Three hundred and fifty five dollars! Hardly a princely sum in a nation as rich as the U.S. Yet men have been killed, in fact, will be killed, for much less than that. Mothers have sold their flesh and blood for fewer dollars. Children have turned their parents in as criminals for a fraction of that much money. Soldiers and diplomats have even betrayed their nation’s secrets for less.
All these less-than-reassuring notions had filled the thoughts of Carla Jones for nearly an hour now, ever since that phone call interrupted a Gunsmoke rerun on the television. She had guessed it was Clark, calling to tell her that he would be late again, or really, later than usual, as her husband never managed to pull himself away from the work at the office before eight or nine in the evening. But it wasn’t Clark. It wasn’t Sandy, her best friend, her ex-college roommate and trusted confidant, making her nightly or so call just to gossip and compare miseries from their respective dull marriages. In fact, it wasn’t anyone she would ever have guessed. Not even someone she really knew, except from one brief introduction at the Shangri-La Inn where she and Sandy played bridge with some other Coral Gables housewives on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
His name was Stu Watson and he was not the sort of individual you wanted to cross. He had a face like some character Carla remembered from a gangster movie she’d seen on the late show once when Clark was working later than usual, and it was pretty widely rumored that Watson’s friends included some of the west coast’s biggest underworld figures and that, just maybe, he was involved somehow in the rackets himself. All in all, not the kind of guy to talk back to. So when his raspy voice came over the line so suddenly, full of veiled threats and hints of worse things to come, Carla had listened and uttered not a word of rebuttal.
Not that she had any real grounds to protest. Stu Watson was right enough, she did owe three-hundred and fifty dollars to the Shangri-La Bridge Club, her accumulated losses from six trips down to the beachside resort club that June Botts had invited her to join just over a year ago. June was Watson’s girlfriend now, though things weren’t so cozy when Carla first joined the group. Then, June was married to Tom Botts, the night manager at the Shangri-La, and running the bridge club was just a sideline. Fourteen months later, Tom was gone, and Stu was the new love interest in the brassy blonde’s active life. Some people, the more gossipy ones, conjectured that Tom might have killed himself when he found out what everybody else had known for months that his wife was having an affair with the Inn’s manager behind his back. That maybe he just walked into the Atlantic one night and ended all his pain once and for all. But that was all just talk.
Tom was gone, though. Vanished overnight just after he had his big dramatic scene with June in the lobby at the Shangri-La. And now June was a permanent fixture in Stu Watson’s tenth floor luxury suite.
But the moneywhat could she do? She had to pay it, certainly, but how could she come up with that sort of money all at once? Clark’s earnings were enough to keep them well fed and make all the payments on time, but there wasn’t any left over. Not this month, for sure, as the car insurance had to be paid for another half-year and Clark was already worrying about where they’d find enough to buy groceries. And besides all that, Clark Would go straight through the roof like a rifle shot if he found out about this. His family were all Bible Belt fundamentalists, and though he was not nearly so conservative as his brothers and sisters, he had little use for her dallying in the card lounge at the Shangri-La, especially when there was money changing hands. She had never even told him that she was behind in paying this gambling debt, as it would have been the end of their marriage if he heard how much she owed.
And that was why Watson’s call frightened her so much. She was not afraid for her life, not fearful of being beaten up like some gangster’s moll in a thirties movie. Carla knew that sort of thing had ended with prohibition. Like the man said, ” … we only kill each other.” But the underworld had other ways, blackmail and extortion being a couple of notables, and that was hitting closer to home. Stu Watson was just the sort of unsavory character who would not hesitate to go straight to her husband if need be to collect his money.
Carla picked up the phone, brushing the long black hair from her face as she dialed her best friend’s number. Only then did she notice that her hand was shaking like a drunk’s on the morning after. It seemed to ring an interminably long while before she heard a click on the other end as Sandy Liebt picked up her white Princess phone a few miles away in North Miami.
“Sandy, hi, this is Carla,” she began hurriedly. “Listen, I’ve got a problem. And a real biggie this time.”
“All right, shoot. We’ve weathered some pretty nasty ones before between the two of us, so it won’t be anything new.”
Carla bit her bottom lip absent-mindedly, trying to pick her words. Sandy was fond of their afternoons at the Shangri-La also, but she did not owe them any money. “Stu Watson called about the money,” she blurted, coming straight to the point. “He said he’s waited long enough and he can’t let me have any more time to get it together. I’ve got until tomorrow or … or he’s going to talk to Clark. And you know what that means.”
“Yeah, all hell’ll break loose. How much is it, anyway?”
