Betsy & the McBrides Ch. 02

THREE

Standing in front of her dressing table, toweling dry after a long relax in scented bathwater, Betsy Milton-Stewart relished her post-coitus feeling of fulfillment.

She'd been well-filled without doubt, as Kenny McBride was a very developed man.

She grinned thinking that if she were to have a permanently stretched mouth and vagina, she'd rather fancy carrying his stretch marks as souvenirs of their rather hot sessions. That reminded her, the bed base needed strengthening.

"Perhaps I'd better replace it with a steel reinforced base," she said aloud. "Now that's not the thought a nice lady should have, is it dear?"

Then, almost as if her life had braked to slow motion, Betsy's gaze fixed on her left breast, the chill of a possible breast cancer scare hitting her belly. She pulled up the somewhat heavy mass and stepped in closer to the mirror for a careful inspection.

Seconds later Betsy was grinning, and muttering "You bastard, Kenny."

What had scared her momentarily were his teeth marks!

Brushing her hair Betsy worked out her schedule for the day: Financially ruin a fucking Kennedy or two if the opportunity arises; send a big bouquet of flowers and a thank you card to Kenny's mother for being so supportive and go into the newspaper and find ass to kick.

The Sentinel looked lousy, it's content was average to put it politely and company profitability had been falling, so kick some ass right out of the door seemed a suitable option. But she modified that rush of adrenalin, conceding she should await the McBrides' recommendations before doing anything extreme.

Betsy wondered what Kenny was doing right now. Probably having mummy fill him up with oat porridge and re-fried beans to boost energy and give his drained balls the message that relief is on the way.

Kenny had been heroic in getting her car back from the Kennedy gang. But she she'd well-rewarded him – Christ she was having difficulty walking!

Pouring a coffee with a touch of milk and chewing a piece of lightly toasted bread smeared with the faintest trace of oil-based spread, Betsy called Dirk Hamilton, managing-editor of The Sentinel, a fat slob but a very talented journalist. Dirk was married to Mary who was equally fat and worst still was related to the Kenney's; though luckily for Dirk's future on the newspaper, the relationship was fairly remote – second cousins.

"Good morning, Dirk. It's Betsy, nice to find you at work instead of out fishing."

"It's a joke, Dirk. I know you are conscientious and I know you work hard. Yes, and long hours. Yes, and for fuck all. Still playing the old record Dirk, though I suppose these days I should refer to it as a CD.

"Listen, I want a meeting with the company's top ten – and only ten mind you – executives at ten this morning."

Betsy listened to a tirade.

"I know that it's you editorial conference time but 10:00 happens to be convenient for me, Dirk. So reschedule your bloody conference.

"I'm not being abusive Dirk, I just trying to talk in a language you journalists understand. If you get everyone seated and quiet when I walk in on the dot at 10:00, I promise to terminate the meeting fifteen minutes later.

"I know women are always late for appointments Dirk, but they do that because they feel the need to try to hold some power over men. I don't need to do that, do I Dirk? Even supremo jurno Dirk knows that now I am the boss and hold the power. But I won't abuse it, Dirk, at least not with loyal staff. And just to prove I still like you, lose twenty pounds and I'll be really nice to you just like I used to be when you first came on to daddy's newspaper almost eleven years ago.

"How can I remember that so precisely? Oh, I remember men who are exceedingly able with their bodies, Dirk and you were up there with the best.

"Why thank you, Dirk. What a charming thing to say to a lady first thing in the morning.

"Bye."

Betsy knew she'd trust fat man with her life, as his heart and mind had not changed. He needed a rev up as fat people tend to be lazy because too much of their energy goes into mass maintenance. She'd rattle some stones this morning and some of the problem people might evacuate.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our chairman of the board, Mrs Betsy Milton-Stewart."

"Thank you, Dirk. I'm just Betsy to everyone here. I'd like to thank everyone for supporting my late husband Royce during his time with this company. The Sentinel, sad to say, had gone downhill. I want it rejuvenated which calls for a new approach, and this is the introduction of things to come. The board has to provide more resources – I can say categorically our funding crisis is over, that finance is available to sweep with a new broom.

