Chapter 13

The auctioneer rapped the gavel, selling the Tiffany lamp to an older couple near the back.

"Our next series of items will be sold as a lot. Thirty-six books from the Franklin estate."

Eric glanced across the room, as the auctioneer described the collection in more detail, noting the rather mousey woman who had yet to place a bid, but who now sat forward on her chair.

Lorene Crutcher was small in stature, standing only five feet tall. Her vivid green eyes offset her pleasant but otherwise unremarkable face. Her sandy hair was sprinkled with gray, revealing her forty-two years. Eric had noticed her still attractive, if small, figure when she had entered earlier. Her breasts were small which helped hide the fact that they were not as firm as they once had been and her thighs and hips were a bit broader than during her college days, but her legs remained shapely and her waist small. She wore a nondescript sweater over a forgettable drab skirt. All in all, thought Eric, an easy mark for seduction. The rest would be more of a challenge, but he was confident.

A week ago Kevin had visited Eric relating his tryst with Jeanne at her house, the two of them upstairs tearing at each other's clothes and bodies while her seven year old played games two doors down the hall.

"She's fantastic," he related.

"She's a whore, Kevin."

"She's my cousin."

"OK, she's your cousin and a whore... a married whore at that."

"Yeah, I only wish I could afford her more often."

"Forget Jeanne, you're supposed to have another challenge for me, remember?"

"Yeah, well this time I just decided to pick someone at random, so I riffled through the phonebook, closed my eyes, and stabbed at a page."

He handed a slip of paper to Eric.

"Her name is Lorene Crutcher. She's forty-two, divorced with two kids. She runs a little bookstore downtown."

"And what makes you think I can't bed her down?"

"Having seen you operate, I'm sure you can. So I racked my brain for something else, an additional requirement to make it a real challenge."

"Oh, and what would that be?"

"Well, I found out her sons are twins, seniors in high school. I thought since you had managed to get me into Jeanne's pants... my own cousin..."

"You want me to get this... this Lorene Crutcher to commit incest?"

"Why not? Oh, I know cousins are nothing like a mother and sons, but you seem to be able to get just about anything you want from a woman, so I thought..."

"You thought you'd make it damn near impossible."

Kevin smiled.

"Hey, I've got a hundred bucks on the line. That'll get me into Jeanne's pants twice."

"Kevin, you do realize that while incest is more common than most people think, it is still rare."

"So?"

"So, a woman has to have just the right psychological profile to be susceptible to the lure of actual incest."

"And the boys?"

"The boys will pose little problem. Most boys that age would jump at the chance to bed down their mothers. No, it's the mother. Me getting her into bed is relatively easy. Getting her into bed with her sons is something else again."

"So, you're chickening out," chided Kevin, smiling.

"I didn't say that. I would have to know more about her, her background, home life, her marriage, the reason for her marriage breaking up. It would almost be like constructing a whole case file on her."

"I shouldn't be telling you this, so as to make it harder, but I found out she had a breakdown when her marriage broke up. She saw a psychologist for over a year."

"Hmmmmm," smiled Eric. "Didn't happen to get the name of the doctor, did you?"

"Hey, I'm not supposed to do your research for you, you know," laughed Kevin..."OK, OK, his name is Jennings. Dr. Bryan Jennings. His office is in the Plaza Medical Center."

"Give me a couple of days to get the information I need. Then, if she's as vulnerable as I think she may be... I'll get back to you."

"Fair enough. Here's the only picture I could find. It's an old black and white photo which ran in the paper when she opened her bookshop.

Eric glanced at the photo. The face was neither attractive nor ugly, the body adequate but again not a candidate for a modeling contract either.

"Well, she's no Tammy or Jeanne, but since we have a bet..."

"That's the spirit," laughed Kevin. Let me know if you want to try her on... or you could just pay me the hundred right now."

"Not so fast. Give me a few days and I'll let you know."

"Sure," replied Kevin, "a few days."

"Well are you ready to fork over the hundred?" asked Kevin.

