Rating
CHAPTER FOUR
FOUR LETTERS
“Revenge should have no bounds”
Hamlet (1603) by William Shakespeare
“The only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment.”
The Marquis de Sade (1740-1814)
1976
She knew it was wrong. Even through the euphoria of joints and tequila and the extraordinary fireworks, Melissa should never have snuck off like that. For years afterwards she consoled herself with the illusion that it was simply her karma. But she always secretly knew better. Fate is about choices.
Right and wrong decisions.
But she had never once been with another boy. Suddenly it hit her that she would be going up the aisle without experiencing, well, different.
I mean, it was 1976 after all. Not 1876. Nor even 1946 !
You didn’t just marry the first boy you slept with anymore.
And so it was, when Charlie passed out stoned on the bed, and John invited her outside to grab some fresh air as he put it, she stupidly hesitated.
“Come on.” He said, holding out his strong hand. “Trust me.”
As they walked out, Leonard Cohen was playing on the stereo. It was one of her and Charlie’s favourite albums, ‘Songs of Love and Hate’. She imagined the sound quietly soothing Charlie as he slumbered in his unconscious stupor.
The particular track playing that moment was ‘Famous Blue Raincoat’, a song thus condemned to haunt her for the rest of her life.
It was a warm Sunday evening, July Fourth, and they had all spent the day celebrating America’s Bicentennial.
John Cumber ! The rest of their crowd had already staggered home. She was alone with the one guy that every girl at college dreamed of. Six foot three of American Adonis, with the face of a Greek legend and the body ... she felt herself moist in the humid, mosquito-laden night air.
Just once ! John Cumber had slept with a zillion girls just once. So why not her too ?
They reached the lake, the little hexagonal porch overlooking the dark water.
“Feeling a bit better ?” he asked, his dazzling smile enticing her.
She gulped. “Yeah. Thanks.”
And then his strong right hand was behind her neck, pulling her face to his. She gasped in shock as he mashed his lips fiercely against hers.
“Mmmou ... ouch.” she mumbled, trying to pull away.
His left hand snaked up the back of her top seeking her bra clasp.
She tried to calm him, a battle raging within her.
Just once.
He unclipped her bra and pushed his hand round the front, mauling her boobs. Her mouth hurt where he was attacking it with his face.
“Come on, Mel.” He insisted, with an impatient snarl. “You’ll love it. Trust me.” His breath was hot and impatient.
“Come on. You’ll love it, trust me.” He repeated.
And suddenly she knew this was all wrong. She was engaged. To Charlie. He was the only guy she wanted, the only guy she would ever need.
But John Cumber wasn’t used to girls turning him down.
Certainly not cock-teasers who accepted an invitation down to the lake. He pushed her onto the ground, tripping the back of her legs over his shins with a judo throw, so she fell onto her back. And then he jumped on top of her.
The air exploded out of her lungs with a whoosh.
Wrong place. Wrong time.
Her karma.
*** *** ***
17.35 hrs
Charlie smiled down into Susan’s face as he carefully uncorked his softening erection from her popped bottom.
“Open your eyes, darling.”
She opened them again, full of pain and shame and who-knew-what-else.
“Thank me.”
“Th ... thank you.”
He let her see him examining his semen-streaked cock.
“That’s the thing about enemas. Nice and clean. You want to lick this or you want Lorna to do it ?”
“I ... I’ll do it.”
He walked up to the other end of the table and pressed a button. There was a whirring sound as her back descended until her face was level with his knees. Then the edges of the table slid inwards, leaving her neck and head dangling unsupported.
He lifted his leg and straddled her upturned face. Her green eyes blinked.
“You think about biting me and your kids will all pay.”
He gave her his glistening dick to suck clean. He was still hard, but he managed to angle it down between her lips.
Man that felt good. As that old soldier’s rhyme went; any soft mouth felt good, always did, always would.
But he hadn’t finished with old Lady C quite yet.
He fished his clean dick out of her soft lips.
“You know what rimming is ?”
She shook her head side to side. As he suspected. Another first.
