Chapter 8
Should he kill her with his fists or should he inflict mental torture and kill her with kindness? These thoughts ran through Earl Dillon's adrenalin powered brain as he glared at his wife across the dining room table and picked at a Stoffer's frozen meat pie that had come out of the microwave five minutes before.
The crowsfeet under her heavily made-up eyes were smooth and her face wore the flushed happiness of a sensually satisfied woman. She'd actually whistled to herself in the kitchen as she clattered about. Christ, she wasn't even drunk as usual ... and the Grandfather clock struck six-thirty! Her nonchalant lack of guilt infuriated him, but he fought it, knowing that to loose his temper would blow the lid off the cauldron designated for Colonel Leo Nelson.
Picking the peas out of the tepid gravy bathing chunks of stew meat and methodically lining them up . alongside the plate, he cleared his throat. "You talk to Cora Nelson about how her refugees are wrorkin' out?" he asked in a cracking voice. The muscles in the back of his neck tightened like bedsprings and sweat beaded his balding forehead as he watched his wife daintily dab at her mouth with the corner of a linen napkin and reply in a too content sing-songy voice:
"Yes, sweetheart. I took a spin out to her house and we had coffee and talked...." She shivered her shoulders seductively. "Girl talk, you know ... No complaints, no complaints at all ... she said the boys did a lovely job cleaning her garage...."
The muscles of Mayor Dillon's jaws meshed, and it wasn't to chew the stew meat. Lying fuckin' cunt ... I wonder how many other filthy Commie dicks she's fucked behind my back?
Over a forkful of lettuce, Joyce glared at the jouncing jowls, her mind flitting back to the provocative swarthy bodies of Cora Nelson's garage cleaners. The one with the curly black hair dipping down over his proud forehead and bedroom eyes snapping at her naked bumps and curves remained fixed in her guiltless mind's eye. God, how those Cubans could screw! Beneath the fabric of her dress, the hardened nubs of her nipples bore the chafed sensitivity of Cora Nelson's wildly biting attention. And the luscious feel of the Jamaican's stone hard cock drubbing between her milky breasts ... squirting hi's cum over her oozing breast flesh so that she tasted droplets splattered over her nose and mouth....
Who needed wine to calm dangling nerve ends? Sex ... sex was the best relaxant imaginable! And I don't have to hide it under the sofa! smirked Joyce absent-mindedly. 'Mentally, she calculated how many afternoons a week she cou Id spend doing charitable work at the army base camp for the hapless refugees. Especially those poor, neglected boys!
But her sunny mood clouded as her thoughts fled back to Cora, the pathetically whimpering creature whose rattling sobs echoed down the hallway after Joyce had closed the bedroom door. Poor baby felt so bad!
Abruptly Joyce's fluttering eyelids leveled on her husband. For an embarrassed moment, their eyes sparred. Joyce looked askance and, talking down at her plate, she queried: "Why are you so curious if Cora Nelson is satisfied with her refugee employees ... dear?"
Mayor Dillon chewed for a long moment on his tasteless dinner, maintaining a level-eyed glare at his wife's questioning gaze and remained reticent.
Cora fastened the safety lock on the front door, checked the windows and neglected the charm of afternoon sunshine. With a languid sigh, she lazed in the bathtub, sorting out emotions. The water lapped at her dimpled chin, trembling with blackening regret.
Thank goodness Leo hadn't tried to make love to her last night! After changing the sheets and cleaning the evidence from her ravaged womanhood, she'd managed magically to throw together the semblances of dinner. But Leo wasn't hungry. He'd stomped out of the house, heading for the garage to grab the lawn clippers and until the sun denuded the sky of light, he worked furiously in the yard, clipping the crab grass from the brick sidewalk.
