! Who would have thought she would be that upset? She'll come back, just give her time."

This time I counted to fifteen before I spoke again.

"I've got a little something going here at work. Don't ever let on that I told you this, okay?" I asked.

I allowed a brief pause and then I began.

"Our company has this big kahuna coming in from Cleveland. He owns a firm we hope to secure a big contract with and everyone here is shitting razorblades. The deal means a lot to our company," I understated.

"Now, get ready for the interesting part. The guy likes to convey the image of a holier-than-thou, sanctimonious fuck. The truth is he is a whore-mongering pervert! I found it out when I went to Cleveland a couple weeks back," I revealed. "We went out for a quiet dinner and wound up fucking the shit out of a couple whores we picked up!"

"He did things to those sluts I never even knew could be done, twice! I couldn't begin to keep up with the guy, and he is no spring chicken," I confessed. "He is coming in Thursday and I have already made arrangements to escort a couple working girls to his hotel room at midnight on Friday. He told me to be sure they have big tits and tight asses!" I laughed.

"He's promised me that he will insist that I be placed in charge of his account with my company. When that happens, I will move past my dumb-fuck boss so fast his head will spin. By this time next week, I'll have his job, and he doesn't even have a clue."

I spent the next minute or so talking about some cousins, just to make it look like a real brotherly conversation. After hanging up, I began thinking about George's next move. Would he take the bait, or smell a rat? What about the pictures? What were they about and where were they? Did he give them to Michelle in return for the sex?

It was mind boggling to think Michelle would be dumb enough to think she could buy off a blackmailer, even with a piece of her ass. It seemed unlikely to me that George would give up his control over Michelle that easily. He would keep copies to use against her, or to force sex on her again. Of that, I was certain.

I remembered seeing George's desk with a digital camera plugged into the USB port on his PC. Could he have the pictures on his company machine? That would be pretty dumb, but it would probably be worse to have them at home where his wife could see them.

Wednesday morning George knocked on my door and then entered. He seemed unusually happy, much like the cat that got the canary.

"Hey, Eric, we need your services as a road warrior this weekend," grinned the prick. "You have to drive to Allentown with an idea that our promotion department is working on. It won't be done until around five on Friday. You have to get it there as soon as you can and then bring it back after they have made their suggestions and changes. There is just way too much shit to fax, or email. You'll have a trunk-full, believe me. Plan on spending the night and returning Saturday afternoon, okay?"

This was an obvious bullshit assignment he had dreamed up to get me out of town. I was surprised at his nerve.

"Is that a question, George, or a directive?" I asked.

"I am asking first, but you will be doing it, Eric. Let's leave it as a request that you have accepted," stated George.

"Then I accept!" I responded. "It will be my pleasure."

Then I hesitated for a few seconds.

"Would it be alright if I found someone to go in my stead, George?" I asked. "I kinda had plans for the weekend."

"Goddamnit! This has been assigned to you, not some fucking unknown entity!" growled George. "You will fucking well do it if you value your career with this company!"

"You have a way with words, George," I acknowledged. "My ass is practically on the turnpike as we speak."

George glared at me but seemed satisfied that I was cowed into taking a road trip Friday night. That was the very night I had promised Thomas Bender I'd get his brains fucked out. At least I believed that George believed that. I realized it would take more than a little luck for everything to work as I had hoped.

Thursday afternoon brought a real surprise. It was as if I had unknowingly left a rook unprotected! I saw George escorting a strange man through the company offices and asked who it was.

Dave, whose office was down the hall from mine, laughed derisively at me as he responded, "I thought you and Thomas Bender were on a first name basis, Eric. Now I find out you don't even know what he looks like!"

I managed a weak grin and hurried back to my office. Was I in the Twilight Zone or something? I had spent a few hours with Thomas Bender, and he wasn't the fucking impersonator wandering through the halls of our company. Things were getting very complicated!

I searched through my wallet, looking for Bender's card. I found it and I even had his cell number penciled in. On an impulse, I dialed the number.

"Thomas Bender," responded the voice!

It took me a few seconds to decide how to begin the conversation. Finally, I just jumped in.

"Mr. Bender, this is Eric Swenson. I don't know if you remember me but....."

"Of course, I remember you, Eric!" he boomed. "What can I do for you today?"

"I'm not sure how to say this, but there is a man here at my company claiming to be Thomas Bender. He is getting the VIP treatment from our top brass," I added. "Should I call security and have him arrested or something?"

"That would be my erstwhile nephew, Thomas Bender. Please don't do anything rash. He is who he claims to be and appears to be in charge of my company at the moment," Bender sighed.

"Remember when I explained to you how I had given shares of the company to my siblings, as well as the wife's?" he asked. "I had started the company from nothing and had built it into a very prosperous organization. My only problem seems that I was far too trusting."

"I'm not following you, Sir," I confessed.

"Listen and you will, Eric. A few days after your visit we had a shareholders' meeting and that little toad had gathered enough votes to take control of the company! I am working to correct that little oversight even as we speak, but it is more difficult than I had imagined. Enough shares have changed hands through death and sales to greatly complicate my efforts. I have about 44% of the shares in my corner. There's about 10%, enough to swing things either way, that remains on the fence, so to speak. They are waiting to see if the damn little rooster can conduct business better than I!"

"Wow! I am sure sorry to hear about it, Mr. Bender," I offered. "If there is anything I can do, just let me know."

"Actually, there is, Eric. You may have noticed that I adhere to a rather strict moral code. The same can be said for most of my family and my wife's relatives," continued Mr. Bender. "If my nephew strays from the straight and narrow, he will be bounced out so fast his head will spin. Keep an eye on the lad for me."

"Mr. Bender, did your company rent your nephew's hotel room, or did he use his own money?" I asked. "If the company paid for it, the company can place surveillance equipment inside the room, can't it?"

"I see what you are getting at, Eric! I suspect that technically, it is still an invasion of privacy. Practically, however, he will be finished before he can mount a defense if he behaves too boorishly. I still carry enough weight around here to manage some covert activity. It is in the best interest of the company, after all, isn't it?" he laughed. "If that little weasel behaves as a gentleman, there will be no harm done. If he doesn't, well then, he isn't worthy to represent our concerns!"

"Thanks for the call, Eric, but I have to attend to some pressing business," chuckled Thomas Bender. With that, the line went dead.

That evening, I was sitting in the living room, wondering how everything would turn out Friday night, when Michelle walked carefully into the room. Our daughters were at band practice and we had the house to ourselves.

"Eric, I have something to tell you. It will be difficult for both of us, but please let me tell the entire story before you say anything or ask any questions," pleaded Michelle.

I saw how serious she was and realized that it was the time of reckoning. I nodded and let her start.

"A few months ago I accepted an invitation from Florence White to stop by and swim in her pool. It was a very hot day and the water felt great. We had a few glasses of wine and, combined with the heat, it had an unusually strong affect on me. After a couple more drinks, Florence and I were swimming nude and laughing like school girls."

Was this all over some nude pictures? Michelle looked pretty good in the buff and there would be little more than some embarrassment. Why be blackmailed over nude pictures? I kept my silence and allowed Michelle to continue.

"We soon tired and laid down on the lounge chairs. I fell asleep and when I awoke, Florence was eating my pussy! Before I could tell her to stop, I heard George Stowe's voice. I was mortified," sobbed Michelle.