Rating
CHAPTER EIGHT
KARMA CHAMELEON
“Every day is like survival”
From Karma Chameleon (1983), Culture Club
“History is written by the victors”
Winston Churchill (1874-1965)
Day 16
John Cumber sat slumped in a chair. He was barely surviving, a mere husk of the handsome, 6’ 3” corporate titan he had been only two weeks earlier. The sheer horror of what had happened, the kidnap of his family, the images of his wife posted on the internet, the loss of most of his fortune, his anger, exhaustion, humiliation and impotence had sucked the life out of him, like all the juice from a blood orange.
“So, Ellen.” He sighed. “It’s over ?”
It was as much statement as question.
The trading screens and tickers lining the room confirmed that on March 15th 2007 John was going to lose his battle to keep the Cumber share price above $15. On top of the constant untraceable sell orders and rumours out of Asia, had crashed a tsunami of hedge fund shorts and investment bank re-ratings, overwhelming even his own and his allies’ substantial resources.
When the end came, it was decisive. The price had plunged to under $11 and it was still in freefall.
Ellen O’Leary wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and adjusted her half-moon glasses.
“It’s over, John. The banks won’t lend you any more. A couple of them feel terrible but they just can’t override their shareholders interests.”
The main Cumber Estate plus the homes in the Hamptons and Aspen had been mortgaged to the hilt. The jet, cars, art and antiques, even Susan’s remaining jewellery had already been put up as security.
“So how much do I have left ?”
“Just your Cumber stock and the bank won’t accept that as security.”
“What’s its market value ?”
“A little under a billion dollars as of an hour ago.”
“So I’m still a fucking billionaire.” He bellowed, hurling a black Montblanc fountain pen at the wall. “A useless paper billionaire who can’t save his family !”
There was a silence.
“Maybe they will contact you again soon. You held the price up as long as you could.” Ellen said.
It had been a week since he had paid the ransom and four days since the failed attempted to catch the villain on the flight to Barbados.
Not a word in all that time. But they had said they would kill a member of his family for each day the share price ended below 15 dollars.
In a little over ten minutes, the share price would close at under 11.
*** *** ***
2002
Charlie hadn’t been to a baseball park in more than a quarter of a century. The game on its own meant nothing to him. But he could see the excitement in his son’s intense eyes and that made the whole thing worth a billion dollars.
And he did understand something about game changing moments and comebacks. The moment when the momentum swings from the early leader to the eventual victor coming from behind.
Tonight that moment belonged to Troy Glaus.
It was Saturday, October 26, bottom of the seventh, Game 6 of the 2002 World Series. Charlie was already meant to be on his way to Moscow. But he had stayed in LA one extra night and paid a billionaire’s ransom to a scalper for two tickets so he could take Lenny to see his beloved Angels play this crucial game.
Around them, some 50,000 men and women, fathers and sons, had rammed themselves into the Big A. There was something uniquely American that night about the exciting atmosphere; the festivities and fluttering banners, the cookouts and parties, the taste of cold beer, the scent of hot dogs, and the hoopla of the Jumbotron.
The Giants had been leading 5-0 and were just eight outs away from taking the World Series when the Anaheim first baseman hit a three-run homer and shortly after that their center-fielder hit a leadoff line drive home-run in the eighth.
The atmosphere took him back to July Four, 1976. Charlie glanced at his son. Lenny was 25 now. At the same age, Charlie was already a veteran killer, a man more comfortable with an Mp5 in his hand than a hotdog. Was the mission he and Mel were planning the right place for their nice boy ?
Lenny smiled back animatedly as their Rally Monkey mascot sent the Anaheim fans into a renewed frenzy and Troy Glaus walked slowly to the plate, swinging his arms. Second and third bases had been taken by Figgins and Anderson.
The Giants brought on their specialist closer Robert Nen to pitch to Troy. At 8.3 million bucks a year, Nen was the highest paid closer in Major League history. Would he earn his corn tonight ?
Charlie took a slug of beer and briefly wondered where John and Susan were. What about Ryan and the girls ? Were they all watching this game together in their massive den? Had they too sensed the change of momentum ?
Rachel was coming up to her 17th birthday. Her age was saving her family. He and Mel had decided that no way would the kidnap take place before Rachel was at least the age that Mel had been when John raped her. They would wait for the right moment. As long as it took. A family celebration of some sort.
Meanwhile, Lenny was nervous, biting his knuckle.
“It’ll be fine.” Charlie told his son. “Trust me.”
Around the stadium, there seemed to be a deathly hush. A full five seconds pause. 50,000 faces frozen. The Giants in their white pants and tops with blue sleeves. The Angels with red sleeves and caps.
Robb Nen was lining up Glaus, tapping his toe to the ground, coiling his right arm, selecting from his arsenal: would it be the splitter, a fastball or his signature slider, “the Terminator”?
And then the blur of the ball, the smack and the roar. Glaus slugged a double to the left-center field to drive in the tying and winning runs. In the ninth, the Angels struck out the Giants and so won the game by 6-5.
The halo was lit. The following night the Angels won Game 7 by 4-1 to win the World Series for the first time in their history. But by then Charlie was aboard Aeroflot 322, bound for Moscow, where Chechen rebels had taken control of the Dubrovka theatre and were holding the audience hostage. Through a discreet middleman in Zurich, the Russian Spetsnaz had requested Charlie’s unofficial help.
Apparently, there was nobody who knew more about hostage situations than the man known in underground circles simply as CV.
*** *** ***
17.05hrs
Melissa smiled down at Rachel as she undid the tapes.