“Three hundred and fifty.”
“Whooee, that’s a lot of bread! I had no idea it was that much. You got any ideas on how to get it by tomorrow?”
“No, not a one. I haven’t got a cent and there’s nobody who could lend it to me on such short notice.” There was a long pause on the North Miami end of the telephone lines. “Tell ya what, Carla, let the old pro sleep on it and I’ll come over in the morning after Clark’s gone to work. Maybe we can go see Stu Watson together, sort of gang up on him.”
“Oh really, Sandy, do you mean that?” bubbled Carla excitedly. “That would be just great! I mean, you’re always so good at handling people and I’m just hopeless. I don’t know how to thank you. See you tomorrow, and thanks again!”
Carla replaced the receiver in its cradle and flopped onto the nearest soft chair, feeling almost human again for the first time since Watson called earlier this evening. Maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad after all, she told herself. Now, all I have to do is keep from blurting any of this to Clark when he comes and I’m set … Sandy, old pal, what would I do without you?
Stu Watson had made the call to Carla Jones from his executive offices on the main floor of the plush Shangri-La Inn, just moments after he’ had averted a minor catastrophe for one of his regular guests, a widow from Maryland, by having his entire staff on the night shift turned out to find Taffy, a scruffy poodle that had somehow managed to get down onto the darkened beach and was running around madly, like a rabid animal. He escorted the elderly widow personally back to her suite, dog in bosom, and returned to his office to call the Jones woman. He had been thinking about this very call for days, pondering the exact words to use, the right tone of voice that would be menacing enough to scare the living hell out of this cute little number without frightening her so bad that she spilled everything to her husband. Or worse yet, to the cops.
No, that would be one hell of an ending for this masterpiece of a plan. It’d be a shame to go to jail without having yet enjoyed the sheer thrill of seeing this scheme in motion. That was half the game to Stu Watson. After all, with a club like this almost completely his and more money than he really could practically spend, what else was there but playing the game? And this was the game to end all. It was perfect. Foolproof.
And not only would it be rewarding, emotionally and financially, but it would be a helluva lot of fun as well. Watson shook his head and laughed to himself as he closed the door to his offices and headed for the private elevator that would take him ten flights up to his penthouse suite, where June was waiting with a dinner that the catering manager had prepared especially for the two of them. Yes sir, Stu Watson, you’ve outdone yourself this time! This idea beats ’em all … and now it’s starting to roll. All the pieces falling into place, all the unaware actors and actresses playing their parts like so many marionettes in a kiddies’ theater.
He could feel that old quiver of exhilaration he always got when he was onto something big. Like when he fell into that pit boss job in Nevada, hardly more than a wet-nosed kid, but sharp enough to spot an opening and run with the ball. Or when he managed to take over this place, then a fast-decaying dive with all its better years behind it, for hardly a song. Plus the right money from the people with the strings and look, a seaside palace that was making money hand over fist. And now this … it can’t lose, it just can’t he kept telling himself all the way up the long empty elevator shaft until he had reached the top.
Clark Jones carefully locked the door to the small, cluttered office he shared with Jack Fenton on the third floor of Data National’s computer headquarters only a few miles from his apartment in Coral Gables. The sign on the door read, Clark Jones … J. Fenton … Systems Analysis!. That was an off-hand way of saying that he and Jack were classified somewhere between brand-new programmers and better paid analysts, with some of the characteristics of both, but unfortunately, hardly more salary than the former.
Clark had gone with Data National right out of college, into a junior programming job that paid less money than he could have made as a hustling service station attendant, but at least now he was beginning to move up the ladder. It was not an easy task, as Data National promoted their operations employees solely on a merit basis, judged on their departmental supervisor’s reports and their scores on twice-yearly competence examinations. He knew it wasn’t easy on Carla, either, being left home a lot of nights when he had to stay here late to work on some priority project. And there was something else that seemed to loom largely in his worries lately … one of those things that no normal man in his late twenties wanted to think about.
Perhaps it was only the tension of fast-paced pressure work, he liked to tell himself. Maybe it would go away when next month’s exams were out of the way and he could relax a bit more once again.
At least that was what he hoped would happen. It wasn’t very pleasant to have to think of something like this at so young an age. Yet he wasn’t becoming impotent or anything so dramatic and final. It was just that somehow all this pressure and office fatigue seemed to deaden his sex drive more than a little, like some sort of an anesthetic had been injected into that crucial part of his anatomy. And he knew it was hard on Carla. After all, his wife was still in her mid-twenties and very much a woman just like she had been back in college when he’d first met her after a basketball game when she was working as a volunteer hostess for the athletic department. All dolled-up in tights and a skin-hugging sweater; yes, she was sure a good-looking girl then, and if anything, she was even more attractive now. That was the worst part of all, not being able to keep a woman like Carla … well, satisfied, the way she should be. God knows there were plenty of eligible bachelors around to take her away if she ever had the
notion to stray.
