Chapter 3
Despite its bucolic setting, Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin is a wealthy finger of land jutting between Green Bay and Lake Michigan. Chicago's infamous Al Capone and cronies were reputed to have vacationed in this hinterland rife with chimneyed cottages, fishing boats and grand summer homes where rested wealthy lumber company executives. In that tradition Simon Tucker bought the old Johnson estate and transformed it into a plush office, home complex with tennis courts, kidney shaped swimming pool and riding stables. Now, at seven-thirty in the evening the lights still burned in his office. Simon Tucker was holding a meeting.
At fifty two. Simon was still a powerful figure of a man, and though he limited his friends to a chosen few, those who he commanded an almost automatic respect from those he came in contact with. Tall and graying at the temples, he was in superb physical condition and his body was hard and firm as his eyes were black and ruthless.
"Sam. your collections are falling behind..."
Sam Wong, an employee of Tucker's for the past five years, felt his knees buckle slightly at this employer's reprimand. Not only that, but the cock-bloating sight of supple-bodied Kim, Tucker's private secretary sucking the boss' cock beneath the mahogany desk while he and the two other men stood there at attention had him badly unnerved.
"I-I'm sorwee boss, but some people hard to find." He struggled through his five year old English.
Tucker preferred hiring Orientals. They were tough as nails, knew where to land a karate chop, didn't eat much, and were fiercely loyal people... not to mention the fact that they worked for little money.
Tucker eyed the pudgy Oriental speculatively, his fingers entwined idly in Kim's mane of long black hair as if he were stroking a cat. "Sorry doesn't cut it. I've had to make a few collections myself."
"I-If you talking about Decker... I sorry but couldn't get ahold of him."
"Bullshit," Tucker returned without emotion. "I talked to the asshole today on the phone at his repair shop."
Won's face reddened. No excuse would pass by Tucker unchecked. Besides, watching Kim, his own sister, sucking Tucker's cock had him so excited he had to get out of there and get himself a piece of tail before he started to cum in his pants.
"You've been hanging around the Peach Cobbler ballin' the waitresses, so I've heard. Now see here, Wong, just because they shipped those scrawny Vietnamese up here to live off the fat of our land doesn't mean you gotta be fillin' their bellies!"
Sam stared down at his shoe, noticing a hefty bulge in his pants and reddening at that too.
"And you've been drinking too much..."
Sam gulped nervously. He'd been warned about hitting the sauce. "Give me another chance Mr. Tucker."
Tucker smiled in amusement at the beads of sweat popping out on the golden forehead above the slanted eyes. The fact that it was the man's own sister sucking him off beneath his desk and that her husband Charlie was also in the room with them, caused another tremor of sadistic glee to churn in his balls, Kim was a hot number too, and as lovely in her soft. Oriental way, as dew on a buttercup. It was difficult for Tucker to understand how a warted toad like Sam could have such a gorgeous little sister.
"I hear wedding bells have been ringing in your ears, Sam. A pretty little Viet Namese right off the boat...?" His lust-engorged penis swelled even larger in Kim's velvety mouth.
Sam gulped nervously. Buddha be damned... he'd tried to keep his marriage secret from the boss, knowing the boss' appetite for women. But he should have known better than to conceal something like that from Tucker.
He nodded and grinned ineffectually. "Onwee nineteen." Sam's heart pounded mightily in his hairless chest. His little Lotus was such a tiny girl, and so innocent!
"Either you take the punishment or the wifey takes it. It's up to you, Wong."
Wong blinked his slanted eyes nervously, folds of skin closing over stubby eyelashes. "W-what kind of punishment, boss?" He only hoped it wouldn't be physically painful.
"Show 'em Bloater," Simon grinned evilly up to his number-one henchman, the only one who seemed to maintain control of his faculties after watching the arousing spectacle of Kim's rite of fellatio.
"Bloater" Benton, though no one but Tucker had the nerve to call him that to his face, obediently stripped the wide, steel-studded belt from around his barrel waist. He folded it in half and using his thumb to make a loop, gave it a loud snap against his palm. Sam, a Cambodian escapee from a North Viet Namese prison camp began to shake with fear, images of Oriental tortures ripe in his mind and scarred on his back.
