Chapter 1

All things considered, Jack was not a bad kid. He was good looking, athletic, intelligent and well-mannered. He had been sexually active since he was thirteen and, being your typical hormone-saturated teen-aged boy, never passed up the opportunity for sex. Nor was he above pressing for it. But Jack had never forced himself on anyone. He really didn't have to. As was mentioned earlier, Jack was a good looking kid, with deep blue eyes, a handsome tanned face that hinted at the ruggedly handsome man Jack would become, and a fit body from years of playing football and lifting weights, plus the additional training provided for him by his father, a retired marine major. And Jack always had money, since his father did very, VERY well by the family.

Now, the spending money Jack had in his pocket is the crux of the story. That money was put there by his father's business. Technically, his father ran an import/export business. In reality, his father had another business that involved bookies.

The business arrangement was simple. Bookies give and take bets on all sorts of sporting events. The system was such that, for the most part, the bookies collected more money than they had to pay out. As the saying goes, the house always wins. Invariably, though, certain bettors ran up considerable tabs and then refused to pay. Since bookmaking is an illegal occupation in most states of the U.S., the bookies really didn't have the option of going to a legitimate collection agency. This is where Jack's father came in. The bookies sold these debts to Jack's father for a fraction of their total value. Thereafter, it was Jack's father's business to collect the full debt.

Jack's father was very convincing. As the business got bigger, Jack brought in other individuals he had known in the military. The booming business soon came to the notice of various criminal organizations. No problem. Jack's father gave them a percentage fee for the privilege of operating in their "areas of influence." To most of these organizations, this was a no-brainer. They got cash every three months for letting Jack's father do all the work in peace. For those few that got greedy, the other organizations stepped in quickly. No one wanted to kill the goose that laid the golden egg.

Jack's father lived in a very well-to-do, upper middle class neighborhood. He could have probably lived somewhere more upscale, but Jack's father wanted to stay below the law enforcement radar. And it wasn't as if the family didn't live well. They lived very well indeed. At 18, Jack was driving a Jaguar. Life was good.

And then Jill moved in next door.

More importantly, Jill moved in next door with her considerably older husband, Jim LaRouche. Jill was her husband's trophy wife. Jim was a senior partner in his engineering firm, and as soon as he made senior partner, he dumped his first wife and married Jill, an administrative assistant in his firm. Jim was 54, Jill was 23, and from the start, it was obvious what each wanted from the other. Jill was looking for a husband who could provide her with a very comfortable living style. Jim was looking for a hot young thing that he could ... well, not to mince words, that he could fuck every time the urge hit him.

Jill was indeed hot, though it wasn't the usual combination of things that made her hot. She had a face that seemed to combine the features of Anne Coulter and Celine Dion. It wasn't an unattractive face. It just wasn't the prettiest. And the majority of Jill's feminine curves were a bit muted. They were there, but Jill was built on more slender lines.

No, the two things that made Jill hot were her hair and her breasts. Her breasts weren't overly huge, but they were a nice sized 34D that looked even bigger on her slender frame. And the pale blonde hair that was just long enough to barely cover them promoted her from the realm of hottie to ultra-hottie. When Jack had first met the LaRouches, it took all his will power simply not to stare and salivate at Jill's chest, contained in a tight pink shirt. Jill's husband Jim had confided/bragged to Jack and his father in an all-male bull session that not only were all of Jill's measurements natural, but that she was a natural blonde as well. Jack's father just grunted noncommittally, thinking Jim to be an unsophisticated boob to not only leave his first wife, but to give intimate details of his second wife to near strangers. Jack stored this information for future masturbation sessions.

And masturbation sessions aplenty there were, all of them featuring Jill LaRouche. Even when Jack was with other girls and women, he was fucking Jill LaRouche.

Jack's obsession was not lost on Jill's husband, Jim. As noted earlier, Jim fucked Jill every time he wanted to. Unfortunately, as the saying goes, the spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. Jim was both old and out of shape, which affected his sexual performance (or lack thereof) greatly. So he took pleasure with his wife in other ways, primarily in showing her off to other men and then denying her to them. It was a game of "I've got what you want but you can't have it. Look all you want, but you can never touch."

