Chapter 2

In the morning Jane and Elise were there again and had the bathing pool ready. They stood by as Bob took her in the pool. Their hands played at cleaning them both while he made waves as he powered into her married pussy.

They ate naked and then Bob finally told her to go home and sleep. He wanted her at the club again that night.

“Will you do this with me Sunday morning?” she asked.

“Do you want me to?”

She ducked her head but whispered what she knew he wanted to hear. “Yes.”

“Good girl,” he said. “I might give you a break tonight and fuck you in my office instead of making you dance all night.”

She was alone in the back of the limo. Tony was driving. This was the first quiet time she’d had to think.

She felt fine, physically. Actually, the amount of dopamine that had been produced in her body over the last 24 hours was probably equivalent to a week’s worth under normal conditions. It was five in the morning, so there was almost no traffic and the limo hummed along almost silently.

“Tony?” she called. His head turned and then went back.

“Yeah?”

“If people see me getting in and out of a limo all the time that’s going to look odd. I teach 8th and 9th graders English and science.”

Tony remained silent.

“Maybe I should just drive my own car to the club,” she said.

“Bob might think you’d run,” said Tony. “If you run he’ll hurt you. I don’t want him to hurt you. I like you.”

This was the most Tony had ever said to her since she met him. He sounded sincere and not at all “gangster.” Again she reminded herself she had known these people for less than twenty-four hours. In those hours she had learned a lot about herself. She couldn’t fathom how she could be attracted to Bob, except that the sex was fabulous and it had been a long, long time since she’d had fabulous sex.

“Thank you, Tony,” she said. “I’m glad you like me. I won’t run, Tony. I know what’s at stake, here. If he didn’t hurt me he’d hurt my husband and I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

“Your husband should be dead,” said Tony.

“What?” she was shaken by the calm finality in Tony’s voice.

“If you was my wife and some guy came and said he was going to make you do what Bob is making you do, I’d fight until I was dead. I wouldn’t cave in and let some asshole fuck my wife and make her fuck other people and all that.”

Heather felt a tingle run down her back. Tony was the first person she’d met since Bob came into her life who had any compassion at all.

“Well, I’m flattered you feel that way, but I don’t want you to get hurt, either. I can survive. Women were made for this, after all. And Bob can actually be kind of sweet sometimes.”

“Yeah, all the ladies love him,” said Tony. “I think he gives them what their husbands and boyfriends don’t.”

“That’s very astute,” said Heather.

“What’s that mean?” he asked.

“It means smart,” she said. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“How far did you go in school?”

“I got in the eighth grade but I didn’t like it,” he said. “I was doing bad things and hurting people when Bob found me. He said I had potentum, or something.”

“Potential,” said Heather.

“Yeah. That’s the word. He said I had that and then said if I worked for him my life would be better. He was right. It has been.”

“Do you have a girlfriend or wife?” she asked.

“No. I wanted to have some girlfriends but Bob don’t grab a lady unless he has plans for her.”

“So you can’t touch the goods,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said.

“One more question and then I’ll leave you alone,” she said.

He remained silent but she took that for assent.

“Why do you have to drive me around? You know I can’t run.”

“That’s not the main reason. Bob has enemies and they might hurt you to hurt him. Word travels fast in this business. Everybody in the club knows he’s kind of wacko about you and word will spread.”

“So you’re actually here to protect me?”

“Yes.”

“And if somebody tried to hurt me?”

“I’d hurt ‘em real bad, unless they killed me first.”

“You’d defend me with your life?” she squeaked.

“Yes,” he said, as if someone had asked him, “Do you ever tie your shoes?”

“Thank you,” she said. “Nobody ever said they’d die for me. I’ll try to survive without you having to die.”

“Okay,” he said.

She relaxed into the soft leather. She had said she could survive, but could she? Bob seemed to run hot and cold. He was affectionate and tender when they were making love. Then, the next moment, he was giving her mouth away for what she assumed was one of his business associates’ pleasure. She would have to sleep all day if she was going to be ready for school Monday.