That was a habit of his, raping the crab grass when problems plagued him. Usually it fatigued him into relaxation, but last night when the Colonel stepped into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and settled down before the television set, his face wore the same harried look that had exited the kitchen door two hours prior. To tighten the screws of guilt, he'd gulped down his beer with uncharacteristic rapacity and slumped into bed at nine thirty-five, leaving his guilt-gushing wife to struggle with herself to keep from confessing all ... right down to the fingering of Mayor Dillon's wife's breast!
Did Leo know the infidelity that rumpled his bed that afternoon? Had one of the Cubans squealed, bragged to his buddies about raping the Colonel's wife-the masochistic, sex-starved Colonel's wife?
Cora faced the new day with courage. She would tell Leo everything tonight, and perhaps he could figure out who had paid Carlos and his friends to tie her to a bedpost and perform the basest of perversions upon her.
Those questions chased about her brain even as she wrapped a thirsty Jacquard towel about her dripping nudity and ran for the brrrrrrngggg of the upstairs telephone. It might be Leo.
It wasn't. It was Mayor Dillon.
Cora's satiny forehead wrinkled. What in the world could he want with her?
"Yes ... I'll be home this afternoon," she offered reluctantly. "I ... I guess that would be okay."
The loathesome speculation of entertaining Mayor Dillon was last on the list of desirables for Cora Nelson; but to refuse would potentially endanger Colonel Nelson's relations with Earl ... just when Leo was gaining support in his fight for the Cuban refugees' welfare rights.
Forty-five minutes later the hulk of Mayor Dillon's presence shadowed the Nelson's front door.
For a moment, Cora would have sworn he was shaking. "Hello, Mayor ... please come in," chimed Cora hypocritically.
He stepped past her and well inside the house turned and shot her a stare that made Cora wonder if Joyce had told her husband of yesterday's uncomely actions. Earl's eyes never left Cora's shivering body even as she invited him into the living room where he plunked his massive frame into the leather easy chair and rested his polished shoes on the ottoman ... a practice Leo forbid.
Earl cleared his throat. "I'm glad I found you unoccupied this afternoon," he said, his eyebrows arching on the world 'unoccupied', in a way that made Cora's heart leap to her throat and her mind race to digest the cryptic message. Could Joyce have deceived her? It seemed the Mayor had an inkling about the rape and perhaps his wife's involvement.
Gathering her courage, she turned a stony face to him. "I'm a very busy woman, Mayor ... if you'll come to the point...."
Mayor Dillon squirmed in his chair, presenting a picture of determination to the woman cringing into the sofa across from him. His eyes lifted from Cora's defensively crossed ankles, slender and well turned, up the stockingless calf to her nipped in waist and flushed cheeks.
"I'm concerned about the refugees who've come here to work at your house. I asked Joyce to call you and find out if everything's been working out okay ... any problems ... insolence ...?" Here he spread his hands in an insinuating, emphatic gesture, his eyes level with hers.
Cora shook her head dramatically. "No, none ... they've worked very well...."
"Well enough for you to hire two more tomorrow?" He raised his bushy eyebrows accusatively and cocked his head to the side, studying her paling expression.
"Why...." the word caught in Cora's throat and a slender fingertip reached up to toy with the satin yellow ribbon trailing from her ponytail and down over her shoulder. " ... I haven't any more work to be done-"
Mayor Dillon offered a cryptic grin. "Just out of curiosity, did Joyce drop by yesterday ...?"
"Y-yes," nodded Cora, wanting to wring her hands but willing herself not to. "Yes, she did ... we had coffee and chatted ... it was nice seeing Joyce again, why we-"
Mayor Dillon bolted forward in his chair. "You lying bitch!" He jabbed a finger toward the outside of the house. "Just for your information, I dropped by myself yesterday to find out how the refugees were working out-and by God, they were working out ... fucking and sucking you ... you, the wife of a respected Colonel, behaving like a slut, grovelling and sucking Cuban cock...!"