Jill, for her part, was miserable when her husband played these games. She had signed a prenuptial when she had married her husband that said if she committed adultery, Jim could divorce her and leave her without a cent. Plus, unlike Jim, Jill held a belief that marriage was sacrosanct. She might have gotten into the marriage with Jim for all the wrong reasons, but once she was in that marriage, she was going to remain committed to it.

So, Jim would ask Jack if Jack wouldn't mind doing some of the outside yard work around the LaRouche house. Jim explained he really was too busy and perhaps a bit too old to do those things himself, and that Jill didn't have the muscle to do it. Jack readily agreed. Jill was instructed by her husband to use those times Jack was there to sunbathe in her bikini. Jill thought this was sick on her husband's part, but had no choice but to agree. By the time Jack was finished with the yard work and spending two hours looking at Jill's scantily clad body, he was so aroused that he immediately went back to his room next door and masturbated. Jill, too, was getting aroused by these sessions, and more than once dashed into the house to "take the edge off." Knowing, though, that her husband was getting off on creating this level of sexual frustration in Jack, and that she was getting aroused at the thought of Jack's cock getting rock hard at the sight of her body, was making her feel doubly guilty.

This might have continued unabated until four months later, when Jack left for college. But then Jill's husband made a mistake. He developed a gambling habit.

It started off small, really. Jim LaRouche had won a couple of betting pools at his firm. He made an offhand remark to a junior partner that he felt so lucky, maybe he should head to Atlantic City for the weekend. The junior partner jokingly replied that if Jim wanted to save money on airfare, he knew the phone number of a bookie. Jim had forgotten the remark until three weeks later, when he won a prize at an online sporting news website for picking the most winners for that weekend's college football games. Jim thought to himself that maybe he ought to get that phone number. The way he that he could pick winners would make betting easy money.

At the beginning, it was just that. Jim put money on a few teams, and won. Then he put more money on more games, and won bigger. To Jim, it was as if he was earning a supplemental income without having to really work at it, and at the same time having a little illicit fun.

Then Jim picked more losers than winners one weekend. No problem, Jim thought, just a fluke. And the next three weekends did indeed seem to prove it was a fluke, as he easily recouped his losses.

Then he lost another weekend. And another. The losses started stacking up. Jim started betting bigger and bigger to make up for his losses, and his debt just got bigger.

And then one day, Jim was in debt for two hundred thousand dollars. His bookie told him no more bets until Jim made good his debt.

Jim was furious. He begged, threatened, cajoled. The bookie said no dice. No more bets, no more credits, no more nothing, until Jim paid his debt off. Jim tried to go to other bookies, but word had gotten around. No one was going to take Jim's action until he made good on his debt.

Then Jim started ducking his bookie's call. The bookie sent people to Jim's office, and even once to Jim's house. After a week, the bookie decided Jim was going to be a deadbeat and took steps. First, he let it be known on the bookie network that Jim was a deadbeat. Then he sold Jim's debt to Jack's Dad for fifteen thousand dollars

Jack had just come home from working the LaRouches' yard and was, as usual, worked up. He was planning to go up to his room and "alleviate the situation" when his father called Jack into his study.

"What's up, Dad?" Jack was hoping whatever his father was going to tell him would be something he could tell Jack fast. It was starting to get painful; Jack was that aroused.

"Jack, it would probably be best if you didn't go over to the LaRouche house anymore."

"Wha--? Why, Dad? I--have the LaRouches complained about something?" That very morning, Jill LaRouche had been sunbathing, lying on her front, in the skimpiest of bikinis as Jack had cleaned their pool. Jill had undone her top so that Jack had a clear view of the sides of her wonderful breasts.

