Best Enjoyed Cold

BEST ENJOYED COLD

 

 

PART TWO:

‘Two out of three ain’t bad’

 

 

 

It was still the middle of the night in America, when the envelope was delivered to the night guards at John Cumber’s gatehouse. They even signed for it. To be fair to them, there had been so many comings and goings those past few days, they shouldn’t have been heavily blamed for not getting a better identity fix on yet another delivery guy; ‘medium height’, ‘moustache’, ‘well built’, ‘white’, ‘maybe thirties’. Well, that description could maybe narrow the list down to five million or so !

 

It was Sunday, 05.30 hrs, and a sleepless John Cumber was drinking coffee brought to him by a maid and flicking through newspapers and mail aimlessly, when he came across the envelope. It appeared innocuous enough, a thin brown packet of the type used by companies worldwide. ‘JOHN CUMBER, PRIVATE’ was all that was handwritten on it, in big, black upper case letters.

 

It was when he opened it that his heart stopped. There was a single 10 x 8 inches glossy photograph. It was a photo of Sarah’s face. She had been crying and looked terrified. He flipped over to the other side.

 

“Dear Mr. Cumber,

Welcome to hell. If you want to see your bitch and brats again, then follow my instructions very closely. If you disobey me, even once, you will never see them again. Never. Full stop. No negotiation. Clear ? You will be able to accuse me of many things in the coming weeks, but being unclear is not one of them. Now, I own a lot of Cumber Corporation stock. The first rule is that I do not want the share price to fall, whatever happens. On Friday they closed at 15 dollars 5 cents. If the price closes at below 15 dollars at any time during our future ‘discussions’, you will lose one family member for each day it happens. The fourth time it happens, game over.  So I suggest you use that personal fortune of yours if ever the share price needs propping up. Buy, buy buy ! as the saying goes. That is all for now. Sarah sends her love. We’ll be in touch again soon.”

 

John read through the letter so many times he lost count. At least, fifty. He weighed each consonant, every word, each nuance, every phrase; ‘the coming weeks’, ‘the first rule’, ‘Sarah sends her love’. The bitter coffee reacted with the ulcerous bile in his gut as he clenched and unclenched his fists. If he could have traded every cent of his fortune there and then to have the person who had sent this letter in the room with him, he would have shaken on the deal in a second.

He kept the letter private for an hour. It somehow made him feel closer to his family, now that he at least knew something. But, at 06.45 hrs, his sweaty palm picked up the phone and dialled Walt Furness.

 

*** *** ***

 

Lorna awoke and screamed at the dreadful apparition.

Somebody had walked into her cell. The person was wearing a facemask. It was a dreadful green rubber hood in the shape of a lizard’s head, with eyeholes, nostrils and a mouth slit with a flap.

She swallowed her screams and begged. “Please … nooooo …”

Everything ached. Her calves above all, but her feet, ankles, thighs, back, neck and arms all throbbed with agonising pain from standing up all night.

“Please,” she repeated, “whoever you are …”

“Shut up, bitch.”

It was a man’s voice. No distinguishable accent or tone. It might have been American, Canadian, British, Australian, even a fluent English speaker from another country. The sound was somehow expressionless, hollow and … ruthlessly professional.

His hands reached out and seized the cleavage of her wedding dress. With barely a pause, he tore the silk and lace creation off her shoulders and down the middle from her chest to her waist, and rent it asunder.

She screamed again. In shock, fear, sick to her stomach. Lorna was awake enough and clear headed enough to know she was going to be raped. Guys didn’t shred dresses if they took no for an answer. She wasn’t a virgin. Not quite. She would rather have sex than die. But she couldn’t just accept it.

His hands pulled and ripped every last piece from her until she stood in just her matching white panties and bra. She couldn’t fight him. So she tried words.

“Look, Mister, it doesn’t have to be this way … I …”

She winced as her bra was brutally pulled away from her breasts until it eventually tore the clasp at the back, the spaghetti hoops over her shoulders ripped and the whole thing fell away, leaving her topless.

Before she could compute that, he did the same thing to her lace trimmed pants, ripping so that the delicate material exploded in his grip.

She stood naked.

Finally, he paused, stepping back to admire her body. She could see his eye pupils moving in the eyeholes appraising her.

And then he started to unbuckle his belt.

“Please …” she attempted one last time, “… look, at least let me off this wall.”

He hunkered down in front of her, so that his erection was the correct height. She was dry but that didn’t seem to concern him in the slightest. He spat through the mouth flap onto his fingers and roughly manipulated her arid labia apart, then simply forced his penis up into her. She was helpless, unable to move more than an inch or two in any direction. She had no choice but to stand there and take it, up against the wall.