Would the work week be normal? Would she have a normal life until next Friday night?

When she got home Jerry was lying on top of their bed, stark naked. There was a woman beside him, also naked. No, now that she got a closer look, Heather realized it was a girl, not a woman. She couldn’t be more than eighteen, if she was that old. They had obviously had sex. What the fuck was going on?

She’d had a bath just before she left, but she was in the same clothing she’d been abducted in. She still felt, or imagined she felt, Bob’s last load, resting in her womb. Well, not resting. Resting was the wrong word. There was furious activity going on there. She felt bad that she wished his sperm would find her egg. It wasn’t because she loved the idea of having Bob’s baby. It was because she loved the idea of their debt being cut in half. She had seen one pregnant girl dancing at the club. Her name was Melanie and she said her boyfriend had knocked her up. She was at six months and planned to dance as long as Bob would let her. The tips she got were from a small subsection of the customers of Miss Kitty’s who had a pregnancy fetish. She also worked the rest of the crowd by stripping all the way and teasing the customers by saying things like, “Don’t you wish you were the one who got me this way?” All Melanie ended up wearing on stage was a garter, so men had someplace to put their money. She wore the garter high on her thigh, so that a man could actually touch her pussy with the back of his fingers as he stuffed money under the elastic band. She could shield that area with her other leg, or the angle at which she approached. If she saw a one or five, she closed her pussy off. If she saw twenty or more, then she let them play.

Heather did not want to be that woman when she was six months pregnant. All she wanted to do was teach and have the baby. The sooner she could have the baby, the sooner he could breed her again and then she’d be debt free and never have to see a foot-long, iron hard black sapling, or have it slid in and out of her stretched pussy, making her feel better than she’d ever felt before.

She shook her head. It wasn’t a foot long. It was just much bigger than any she’d ever had. Were they all that way, like the rumors she’d heard in college? Maybe she could find a black man to fuck on the side. By then Jerry wouldn’t care. Looking at the girl on the bed, who looked young enough to be his daughter, Jerry already didn’t care.

She went to the guest bedroom, stripped off her clothes and fell into bed. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

When she woke she was starving and had to pee. She threw the covers off of her and padded to the bathroom, where she sat and groaned with relief as her bladder emptied. She saw one of her hand mirrors lying next to the sink and recognized it as one she thought she’d lost. How had it ended up in here? On impulse she reached for the mirror, spread her knees as far apart as she could get them, and then used the mirror to examine her vulva.

Her bald pussy looked odd. She touched her labia with one finger to use that sensation as grounding her. It was real. What she was seeing was real. She looked at her split, which was maybe two inches, from top to bottom. Bob was probably four inches in diameter. How in the world had what she was looking at taken something that large and still look as normal as pie?

She got up and looked at the clothes she’d left on the floor. She wasn’t putting those on again until they were cleaned. She walked, naked, to her bedroom. The girl was gone and the bed was made. Dressed in fresh clothes, she found a note on the kitchen table that said, “Out running an errand.” At that point she didn’t care. She just needed something in her stomach. She buttered a bagel and wolfed it down. She drank milk directly from the carton and then grabbed the zip lock bag with the half empty can of Spam in it, and the brick of Velveeta cheese next to it, and pulled them out. The sliced Spam and a thick slice of cheese became a snack. A banana was next and finally, she opened a can of black olives and tipped them into her mouth until the can was empty.

She sat back and patted her stomach. She realized that motion could signify different things. Right now it signified she was happily full of food. Later, months from now, it might signify she was happily filled with a growing baby.

She stood. She felt fine. How could that be? She’d been forced to have sex, and then forced to bare her body for a room full of strangers, some of whom touched her, and then taken to Bob’s house and forced to have more sex. What she couldn’t understand was why she didn’t feel violated. She was the very definition of violated, but she didn’t feel like she was going to go crazy or hurt herself. Maybe all those orgasms had created some kind of chemical in her bloodstream that anesthetized her from what should have been trauma. And she knew that she’d have to do the same thing that night. Bob would want to breed her again, probably twice again, and she’d have to strip for the rowdy crowd.