Jack's Dad knew exactly why Jack worked like a dog over at the LaRouche house. Jack's Dad was that rarest of things among wise guys: an absolutely faithful husband. So he considered Jim LaRouche an ungrateful bastard for dumping his first wife to marry his second one. He also thought Jim was a sick fuck for parading his wife around like he did, and considered Jill a cocktease for going along with it. More than once he wanted to sit Jack down and tell him he was being played, but each time he thought about doing so, he refrained. It was a lesson he thought Jack needed to learn on his own. But now Jack's dad had bought the two hundred grand marker that Jim owed, and he was hoping that Jim would prove reluctant in paying off quickly. Jack's Dad had a lot of frustration built up where Jim LaRouche was concerned, and he was hoping for the opportunity to work some of it off.

"Jack, it's like this--Jim LaRouche has become a customer of mine."

"Oh." That one word spoke volumes. Jack's dad had let his son know exactly what kind of business he ran a year ago, including some of the methods he used against particularly recalcitrant customers. Although Jack didn't have the desire to follow in his father's footsteps, he didn't consider what his father was doing as unethical either. His father wasn't selling drugs, robbing banks, extorting honest businessmen or anything like that. His father was collecting gambling debts. True, the methods he used were ... unorthodox, to put it mildly. But then, since gambling in general and bookmaking specifically was illegal, it wasn't like the debts could be collected in a more mundane fashion. And most people who used bookies never had to worry themselves with the consequences of failing to pay a debt.

Now, if Jack's father had told Jack to stay away from the LaRouches say, after dinner, Jack might not have made the proposal he was about to make. But the image of Jill LaRouche, face down and wearing nothing but a bikini bottom, was still fresh in his mind. Still, to Jack, it was like somebody else was talking when he said:

"Dad, could I have Jim LaRouche's marker?"

His dad raised an eyebrow. "Son, if you want money, you just have to ask. I mean, you're going to need a very good reason for me to just give you two hundred thousand dollars. If you want a new car, or something..."

Jack shook his head. "I ... I don't want money. I ... I want Jill LaRouche."

Jack's dad was stunned. He couldn't have been more flabbergasted if Jack had told him that he had not only dug up Jimmy Hoffa's body, but that he had the corpse stretched out on the living room floor.

If it had been anyone asking him beside his son, and if it had been anybody but the wife of Jim LaRouche, Jack's dad would have told the asker in no uncertain terms that the next time he asked such a favor would be the last. But Jim LaRouche had gotten under his skin in a way that Jack's Dad would not have tolerated from a business associate. He had only put up with it because he wanted no trouble with his neighbors. But it had grated on his last nerve how Jim LaRouche and his wife had humiliated his son. And now Jim LaRouche's life was in his hands.

"Jack, I love your mother. I have never used or mistreated her. I don't use women ... ever. My son will not use women ... ever."

"Yes, sir." Jack got up, feeling properly chastised, and was about to leave when his father held up his hand.

"Just this once, Jack. Do you understand me? Just this once. But you will never ask me this again. And after this, you will not even contemplate ever doing anything close to this again. You understand me?"

Jack just nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. His father answered the question that was on Jack's mind.

"And as far as how we do this, you leave that to me. First, I have to soften up that bastard."

Jim LaRouche was leaving late one night and was opening his car when two very large, muscular men grabbed him.

"Wha--?" One of the men hit him in the stomach, doubling him over.

"You owe some people a lot of money, LaRouche. A lot of money. And they're not very happy that you've been slow in paying up."

"Listen, I--Uhhnnn!!"

The other man had grabbed his arm by the wrist, twisting it hard behind his back. "Time for talking is over, LaRouche. This little visit is just to show you what happens to people who don't make good on their debts."

Jim LaRouche made threats, promises and general pleas for his life. None of them did any good. The two men working him over were experts in the field of inflicting pain while ignoring the verbal outbursts that usually accompanied their ministrations. The session ended with one of Jim's hands being slammed in the car door. As Jim laid by his car, whimpering, one of the assailants said, "You're lucky, LaRouche. My employer is going to give you a choice. The money or ... a payment in kind. Normally he isn't this generous."