Cora's ears pounded with blood. She clamped her dainty hands over her shell-like ears and breathed hard enough to shut out the damning accusations booming from Mayor Dillon's lungs. He'd been there ... he'd seen ... oh God, what will happen to me now? And Joyce ...!
When she could squeeze shut her eyes no more, and the blood quieted in her ears, the brave Colonel's wife let her hands drop and her tear brimming eyes stared at her lap, one finger toying with a loose thread on her skirt.
It was a cool headed, triumphant Mayor who grinned salaciously at his opponent's wife now. "I came to get a story for the Gazette, Cora, I didn't come here to call you names," he apologized insincerely. But by God, you'll suffer for sucking my wife's tits! "In fact," he offered, "I'll make a bargain with you ... I won't snitch on you for sucking the Mayor's wife's tits if you'll agree to tell the Gazette you've been assaulted in your own house by the Cuban refugees hired to perform menial," and here he snickered at the word, " ... tasks in your home. Do we have a deal, Mrs. Nelson?"
Cora's dainty hand flew to her forehead. Hadn't she subconsciiously known it would come to this? She gasped audibly, frightened she might be sick. Hadn't she known too, that Mayor Dillon had paid the refugees to storm into her house and defile her?
"You...." she spat through curled lips. "You're the one who hired the refugees to rape me. Isn't it bad enough that you beat your wife ... why do you have to ruin me, too? I've never hurt you!"
That old American zenophobia again ... Because she was Cuban born, she was being used as a social tool to hammer down the Cuban refugees, to drill them out of the country ... and because of her, one innocent Cora Nelson. "Nooo ... I won't." Her voice shrilled to a whine and her apple cheeks faded to dead gray.
He winked one piggish eye at her. "Sure you will, Cora ... sure you will...." he mocked with confidence. The Mayor shadowed that corner of the living room as he leaned forward, blocking out sunlight, and grinned. "You will because I'll go to the Gazette if you don't. Every General and officer on the army base will be chuckling about Leo's wife ... the cock suckin' Colonel's wife who spends her afternoons perverting the Mayor's wife, that's why. Have you any idea how powerful I am in this town, Cora?" He counted off his supporters on thick fingers. "I've got the print wrapped around my little finger, the welfare department thinks like me, the police department ... even the god damned church! The military in this country runs on pride, my dear ... small town politics runs on fear You have nothing on your side...."
Salty tears dribbled down Cora's flushed cheeks, and when she pulled the pathetically trembling fist from her quivering lips, she heard him say mellifluously in a voice not unlike his wife's cajoling one.
"We may be able to work something out," he added, leaning back in the chair. "If you were to perform certain services for me, I would be willing to drop the charge of lesbianism and we could go with a straight rape charge against these fuckin' Commies."
If ever Cora wanted to die, it was then. Torn between damning the refugees whom Leo had struggled to help, or breaking her husband's career? Life or death for someone, no matter how you cut it. Yet to whom did she owe her allegiance? Obviously to Leo ... the sound of his name brought fresh tears. Hopefully, with help from the military, Leo could gloss over the rape charge, chalking it up to typical small town anti-Cuban sentiment and not infringe upon the Cubans fight for freedom. Yes ... she must 'work something out,' as the Mayor put it.
"Work what out?" she sniffed.
A crooked grin creased the Mayor's face. "Joyce and I don't make love much anymore ... I guess she likes women now and Cubans," he added in a knife blade voice.
"A-all right, Earl ... let's have the sentence. What do you want?" her voice was barely a whisper.
"First of all, I want you to shut up. I can't stomach crying women."
A deep sigh pulled from Cora's chest as desperately she tried to pull herself together. She had acted like a slut with the refugee's, so why not do so for a real purpose-like saving her husband's career? Hadn't enough people suffered because of her Cuban heritage? Maybe that reasoning gave her the sudden burst of strength as, brightening, she realized she still had her pride. He'd offered her the ultimatum ... not vice versa. If he demanded sexuality to free her and every other unfortunate soul soiled by her birth, then so be it. That didn't mean she had to revel in it.