She shook her head. The idea of doing that was distasteful, but not heartbreaking. She was more angry with Jerry for causing all this. She was also more angry at him for bringing home a bimbo to fuck than she was at Bob for fucking her. Then she realized she had let (?) Bob fuck her on her marriage bed, so maybe she didn’t have any right to complain. Still, it hurt that Jerry had “adapted” to their new situation so quickly and easily.

“He’s a coward,” she said aloud. “He didn’t fight for me at all, much less give his life.” She frowned as she realized Bob had probably given him that girl to keep him malleable. If there was no Jerry, then there would be no Heather. Ironically, that meant Jerry needed to be ... happy.

She looked at the clock, which said it was six P.M. She could get two or three miles in and then look at tomorrow’s lesson plan. Then she could sleep some more. Sleep was what she needed to recover from being fucked nearly unconscious the previous night.

Jerry came in while she was doing her lesson plan.

“Must have been a complicated errand,” she said, looking up.

“Well, you were sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you so I went and did something else.”

“Like take the underage girl who was in your bed back home to mommy and daddy?”

“She’s not underage,” said Jerry. “I looked at her ID. She’s 21.”

Heather laughed. “Hold that thought,” she said.

She got up and went to her closet, where she dug into the very back and pulled out a shoe box. Opening it she ignored everything except the ID card there and took it in her hand. She didn’t have to look at it to refresh her memory. She’d stared at the card countless times.

When she got back to her home office Jerry was still there. She handed him the card, which depicted Heather Jean Seward and had a date of birth that was four years off.

“Do I look twenty-one in that picture?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

“So if I showed that card to a man old enough to be my father, do you think he’d buy it?”

“If you looked like you do now he would,” said Jerry.

“You just wanted to fuck a girl,” she snorted.

“I wanted to fuck somebody, yes. They took me away and told me Bob was going to work his magic on you. When I asked what the meant they laughed. One of them said you’d never want to fuck my pathetic cock again because Bob was going to show you what a real man fucked like. I told them they were crazy, but they took me back and showed me what was going on through the open bedroom door. You were yelling at him but even I could tell you didn’t mean it. He had that impossibly big cock in you and your legs were wrapped around him.

“I did mean the things I was saying!” she yelped. “I hated that man and what he was doing to me.

“Well, it must have been a love hate relationship, because when he came in you, your hips bounced up hard enough to lift your butt off the sheet for just a second.”

“That was just my body, reacting to stimulus.”

“Well, the door was wide open and you never even noticed. Then I watched you dance after that, and then Chuck came to get me and took me to a room where they had a bunch of video monitors. He showed you on one of them sucking this black guy’s cock like you were starving and his cock was candy.”

“I wanted him to cum so it would be over,” she groaned. “He was one of Bob’s customers or something. Bob sent me a note that said I had to do it.”

“I get that,” said Jerry. “You just looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“That’s what we have to look like. We have to convince the John that we love what we’re doing.”

“You called him a John,” said Jerry. “That’s hooker talk.”

“That’s what the other dancers call all the patrons of the club,” she groaned. “I’m not a prostitute!”

“Yes, you are,” he said. “I fucked up and now you have to sell your pussy to make the money to pay back my debt. You may not take money every time you get fucked, but the amount we owe changes.”

“It’s the amount you owe!” she snapped. “The key point in all that was that you fucked up, Jerry. If you hadn’t gotten in debt like that, I would never have let Bob Alveezo’s or anybody else’s prick in what I thought of as your pussy. And no, I wouldn’t have phrased it that way back then, but that’s what I would have felt like deep down. I would have thought of it as your pussy. And now you gave it away and other men will be using it now. That’s all on you, Jerry, so don’t bust my balls if I try to make it less painful or even enjoy parts of it!”

“I’m sorry,” he groaned. “You’re absolutely right.”

“So help me understand why you obviously slept with that girl,” she said.