"What ... what does he want?"

"We'll tell you later. This wasn't a collection visit. This was just our way of letting you know that we're serious about collecting your debt. If this was a collection visit, we wouldn't have been so ... restrained."

Jim lost control of his bladder at the very thought of what an unrestrained visit would have been like.

"Oh, and Mr. LaRouche," added the second man as the two left Jim on the ground, "If I were you, I wouldn't do anything foolish like make a police report over our little discussion. My employer would consider that a bad faith gesture on your part, and would probably become irritated with you. And you would find that a very unpleasant experience indeed."

Jim did file a police report, but the description of the two men who he had said mugged him in the firm's parking garage was the complete opposite of the men who had done this to him. Whoever was the force behind those two men was someone Jim was pretty sure he didn't want to become irritated at him.

The firm put up more security cameras in it's parking garage and added one additional security guard after Jim's mugging, but Jim was fairly sure that wouldn't end his own problem. Jim knew he was in trouble. He was maxed out on his credit, and knew there was simply no way he was going to be able to raise gso hundred thousand dollars unless the man collecting his debt gave him a couple of months to do it in. Maybe he could make some kind of deal. And what was this "in kind" payment that the two goons who had assaulted him were talking about? Somehow, Jim knew that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be a good deal for him.

Within a week, the two men who had assaulted him were able to get Jim, despite his best efforts to the contrary, in a secluded spot again. This time, while they were working him over, they told him that the debt would be due in a week. Jim cried and begged for more time, telling the men that simply wasn't possible. He asked them to give him just two months, and he'd be able pay them double what he owed them. He could even pay them ten thousand dollars now to give him those two months.

No dice, his assailants responded. You have one week to pay up. Or make up the debt with an "in kind" payment. When Jim asked what the "in kind" payment was going to be, they told him their boss would explain that when they came to collect in a week. And as they left the incapacitated Jim on the ground, they asked him to do them a favor.

Try to hide. It made their work more interesting.

Jill was frantic. Her husband had came home twice in almost a week's time after having had to go to the emergency room. The first time was a mugging. The second time was a hit and run. It had left her husband not only broken physically, but emotionally as well. There was a hunted look in his eyes, and at home, he jumped at any noise. Any comment from Jill brought a snappish answer, so that she avoided him as much as possible. Which was easy, as Jim got into the habit of only being home for a few hours, then staying away all night. She might have even suspected Jim of having an affair, except he was way too edgy.

Another event happened that Jill took no notice of. If she hadn't been so consumed with her husband's erratic behavior, she might have taken more notice that Jack had stopped coming over and doing the yard work. But Jack was too busy receiving a crash course on the fine art of gambling debt collection.

The two men who had twice worked over Jim LaRouche were Jack's Dad's most trusted "collection agents," Daryl and Zeke. Daryl and Zeke had served with Jack's Dad in the military, and had been his first employees when he started his collection business. Both were well off now, and usually didn't involve themselves in the field anymore. But Daryl and Zeke had heard their boss's stories of Jim LaRouche's flaunting his wife, and were well aware of their boss's penchant for marital fidelity. Add to that that Daryl and Zeke had known Jack since he was a boy, and had spent time with both father and son on fishing trips and the like, and they had no problem getting a little payback for the perceived humiliation brought upon Jack by Jim LaRouche and his wife.

Jack's Dad explained how it was going to go down to his son. Jack was not to say a word. He would stand there and make simple gestures with his head or hands. Daryl and Zeke would be in charge, though they would give the appearance that Jack was the man to answer to. And under no condition was Jack to give the impression that anything said or done distressed him to the slightest degree.

Jack gulped anxiously but nodded in agreement. He already had fantasies of what he was going to do. His father had given him one final warning that this was a one time deal, never to be repeated. Then he embarrassedly handed Jack silk ropes that he had acquired from a adult novelty store. "Use these. Even if she acquiesces, she's not going to be happy."