The girl was quickly learning control. This time she had managed to only pee into the burlap diaper. The scratchy jute fabric was surrounded by a waterproof outer-layer but the inside had low absorbency. A puddle of stale yellow urine lay pooled underneath Rachel’s scarlet buttocks.
There were dark skid marks on the light brown cloth where her unwiped bottom had rubbed against the fabric but Rachel had so far succeeded in retaining the most recent pint of baby food inside her colon.
Melissa stood between the stirrups holding Rachel’s knees apart and removed the drenched diaper, folding it and dropping it into the trash.
She stared at the inflamed rash. Rachel’s skin glowed bright red from inside her labia all the way up to her bald mound and down to her anus. There was a strip of mottled pimples down between her two orifices where the irritation was most severe. Several small dark scabs decorated the edges of her vulva.
Melissa pulled over a portable water stand with a gallon tank and uncoiled the drinking tube. She put the teat into Rachel’s mouth and turned the spigot, until a steady stream of black-purple fluid began to flow.
Next, Melissa picked up the tub of itching powder.
Rachel whimpered, tears filling her eyes. But she was learning total obedience. She simply looked at the powder and carried on swallowing the cocktail of black coffee and prune juice.
Melissa raised Rachel’s hips and applied a generous coating of the itching powder as if it were soothing talc. She pulled open Rachel’s dirty anal cleft and ensured plenty landed inside, then repeated the process to Rachel’s sore labia, lining her inflamed pink petals with fine particles.
As she was applying it, her fingernail lifted one of the scabs, causing a trickle of blood to ooze out.
“Mmmmmm.” Rachel glugged, eyes screwing up in pain.
“Sorry, dear.” Melissa said, picking up a bottle spray. She held the bottle over the weeping cut and pressed the top, spraying a fine mist of lemon and alcohol antiseptic onto the wound.
Rachel’s body bounced around on the rack in distress.
Once she had calmed down, Melissa picked up a fresh burlap diaper and fitted it in place under Rachel’s bottom, then folded it between her thighs, and finally closed it tight with tapes under her tummy.
She checked the gauge until Rachel had drunk two pints of the caffeine laxative and removed the teat.
Then she switched out the light and left the girl alone to absorb yet more of her lesson.
*** *** ***
Saturday
Lenny awoke to sunlight filtering through the blinds. Dust particles danced in the shafts of yellow light. The scent of citrus and coffee wafting through an open window tickled his nostrils. He reached down under the sheet and scratched his balls. He loved this place already.
He lay for a moment admiring the curve of Lorna’s spine next to him. She was without doubt the most beautiful, classy chick he’d ever been with. Her skin was soft and honey-coloured. The silhouette of her tiny waist rising up to her flared hip was perfect.
There were some faded bruises on her pert buttocks. Horizontal lines of muted yellow and mauve where she’d been caned before his arrival. The men had done a thorough job training her.
He stroked her back and she stirred, turning her head drowsily. He smiled into her widening eyes as she remembered where she was.
“Good morning, Sir.” She said, blinking at him in the half-light.
He reached out to her right tit and rubbed the nipple. Her lips parted and she arched her back slightly in response.
Around the bedroom was the debris from last night’s activity; strewn clothes and underwear, an empty vodka bottle, glasses, velvet cords, lubricant, vibrators. He had tied her up and made her cum several times with sex toys. Then they had made love twice. He had cum in her mouth and pussy.
“Hungry ?” he said. “Coffee ?”
“Mmm.”
“Pull that cord there.” He said, settling his head back in the pillow.
She reached out and tugged a bell-pull by her side of the bed.
He eased back the cotton sheet and reached under her neck with his other hand. Without a moment’s hesitation, she shifted position so she could lower her face to his abdomen. He felt hot breath and then her soft wet lips.
He shut his eyes and enjoyed the moment. He was soon hard.
“Did you enjoy last night ?”
Her head didn’t stop. She mumbled what was obviously a yes.
He wondered if there was any truth in her reply at all. Her orgasms had been genuine, that was for sure. He gripped her hair. “Mount me.”
She quickly swung her body round and faced him, throwing a leg astride his hips. Her cunt was warm and sticky from the night before. He thrust up into her and made her gasp. One side of her face was lit by a shard of sunlight. She looked down into his eyes and began riding him like a cowgirl.
“Kiss me.”
She lowered her lips to his and put her tongue in his mouth.
There was a gentle tap on the door.
He broke off from the kiss briefly. “Come in.”
The door was slowly pushed open.
Gene Collins stood in the doorway. He was carrying a tray of black coffee, frothy hot milk, and fresh juice. He entered like a room service waiter except he was dressed in only a pair of pink lycra shorts that clashed with his bright red hair.
Lenny began kissing Lorna again. She rode him rhythmically, breathing in time. Both of them ignored the waiter as he walked towards the desk.
There was a clanking sound in the background as Gene unloaded the tray, laying out the cups, jugs and glasses. Lenny reached under and fingered Lorna’s ass naughtily, making her utter a little catlike mewl.
“Shall I come back later to tidy up, Sir.” Gene asked respectfully.
Lorna’s lips froze for a second hearing her fiancé but she carried on kissing and tonguing Lenny.
“No, do it now.”
They fucked energetically while Gene picked his way round the room, collecting up clothes, glasses, sex toys.
“Cum.” Lenny murmured. He could tell Lorna was still unable to focus fully on her orgasm with her fiancé present. He reached his hand down and stuck his thumb against her clit. She hissed and it did the trick.
They climaxed together. She humped up and down vigorously several times and let out a staccato series of gasps, while he groaned and shot his overnight load into her clutching cunt.