About ten years before, at high school, Lorna’s class had attended a lecture that covered rape. It flooded back to her now, the sunshine streaming through the classroom windows, her friends’ morbidly fascinated teenage faces, the plain woman who had come to give them the lecture, and her sexy male assistant who gave hints on self defence and acted out the male role.

But this was something quite different.

She turned her face to the side, away from his rubber mask and tobacco breath, her wracking sobs and his manic thrusts making it difficult for her to breathe.

At last, she felt a small amount of lubrication as her body produced some moisture in self defence. She didn’t know whether to feel relief because it made the rape hurt less, or shame because her body had responded in some way. He was bigger than Gene, the only penis she had known up to then. He was discernibly thicker and longer and devoid of any care or finesse.

And then it was over. He groaned and humped without much apparent enjoyment and she felt him twitching in orgasm and then the warm wetness of his invasion of her insides.

He pulled out and stepped back and out of the corner of her eye she saw a big teardrop of semen still dangling from the tip of his penis.

“You bastard.” She muttered, defeat turning to anger.

He laughed coldly behind the horrendous lizard mask.

“Get used to it, cum dump. Trust me, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

And those words were worse than the rape itself.

The sudden realisation of the inevitable. She had no idea where she was, where her mum, Gene, Rachel or Ryan were, or even what really had happened; whether there was just one man, or many of them.

But what she did know was that she was now ‘in play’; game on.

“Please …” she turned her head to face him, “… who are you ? At least tell me that.”

“Sure.” He paused while he nonchalantly tucked his penis back into his pants and zipped himself up.

“I’m the Chameleon.”

 

*** *** ***

 

It was Sunday lunchtime when the first journalist called him.

“John ?”

The guy was one of his close contacts, a top financial reporter to whom he had given his cell number, somebody he could trust.

“Hi, Dan.” He replied.

“John. I hate to do this to you. I know what you must be going through. But there’s a rumour sweeping the chat rooms and streets that you’re going to announce your resignation first thing tomorrow morning because of what’s happened …”

“Let me stop you there, Dan. That’s bull. I wouldn’t let any fuckwits beat me. Sure I’m taking time out, but resign ? Hey, no way.”

“Well that’s what I thought, John. But this rumour’s got some momentum. I’m also hearing that some funds are going to lighten their holdings tomorrow. There are a few big sell orders of Cumber stock being placed in Asia for opening tomorrow.”

John exhaled, controlling his breathing, gripping the phone tight.

“Dan, you gotta do something for me. The whole thing’s baloney. I can’t explain now but I think this must be some kind of scam linked to the kidnapping of my family. You call back your contacts and your fund manager friends and tell them that, not only do I deny it, but I will never again deal with anybody who unloads Cumber stock at this time.”

“Whoa, my friend. Cool it. I’m sure it won’t be that bad. I’m just warning you something’s out there. I’ll make some calls but I can’t promise anything.”

“Okay … thanks, Dan. Keep in touch.”

He hit the red button with his thumb and stared out of the window.

Now things were starting to make some sense.

 

*** *** ***

 

She lifted the headphones from Susan Cumber’s ears.

“Depressing stuff isn’t it ?”

The patrician eyes looked back at her. They were smoky, dull, no longer so defiant. Not beaten yet, but certainly on the canvas.

She placed her gloved finger under Susan’s chin.

“Chin up, Sue. Things can get worse, you know. Now, have you thought about my little question ? Got an answer for me yet ?”

Susan’s green eyes watered into tears.

“I’ll do it. Whatever you want.” A pause. “Just don’t touch my children.”

She smiled behind the mask.

“Sure. That’s a deal.” She replied in her most reassuring tone. “But I want to be certain that you’re totally clear about your side of it. You will be able to accuse me of many things, Sue darling, but being unclear is not one of them. Okay ?”

Susan nodded, snivelling.

“It ain’t just a bit of fucking, Sue. It’s the works. You’ve got to do everything my boys want. No saying no. Whenever and whatever they want.”

The gorgeous creamy skin scrunched in a scowl of confusion. Funny how quick the lines are to appear once you inject a bit of stress into a life.

“Wh … what do you m … mean ?”

“I mean if you say no to anybody, even once, our deal is off and Lorna and Rachel pay the penalty.”

“… okay … just don’t … involve them.”

“And another thing, Sue, you’ve got to be real enthusiastic. Some guys like it when you just lie there, but most of my boys like to see some gusto. You got that too ?”

Susan Cumber shut her eyes and her face froze over, blank.

“Yes … I understand.”

“That’s settled then.”

Susan’s eyes blinked open.

“Now I get my say.”

Stupid bitch. Always trying to negotiate.