“I’m going to turn round and sit down on your face. You are going to stick out your tongue and shove it as far as you can up my asshole.”
He beamed at her look of utter disgust and stroked her cheek.
“Look at it this way, at least you’re sparing your lovely daughters all this stuff.” He paused uncertainly. “Er ...that is ... unless you’ve changed your mind ?”
It was too easy. All her attempts at negotiation had ceased. It was going to be such fun in the days ahead pushing and pushing, until at last he found her resistance point. Then things might get really interesting.
She stuck out her tongue to signify she would do what he ordered.
“Say please.” He said.
A pause. Nausea and shame filled her eyes. “Please.”
He turned round, stood astride her head, and lowered his backside ever so slowly over her face, until he felt her nose tickling his crack hairs.
He reached with his fingers and pulled the cheeks of his butt as far as apart as he could.
When he was at junior high there’d been a toilet cubicle with a piece of graffiti on the wall that had always made him chuckle; ‘One billion flies can’t be wrong ! So eat poop !’
He encircled her tongue and nose and let go with his fingers, closing as tight a seal as he could round her breathing apparatus.
He gently settled his weight down and idly wondered what was going on in the rest of the house.
*** *** ***
19.06 hrs
The Chameleon, dressed in her favourite blue silk waistcoat, peered into the guards’ common room. Gator beckoned to her, holding up three fingers. She guessed that meant there were just three minutes left of the soccer match.
Skink, one of the black mercenaries, was stood at the human urinal shaking the last golden droplets from his penis. He winked at Melissa. None of the men were shy in front of her any more. She was treated as an ‘honorary reptile.’
After the match ended 3-1, the TV was switched off and the pillory was wheeled into the centre of the room. It was fixed onto on a wooden platform with castors that made it easy to manoeuvre.
The men rearranged their chairs from an arc in front of the TV into a full circle around the pillory. They charged their beer glasses and lit up new cigarettes while a camcorder on a tripod was set up into position.
Lorna Cumber couldn’t speak. The spider-gag meant that drooling and inarticulate gurgles were the most she could manage. But her facial expression spoke eloquent volumes.
Her face glistened with tears and ejaculate and urine and her brunette hair hung down in sodden strands. Her eyes gazed half-mad.
Melissa lurked outside Lorna’s field of vision. She wasn’t wearing her lizard mask and she would prefer to postpone her first face-to-face interview with the young lady for later. She sat down with a nice view of Lorna’s rear.
My, the young lady was a mess. Pearly-white and translucent fluid oozed from the ravaged cleft between her thighs. The insides of her legs glistened and a large puddle of wetness lay on the plinth beneath her body. But despite that, her naked and defenceless buttocks were still totally unharmed.
The rear vistas of young women can be so dreadfully attractive; the camber of their delicate spines, their smooth cello curves with no wrinkles or cellulite yet, the perfect flesh and cute dimples, and their untapped anal rosebuds. Such perfection was wasted on young boys like Gene, her fiancé, who would only come to appreciate such loveliness when the chance was gone.
Melissa smiled at Gator. In his fifties, he had reached the age when a man properly enjoys tight pussy. The mismatch is understood in Asian, African and Arab societies where younger wives are enjoyed by older men.
But in the overdeveloped West, a pretty girl thinks a 50 yr old guy is a lecher just because he ogles her ripe tits. She thinks her body is too good for him just because he’s got wrinkles and a belly and hair in the wrong place.
At 6’5” of solid muscle, Gator was as unattractive and frightening as Lorna was fit and lovely. His missing ear, scarred face and lopsided grin would have made even a ten-dime hooker think twice about accepting his cash.
“Hi !” he said to Lorna pleasantly, pausing for a moment, as if she could reply.
“Feel free to chip in at any time.” He added, reaching down to push a few sodden strands of the girl’s hair away from her face so the two of them could admire each other.
“I’m afraid your mom had the opportunity to save you from all this but she chose not to.”
He shrugged sadly.
“So she’s in her cell relaxing, after a nice hot shower and meal. You see, it’s the Rule of Three. We said your mommy could choose two of you ladies to save. Two out of three ain’t bad. But the third had to be sacrificed.”