Gene was hanging clothes in the wardrobe as unobtrusively as possible. Lenny eased Lorna off and she collapsed like a ragdoll alongside him on the bed. They were both uncovered. The sheet had fallen onto the floor.
“Phew. Bring us that juice.”
Gene stopped tidying and went to the desk. He poured out two glasses of iced grapefruit juice, carried one over and held it out to Lorna.
Her head was propped against the pillow and she had one knee raised, thighs pressed together. Lenny smiled as she accepted the glass from Gene, whose gaze lingered a moment on her face before he caught Lenny’s eye.
“I’m s ... sorry, Sir.” Gene apologised, walking back round the bed to serve Lenny his juice.
“Don’t worry.” He replied, taking the glass. “This can’t be easy for you.”
He blushed and dry-swallowed. “No, Sir.”
There was silence as Gene went back to the desk and poured out the coffees. Lenny swigged his juice and laid the glass down on his bedside table. Then he rolled over to Lorna and kissed her on the lips.
She wriggled and put down her own glass. She tasted of grapefruit. They kissed while Gene laid cups of coffee beside them. Lenny pushed Lorna’s knee, spreading her thighs apart, and fingering her soaking pussy.
“Take those ridiculous shorts off.” He said.
Gene’s mouth fell open. He stood motionless by the bed.
Lenny sighed. “Hurry up. Or I’ll change my mind.”
Lorna looked stunned. Gene put his hand to the waistband of his pink shorts.
“Look,” Lenny grinned, “do you two want to fuck or not ?”
Lorna looked unsure, embarrassed, grateful, all at once. Gene tugged down his lycra shorts. His groin was shaved but his cock was semi-hard.
“Lick her first.”
Lenny had never seen anybody eat a cream pie before. He’d read stories and seen clips online but that was all. It was fascinating to watch her fiancé hunker down on the bed between Lorna’s raised knees. The sweet and sour tang of fresh and stale sex hung in the air. Lorna sunk her head back into her pillow.
Lenny studied close up as Gene put his chin between her thighs and stuck his tongue into the pouting folds of her cunt. A generous white froth of semen clung to Lorna’s labia like flecks of vanilla milkshake round a kid’s mouth.
He watched Gene lick and lap up a dollop of his jizz.
“How does that feel ?” he asked Lorna.
She opened her eyes and looked at him.
“Please ...,” she whispered, “... don’t ...”
He smiled, gently running his hand up her flank. He peered down between Gene’s legs. The kid was hard, his cock jutting towards Lorna.
Lenny turned and picked up his coffee cup. There was no rush. He tugged at Lorna’s knee so she spread herself even wider, allowing Gene total access to her depths. Her eyes were shut again and her mouth was slightly open. Her chest rose and fell as her breathing quickened.
He slurped coffee and listened to the matching glug of Gene suctioning up another mouthful of excess fluid. Gene’s circumcised cock was dribbling a strand of clear pre-cum as thin as dental floss.
He studied them for several more minutes; Lorna’s flushed face, pressing her shoulders back into the mattress, the lack of sloshing sounds indicating that her well had at last run dry, Gene’s tired tongue flicking across her clit.
Lenny put down his cup and leaned close to her face.
She opened her eyes, trying to focus on him.
“Whatever happens in future,” Lenny said, “remember this.”
She gasped, on the verge of climax, lips parted.
“That his browsing history was full of this.”
She frowned, unable to speak, brain overloaded.
“Female domination sites, above all. He spent hours on them.”
Her eyes rolled to the top of her head and she cried out.
“Aaammmmmm ...”
He watched her hips bucking, and toes twitching, as she climaxed. He glanced down at Gene whose closed eyes were visible between Lorna’s thighs.
“Quickly.” He said to him. “Get in there.”
Gene’s eyes opened and he shifted position in an instant. He scooted up the bed and slid between the open v of Lorna’s welcoming thighs.
“Sss ...” he hissed in ecstasy as he penetrated her soaking pouch.
Lenny chuckled. He felt his own groin hardening again.
“Hurry up.”
It took less than ten humps and Gene’s buttocks twitched. Lorna clasped his back. He let out a deep sigh and his body shuddered in premature release.
Lorna opened her doe-eyes and looked up at him.
Penny for your thoughts, Lenny wondered briefly.
He tapped Gene on the shoulder.
“My turn.”
Reluctantly, Gene pushed himself up and off Lorna. His wet cock bobbed in front of him. He glanced shamefacedly at Lenny. Penny for your thoughts too kiddo, Lenny wondered.
It had been two weeks since their planned wedding day. Lenny made a mental note to lock Gene in a chastity device soon. Now that he had joined them on their honeymoon, he was going to make sure that the groom got a chance to live out every one of his submissive fantasies.
Gene climbed off the bed and stood to one side while Lorna exhaled and spread herself available for another bout. The maw of her dripping cunt hung open and red.
Lenny smirked at her and across at Gene.
“You don’t think I’m going in there again ?” he joked.
“No, darling. Flip over.”
*** *** ***
10.30 hrs
Rachel hung suspended in the fucking sling.
It was the middle of the morning and there was a post-breakfast crowd out by the swimming pool; the mercenaries, Susan, Lorna, Lenny, Melissa, Ryan and Gene. Everybody was there apart from Charlie and some guards.
As usual, Gator was acting as master of ceremonies.
The audience sat on folding chairs in the dappled sunlight under a gazebo. In the middle of the onlookers, Rachel swung from an overhead beam, supported under her arms and knees by taut rope.
Her ankles were tied back against her buttocks and her thighs were wide open, giving everybody an obscenely intimate view of her naked body. Only a flexible gymnast like her could have held her position for long.