“Her name is Megan and her father is one of my clients. He brings her with him to conferences and meetings all the time because he’s fucking her and is insanely jealous and worried she’ll fuck somebody else.”

“Like you,” said Heather.

“He brought her to the club last night. She was buying drinks with that ID card of hers and we talked. She remembered me. When the club was closing her father was sloshed, so we put him in a taxi and she offered to drive me home in her car. I think she just wanted to know what it felt like to have regular, normal sex. And after seeing him on you, and what they showed me at the club, I was mad. So I gave in when she tried to seduce me.”

“And if this guy finds out what his precious daddy’s girl did, he’ll raise a stink and draw attention to us,” she said. “That’s the last thing we need.”

“No. Trust me. If anybody has a beef with us about anything at all, Bob’s negotiators will resolve it.”

“By having them killed?” she yipped. “That’s what he did to this guy who raped one of the dancers.”

“Then he deserved it,” grunted Jerry. “They should all die, including Bob. No, money usually takes care of things. They don’t need to kill people if they can just buy them. And then they have the person do them a favor and presto, they have dirt on them.”

“That, I can believe,” she said.

“So I’m sorry,” said Jerry. “I’m weak and I got into trouble because of it. You shouldn’t have married me.”

She got up and went to him. She put her arms on his shoulders.

“I married you because I loved you. I still love you. Do I wish you hadn’t gotten in debt to a gangster? Yes. Do I wish I didn’t have to give in and let that man fuck me? Yes. Do I wish none of this had ever happened? Yes! But it did and we have to deal with it. I will understand if the way you deal with it is having sex with other women because you can’t have it with me. All I ask is that when you see me enjoying any part of this, remember that all I’m doing is coping.”

“Okay,” he sighed.

“Which reminds me. Bob offered to cut our debt in half if I let him get me pregnant.”

“What?”

“He said that if I agree, then you can fuck me, too. If I have a white baby then he tries the next time. If I have a black baby then half our debt is forgiven.”

He licked his lips.

“I don’t want to get in trouble, here, but it seems the best course to take is me never getting any of my sperm in you.”

“I agree,” she said, calmly. “We’ll get some condoms for you and I’ll submit to him, especially when I’m ripe. A year from now we might only owe him eighty grand.”

“You make that sound good,” said Jerry. “With the interest they charge, all we’ll be able to do is pay the interest every month. The actual debt will never go down.”

“It will if I have two of his children,” she said. “I’m twenty-six. I can have two babies by the time I’m twenty-eight, or twenty-nine, at the latest. Then we’re debt free and we move to another town and never see Bob Alveezo or his monster prick ever again. We’ll still be plenty young enough for me to have two of your babies.”

“That sounds nice, except for a couple of things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as what will happen when Mrs. Mercer, the ninth grade teacher at Hoisington Junior High School, who is married to a white man, has a chocolate baby? It will be a scandal. You might even get fired. Who knows? And if we survive that one, what happens when she has a second interracial baby?”

“I don’t know,” she moaned. “All I want is for this to be over. Letting that man impregnate me twice will do that. Then we’ll move and we won’t give a fuck about what the people in this town think.”

“Which brings us to the second hurdle.”

“Which is?”

“I know you. You’re a passionate woman who wants to lasso the world and make it behave. If you have enough sex with this man to make two babies, and even more just because he wants to, you will become emotionally involved with him. He’s already emotionally involved with you. Chuck told me he’s never seen Bob act like he acted when he saw you. What if he falls in love with you? What if you fall in love with him? The woman I saw him fucking last night didn’t look like my wife. She looked like a woman who liked what was happening to her.”

“I don’t want to fall in love with him,” she groaned.

“Is he really good in bed or were you acting?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Just answer the question. On a scale of one to ten, how does he compare with your previous lovers?”

“That’s not fair. You know there was only one man before you.”

“I’m not going to feel bad if he’s better than me. If I had a cock that big I could please a lot of women, too. How does he rate?”

She bit her lip.

“Honestly?” she finally said.

“Be honest.”