He sighed.
“And she chose ... to save herself and Rachel. What were her exact words, guys ?”
He turned to the circle of men, as if asking for their help.
“Er ... oh yeah. She said that she was much too old to take this kind of treatment. And she loves your young beautiful, virginal sis too much to sentence her to it either.”
He stroked the edge of Lorna’s sad doe-eyes, flicking away tears.
“So, she said it was a no-brainer.”
He looked round at the guys again.
“Shucks, we can all understand Rachel being mommy’s favourite daughter. I mean, we would all have preferred Rachel too. She’s much better looking than you are ! And you sure ain’t no virgin. But hey, a deal’s a deal. We said your mom could choose.”
He held open the palms of his hands as if to say, what can you do ?
“Now, I’m afraid this isn’t going to be pleasant. You’ve spent twenty three years living as a spoilt brat, so I doubt you’re going to find it easy to learn the level of obedience and humility necessary to satisfy us.”
Melissa squirmed on her seat. Gator was so good at this routine, choosing just the right words.
“But then,” he continued, “we’ve got all the time in the world. Weeks, months, maybe even years. So, boy are we gonna have some fun together, sweet cheeks.”
He showed Lorna the bamboo cane he’d been holding behind his back.
“Let’s start with ten gentle introductory strokes, shall we ?”
He winked at Melissa and handed her the cane when she stood up. It was the light, whippy kind, with a crook handle. It delivered a ferocious sting and left searing pain, but without breaking the skin.
Melissa looked at her watching male audience and then at the lovely pale buttocks laid out, like chicken breasts on a cold buffet, ready to carve.
But suddenly all she could see was a lake, with a little porch overlooking the water and a boy and girl standing on the bank in the fading light.
Slowly, she raised the cane and thrashed it down across Lorna’s butt.
*** *** ***
Day Six
The trading screens and digital ticker displays around the room shrieked out the latest development in the market in general, and the Cumber Corporation’s stock price in particular.
It had clambered back to $14 but kept meeting resistance as soon as it tried to break above. The information feeds sucked data in from numerous sources.
In one day, John Cumber had already spent $300,000,000 of his personal fortune buying back shares in the conglomerate he had built and then floated in 1992.
“Please, Ellen, can I have an update”.” He said politely.
Of all the people in the room, John Cumber was strangely the most composed.
Not without reason was his nickname on Wall Street, Cucumber. He was a veteran of several bloody hostile takeovers and corporate battles and his motto was; when the going gets hot, the tough stay cool.
“John, you’ll appreciate these figures are only approximate.”
The speaker was Ellen O’Leary, the head of his private office, a formidable divorcee in her mid-fifties.
Ellen had four key attributes: she was both a qualified attorney and a certified accountant. She was Irish American with a wicked sense of humour. Above all, she was totally devoted to her boss and friend.
Like any billionaire, nobody knew John Cumber’s net worth for sure.
“You have around two point seven billion dollars at today’s valuations.” She continued. “That doesn’t include say a hundred million of less liquid assets; your homes, cars, the jet, jewellery, art and furniture. Obviously we could raise cash on the back of those but heaven forbid it will come to that.”
Her grey eyes peered at him intently over her half-moon glasses.
Around the table, seven more people looked up, some scribbling on pads.
“Does that include the three hundred million already spent today ?” somebody asked.
“You would have to knock that off the two point seven.” She replied. “Except that more Cumber stock has been purchased with the three hundred so you could still include it. So long as the price stays roughly where it is.”
“So, how much of my two point seven is held in our stock now ?”
“One point five billion.”
“Which leaves me just one point two in usable assets.”
He had cut to the chase. She nodded, tapping her pencil on her pad.
“Of which I need one billion for the ransom.”
A geeky lawyer type coughed and spoke up.
“Er, Sir. Mister Collins has already made it clear that he’ll put up the two fifty for his own son.”
John Cumber bridled at the interruption. The problem was his. The solution would be his. He would pay Gene’s ransom.
“That’s most kind of him. But I will pay the full amount if it comes to it. I’ll call him as soon as we’ve finished.” John scribbled a note on his pad.