It’s unlikely that many women have been fucked while suffering from acute diaper rash. The wooden beam creaked as she rocked to and fro. Her skin was pale except for a bright crimson strip. It ran from above her bald cunt down to her anus, spreading onto her buttocks like wildfire. It looked painful with blotches and scabs adorning her flaunted nakedness.
Her new E-cup breasts were tugged upright by fishing line. One end was tied to the overhead beam and the other knotted to her new nipple rings.
Gator swirled his hand into a goldfish bowl-shaped pot and pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it.
“Well, what do you know? It says Gator goes first. That’s me !”
He pointed at Susan.
“Take my shorts off.”
Sobbing, Susan shuffled forward and unzipped his shorts, pulling them down. Gator’s enormous black truncheon sprang into view.
“Kiss her cunt. It will make it hurt less.”
Susan looked sick. But she didn’t say anything. She knelt forwards and put her face between her younger daughter’s suspended thighs.
The crowd sucked in its breath, fascinated.
“In the hole.” One mercenary called out, like he was a golf fan watching a long putt.
Susan’s tongue flicked out, making Rachel inhale a sob. Slowly the two women settled into a rhythm, mother preparing daughter.
A trickle of menstrual blood was transferred from Rachel’s cunt to Susan’s tongue. Her period had begun overnight.
“Mama’s earning her red wings.” Another man heckled.
Gator eased Susan’s head aside so there was room for his erection.
“Now put it in her.” He said. “Nice and slow.”
Everybody was watching wide-eyed, even Ryan, Gene and Lorna.
Rachel gasped as Susan’s elegant fingers guided Gator’s veined carving knife into her raw, red roast beef.
“Oh man, that’s gooooood.” Gator exhaled.
He eased himself balls-deep into the 21 yr old pussy, then pulled out again, in and out, opening her sore entrance for business. As he fucked, the sling rocked, yanking the fishing line securing her nipples.
Gator smiled down at Susan whose eyes were only inches from the action. Around them, faces moved one way then the other, like a tennis crowd hypnotised by the rocking bodies.
Rachel emitted a screech of effort as if she was one of those grunting female tennis stars every time she smacked Gator’s ball back to him.
Soon enough, Gator accelerated to a loud, violent orgasm, his black buttocks tensing as he smashed his winning volley deep within Rachel’s baseline. Cheers and applause erupted from most of the audience.
When he pulled out, everybody had a gynaecologist’s view of the devastation. Gator’s gnarled nine inches had run Rachel’s defences ragged. Her battered red wings were displayed like pinned butterflies. Trickles of bright blood wept from lifted diaper scabs. A slug of bloody semen leeched from her cunt.
Gator pointed at the pot and smiled at Susan.
“Okay, mom, pull out the next name.”
Susan mouthed something. A desperate plea.
He shook his head in warning. His glistening, red-streaked cock bobbed in front of her.
“You just added one extra dick to your girl’s sentence. Any more talkback and I’ll keep adding more.”
Susan put her hand in the bowl and pulled out a piece of paper.
“Read it.”
“Leatherback.” She whispered.
After Leatherback, Viper and the massive black-bellied Cobra had taken their turns, Susan took a fifth name out of the pot.
“Gene ?” she gasped.
A ripple of amused excitement went round the audience.
Gene stared in shock at Susan, then Gator, then at his fiancé Lorna.
“Come on, lad. Step up. Take your turn on the exercise bike.”
He knew better than to disobey or even hesitate. But his cock dangled flaccidly between his thighs.
“Get your face in there until you’re hard.”
Gene blushed hard as he knelt between Rachel’s soaking thighs.
“Stroke your dick while you do it.”
Gene’s eyes glanced sideways at Lorna as he stuck his tongue into the Clamato cocktail and dropped his right hand to fondle his cock.
Soon enough he was hard, his thin penis protruding from his shaved groin.
“Put his dick in.” Gator said to Susan.
Face puckering with revulsion, Susan guided her intended son-in-law’s erection into the wrong daughter.
Gene’s head tilted back as he slid into Rachel.
“Good, huh ?”
Gene murmured and he began to thrust. Gator smacked his naked bottom hard.
“Faster.”
Gene picked up the pace, making Rachel’s body swing. The audience watched, Susan only inches away, Lorna biting her lower lip, Ryan frowning in barely concealed rage.
“You.” Gator snapped at Ryan. “Kneel under there.”
Ryan dry-swallowed then hunkered down so he was under the sling.
“Now lick sis’s cunt while he fucks her.”
Ryan closed his eyes. He turned his face upwards and stuck his tongue out, doing his best to make oral contact with the moving target.
“Please ...” Gene gasped.
Gator dragged him away from Rachel, ruining his orgasm. It was an unimpressive dribble. A single drop of fluid landed on Ryan’s neck as Gene grunted in frustration. He stood with his penis bobbing in front of him trickling onto the pool deck.
“Who next ?” Gator asked, ignoring the bowl of names. Several hands shot up.
“Stop.”
All eyes turned towards Charlie. He was dressed in combat fatigues.
He glanced at Gator and then at Mel. They both nodded imperceptibly.
“I think young Rachel has suffered enough for today.” He said.
The well trained men responded instantly to his decision.
And that was that.
*** *** **
Day 18
He snatched up the phone, somehow knowing who it would be.
“Hi, John.”
“Yes ?” he snapped.
“Oh dear. I’m disappointed in you. What happened to our agreement ?”
“I have no more money. You have cleaned me out.”
“Really ?” The voice seemed genuinely surprised. “I thought you would have lasted longer than that.”
“I know who you are.” John said. He could tell the caller’s taunting tone was older, a more transatlantic accent. He was talking to the father, not the son.