“What ?”

“I want to see my children. I need to know they’re safe.”

“You can. But not yet.”

“Why not ?”

“Because I fucking say so.”

Susan paused, evidently gauging how far to push it.

“When ?”

“A few days … if you keep up your side of the deal.”

The green eyes studied her. The mask helped. Not just for scaring the shit out of them all and hiding her identity a while. But it helped if she needed to lie as well.

“Okay. And there’s one more thing.” Susan said. “I … need to use the bathroom.”

 

*** *** ***

 

“John.”

The agent in overall charge of the case was Walt Furness, a grizzled veteran of thirty years, although he’d never known a situation remotely like this.

“We dusted the envelope and contents. Nothing. No prints except yours, John, no traces, zip. We’ve sent the writing off to Quantico for analysis but I’m not sure how much help that’ll be. But what it does do, is help us with a pointer as to who and what we’re dealing with.”

John nodded. That much he’d worked out for himself.

“John, I’ve got to ask. Do you have any enemies ?”

He would have laughed in other circumstances. Even now he allowed himself a wry smile.

“A few, Walt. You don’t reach my position without inflicting some casualties along the way. I’m not exactly the most popular kid on the block.”

“So, you know what I’m saying. Any ideas ?”

He shrugged. “Who would do this ? You’re kidding right ? I can be a shit, Walt, but …”, he threw up his hands, “… to cause this ?”

“Would you make a list of all the names you can think of who might dislike you ? Anybody, with or without reason. We’ll handle them with care.”

John stared across at him, then nodded.

“Sure. But isn’t this just about money ? We’re just the innocent targets.”

Walt eyed him back, stroking his bristled jaw.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

 

*** *** ***

 

In the large courtyard, round the swimming pool, most of the mercenaries had spent the early morning lounging on sunbeds, listening to ipods, drinking coffee, reading magazines, tanning themselves. Even in the safety of this place, two other mercenaries were on duty, scanning the sophisticated detection equipment, the horizon and the skies for any signs of intruders.

They were a tough bunch, reputedly the best. An international squad of men who had fought and killed side-by-side in many of the world’s harshest places; in eastern Europe, Asia, around Africa, central America.

Of course, they had real names. And a plethora of passports from different countries. But for this job they were simply ‘The Reptiles’.

 

Susan Cumber had led a charmed life. To her, ‘embarrassment’ up to that point was arriving at a charity dinner and finding another woman in the same designer dress. ‘Shame’ was your child not top scoring at school.

But now, she was squatting naked, in the sun-drenched courtyard, waiting for permission to defecate onto a laid out newspaper in front of a group of evil men. The same thugs, no doubt, who had raped her the day before.

They were no longer wearing masks. The thought troubled her.

If they no longer cared about being identified, what did that mean ?

The men were all hard featured with cruel eyes. Three were blacks, one was asian of some sort, the rest varying shades of caucasian. She estimated their age range to be mainly in their forties, like her, but a few looked younger and one appeared to be in his fifties or even sixties. Most were heavily muscled, scarred and wearing just swimming shorts for sun bathing. A couple had T shirts on as well, with dark sweat patches. Only one of them looked out of shape, a huge fat black man with a bald head and an enormous stomach hanging over his belt.

She winced at the realisation that he had been one of her rapists. Susan liked to think she was a tolerant, modern woman. Not a racist. But she had been brought up in the South and the idea of … African Americans … and their black … things … was … quite literally beyond the pale.

The one who seemed to be their leader they referred to as Gator.

Gator was holding a bamboo stick, running it teasingly up the inside of her thighs. He was one of the ugliest men she’d ever seen, with an entire ear missing and a livid purple scar distorting one side of his face.

“You hold it in there for us just a little bit longer, bitch.”

She grimaced. In truth, she knew she was on the point of losing control. Beads of perspiration sprouted like teardrops from her pores in the boiling hot sun. She was squatting, legs akimbo, knees wide apart, her fingers tented on the ground behind her, her arms propping herself up. She couldn’t imagine a more humiliating pose.

She would have rather died than this. But not Rachel, Ryan and Lorna. They were worth more than any amount of cruelty these bullies could inflict on her.

The obnoxious men were fanned out just a few feet in front of her, studying between her legs, gazing and smirking at her naked thighs, breasts and face.

The edge of the bamboo poked up between her labia, splaying her open. She was still filthy from their rape of her the evening before. The foul stink of stale sex and body odour assaulted her nostrils in the hot sun.

“Please …” she mouthed silently, a hiccup of air escaping her lips.

The man called Gator grinned with the half of his mouth that worked. His teeth were yellow and uneven.

“Okay. You can dump it all out now. Give us a show.”