Clark punched the button for the one elevator still working and heard it start up down in the lobby. Can’t think about all that now, he told himself over and over. There’s too much work yet to be done this week and besides, what difference does one more week make? That problem will keep.
And as he entered the elevator car, his well-trained mathematician’s mind was back where it belonged, pinned to the mat in a bout with a systems problem that had been dogging him for days. By the time he reached the lobby, he had forgotten completely what it was that had worried him so as he left his office.
And if Clark Jones could have possibly known just what a problem he really did have … well, he couldn’t have known. Couldn’t have known that his whole marriage was racing downhill at this very minute like a car out of control, doomed to crash at the bottom into a million shattered fragments.
Or could he have known?
Carla had felt a lot better after talking to Sandy. She was one of those special kinds of people who always managed to make things look brighter, even if your problems were colossal. She had been that way since they had first met in college, back when Carla used to worry her head off over exam grades and Sandy always just took them in stride, good or bad, never losing her cocky self-assurance that she became noted for on the City College campus.
With this in mind, Carla had finally managed to get to sleep just minutes before her husband parked their three year old car and came up to their apartment. Clark eased into the bedroom, slipping out of his clothes quietly so as not to wake his sleeping wife there on the double bed. He eased into bed slowly, a bit at a time, looking down at her sleeping loveliness … God, she was beautiful. Maybe tonight, he thought, maybe tonight things will be different.
As she felt his weight settle beside her, Carla snuggled her buttocks up against his side, still half-asleep. With the practiced touch acquired from night after night of being coolly rebuffed, she waited for him to jerk away … to grunt some muffled plea to be left alone … something to tell her, as usual, that he preferred his own side of the bed to hers. But this was different; she was in luck….
“Darling, are you awake?” he whispered. Carla answered with an unmistakably seductive wiggle of her behind beneath the sheets. She was almost afraid to believe it. Surely he couldn’t be planning something other than going straight to sleep?
“I’m all finished with my work, honey,” he said softly into her ear. His hand slipped around her waist as he settled in behind her and he pulled her buttocks tightly up against his belly. One hand slipped along the smoothness of her back and pulled her nightie up high above her middle. He could feel the warm soft nakedness of her bare flesh against his abdomen and he. quickly pulled off his undershorts.
Carla felt a shiver of excitement and anticipation course over her as she sensed the prodding nudge of his hardening penis nestled suggestively in the soft furrow of her buttocks.. She pushed her firmly-fleshed ass-cheeks back tightly against his manhood, as if to trap it firmly between the voluptuous mounds of her buttocks.
She was hesitant to open her eyes even for an instant, lest this all be a dream and she would find herself really alone, caught up in some incredibly real fantasy wrought out of her endless agonizingly empty nights of unfulfilled passion. But it was real … and her husband seemed to be her lover once again. She could only pray it would last … that this spark of desire she had thought long extinguished would flame into the wild, raging fires of desire she had once known.
Carla answered his probing gestures with one of her own: she pulled her nightie the rest of the way off her body, shivering a little as her breasts felt the cool night air. She quickly squirmed back under the blanket, tighter now against her man’s nakedly jutting firmness. His cock was fully erect, poking stiffly upward between her legs as she clamped her thighs hard around the softly throbbing shaft. She could feel the full hard length of it rubbing against the excited folds of her sensitive pussy-flesh, the hotly swollen tip brushing electrically over the nerve-filled bud of her tiny clitoris. Without trying to, she felt the warm moist lips of her vagina spread slightly open, eager to receive his rock-hard cock up inside them, hungrily nibbling with sex-starved ravishment at the long rigid length of his masculine organ.
Clark slid farther down on the mattress, curving his body in behind hers as they both lay nestled together on their right sides, easing down over the firmly rounded flesh of her buttocks, bulging like twin white melons positioned perfectly below the smooth, unblemished curve of her beautiful back. His aching cock was now right in placethe throbbing head, distended and blood-colored with lust, was poking up between the wetly clasping flanges of her cunt and her hot, eager pussy-lips were voraciously sucking the long fleshy rod forward, beckoning the hardened shaft into the warm pink sheath of her vagina.
