Once again, Jack sat in his car in a motel parking lot, this time waiting for his 'instrument of revenge' to arrive. It was a safe motel—at least for Jack—owned and operated by his cousin. They had a good arraignment, so the relation didn't ask any questions when he was told to be on the lookout for a short redhead and to give her a room in the back.
Brittany arrived a little before noon, carrying a brown paper bag and wearing a black dress as requested. Jack smiled to himself, happy to learn she could follow orders.
After she entered the room, Jack waited fifteen minutes to make sure she wasn't followed.
Brittany opened the door when Jack knocked, then quickly stepped to the other side of the room as he entered, standing straight and stiff. Only the nervous fidgeting of her hands suggested she was anything but a mannequin.
Neither of them spoke as Jack took his time scanning the room—old habits die hard. He ended his examination of the room by examining her with a long, hard stare.
Brittany's feet began to sweat and itch under his steady gaze. She quickly dropped her eyes from him, but continued to perspire.
There was a small table with two chairs close to the room entrance. The brown paper bag she brought was lying on the table. Sitting in one of the chairs, Jack picked up the bag, feeling its weight. The heft seemed right for a large bundle of cash. He took a quick peek inside to make sure it was money, then put the bag back on the table.
Brittany ask, surprised, "Aren't you going to count it?" Her words sounded loud and forced in the former quiet of the room.
"I trust you. Where did you get the extra thousand?"
"I borrowed it from a friend."
"Robbing Peter to pay Paul isn't going to work, Brit. What are you going to do when this friend asks for their money back?"
"I...I don't have to worry about that. It was more of a gift."
"I see, a gift from daddy. Correct?"
She didn't indicate anything, one way or the other, but Jack guessed it was true.
"Don't go to that well too often, Brit. I don't want 'Captain Daddy' getting suspicious. It's best you hock some of the fine things you own for the cash. It sends up fewer red flags to the cops in your life. Remember what I said would happen if I thought you're being followed."
She only nodded her head as a response.
"Good girl. Now why don't you be friendly and come over here."
Thinking this was the signal for her to perform her 'duties,' she started slipping out of her dress.
"No," Jack said, stopping her progress, "Leave the dress on for now, but come a little closer and stand in front of me."
Jack had her turn around slowly as he examined her. She had a flat belly, which surprised Jack, given that she's a mother in her forties. Her legs were slightly stocky, a common trait for women with short stature, but they still appeared proportioned to the rest of her body. Two very distinguishing features that Jack saw as a negative were her wide hips, which were accentuated by the two great, round globes of her ass. Her whole package noticeably stuck out, well backward.
"You have a bubble butt, but it isn't too outrageous, I guess. I know some guys who are really into big-assed women. Does Santos like to tap that bubble butt of yours on occasion? Grease that pole up of his and slide it between your plump cheeks?"
She didn't answer, but Jack saw that she was shivering. He couldn't tell whether it was from nerves or rage.
Putting a hand on her ass, he gave it hard squeeze, noting with satisfaction that the flesh was tight. "Big, yet firm. Not bad," he commented, absentmindedly.
Brittany continued turning.
When she was in profile, Jack marveled again at the size and apparent firmness of her breasts. They looked heavy, and even with support, they should sag under their weight, but they jutted seductively away from her body—just like her ass. They were her best feature, next to her emerald-green eyes. It was making him hard thinking about sliding his cock between them.
When Brittany finished her slow turn, Jack made her face him and bend down low at the waist.
"Hold your chin up so I can see your breasts better."
Putting her hands on her knees for support, Brittany lifted her head as directed. Jack could tell she wasn't liking his treatment, as she kept her eyes tightly closed and scrunched her mouth into a tight purse, making it look as if she bit into something sour.
Jack made her stay in that position for a while, drinking in the look of her heavy, firm tits, as they hung down, lusciously low and enticing, straining their flimsy, narrow bra straps.
"Stay as you are, but open your eyes. I want to see them as well."
Brittany half expected to see Jack with his member out, stroking himself, but he just sat calmly, with an elbow resting on the arm of the chair and his hand propped under his chin. A smile creased his lips, but it wasn't a lecherous grin. Rather, it was a friendly smile. One someone gives when they discover a long held secret in a friend, and are amused.
Brittany noted that all the rugged hardness of a man weary with the world and jaded from the hypocrisies of life were fully on display in his face. Yet, there was human warmth behind his handsome, rough facade; as if the vileness of life he had witnessed as a cop, though disturbing to him, never corrupted him on the inside. Like all cops, he had the eye for human weakness, but unlike most, he had the stomach to be near it without it damaging his soul.
Now that she was staring back at him, she realized her husband never exhibited that trait, and it disturbed her.
Shaken by her thoughts, she stood up, saying, "Can we just get this over with?"
"Patience, I want to get to know you a little better, first. Here, sit on a knee."
She sat as stiff and rigid as she had stood before when Jack first entered the room.
Tracing a finger down her bare arm, he noted her skin was cool, but a little tacky from dried sweat. There was a delicate scent wafting off her. It surprised him that she went to the trouble applying perfume for their first meeting. Jack assumed it was from force of habit, and nothing more.
"You have nice skin. I can tell you take care of it, and is that Dior you're wearing?"
"Yes," she answered curtly, yet surprised that he recognized the brand, let alone that he even noticed she was wearing any.
Jack moved a hand to her breast, tracing her nipple through the fabric of her dress with his fingertip. It was just a subtle massage, but one that usually caused the nipples to harden in the other women he'd known. Brittany's nipples remained unresponsive. Sliding a hand below her dress and up her thigh, he felt no warmth in her groin.
