Well, this is a bit different than my usual offerings, although my preference for incest fiction tends to bleed through a little here (and more in Chapter 2), so be warned...or better yet, be turned on! I really want to get feedback for this - so I hope to hear from you readers, be it negative or positive as I try something a little different. Enjoy
Oh yeah, this is a work of fiction, any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidence. All characters exist only within my imagination and here on Literotica!
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"Mrs. Lawson, I believe I may have come up with a plan to save your house." My heart almost leaped out of my throat as I heard the loan manager from our bank say those words over the phone. "If you and your husband could be here at 2:00 P.M. we can go over the um, details."
"Absolutely, Mr. Richards," I replied. "Thank you, thank you!" I was almost jumping up and down with excitement. I couldn't believe the nightmare of the last several months actually had a chance of going away.
Our family was one of those hit hard by the recent economic crisis. In better times, my husband and I had bought into this whole adjustable rate loan bullshit and had bought our overpriced and now undervalued McMansion along with thousands of others. When our payments suddenly doubled, we were barely able to keep our heads above water and then when the bottom fell out of the economy and my job evaporated along with the entire machinery company I worked for and Donnie's job cut him to half time, we were dead where we stood. We ate through our savings, the kids' college funds and maxed out the credit cards and just a few days ago we had sat in Mr. Richard's office as he told us that in all likelihood we were going to lose our house.
I have to tell you, I haven't slept much lately. A million thoughts just kept coming at me -- we have three growing kids, Tara age 17, Donnie Jr. age 13 and Molly age 9. Where were we going to live? Would we have to move away? Could we start over now? It's been scary -- hell, the last year or so has been scary. Donnie's forty-three years old and I'm forty. We thought we had life all figured out and now to have the rug pulled out from under us...well, when I told Donnie that Mr. Richards had a solution for us, I actually broke down and cried.
We showed up at the bank twenty minutes early and sat outside Mr. Richards' office, waiting nervously. Donnie had actually put on his Sunday going to church suit and I was wearing my best Sunday dress, a dark blue dress that came to just above my knees. I was wearing my best string of fake pearls and heels. Call us silly if you want to. We're both just one generation removed from the hills of Kentucky and when you go see the "man" you wear your best, anxious to impress the person who holds your life in your hands.
Exactly at 2:00 P.M. Mr. Richards' secretary walked out of his office and gestured to us. Over the past several months, we had come to know Lilly Fox quite well and I suspected my husband had a bit of a crush on her. She was in her mid twenties, blonde, green eyed with big firm breasts and a tight butt and except for the fact that she treated us with kindness and respect every time she saw or spoke to us, I would have hated her pretty little guts. I think she'd seen a lot of folks lately who were in desperate trouble and had tried to show her sympathy as best she could.
"Mr. Richards is waiting for you," she said, pointing to his office door. We nodded thanks and hurried towards the door. As I passed her, our faces met and I swore she was smirking at me -- a change from her usual kind demeanor. It was the smirk of someone who was in on a joke that was being played on you. A shiver ran down my spine, but I dismissed it from my mind as we stepped into the office of the person we hoped and prayed would be able to help us out.
"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Lawson. Please come in, have seats," Mr. Richards said, rising from behind the desk and pointing to two comfortable leather chairs. He glanced over us at his secretary. "Lilly, no interruptions, please," he said in a confident 'I'm the boss and I damn well know it' voice.
"Of course, Mr. Richards," I heard Lilly reply and again, I shivered as I seemed to hear something in her voice -- some sort of amused, snickering tone.
I dismissed it as nerves and focused on the loan manager. Mr. Richards was in his mid fifties, balding and a bit of a middle age spread. Still, there was something about him, about his demeanor that spoke of importance and power. For a moment, no one spoke and he stared at us solemnly and we peered back like nervous children. You could feel the tension building in the room. I felt a strange urge to cry.
Finally, Mr. Richards smiled and said, "Well, I know you're anxious to hear how we might save your home and help you get back on your feet financially," he said. He picked up some papers and continued. "Your current payments are sixteen hundred dollars a month and you are almost four months behind. The bank has looked into beginning foreclosure proceedings and unless we can figure something out, I'd say you'll be out on the street before school ends this coming spring." He smiled brightly at us as if this was good news.
"But you told Sonya that you thought you had a solution for us, yes?" asked my husband, the fear evident in his face.
Mr. Richards nodded and replied, "Absolutely, we have a solution. Actually, your wife is the solution." He paused and watched us for reaction.
Donnie and I looked at each other more than a bit confused. "Um, what do you mean, Mr. Richards?" I asked.
"Well, this is a little complicated, but hear me out. A group of bankers like myself and other civic minded folks in the community have gotten together and created a fund, a stimulus package if you will, to help out certain families save their homes if they meet the right criteria.
"The right criteria?" I echoed, feeling a little lost.
"Yes, Mrs. Lawson. I believe that you meet that criteria and can provide the right services that will qualify your family for our, ahem program." He smiled smugly at us and I slowly shook my head, not understanding.
"Services? What services? I was a quality control engineer at the machine plant."