Eric had been busy the last three days. Besides the usual background checks, he had also visited the offices of Dr. Bryan Jennings. It had taken him all of thirty minutes to talk his way into a date with the married Latino receptionist.

He had taken her to dinner and then back to his apartment where he seduced her in near record time. The next morning she had sneaked the old file from the cabinet in the office and by noon she was holding it up, teasing him with it.

"Will I see you tonight?" she asked.

"Of course."

"And I'll get that something different you mentioned last night?"

"Ever had it in your ass," he asked.

"Of course. I love it that way."

"Ever had it in the ass by a six-six, 245 pound Black man while a White man reamed your pussy?"

"Ohhhhhh, sounds exciting. What time?"

"About seven?"

"I'll be there," she grinned, handing him the file.

Lorene Crutcher had indeed suffered a nervous breakdown when her husband had left her and the twin boys, Toby and Cody. She had been in therapy for fourteen months. Her file and the Doctor's notes, revealed a woman of extreme low esteem. As a child her alcoholic father had deserted the family, leaving a verbally and, at times, physically abusive mother to raise her daughter. In the eyes of her mother she could do nothing right. She was screamed at and sometimes whipped for the most minor of offenses, often for no offense at all, save simply being there. Lorene had grown withdrawn, often escaping into a fantasy world. As she grew older, her mother had burdened her with all the housework, washing, cooking, cleaning. At school she was the mouse, at home the virtual slave. Her marriage had been an attempt at escape, eloping with a man almost twice her age. But she quickly found she had traded one form of abuse for another, her husband constantly berating her, finding fault, destroying what little self esteem her mother had not already decimated. The birth of the two boys had only exacerbated the husband's abuse. Finally seven years ago he had announced he was leaving her. She got the house but nothing else and even though her life had been one of near constant abuse, she was devastated when he had walked out.

Lorene had fallen into two more abusive relationships with men who quickly left her, citing her physical, sexual and emotional deficiencies. It was then she had collapsed and wound up in therapy.

Her bookshop had opened two years ago and managed to support them, barely. She now shied away from men, convinced of her own inferiority, both sons beginning to test her parental authority. There had been arguments, mostly the sons picking up where the father had left off, accusing her of being less than a mother. No wonder, they had screamed at her that she couldn't hold a man. She wasn't woman enough to even get a man's attention, let alone hold it.

The psychologist's evaluation was simply that Lorene suffered from extremely low self esteem and the situation was not likely to improve as long as her conflicts with her sons continued. He had tried standard therapy with only moderate success. Lorene was back to functioning again, running the bookshop, doing the shopping, maintaining the home, but only at a marginal level as her feelings of self worth continued to gradually erode.

"Hmmmmm," mused Eric, as he had finished the file, "this may not be that hard after all."

"Do I have an opening bid of one hundred dollars?" asked the auctioneer looking out over the patrons.

Eric saw the small feminine hand raise.

"One hundred dollars to the lady in the gray sweater. Do I hear one fifty?

Eric raised his hand.

"One fifty to the young gentlemen in the sport coat. Two hundred?"

Eric glanced around the room. No one else seemed the least interested. He smiled. His plan was going well.

"Two hundred!" shouted the auctioneer as the mousey woman bid again.

"And now two-fifty to the young man."

Eric looked across the room to make eye contact with his prey. Her hand was just starting to come up when her eyes met those of Eric and in that moment, her surrender was complete. She could neither hold his gaze nor resist it. Her hand lowered, despite the fact that she had a lucrative buyer already lined up for the set of books and was therefore prepared to go much higher in her bidding.

"Two-fifty once, two fifty-twice..."

The auctioneer looked a final time to Lorene, who remained cowed, glancing up for only a second to meet then avert the strong masculine look of disapproval.

"Sold to the young gentlemen for two hundred fifty dollars."

Eric quickly paid and clutching the receipt, he made his way to the exit where he encountered Lorene, leaving since there were no more books on the auction block.

"Here," said Eric handing her the paid receipt so she might have the books after all.