“Now darling?” he asked, as if there was any need for such a question. His wife could scarcely manage her reply, “Yes, y-yes,” she gasped hoarsely. He cocked his hips like the bolt of a rifle and slammed his cock with a sharp forward snap up into the soft moist tunnel of her love-starved cunt, sinking his pounding, shaft to the hilt with a deep, thrusting lunge that brought a cry of anguished emotion from her hips.
“Oooooo … so good, so good,” she chanted mindlessly. She shuddered from the tips of her toes as his rock-hard penis tunneled rapidly in and out of her hungrily clasping cuntal sheath, pulling the delicate pink flanges out with it with each backward grind of his hips. She could feel his long thick cock slip wetly from her ravenous pussy-lips, then bore deeply up into her belly again, poking and prodding her innermost vaginal flesh with pounding thrusts that seemed deeper and harder with every pistoning lunge.
Her eyes were tightly closed, and before them raced a kaleidoscopic carousel of blues and reds and purples as his maddeningly frantic strokes pumped in and out of her eagerly straining young pussy. Each long deep thrust seemed to push all the way up into her softly quivering belly and she could feel the electrifying waves of ecstasy that were welling up from her loins in ever-growing intensity, sweeping fantastically over her whole body. Her tiny brown nipples were hard as buttons and aching with overwhelming passion, and they throbbed steadily as his delicious ravishment continued. His desire-stiffened cock was now fully moistened with the beginning flow of her love-secretions and it slithered easily in and out of her possessively clasping vagina. A warm sticky stream of viscous liquid trickled wetly along the lust-hardened shaft of his penis as it slammed againand again into her sex-famished orifice from behind. The colors grew more and more intense, brighter and faster-moving than she could ever remember,
and she could feel the glowing flame in her naked belly growing hotter and hotter with his every deeply punishing stroke.
Thinking of her neighbors, the young brunette tried desperately to stifle the ecstatic moans that were fighting to escape her parched lips, but it was futile to try. Thin walls be damned! This was more than she could remain quiet about, it was more than she could stand!
“Oh, my God, yes … it’s so good, darling, so good! Don’t stop, don’t ever stop!” Carla screamed, shivering involuntarily as her husband’s wonderfully painful thrusts grew even faster, pounding frenetically again and again into, the willingly backthrust depths of her womb. “Oh, lover, yes! Yes!”
But Clark’s steadfastly suppressed climax was too near, too impossible to hold back a second longer. His eyes recorded the splendid spectacle before him, the gorgeously supple buttocks of his young voluptuous wife, her tantalizing ass-cheeks clenched tightly as she ground back onto the lewdly impaling shaft of his cock, her soft ivory thighs spread wide apart to accommodate his lustfully driving penis, her legs opening and closing rhythmically in time with the guttural animal cries that choked from her lips … and then it happened.
“Goddamn, I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” he moaned, burrowing his long aching cock to the brushy hilt in her warm wet cuntal passage, slamming his sweat-soaked pelvis tightly up against her, holding her firmly impaled on his wildly climaxing rod of flesh. His sperm bloated balls exploded in a rapid-fire burst of seething hot liquid that filled her belly and oozed back out along the narrow, hairless crevice of her buttocks and down onto the mattress beneath her. It seemed to Clark that an endless river of life-giving sperm flowed unceasingly from his crazily shuddering organ, pumping far up into his young wife’s very insides.
Carla’s whole body suddenly tensed as the awareness of what had happened registered on her tormented brain. Oh no, this couldn’t be happening this way! Not this time, not again!
“Oh, darling, please! Don’t stop yet, don’t stop!” she pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion as the tears welled in her eyes. “I’m almost there, honey … almost there!” Her voice trailed away emptily. She could feel his now-spent organ slowly softening inside her and finally, it slipped with a soft wet sucking noise from her still desperately hungry pussy, flopping uselessly onto her thigh. “Please, just a little more … p-please.”
But there was no answer forthcoming for her. Without a word, he swung his bare legs off the bed and made his way slowly to the bathroom to clean up. She saw him there when he turned on the light, wiping his softened cock with a wet cloth before he returned to bed with only an affectionate pat on her buttocks and a grunt of something resembling thanks. Carla was trembling with the torment of her unsatiated desires, her legs scissoring gently open and closed in a steady, anguished rhythm.
She tried to. pretend it was not this way at all that this misery and suffering was all in her mind. That all women felt this way after sex. That it was only normal for a woman to feel like this, to feel this aching, unanswered need. But it wouldn’t work … she knew she could not fool herself.
This is an excerpt of the 30,000+ word story Account Overdue. To read the rest of this exotic, sexy story buy it by clicking an ad, or join the xxx-fiction.com members area.