“So I have two hundred mill of other liquidity still available ?”
“Yes.” Ellen replied, with a grimace. “But around half of that is no longer in your name. You remember the three trusts we set up for Lorna, Ryan and Rachel. It will take a while to get the trustees legally to agree to us using the funds in that way.”
“So you mean for now I have a measly hundred million bucks of liquidity plus a bunch of useless Cumber Corporation stock that I can’t sell or the price will collapse.”
There was an awkward silence in the room.
People looked down at their pads.
Suddenly one of the large TV screens in the room flickered and went black. Unlike the Bloomberg and Reuters monitors, it had been broadcasting Financial Media footage of talking heads with the volume set to mute.
Moments later the TV volume erupted loudly into life.
“Daddy, we’re all okay so far.”
Rachel Cumber’s distinctive nasal voice came through loud and clear. She sounded petrified.
The black screen turned into a blur and then her out-of-focus features slowly became visible.
“I’m fine.” She whimpered. “Like, they haven’t touched me. But you just have to do what they say, daddy, and everything will be alright.”
Everybody in the room stared in horror from the screen to John and back again.
“Oh ... my !” Ellen bit her knuckles and shut her eyes tight.
“Get the Feds !” Hank Roberts shouted, as a young analyst pushed back from the table and dashed out of the room. His chair clattered to the ground.
“How the fuck ? said another. “How’d they ...”
Again, the calmest person in the room seemed to be John Cumber. He stared at his younger daughter’s darling blue eyes, brimming with tears.
“Please get them their money quick.” Rachel’s voice beseeched him. “Please. I love you.”
He actually smiled at her. A steely grin, but a smile none the less.
“And I love you too, darling.” John Cumber mouthed to his daughter.
But it wasn’t love he was actually feeling.
It was hate. Hatred for the person and people who had done this.
Love and Hate. Two words.
How entwined those two emotions sometimes are.
*** *** ***
20.28 hrs
Ryan was weak with hunger and pain from over 48 hours spent hanging in steel manacles against the wall. His head hung forward and he was naked, grimy with dust and sweat. He had been given fluid to drink out of a baby’s feeding bottle. The man who served it to him was wearing a balaclava mask.
Eventually, Ryan had had no choice but to urinate onto the floor of his cell. A puddle was soaking into the ground between his legs. Hours had passed in silence and virtual darkness. He lost total track of time. It could have been day or night.
Finally the same man arrived. Or he might have been a different man. He was wearing a similar mask and anorak, gloves, jeans and boots. He looked down and purposely stepped in the damp patch on the cell floor.
“Thirsty ?”
Ryan raised his head and nodded. The man was holding the baby’s feeding bottle with a rubber teat.
“Very thirsty, aren’t you little fellow ?” His voice was high-pitched, with a sing-song accent.
“Mm.” Ryan replied through cracked lips. “Yeth.”
The man nodded and held the teat to Ryan’s lips.
Ryan sucked. It was lukewarm, brackish, salty. He swallowed and stopped.
The man pulled the bottle away. “Had enough ?”
He was confused. His mouth was wet. It had simply made him thirstier.
“More.” He whispered.
The man shook his head and left.
*** *** ***
20.29 hrs
The masked Chameleon stood over Rachel.
“Thirsty ?”
Rachel was strapped on a medieval style rack. Her arms and legs were stretched so her body was in an H position. Her full lips were cracked and split. It had been four days since she’d had a proper drink. Her mind had become delirious with dehydration.
Rachel’s head nodded pathetically. “Mmm ... yeth.”
The Chameleon placed both the pitchers on the floor at her feet. They were in a desert oasis. So fresh water was valuable !
Rachel’s face was caked in dust, sweat and tears. They had left her for now still dressed in her soiled designer suit. The jacket sleeves were taut above her head and her blouse was missing two torn buttons.
Soon it would be time to rip it all off but, for the moment, the Chameleon enjoyed stretching out the anticipation for as long as possible.
I’m fine. Like, they haven’t touched me. Hah ! Not yet, sweetypie.