"Oh I couldn't..." she began.

"Oh course you can Lorene... and you will!"

"I... I..."

She looked into his strong face and powerful eyes.

"Th... thank you," she mumbled, her eyes quickly diverting from his. "But how did you know my name?"

"I make it my business to know the name of the woman I'm about to take to my apartment."

She gasped.

"You... you're not serious."

"I'm very serious

"No, I won't go," she said, but there was no force behind her words and Eric smiled.

"Yes, you will. Now, Lorene, tell me you'll go to my apartment with me."

His eyes again met hers and she crumbled under the intense scrutiny.

"I... yes... yes... I'll... I'll go."

He helped her load the box of books in the rear of her car.

"We'll take mine," he said, Lorene following obediently.

As they drove to the apartment, the woman constantly looked down at her hands, folded in her lap.

"Quit looking at your hands!" he commanded.

Startled, she quickly complied by looking out the window.

"You need a man, don't you?" he asked.

"I'm... I'm managing with the bookstore."

"I said you need a man, don't you?" he repeated more emphatically.

"... yes... ," was the quiet reply.

"Do you put out, Lorene?"

"Please, don't say..."

"I said, do you put out?" his voice now almost menacing.

"I... if... If you want."

"We'll see if you're good enough for me," he said as he pulled the car into the assigned parking spot.

They got out and he ushered her into his apartment. He sat on an easy chair while she remained standing. He pointed to the kitchen.

"Lose the coat, the sweater and the skirt. You can keep the panties and bra... for the time being. Then get me a drink."

"My doctor told me I didn't have to..."

"And I'm telling you you'd better!" he said, standing, towering over the frightened and cowering woman.

She looked up pleadingly into his eyes, but Eric now knew her, or at least enough about her to know how to dominate her, control her. And controlling her meant her unresisting obedience of whatever he told her to do.

Slowly she took off the coat, letting it drop to the floor. Again she looked up at him, beseechingly, but his eyes revealed only a cold expectation of obedience. The sweater came over her head and off and, her eyes closing, the skirt was unbuttoned and also wound up on the floor.

"God, Lorene, no wonder you can't attract a man. That bra and those panties look like something a seventy year old would wear!"

Again she hung her head.

"Go into my bedroom, over there, and look in the top drawer of the dresser. Put on the red bra and panty set, then get back out here and show it to me. And get rid of those stodgy shoes!"

She obeyed, reappearing within a couple of minutes wearing the red bra which turned out to be an underlying shelf which simply supported the breast while hiding nothing. The panty was a string thong in both front and back. Eric had gotten it from an aspiring actress after she "auditioned" for him one afternoon. She also had been rather small in stature so the set fit Lorene very well, but revealed everything. She stood in front of him, her head down in embarrassment at wearing so little and revealing so much.

"Well, the outfit's better, but your tits aren't much. Are you tight?"

"I... I don't know. My husband told me..."

"Your husband probably told you you were a worthless bitch who couldn't satisfy him. Am I right?"

He was quoting now from the psychologist's session notes but, of course, Lorene had no way to know that.

She gasped slightly.

"How did you... ?" A pause. "... yes."

"No wonder. You dress like something out of a bad second hand store. You don't know the meaning of the word sexy. Are you a decent fuck?"

"I don't know very much about..."

"What about boyfriends, Lorene? Could you satisfy them?"

There was pain written across her face.

"I... no," she replied, the words difficult.

"Then you really are a worthless bitch, aren't you?"

"I... I guess so."

"You guess so?"

"I am, I am," she cried, not wanting to incur the wrath she felt bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm nothing but a worthless bitch."

"I'll have that drink now, bitch... scotch and soda," he told her.

She disappeared into the kitchen and reemerged a few moments later handing him the drink. He took one sip, then dashed the drink in her face.

"I asked for a scotch and soda, not a soda and scotch!"

"I'm sorry," she cried, near tears that she was disappointing him so badly already. "I'll get you another!"

"Hurry it up," he commanded. "I want to see if you're any good in bed."