She paused. She was desperate but, when it came to the actual moment, something in her wouldn’t allow her to accept the embarrassment and shame. Her insides were turning circles like cement in a mixer. How on earth was she going to do something so undignified ?

And then it happened.

With an uncontrolled rush of noise and air and stench, her sphincter gave way and a mass of soft faeces splattered the laid out magazines under her body.

She couldn’t bear to look at the grinning, fascinated faces of the sweating men as they enjoyed her total dishonour. She shut her eyes and let out an equally uncontrolled sob.

What had she done to deserve this ?

 

*** *** ***

 

“Caught in the crossfire.”

Gene Collins hung in the manacles, mouth dribbling, doing his best to stay conscious and understand what the woman behind the mask was saying to him. Caught in the crossfire ? He had been caught up in something beyond his control.

“Wha …?” he mumbled.

Her gloved hands eased down his underpants and she used scissors to snip them off him, leaving him totally naked. Please, no.

“Yes, you’ve been caught in the crossfire, I’m afraid.” She repeated, her tone of voice less concerned than the words suggested.

“So, let’s have a look-see, shall we ?”

Her voice sounded older, like his mum’s. Her fingers cupped his balls and then smoothed out his shrivelled, petrified length. He felt like some meagre cut of meat she was thinking of buying for her family dinner.

“Not bad for a little one.” He could detect the amusement in her voice.

“Please don’t …”

She moved her finger to his lips. It smelt of leather. New gloves.

“Ssshhh …” she said. “I won’t hurt you. Not if you’re good. I’ve got a nice job for this thing anyway.”

He swallowed. Job ?

“You should have been fucking your bride right now, shouldn’t you ? Using this cocktail sausage to give her a damned good seeing to, right ? … Right ?”

He nodded slowly.

“Well, I’m afraid that you can’t fuck the Cumber kid you wanted to. You see, your fiancé Lorna is … er … now otherwise engaged. But you can fuck the other Cumber kid. I’d like that. And I’m sure you’ll enjoy it too.”

He tried to shake his head to clear it but merely banged it on the cell wall.

Fuck Rachel ? Lorna’s sis ? I mean … but why ?

Inside the eyeholes of the lizard mask, he detected two pupils shining.

“No.” the woman’s voice said, with the hint of a giggle. “Oh no. Not Rachel, silly boy ! We wouldn’t want that. No … it’s Ryan we’d like you to give a good seeing to.”

 

*** *** ***

 

The Chameleons sat together in the shade and watched their screens. It would have been nice for them to have the final member of their trio there with them too but he was rather busy over in the States at that moment.

Still, as Meatloaf crooned, back when they were both young, ‘two out of three ain’t bad’.

Two chilled glasses of lager sat on the table, wonderfully refreshing in the heat of the north African morning.

They chinked glasses and supped.

Best enjoyed cold.

There is something wonderfully erotic about a white woman’s red-lipsticked mouth sliding up and down the full length of a long black erection.

On the main widescreen, a huge plasma monitor, Susan Cumber was being slowly spit roasted in the sunshine. Gecko, a heavily tattooed warrior of uncertain parentage and nationality but now carrying a Russian passport, was crouched behind her as she knelt on the sun bed. His muscled torso glistened with suntan oil as he sensuously eased himself in and out of her slurping cunt.

Cobra was lying on the sunbed, his massive black belly glistening with sweat, his fat fingers possessively entwined in her platinum blonde tresses, guiding her pursed lips up to his swollen helmet, then back down his shaft as far as she could manage without gagging. Her pendulous tits hung down as she worked, nipples brushing Cobra’s inner thighs.

Give the bitch her due, you really might think she was enjoying it. The expensive sound system picked up every meaty slap of flesh on flesh, each moan, every whimper, the continuous sloshy glugs from her cunt and mouth as she tackled her first ever threesome.

Gecko and Cobra played their parts too, with the usual porn star noises and ‘yes babe’, ‘mmm … you love it don’t you’, ‘oooh you’re so tight round my dick’ and other choice blue movie screenplay comments.

The microphones taped. The cameras rolled, focussed close up, so as to catch her face in glorious detail but only showing her lovers from their necks to their knees. In the smaller screens to the side, other lenses captured the views from below and also a long shot of the entire scene.

For Susan Cumber, it was going to be one long, super-hot day.

The Chameleons exchanged excited glances as Gecko uttered a prolonged, orgasmic groan and unleashed his first orgasm of the morning.

Everything was going to plan.

And for the Cumber family, things were about to get a hell of a lot worse.

 

 

END OF PART TWO

BY VELVETGLOVE

 

 

CONTINUED IN PART THREE

‘Three little birds’

TO BE POSTED SOON