She reached into the first pitcher and pulled a sponge out of the sudsy, frothy water. She wrung out the excess and lifted the sponge to Rachel’s dirty face. She swiped it across her forehead and swabbed down her cheeks.
Melissa thought back to that night. After John had raped her. He had made her wash herself off in the lake afterwards, to rinse away the evidence from her body. She could still taste the memory of the briny, muddy water.
She sluiced the sponge into the pitcher again. The water was soapy and the suds disguised the worst of the contents of Susan Cumber’s enema waste.
This time she wiped Rachel’s blue eyes, button nose, cracked lips and elegant jaw, removing the dried crud from her face. She washed her gently for a minute or so until her face and hands had been smeared clean.
Next, she discarded the cloth and took a plastic dipper out of the second pitcher. The contents were crushed ice.
She put the ladle to Rachel’s lips.
“Come on. Have a drink.”
The girl was so far gone she didn’t even seem to notice the flavour of the frozen fluid.
The Chameleon smiled to herself.
Hey, even a swig of mommy’s pee is best drunk cold.
*** *** ***
Darkness
Ryan sobbed dry tears of relief when the man returned. Hours had passed. Or days. He didn’t know.
But the man didn’t give him a drink. He had removed his balaclava and was dressed in an orange gown. He was brown skinned, with a slim face and very white teeth.
“How are you feeling my young Yankee friend ?”
Ryan felt the man’s gaze travelling down his body, to his privates. He was helpless to prevent the man’s bony fingers exploring his testicles, handling his dick.
“You are very handsome.”
Ryan wanted to spit in this faggot’s face but he had no saliva in his mouth.
The man’s amused brown eyes contemplated him. “I see that it’s true Ryan. It’s in your eyes. We have been watching you. We saw how you and your friends beat up that poor kid last year.”
Ryan was shocked. Heck, only Bubba and Dylan knew about that and they’d both been there. No one else. Not his friends. Nor mom or dad. Not the police. Nobody.
“Yes. He was in hospital for three days. You beat him up bad. I’ve even watched the clip that your friend Bubba took on his phone.”
Ryan shook his head in confusion. Who were these people ?
“You are a homophobic bully.” The man said. “But don’t worry. You and me. We will have plenty of time to turn you into a nicer person.”
*** *** ***
Monday
In the cheap motel room, Lenny dumped his convenience store bag on the bed and pulled out one of the cans. He fired up his laptop and cracked open a beer while he waited. He smiled at his screensaver.
The face staring out at him was beautiful: perfect cheekbones, big eyes, long eyelashes, lovely smile, olive skin.
He sat in front of the screen and on an impulse checked out her name. Apparently Lorna is of Scottish origin and its usage in America came over with immigrants in the late 1800s.
Cumber is of Anglo Saxon origin too. There’s a place called Cumberford in England and some Brit named John Cumberford settled in New England in 1743. Hey, maybe all the American Cumbers spewed out of that one guy’s jizz ?
He spent ten minutes doing other business, humming away to the tune in his headphones: ‘Four Letters, Two words’ by The Urge. The St. Louis rock band used to be one of his favourites before they split.
“It was a blessing in his eyes
She was undressing his disguise.”
Physically his PC was located in the States but cyber-wise the IP relocated to a different country every 59 seconds. After he had done what he needed, he shrugged.
Talking of ‘urges’, what’s a young man meant to do in a lonely bedroom all on his own !
Lenny opened his Favourites folder and clicked on the first site.
He selected Newest Stories.
Aha. He smiled. One of the stories he was following had been updated.
Lenny stood up off the seat and undid his jeans and shucked his briefs down to his ankles.
Soon he was hard, reading and scrolling, the keypad under his left hand and his dick throbbing in his right.
It didn’t take him long. He grimaced and accidentally hosed the keyboard and screen with an extra long spurt. He laughed, mopping the screen with a tissue. He had the hots for Lorna. But at that moment, in his mind’s eye, he visualised bathing Rachel’s cobalt blue eyes with his jizz.
Fictional stories were all very well but ...
That’s what he was actually going to do to the younger Cumber sister real soon.