"I don't understand," Carlos protested timidly, stiffly sitting on his worn-out couch, "why me?"
"Simple," Stan, Mr. Kesling's henchman, shrugged, staring intensely at Carlos from the chair whereon he sat, "you fucked Mr. Kesling's wife; consequently, if you want to keep your balls, you'll have to do exactly as he bids."
"But," Carlos breathed deeply, "what you're asking is...insane!"
"Keep your voice down, or, you say bye-bye to your tongue," Stan raised, slightly, the kitchen knife.
"Alright, alright." Carlos raised his hands in surrender, then buried his face in his palms. "How am I supposed to do it, though?"
"Not my problem," Stan smiled, wickedly, "is it now? You just have to figure out a way. Remember, tomorrow night. Rachel's been given the night off and the guards have been instructed to leave the gate unlocked, at midnight and for three hours.
"How you do it, with whom you do it, all that, these are insignificant details to Mr. Kesling; the one thing he wants, is that she does not enjoy it. Got it?"
"Fine," Carlos resigned, leaned back on the couch and stared despairingly at the ceiling. "A hundred grand, right?"
"Yup," Stan nodded.
"How's the money to be divided?"
"Again, your problem; you'll be getting the whole amount. Up to you to deal the shares. Just, make sure you're at least four; the more the merrier, but, four is the absolute minimum; understood?"
"Yes, yes," Carlos nodded. "Anything else I should know?"
"Only the obvious," Stan said coldly. "Do a good job and you'll get the reward, and no one will ever bother you, guaranteed; and you'll be able to bring your little Fiona to the country, buy her a nice suburban house, have a few kids running around...oh, yes," he chuckled dryly at Carlos' befuddled expression, "we know everything about you, man.
"If you fail, though...you won't like the repercussions; Mr. Kesling despises failures and useless people."
"How the hell did I get into this mess?" Carlos whispered to himself in despair.
"You know exactly how," Stan said with a twisted smile. "Now, I'll leave you to it; you've got some organizing to do. Oh," he added, when he reached the door, "before I forget; you've got the day off tomorrow. Mr. Kesling thinks you could use the extra time."
The door was slammed shut and Carlos could still hear the man's harsh laughter from the hallway; he drank down several glasses of cool water, yet they did nothing to his fainting heart.
He went to his next-door neighbor; Frank poured him a glass of tequila and Carlos gulped it down, desperate for any form of liberation. After he had drained a second glass, Carlos told Frank everything, in dire need to open up to someone.
"Well," Frank—a factory superintendent and functioning alcoholic—said after Carlos had finished his story, "you're in some hot shit, man. Don't worry, though, I think I can actually help you."
* * * *
Connie got out of the pool, naked and with the cool water still dripping off her hot skin, and lay down on the lounge chair, after putting her shades on, and poured another glass of cold gin.
She was all alone in the mansion and it bothered her having to prepare her own drinks, and eventually having to cook a meal; nevertheless, she also cherished the solitude, for it meant she might, finally, be able to get back to her writing.
She lit a cigarette and took a long hit of gin; instantly, she felt better, more lightheaded and free. Perhaps, this was, indeed, the day she'd sit down and work somberly. She reached down south and played with herself, slow and easy, as she recalled the previous day and how she had forcefully seduced Carlos into submission.
She rubbed her clit, slapped, gently, her pussy, and let her mind wander back to the long line of gardeners, pool-boys, and drivers that had passed through the mansion—and her. Carlos certainly had been quite the unique case, being one of the very few that had strongly resisted her advances, that had never really made a pass at her, that had appeared so indifferent towards her.
It was namely this indifference of his that had made her more determined than ever to have him; she slipped one finger inside her pussy, tenderly fucking herself and smiling widely for her success at finally having him, after four long months of drought.
Several of the former servicemen had been crude, direct, even forceful; she moaned, as she remembered the times she had been taken, sometimes roughly and even violently, in the garden, by the pool, in the patio under the trees, and even on the bed she shared with her husband. One of the drivers, she recalled vividly as she inserted a second finger in her cunt, had fucked her up in the mountains, first inside the limo, then outside in the nature, and even allowed a few passersby to watch.
She had no doubt in her mind her husband had hired Carlos due to his timid nature; she arched her back high, her toes curled, using four fingers now, while with the other hand rubbing her clit, climaxing not so much from the masturbation act, but, from the satisfaction of having ruined yet another attempt of her husband to control her sex drive.
Panting fast, she picked up the bottle and her glass and stepped inside the mansion; she gulped down the remaining gin in her glass, then refilled it. She put the bottle and the glass on her little desk overlooking the garden, then took out of her drawer a vibrating dildo and a buttplug.
Some lubricant on the large buttplug was enough to let it glide all the way up in her ass; she groaned, at first, then got comfortable, once more, with being stuffed. She turned the computer on, opened a new Word file, and downed the gin; the bottle already half-empty and warm, she took a hit straight from the bottle.
She shoved the dildo inside her, pushing it deep; she set it on vibrate and sat on her leather desk chair, fingers on the keyboard and body already shaking.
* * * *
Carlos rushed to answer the door; Frank stood there, sporting a wide smile and holding a bottle of cheap tequila.
"You owe me big time, man!" Frank laughed and stepped inside, slapping Carlos' shoulder.
"You've got it all set up?" Carlos' eyes beamed.
"Yup," Frank threw himself on the couch and slammed, loudly, the bottle on the table. He unscrewed it and had a good hit.
"So, tell me, how many?" Carlos sat on the armchair missing a side-cushion enraptured.