“Do you now? Clever boy John, though I’m sure it was those Feds not you personally who worked it out.”
“You bastard.” He slammed the table. “How could you ?”
“You started it, trust me.”
“Stop that fucking trust me stuff. I don’t trust you at all.”
There was a deathly hush. A full five seconds pause.
“Hello ?” John said finally.
“I’ve had enough of your rudeness John. This will be our last conversation. It was ... er ... nice catching up. Briefly.”
“Wait !” He exploded. “I’m sorry. I lost it. Pl ... please ...”
“But I can’t talk more than a minute. Blame those snoopy agents of yours. You keep shouting at me and so I never get the chance to say anything. Bye.”
“Look, please. I’m sorry. Truly, truly sorry. It’s my daughter’s birthday today. Have m ... mercy.”
“Aah. That’s better Johnny boy. Tell you what, I’ll call you back once more. In a week or two.”
“Are my family alright ? You must tell me that at least.”
“No. I don’t have to do anything at all.”
The line went dead.
John hoped it was the only thing that had died.
*** *** ***
14.30 hrs
Lorna was doing her utmost to please him.
She was sucking but flicking her tongue like a butterfly at the same time, just like he’d ordered her. She licked the rim of his helmet and controlled her gag reflex as he pushed towards her throat.
She only knew his name was Lenny, he was American, and he was 29 yrs old. He seemed to be one of the people in charge. Since he’d arrived, none of the other men had touched her without his permission.
Lenny was sat astride Gene’s face making Gene tongue his bottom at the same time. She was straddling Gene’s naked hips, the three of them forming a triangle of inequality. She was leaning forward sucking Lenny’s erection while she could feel her boyfriend’s frustration underneath her.
She heard a muffled groan from Gene’s throat. He was suffering. Lenny had now forced him to wear something he called a Kali’s Steel Teeth bracelet locked onto his penis all the time.
It was a steel shackle with inward pointing steel spikes that dug into Gene’s poor cock if ever he started to get hard.
She could tell Lenny was about to orgasm. She sucked him deeper again and gave him butterfly tongue treatment until his penis jerked. She tasted hot jet after hot jet as it splattered her palate. She heard him growl in pleasure. She didn’t swallow but did her best to collect as much as possible in her mouth. Its ammoniac sting and bitterness still made her eyes water.
She had tasted many men’s. Lenny kept her body for himself but still shared her mouth freely. Often she gave 8, 10, 12 blowjobs a day. Some men had better tasting semen, almost smooth like pineapple juice, but others were chewy, tart and pungent. She swallowed them all, regardless.
Eventually, he withdrew from her mouth and sat back. She kissed the oozing slit at the tip of his penis reverently and looked up into his eyes.
She showed him the huge mouthful she had collected. He smiled proudly. She tilted her head back and started gargling, trilling his overpowering load around her palate and taste buds for a full minute before gulping it down.
He leaned down and kissed her lips, then climbed off Gene’s face to take a shower.
After he’d gone, Lorna looked down at Gene momentarily. His face was glistening, his eyes full of embarrassment. Both of them knew.
Today was her 24th birthday.
*** *** ***
Day 28
It was 03.08 by the digital clock when the phone rang ten days later.
John Cumber picked it up in the dark. There was a tiny echo.
“Oh dear, John, I can hear those tracking people from here. Goodbye.”
*** *** ***
08.45hrs
At one end of the courtyard, there was a communal bathroom. There were clothes lockers for visitors using the swimming pool or the steam room, as well as showers and toilets.
From now on, it would now be Susan’s duty to keep the facilities spotless.
The bathroom was tiled, rectangular and open plan. On entering, to the left there was a wall of white basins and clothes lockers. To the right there were shower heads, towel hooks and a door leading to the hammam steam room.
Against the far wall was a bank of four toilet stalls. They had typical grey partitions with doors providing their users some privacy. Inside the cubicles, the pans themselves were standard white, western style flush toilets. On the same wall, there were also two separate stand-up urinals.
But between the cubicles and urinals, in the centre of the far wall, there was an oriental style, hole-in-the-ground toilet. It was on a raised dais and in full view of everybody, affording its squatting user no privacy at all.
“From now on, you will share this bathroom with the men.” Melissa said, smiling at Susan’s expression. “And you’re the janitor.”
She pointed at the raised dais.
“And now that your family is going to be sticking around for a while, you and your kids will all need somewhere to do your ablutions. I guess it’s not quite your bathroom at home, is it ?”
“N ... no.”
The room’s perfume was a cloying mixture of incense with high notes of bleach. Melissa pushed one of the cubicle doors. The door swung open to reveal a discarded pornographic magazine on the floor and an empty cardboard toilet roll.
She pushed open a second door and revealed an un-flushed pan. There were disgusting brown skid marks on the back of the porcelain with soggy paper and cigarette butts floating in the bowl.
“I’m afraid some of my boys aren’t completely housetrained.”
She pointed to an open clothes locker. There was a red plastic bucket, a bottle of disinfectant, a rag and an old toothbrush inside.
“I will inspect this place twice a day. It had better kept be spick and span or there will be hell to pay. Understood ?”
Susan swallowed. “Yes.”
Melissa studied her, looking into her green eyes. Susan was dressed in a maid’s outfit of tight top, short skirt, apron, fishnets and heels.
“You will never use your toilet without permission.” She raised an eyebrow. “Do you need to go now ?”
Susan blushed, seemingly unsure.
“Well, it’s either now, or not for 24 hours.”
“N ... now.”
“Take those off then.”
Susan lifted her feet to remove her heels and then peeled off her stockings, apron and skirt. She wasn’t wearing underwear. After a day and night without washing, her crevices exuded stale body odour.