“He’s about a fifteen,” she sighed. “I never even dreamed of having orgasms like that.”

“I could kind of tell that when I saw you with him,” said Jerry. “If it’s like that for the next two years, you’ll end up loving this guy.”

“But I’ll be married to you and I’ll still love you.”

“I hope so.”

“Let’s give it a few weeks and see how we feel then,” she said.

“What else can we do?” asked her husband.

Three weeks later Heather already knew her “plan” wasn’t going to work. She already looked forward to the weekends and her lovemaking sessions with Bob. He didn’t visit her at her home to breed her, like that first night. He wanted her to fly under the radar and the neighbors didn’t need to see a limo deliver a black man to her house once or twice a week and stay for a couple of hours before leaving. So she was anxious for Tony to pick her up and take her to the club in a nondescript sedan, each Friday night. She eagerly hoped Bob’s seed would take root and now it was only a happy side effect that it would lessen her debt. She also loved dancing. She loved the power she had over the men who sat slack-jawed and gazed at her with countless fantasies thundering through their minds. She was amazed that this “side” of her had been in her all this time, and she hadn’t known it.

Her stage name was still “Hot Teacher” and she had gathered a costume to use. She started out in a starched white shirt with a bow at the closed neck. Her skirt went below the knee, but was split. Under this she wore a white, lacy bra and, depending on how much she wanted to make, either a white thong or nothing at all. A garter belt held up her thigh high hose, which were there only for effect. She put her hair in a bun and wore big, round glasses. She carried an old fashioned slate tablet with her and a piece of chalk. On the slate was written: Can you spell Fuck Me?

The backstage guys, who were both bouncers and moved stuff around and changed the scenery, found her an old, battered desk somewhere and a desk chair. When “Teacher” was going to dance, the curtain covering that part of the stage was hanging and obstructing a view of her. When the curtain rose, she was seated at her desk, which had an apple on the corner. A pre-recorded male voice narrated what was going on in Teacher’s life that day, and she “danced” out that plot.

The narrator said Hot Teacher had had a hard day and was eager to get home, where she could change clothes and get ready for her husband to get home from work. To that end, Hot Teacher slowly stripped, baring her breasts, first, and squeezing the nipples as she “thought” about the baby she and her husband were trying to have. If she was wearing the thong and just didn’t feel like letting the men ogle what Bob sucked and fucked at least two or three times a week, she left it on. If she got her period and had a tampon in, she left them on.

But she knew Bob watched her dance, via a big monitor in his office, and if she was within five days of ovulating she either took the thong off or went commando to start with. There were two versions of the pre-recorded narrator, one with panties and one without. If she was without, men threw bills on the stage in front of them and she “cleaned house”
by standing with her back to the onlookers, spread her heels two feet apart and then bent, straight-legged, to pick up the money. Her split peach was boldly displayed as she “cleaned house” to make sure her husband thought only of her instead of noticing the house.

Some nights she “cleaned house” all along the edge of the stage, wagging her naked ass in the men’s faces from only a couple of feet away. Near the end of the routine she “wondered what he’d want for supper” as she waved her hand over her pussy, suggestively. She wanted to touch herself, but that was forbidden. She could do that in the private dance rooms, but she was worried that the John might get aggressive, so all she did was rub her tits and ass in the faces of the men willing to pay extra for that.

Whenever she swept off the stage, now, there was thunderous applause if it was a full house and hoots and whistles if it was a light night. Most of the girls didn’t want to go fully nude and were happy with the tips they got. A few had some reason, usually financial, that meant they needed money and the quickest legal way to do that meant letting the boys see your gash.

When it came to Heather, though, her main goal was to get Bob going. If she could do that he’d send for her and fuck her on the bed he had in his office. Even if he had “guests” he’d keep her there, naked, showing her off. More than once he left her lying on the bed with his semen running out of her and did business ten feet away. But he’d usually just fuck her twice and tell her to go home. On those nights she got home around midnight or one in the morning and got more sleep.

During the week, Jerry donned a condom and they made love.