"Okay, Earl ... where do we start?" she asked with a nervous titter that sounded more hysterical than amused.
"Strip...." he grunted.
Mayor Dillon mentally slapped himself on the back. Damned good idea, making up that bit about the Gazette. Little bitch fell for it hook, line and sinker ... which in his mind proved that every Cuban was stupid.
Trembling and chewing her bottom lip until she tasted blood, the remorseful Colonel's wife stripped out of her T-shirt and cotton denim skirt, standing before his piggish eyes now in the skimpiest of silk bikini panties which she'd worn for Leo's faltering virility, and a pink silken brassiere to match. The lace trim swept over the smooth line of her hips, grazing, shimmering black pussy curls, to be repeated at her bosom, hiding only the puffiness of her beige nipples from the Mayor's hungry-eyed gaze.
A gasp of admiration whistled from Earl's heaving lungs. Cora felt a chill as he laved over her young eurves, embarrassed by his blatant sexuality as quickly, she hurled herself down onto the sofa and crossed her arms modestly over her breasts to hide from his odios stare.
"Don't be modest," he grunted in a bored voice. "Spread your legs ... I've got meetings to go to, budgets to plan ... I don't have patience with uptight cunts!" His voice grew in velocity and swallowing her pride, Cora uncurled her arms from her bosom and let her legs fall apart.
"Cunt ... I wanna see cunt...."
Sniffling, she spread her legs further apart and when she could see by his expression that the coral slit behind the snug band of her panties was open to him, she leaned back into the cushions, clenched shut her eyes and tried to block out the image of his lust twisted face.
"I can't see your cunt ... take off your panties ... like you did Joyce's!"
That stung. Fearing he'd keep his word and ruin forever the honorable Colonel Leo Nelson, Cora compliantly peeled off her panties, rolling them over the warm swell of her hips. Biting her lower lip, she kicked the dainty garment to the floor and reached behind her back and stripped off her brassiere without being told.
Now, shivering in nudity, she awaited his next command.
It came soon enough. Opening her eyes, Cora saw him gesticulating with his finger, his face purpling with lust. "One foot over the back of the sofa and the other on the floor ... you hear me?"
Numbly, knowing he could see right up the hole of her pussy, she splayed her legs and found herself leaning back into the corner of the couch, her thighs spread so far apart it hurt the well exercised muscles. Shuddering in revulsion and hating him for holding her captive in her own house, she saw a drop of spittle foam at the corner of the Mayor's thick lips as he stared hungrily at her naked pussy. That he was fully dressed gilded her humiliation.
His next command came in a thick voice. "Now play with yourself ... masturbate for me, Cora!"
Cora's chocolate eyes flew open in disgust. "No! Nooo! You're demented!" she bridled.
His doleful gaze felt like a snake slithering up her spine and she nodded relentingly to indicate she understood fully the rider in their verbal contract. Her sex or Leo's career? One had already been soiled.
Goosebumping, Cora lifted her trembling hands to the mounds of her golden breasts, pulling and tweaking at her nipples, the way she had Joyce's Dillon's the day before. She heartlessly toyed with them, as if they were marbles, inanimate objects. Little pinpricks of sensation ricocheted through her tender flesh, still sensitive from yesterday's ravages.
"Okay," she heard him sigh. "Now finger your cunt.
Play with your clit and lick your fingers." Cora's eyes quickly lifted from her tormentor's massiveness as embarrassed, she watched his hand dip to the crotch of his suit pants to press with the heel of his hand the rising tree trunk.
If he thinks I can make myself cum in front of him ... he'scrazy ... alonemaybe ... but never in front of Mayor Dillon! she averred.