She stepped up onto the dais wearing just the tight black blouse that barely reached her waist. The surface of the dais was a shiny mirror, made of large tiles of mirrored glass. As she stood on it, she saw her bare legs, naked bottom, chin were all reflected. Melissa could see everything too. It was clearly designed to destroy any remaining slivers of her dignity.
Susan carefully placed her bare feet either side of the rectangular gulley. It was only about six inches wide and required accuracy. She straddled it awkwardly, extending her arms behind her, fingers on the tiles.
“You may use your hands to balance for now. But in future you will learn to lace your fingers behind your head while you go. Melissa said.
Susan nodded, adjusting her position and balance. She raised her heels so she was crouching precariously on the front soles of her feet, fingers tented behind her. The strain of such a stress position for a mid-forties western woman made her grimace.
At that moment, there were footsteps and a mercenary walked into the bathroom holding a newspaper under his arm. He stopped abruptly when he saw the two women.
“It’s okay.” Melissa smiled. “Carry on.”
The heavily tattooed man in shorts smirked and made for the furthest cubicle. Melissa kept her eyes on Susan as he closed the door and locked the catch. They heard a rustle as he lowered his shorts and opened the newspaper.
“Start.”
Susan’s cheeks turned a bright ruby colour. Even now it seemed as if she hoped Melissa would change her mind and be merciful. Instead Melissa folded her arms impatiently.
“Open your knees wider.”
Susan mouthed a silent plea but obeyed. Her pink vagina and plucked mound were completely on display. She frowned and grunted.
Melissa stared between Susan’s legs via the reflective tiles. She heard more footsteps behind her and another mercenary entered the bathroom.
“Shit.”
“Exactly.” Melissa said, recognising Gator’s distinctive voice and heavy footsteps.
He chuckled and stood beside her, adding to Susan’s audience.
Unable to control herself, Susan broke wind noisily, making everybody laugh, even the man inside the cubicle, who farted in unison.
“You’d better make sure everything goes in that hole.”
Susan waddled forwards slightly and hunkered as low as she could. She groaned and something shiny and brown started dangling between her thighs. Her nose twitched at the embarrassing smell of her own waste.
Gator pulled out his phone and began filming.
Susan’s face was wet with her sweat and tears. She screwed her eyes shut as the hanging log finally broke off and plopped into the opening.
“Bullseye.” Melissa jeered. “Eyes open. Look at us.”
Susan’s brimming eyes opened, blinking at Melissa and Gator. She kept her ashamed eyes on them throughout. It took her another two minutes of straining to finish. The man from the cubicle completed his own business early, flushed and emerged to wash his hands. They all watched her produce two more, smaller turds that plopped neatly into the hole.
There was no soft tissue paper for users of the public toilet.
Melissa gestured at a metal spike with torn squares of newspaper stabbed onto it.
Susan reached for one piece of old newspaper, bent forward and wiped her bottom.
“Show us.”
Reddening again, Susan held out the piece of smeared newspaper for inspection.
Melissa and the two men stared at it in silence. It was from the Wall Street Journal. Susan glanced down at the dirty blotch. She gasped.
She had just wiped her bottom on a square from the front page of the Journal from the very day in 1992 when the Cumber Corporation had been floated on Wall Street. A younger John Cumber’s face smiled back at her in black and white. It was now decorated with brown streaks.
“Kiss him.” Melissa said.
She froze, slowly shaking her head.
Melissa shrugged. “If you don’t want to kiss your husband, then I take it you don’t want to be returned to him. Put it down the toilet.” Melissa said.
Susan hesitantly chucked the makeshift toilet paper into the hole.
“You may use one more piece.”
They watched her take another square from the metal spike. It was another piece of the paper jigsaw from the flotation of Cumber Corp. Susan dragged it hard between her buttocks to clean herself as best she could.
“Bend over.” Melissa said.
Susan climbed off the dais and hesitantly turned round so she was facing the wall. She parted her feet and bent down.
“Pull your ass cheeks open.”
They left her there a while, fingers clutching her bottom.
Gator ran his big black hands over Susan’s back, then pushed her head even lower, so she was staring back up at them through her own legs.
“Her shit stinks just like anybody else’s don’t it ?” he said.
“Uh-huh.” Melissa agreed, grinning down at Susan’s red face. “A few weeks ago, she thought she was better than all of us.”
Gator padded to the urinal and emptied his bladder noisily. Melissa walked to the showers and turned on one of the heads, waiting to check that it was running cold.
“Okay.” She slapped Susan’s bum. “Take that top off, get in the shower and wash all that crap off you.”
*** *** ***
Day 31
At breakfast, three days after the last call, the phone rang again. Walt Furness had reluctantly agreed to pull most of the surveillance and monitoring in the meantime.
“Morning John.”
“Good morning.” He replied, as politely as he could muster.
“That’s better. Call me Sir, will you. I prefer that.”
“ ... Okay ... Sir.”
“Better all the time. Maybe we’re going get along fine after all.”
“Please, tell me about my family ... Sir.”
The Cumber share price was limping along at the 9 dollars level and had now closed below 15 dollars every day for three weeks.
“They’re fine, John. Susan’s here now actually, sucking me off.”
He ignored the taunt, although he couldn’t prevent the obscene image of his wife and Charlie Victor raping his mind.
“They’re all alive ?”
“Of course they are, Johnny-boy. That was only a little joke about the share price. Gotcha, hah ?”
“I’ve paid you the money.” John replied, evenly. “I’ve apologised. I’ve begged for mercy. Please free them ... Sir.”