And, during the week, everyone she saw called her ‘Mrs. Mercer’ unless it was a staff member who called her ‘Heather’. She looked normal ... almost ... and acted normal and everybody thought things were normal ... mostly.

The caveats were because Mrs. Mercer had a slightly different look to her that people couldn’t put their finger on. It didn’t occur to these normal people to think, “She looks like she’s just been well fucked.” Nor would people jump to the conclusion: “She looks like she’s had five pounds of black salami stuffed in her pussy and it gave her constant orgasms.”

The other thing was that Mrs. Mercer started wearing different clothes to school. Rather than the previous very modest clothing, she now wore flowing dresses that came to just slightly above her knees. Her blouses were opaque, but the imprint of the lace pattern of her bra could clearly be seen. She just acted ... happy ... satisfied.

There was one exception to the normalcy of her daily appearance. That was when Frank Turner, who taught Spanish, was visited by his brother, Dan, and they decided to go out and kick up their heels.

Dan wanted to go to a strip club and there was only one in town, so the man Heather saw every day at school took his brother to Miss Kitty’s.

They were seated close to the stage, drinks in hand, when the announcer’s voice came through the speakers, telling the crowd that Hot Teacher was coming up next. The crowd roared and men began taking bills from their wallets.

“Must be good,” said Frank Turner’s brother.

When she first came out she looked different enough that Frank didn’t recognize her. She was down to the skirt, with her naked breasts bouncing, when she took off the glasses and let her hair down.

Suddenly, Frank Turner was staring at Heather Mercer, whose classroom was in his hall!

It was one of those nights when she wasn’t wearing panties.

Heather was dressed only in a garter belt and thigh high hose, with her bald muff clearly visible, when she began “cleaning” the house. While she picked up bills, her back was to Frank and his brother and her juicy pussy was right there, three feet away.

Frank Turner was married to a senora he met in Mexico when she was a sixteen-year-old senorita who was for sale. Well, her pussy was for sale. Frank bought her services one night, but not to fuck her. He was horrified that she was in the situation she was in. So, being fluent in Spanish, he tried to convince her to let him help her escape. His wife-to-be was a lot more worldly and pragmatic than most girls her age, which was something Frank did not take into account. He expected her to act like a teenager. He had been teaching school for two years at that point and knew (or felt he knew) what “normal” teenage girls acted like. Consuela thought the gringo was cute. She specialized in gringos because so many of them wanted to bang young girls. Her pimp, who was also her father, tried to make sure she was safe by requiring the johns to take care of business in Consuela’s own room at his home, in Guadalajara. Thus far it had worked out very well. Consuela turned five or six tricks a week and earned twice what her father did at his job.

So Frank was not prepared when the girl took her clothes off and said, “Let’s talk about it in bed. Papa will expect to hear me being excited and I like being excited so I hope you fuck me good.” Frank didn’t fuck her with any real physical expertise, but he was so tender, and he cried so when he jetted into her, that her heart melted a little. He came to town regularly and he “rented” Consuela each time. Eventually he drank beer with her father before and after he “rented” her and when he offered the princely sum of ten thousand US dollars to buy her permanently, both her father and Consuela were delighted. She still got to go home regularly and spend time with her family, which included her little sister, Maria, who had taken over her room and bed (and the men who came to that bed) and her little brother Benito who also slept in Maria’s bed quite often. They thought the lifestyle she described was boring, but they were always glad to see her because she always brought money.

Basically, for the three years Frank had been married to his green-card–holding wife they had both been almost insanely happy. Frank had taken her in as a ‘relative’, so his neighbors and the INS didn’t pay much attention to them. When she turned eighteen and they applied for a marriage license, the paperwork was routine and INS didn’t even notice. He informed his neighbors about the law allowing one to marry a cousin twice removed and said Consuela was three times removed. So Consuela had lived in America for five years and had assimilated quite well. They lived in a fly-over state where Spanish speakers were still fairly rare, but since she flew home twice a year she was still connected to her roots.

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The Extortion of Heather Mercer

Lubrican

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