Tucker watched the paling man with satisfaction. He knew that Sam was a coward who, when given unfair advantage, like all cowards, could be a ruthless bully. Charlie was the same way and that's exactly why they were invaluable to Tucker's organization. Bloater wasn't a coward... he was deathly ruthless without being bullied.
"Well, Sam?"
"O-Okay, boss. You want Lotus, you have her. She's got a nice ass and she sucks cock like Cambodians suck eggs..."
"Now get your yellow ass outta my sight and make sure your Lotus blossom is here at my desk tomorrow night with her panties in her hand!"
"Yes, yes, boss," the relieved pudgy man breathed, backing up and bowing reverently, half running out the door.
As soon as the door had closed quietly behind Sam, Tucker turned his attention back to his remaining employees.
"Bloater, you and me are gonna pay the Decker guy a visit Thursday. I gotta get some money to give to the right people if I'm gonna get outta that Grand Jury room in one piece."
"Sure, Mr. Tucker," the blubbery main replied in a voice deep as a well. "Thursday."
"And, Charlie... for God sakes straighten out your cock before it snaps in half... that's better. Charlie, I want you to run a, little errand for me tonight." He fished around in his pocket and produced a folded piece of paper. "Terry's girl friend. She's standing waiting for someone to give her a ride over to her friend's house. Take the Continental."
"Sure, boss..." the Oriental agreed reluctantly.
Damn just when Kim was getting going. Nothing pleased Kim's husband more than watching some guy, especially someone cool like the boss, blow his nuts into his nakedly kneeling, sucking wife's face. And now he was doubly excited about his brother-in-law's tiny Viet Namese wife getting hers the next night. He'd won a ringside seat in this cock-sucking affair from blabbing to the boss about Sam's hush-hush marriage, but that wouldn't do him any good tonight. The boss still wanted him to pick up his kid's girl friend.
"And Charlie...?"
"Yeah, Boss."
"Take your time. Kim's gonna be busy for a while."
Sara gently eased her tired body down into the warmth of the bubbly bathwater. What a day... topped off with her sister's snotty nosed dinner table manners. In retrospect, the svelte blonde supposed she shouldn't have ratted on her sister about going out with the Tucker boy, but then Tanya had no business saying those things about her, either. Maybe Daddy was a little unreasonable comparing them all the time, but that wasn't her fault! He was her father; she owed him a little respect.
God, the water felt good... almost sexy the way it caressed her sore, aching muscles. It wasn't easy wrestling with a two year old toddler all day long no matter how darling she was, and these nightly forays in the bathtub were about the only time Sara had to herself these days. God, she wished Barry were home! What she needed badly was a wild fuck! That's probably why I've been acting so bitchy lately...
She stretched her still-trim, slightly tanned legs out full length in the long tub and admired their firmness. They weren't as long or slender as Tanya's, but still enough to turn heads. And Tanya was only fifteen years old, and nearly two inches taller, and hadn't had a kid, either!
Sara's hands soaped the washcloth and began lather her lithe arms. She stared with near-narcissistic satisfaction at her full, wide-set breasts jiggling with the motions of her washing and smiled wanly. That's where it counts! She mused, deeply proud of her body that had recovered from pregnancy with the merest traces of motherhood. Her breasts had remained the same swollen size they had while filled with milk. Lovingly, she soaped the alabaster softness, using her bare hands instead of the rough washcloth, and immediately felt her nipples perk up against her gently probing fingers. No longer their former virginal pink, they looked even sexier in the post-natal beige. Rinsing the soap from them, she weighed them heavily in her hands, proud that after having skipped a full cup size, from B to C, there was still only the slightest hint of sag in them—and none when she sucked in her tummy. She was proud that she had breast fed Heidi.
Her hands left her breasts, lightly smoothing down into the water over the velvet softness of her lower torso, stopping at her narrow waist as she sucked in her breath to see how tiny she could make it. Not too bad for a mother... she laughed with satisfaction. Her delicate, fine boned fingers traced down farther, then to the barely discernible rise of her belly. The few stretch marks had faded nicely, but, she mused that though her tummy was nearly as flat as it had been when she was a teenager, there was a certain softness to it that would require some stringent exercise to firm up. She straightened her legs, resting her heels on the edge of the tub on either side of the faucet, careful not to get her crisply cut wedge hair style wet. That was her crowning glory, her golden blonde hair and everyone—especially Daddy—said it looked so adorable cut around her ears like that.