“John, what were your words now ? Oh yes, you threatened to fuck me up. You raped my woman. You screwed up our lives for twenty years, mate. Do you really think a few weeks is all it takes for us to get even ?”
John Cumber started to sob, his voice came out in a high squeak.
“Please !”
“Excellent John. Real tears ! Now we’re getting somewhere at last.”
He couldn’t speak, his throat and chest bawling.
“Okay John. You just cry and listen. I saw in the Wall Street Journal that you’ve still got a fistful of Cumber stock. What I want you to do is give it all away to charity. The lot. Do something good with your life, John. Then maybe I’ll do something good to you in return. Nice talking.”
*** *** ***
17.42 hrs
Charlie smiled as Mel put her chin on his chest and looked up into his eyes. Her fingers softly cradled his balls.
“Anything left in here for me ?” she asked coquettishly.
“But of course, my love.” He replied. “In just a sec.”
He turned up the volume of the TV. It was tuned to CNN.
A female reporter was standing on the main steps of the Cumber Corporation Headquarters. Mel twisted her head so she could enjoy the news too. It was 1st April 2007. The thirty third Day since the kidnap.
The report was brief and to the point. Obviously in the days to come, numerous commentators and analysts would rush to praise, criticise, explain, interpret and generally spout unnecessary verbiage.
“So it has been confirmed that John Cumber,” the identikit blonde reporter said, wrapping her piece, “has amazed the world by giving what remains of his entire fortune to five Foundations and Charities.
He has retired as of today, from corporate and public life and announced that he plans to spend the rest of his years in poverty, working unpaid in a not-for-profit organisation. This is Janine Patterson for CNN.”
Later that same evening, Mel, Charlie and Lenny sat outdoors at a candlelit round table under the stars. Four places had been laid.
The symmetry of John Cumber giving away his fortune on the very day that Lenny turned thirty had not been planned. But it was a perfect coincidence.
They drank chilled Krug Clos du Mesnil 1988, ridiculously expensive and ridiculously good.
“Best enjoyed cold, son.” Charlie said, holding his champagne out towards Lenny.
“How is our Stockholm plan going ?” Melissa asked, after they had all chinked glasses.
Lenny shrugged slightly. “Good, I think.”
Otherwise known as capture or traumatic bonding, data suggests that as many as one third of all kidnap victims can end up developing irrational positive feelings for their abductors. The first recorded use of the term Stockholm Syndrome was in 1973 after Swedish hostages became emotionally attached to their kidnappers.
Right on cue, Lorna arrived, looking beautiful. She was dressed in a flowing white cotton dress, bare legs, heels. Her beautiful face was accentuated with eyeliner, some rouge and glossy lipstick.
Both gentlemen eased back their chairs and stood as she came to the table. Lorna sat down and Lenny pushed her chair in for her while Charlie poured her a bubbling glass.
In the background, a waiter and waitress hovered, waiting to serve the water, olives and bread rolls. This evening everything had to be done just right.
“Good evening, my dear.” Mel said to Lorna. “Have you had a nice day ?”
Lorna swallowed and glanced nervously at Lenny.
“Yes ... er ... thankyou.”
He reached out and took her hand, sliding his foot against her leg.
Charlie clicked his thumb and middle finger loudly.
Gene appeared from the shadows. He was dressed in classic waiter’s black; a pair of tight pants, white shirt, bow tie and black jacket. He was carrying bottles of sparkling and still water.
Susan followed behind, in a housemaid’s black dress with white apron and stiletto heels, holding a generous dish of green and black olives and a basket of hot rolls.
There was an awkward silence while everybody was served. Gene’s hand shook as he poured the water.
“Have you given my son a birthday present ?” Mel asked Lorna.
“Er, yes.”
“Several, haven’t you ?” Lenny smiled, turning his forearm.
The Patek Philippe Calatrava watch that Gene had been wearing when he was kidnapped now adorned Lenny’s wrist. “And she managed to deep-throat me for the first time.”
“Still or sparkling, Miss ?” Gene asked quietly.
Lorna looked up at him angrily.
“Lenny. The waiter looked down my cleavage !”
“Did he ? What a fucking pervert !”
Gene shook his head in disbelief, staring at Lorna. “I ...”
Lenny slammed his knife down on the table.
“After dinner, I’ll thrash you across this table.”
Mel nodded approvingly. “Yes, give him thirty strokes to mark your 30th birthday.”
“Actually,” Lorna asked, as prearranged, “could I do it ?”
After the delicious main course of lamb and couscous had been served, it was time for the celebratory entertainment. Gator, Night Snake, Cobra and Komodo pulled up chairs and joined the party.
Susan and her younger daughter performed a traditional belly dance to local music, slowly stripping off until they were dancing naked. Rachel’s diaper rash had been cured by cream and antibiotics and her creamy skin now looked perfect in the candlelight, except her breasts were tender and she was slightly bloated.
They pleasured each other with a large godemiche, a traditional Arab dildo, drawing cries of pleasure from each other.
Meanwhile, Gene kept the glasses topped up.
Ryan walked on stage and joined his mother and sister. He was naked and a full erection jutted out of his hairless groin. He lay down on the stone tiles and beckoned to the two women.
Rachel perched astride his waist and sunk down onto her brother’s penis while their mother straddled his face. Both women began riding him.
Even Lorna was watching the erotic scene closely, holding Lenny’s hand.
Everybody knew Rachel was ovulating. Her urine had been tested and she would now be at the most fertile part of her cycle for several days. So she’d mostly be giving blowjobs and taking it up the ass unless the guys could be bothered with condoms.
“His training is coming along.” Komodo whispered, watching Ryan. “But it will still be hard for him not to cum.”