To prove that supposition, her fingertips dropped down to flutter like birds over the black curls of her pubis, hoping to God Lawrence's Mayor was one of those perverts who liked to watch women masturbate ... the kind of men who frequented peep shows and paid one dollar to see a naked woman he couldn't touch. Dramatically she ran the tips of her fingers over the smooth, sensitive outer lips of her cuntal opening, feeling a stiffening bolt of electricity as the petals opened and moistened for entry.
Her eyes fluttered shut and struggling to concentrate on the purpose of this demented mission, she dutifully stroked her forefinger over the tiny rosebud of her clitoris, softly at first. Rigidly, fighting the impulse to shut out the Mayor's presence, she toyed superficially with her naked genitals.
"You're not following directions, bitch!" he growled. "That's not the way you played with my wife!"
I ... I have to do as he says ... or Leo ... Leo!
Faster now, she thumped at the growing bulb of her clitoris, a delicious tingling sensation radiating out around the tiny swollen peak like the beam of a searchlight. It felt good, damningly good ... Mayor Dillon or no Mayor Dillon. Maybe if she made herself cum that would satisfy him ... maybe. Anything was worth a try. She fingered herself more vigorously, her fingers working furiously while her body goosebumped and quivered in masturbatory bliss!
A groan tore from her mouth as she plunged a finger into her hot waiting hole. Squirming it inside herself, she pulled it free only to ram it back in again. Her head flew back to rest on the cushion and her lips parted in a low moan of ecstasy.
"Take your finger out of your cunt, Cora, and lick it! Taste yourself ... like you wanted to taste my wife!"
She obeyed, pulling her finger sticky with cuntal juices from the slurping hole of her cunt and tentatively lifted it to her lips. Slowly the tip of her pink tongue swept over the sticky digit, licking her own juices, piquant, womanly juices. A moan bubbled from her lips and across the room, above her own whimpering sighs, she heard Mayor Dillon pant with unpent lust.
Quickly the finger jabbed back into that warm hole and she felt the juices dripping like rainwater from its mucousy, warm walls. The juices dribbled down her hand as that finger ground erotically into the marble of her clitoris, while three more digits sawed in and out of her pussy. In circles, in ever widening circles, she moved those fingers ... widening the hole and stretching.
But three fingers weren't enough. Not after Carlos' invasion of her seeping hole! Desperately, she shoved in a fourth. Yes ... that was better ... not enough, but better. She felt it build and stoke in the pit of her belly, and knew it wouldn't take much to cum ... then the odious Mayor Dillon would leave her in peace.
With undisguised delight, Lawrence's ignoble Mayor watched the drama unfold. The bulge in his pants hardened and his flabby belly heaved. His naked eyes wouldn't budge from the Cuban wife's hand furiously trying to make herself cum. He wondered if she masturbated often ... she seemed to have the routine down pretty damned well!
"That's it, baby ... screw yourself, make yourself cum ... pretend that's Cuban cock fuckin' you ... yeah, dirty Commie Cuban cock!" he hissed.
Cora threw back her head and whimpered out frustration from not cumming. She could have scaled the walls with her fingernails from the jet fueled energy raging in her veins. Her four long, slender fingers dipped wetly in and out of the swollen flanges of her cunt, the glistening black curls framing her seeping pussy dotted with white pearls of female love juices. Perspiration sheened her forehead, her cheeks, her breasts, just like the salty drops beading her trembling buttocks. A growl of frustration tore from her bosom, changing to the high whine of ecstasy as she rocked on the sofa finger fucking herself.
Cora chewed on her lip, struggling to break out of the gut-tearing plateau of lust. God, what was wrong? Why couldn't she cum ... it had always been so easy in the past ... now to save her soul and Leo's career, she couldn't cum!
Frustrated, she gave up, her sticky fingers squelching nakedly from her womb. Slowly, her eyes lifted to his bugged orbs.
T ... I can't cum ... not in front of you ... I just can't...."
"That's too bad, Cora...." he breathed. "That's too damned bad!"