Inevitably, the twenty-three year old housewife's unconsciously searching hands found the tender swell of her pubic mound. Almost idly, she began to entwine her fingers in the sparse curls of darker blonde pubic hair there. Oh, God...! I wish Barry was back from Iran...! Then, with a stomach-churning thrill of anticipation deep in the pit of her belly, Sara parted the delicate curls between her legs and began to massage the oily nub of her rapidly growing clitoris with the tip of her long, pink painted fingernail. She knew what would happen next... God knows she'd done it enough times lately! Barry had never taken an out of country contract before, and good money or not, she was dying for him! She almost regretted having scolded Barry for his suggestion about joining a swap club a few months back.
Sara chuckled. What would Mamma and Daddy think of their wonderful, straight-laced son-in-law if they knew he'd wanted to exchange their daughter's body for another girl's? That's the way Barry was, and though the idea still intrigued her, she knew she would never break her marriage vows... not until she got bored with him, at least. Barry was just horny, that's all.
Sara often wondered what it would be tike making love to someone else, but she put it down to curiosity, since no one but Barry had touched her. She had her share of fantasies though, and so did he, and both admitted they might have missed out on something by having gotten married so young. Still, she preferred some of their more elaborate sexual games to the realities and potentially sticky situations intrinsic to swapping mates with another couple. And now, as her extended middle finger began to slither wetly in between her quivering vaginal lips, her mind was on one of those elaborate games—the one where she would lie in the tub and Barry would barge in with his old starter pistol and pretend he was a rapist; jerking her out of the soapy water and bending her over the rim of the tub while he took her from behind. Oh, Barry... Barry... anybody! moaned Sara as her middle finger jerked faster at her tiny pulsating clitoris beneath the bubbly bathwater.
"Are you really a killer?"
Charlie's slanted eyes blinked nervously at the young blonde teenager perched coyly next to him on the front seat of the sleek black Lincoln Continental. He had a difficult time seeing over the high steering wheel and preferred his own Datsun but what the boss said, he did.
Too bad she's so damned young... and going with the boss' punk-assed kid. "Where'd you say your friend lives?" His English was better than Sam's, but his foreign accent still struck the Wisconsin born teenager as strangely intriguing.
"Past the Lutheran Church on Asmus Road... Are you a black belt killer or not?"
She sure is a nosey little bitch. "You got quite an imagination kid."
"Everybody at school says Terry's dad's a gangster."
"Oh, Mr. Tucker ain't no gangster..." He glanced at his watch. Right now he ought to be eight inches into my wife!
"They say he's a bookie for all of northern Wisconsin and runs a whore house and all sorts of stuff."
Somebody better keep their trap shut! "That ain't true. The boss owns a chain of restaurants, everything's legitimate."
"Probably a front."
Charlie fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, popped it in his mouth; reached for the dash lighter, only to discover that she'd beaten him to it. He kept one eye on the road and the other on her as she depressed the lighter, waited for it to pop out and held it for him while he lit his cigarette. Damn, she's a fox! All legs... that's where the Americans got it beat over the Orientals. Their bandy legs were shaped for walking, not showing off. He felt a nervous twitch in his pants as he stared sidelong at her while her skirt rode up close to her crotch. She'd already shed her trench coat and sat with one leg curled under her so that she sat facing him. He gulped when she inched closer.
"If Mr. Tucker runs a restaurant business, what do you do for him?"
Charlie squinted, cursing the American built car with all its automated gadgets. He swung rapidly to the right, missing a mailbox along the crooked road.
"I—I'm a cook. Chinese cook."
"Oh?" she dimpled wryly, drawing her other leg up under her. "You use chopsticks?" Casually Tanya draped her arm over the back of the seat and rested her chin on her hand, eyeing the tightly swallowing man with profound amusement, "Have you ever killed a man with a karate chop?"
Charlie cast a pained expression in her direction. Jesus... her skirt was halfway up to her neck and he could see the crotchband of her panties in the shadowy softness up between her long legs. "No more questions... Where the hell do I turn?"
"Left."
"Left? That's Sturgeon Bay Park'"
Boldly now, resolute in the decision she'd made the moment Terry refused to pick her up, Tanya reached over and began to stroke the lengthening bulge in Charlie's pants. "You look like a gangster and you talk like a gangster... but you sure don't act like one."