“However, both women have to cum before they stop.” Mel confirmed.
Rachel looked sideways at her audience. She slid up and down Ryan’s unprotected dick, her mouth half-open, occasionally leaning forwards to kiss her mother.
Susan’s thighs were wide open, so that everybody could see Ryan’s tongue flicking her clitoris. Her breasts created shadows in the flickering light.
“Did you know there are four good reasons for not being an egg ?” Lenny asked, in that way that told everybody he was going to crack a joke.
“No.” Somebody said, everybody glanced at him, but their eyes stayed following the action.
“You only get laid once.
You only get hard once.
You only get to come in a box with five others.”
Everybody was smiling. Lenny nodded meaningfully at Ryan.
“And only your mother gets to sit on your face.”
Their chuckles were cut short by the sound of Susan Cumber hissing. Ryan’s tongue was swabbing her clitoris in a steady rhythm and he’d evidently just sunk the eight ball. His mom’s eyelids fluttered and her lips emitted little staccato gasps.
She looked sideways at her audience, as if still hoping not to climax, but her orgasm overpowered her humiliation. Rachel leaned in and kissed her, whispering.
“It’s okay mom.”
Susan Cumber cried out, collapsing against her daughter, as she came.
As if released from her own remorse, Rachel began bouncing even more energetically up and down her brother’s pole. His distressed gurgling sounds suggested he wasn’t too far away either. Like her mother, Rachel glanced sideways, catching Lorna’s eye, and her tits bounced manically on her chest. Her cobalt eyes shimmered in the candlelight.
Susan kissed her daughter to encourage her.
Rachel had to peak before Ryan filled her with his sperm.
The result was going to be mighty close, baby.
*** *** ***
Tonight
Lonely closes his book and takes off his reading glasses.
He is a slow reader. He likes thrillers: Patterson, Sandford, Gerritsen, those kinds of authors, especially serial killer stories with random victims and a bit of graphic violence.
There is a 2012 swimsuit calendar propped up against three dog-eared paperbacks on his bedside shelf. There’s also a wrapper of tissues, a plastic clock and a lamp. He switches off his light and pulls the blankets up to his chin.
It never occurs to him that there is often nastier violence in a typical murder thriller than in many non-consensual bdsm fantasies.
Instead, as he shuts his eyes, he idly wonders why writers are so fixated with things happening in threes.
It is 3 a.m.
*** *** ***
Day 40
It was exactly 04.00 on the morning of April 8th when John Cumber’s bedside phone trilled. He picked up the handset and fumbled it to his ear.
Music was playing down the line. A song. Vaguely familiar.
‘Ah, the last time we saw you, you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder.’
John recognised the male singer; Leonard Cohen.
“Yes ?” he muttered into the phone. “Hello ?”
There was no response other than the continued playing of the song.
‘And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody’s wife.”
He recognised the song now. One of Cohen’s dirges from the early seventies; 71 or 72 maybe. It was called something like The Blue Raincoat and it had been playing the evening he raped Melissa Jones.
John Cumber wiped his moist eyes with the back of his hand in the dark.
“John ?” the brusque voice suddenly interrupted, as the music cut.
“You there ?”
He snapped out of the reverie. “Yes ... I’m here ... Sir.”
“You listening to the words, John ? You remember ?”
“I remember.”
“You treated my woman to a flake of your life, John.”
“Ch ... Chuck ... look, I’m terribly sorry. I was young ... we were all young.”
“And when Mel came back she was nobody’s wife.”
“I know. Please ... please say I’m desperately sorry to her too.”
“Tell her yourself.”
There was a pause. The rustle of a phone being passed.
“Hello, rapist.”
He didn’t even recognise her voice but he knew it was her.
“Melissa, I’m sorry. Please. But spare Susan and my children. They had nothing to do with it.”
There was another, longer pause.
“You’re right, John.” He heard her reply coldly. “But it was you who first introduced offspring into it. Sure, it wasn’t your kids fault. But it is their karma. And now their every day is like survival.”
John screwed his eyes shut and held his breath. He had to keep control.
“Please let them live.” He pleaded. “I’ve done everything you asked. Every last penny. I’m a broken man, Mel. You’ve won.”
“To the Victors the spoils, huh ?”
He stayed silent. Not wanting to agree or disagree with her.
“You want a choice, John ?”
“ ... Alright.” He responded, cautiously.
“Well here it is.” She said. “You can either have all four kids back now but never see Susan again. That’s Option One.”
He waited in agony. Today was his wife’s birthday. They had timed their call cruelly.
“Or you can have five of them back, but in a whole year’s time. That’s Option Two.”
He felt his heart beating like a hammer and struggled for breath.
Was this how it ended ? With him dying of a heart attack.
“That’s the deal. No fucking about this time. No Trust Us lies. We’ll keep our word.” Her voice snapped matter-of-factly.
He grasped his chest, listening to her, trying to concentrate.
“So, it’s up to you, John. You’ve got ten seconds to make up your mind. Four of them now ... or five in a year’s time ?”
John Cumber clutched his pumping heart in pain. He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t choose. Ten seconds, nine, eight ...
How could he choose ?
“This line goes dead forever in five seconds.” Her tone was cold. Ice cold.
He knew she meant it.
How could he decide ? Five, four, three ...
Author’s Note
I originally wrote this story to end here, leaving the reader to finish it however he / she liked. I was finding it as hard to write as some readers found it to read. I didn’t want to know whether John died of a heart attack or what happened to his poor family. However, back in 2007, within a few days of posting chapter 8, I decided to write an epilogue, looking 5 years into the future, describing the Cumber’s fates. And now that future has arrived.