"Some sub-performers will go, even if they are senior executives. A strategic plan is being prepared and a management plan will be implemented with your assistance. I'm rushing this through so there won't be weeks of consultation with you, just quick meetings to harmonize on key issues. I want the Sentinel back where it was in my father's day, or near as possible as I know other media provide competition my father didn't face.

"Any questions?

"We share your loss, Betsy. I for one would like to see The Sentinel regain community respect."

"Thank you Allan, well said."

"What's the timetable?"

"Don't know yet, Ross. Everyone will be advised before the end of this month, I hope."

"Heads will roll you say. Does that include mine?"

"Loyal and effective contributors have nothing to fear, Dirk. We will have to recruit if we start up our own TV station."

"May I quote you on that, Betsy?"

"Yes, Lee-Anne, but attribute nothing in your column to us. Just quote it as a strong rumor that the Kennedy's station KENTV88 may be getting local competition from a new TV station linked to The Sentinel."

That created a buzz and Betsy said that's all she had to say and walked out. Passing Dirk she said, "Buy me lunch at 1:00 Dirk."

"That's prime production time and when I'm preparing to coordinate the handing over to the shift working the morning editions, Betsy."

"I know, but thought you might like to be confidentially briefed."

"I'll be waiting at the front door at 1:00 Betsy."

Betsy called a cab and Mike Street, her late husband's buddy, took the fare.

"Hi, Betsy, I heard about last night's explosion. I'll read about it in The Sentinel this afternoon with interest."

"No you won't be reading a word; I've issued instructions that I want no mention about the Kennedys in our news columns. They can continue advertising if they wish, as to deny them would land us in court over claimed damages and elsewhere in battles over ethical issues. This is war."

"The way to go, Betsy. Half the town will get behind you, believe you me."

"Why should I believe you, Mike?" she laughed. "Your hunk Kenny isn't the only one who's been in the forces."

Betsy frowned, her eyes meeting Mike's in his rear vision mirror. How on earth could Mike know about her relationship with Kenny – he must know the sexy bit to have referred to him as her hunk.

"I worked in intelligence in the Navy for twelve years."

"Then why are you driving a cab?"

"I wanted to take it easy for a while and then it got too easy to move out. I'm slowly buying up shares and ultimately will own the company with a couple of other cabbies."

"Is that want you want?"

"Yes, plus a bit of excitement. I could do things for you on the side."

"Like what?" asked Betsy, having the vague thought he might mean to her body.

"In taking on the Kennedys you'll need intelligence. I hear a lot, find out a lot. I can't help it, it's in my blood. You could put me on a retainer as a strategist with bonuses if I do good."

"Well."

"What do you mean well?"

"You should have said if I do well."

"Fuck grammar," he grinned, their eyes meeting in the mirror again.

"Look, Mike I can't really see how your sitting on your ass in a cab all day you will be able to contribute significantly to my mission."

"Oh yeah," said Mike, drawing up into the circular drive in front of Betsy's home. "Want to hear me make a case? Your hush-hush Army man will verify the soundness of what I say."

"Was Kenny really right in front-line stuff?"

"Yep, explosives expert, sniper, skilled in unarmed combat, hand-trained to seduce ladies and adept in keeping people silenced permanently or bringing them home alive."

"Trained in seduction?"

"I just put that in to grab your full attention."

"Come in for coffee, Mike. We should talk"

Mike left half an hour later, engaged on a retainer.

He'd convinced Betsy that if she wanted to deal with the Kennedys effectively the best way was to do it by stealth. When they were being hit they'd suspect her but without proof there would be some disarray because some of them would not be quite convinced she was the enemy. In fact she should maintain her slender Kennedy links and perhaps develop a major one.

"Who?"

"I'll come back with a suggestion."

On the strength of her growing belief in Mike's wisdom, Betsy phoned Dirk but he was attending to an industrial issue at the printing plant. So she called city editor Shaun Mitchell and advised there had been a change of policy; he was to run anything newsworthy that cropped up about the Kennedys including last night's explosion story and to advise Dirk accordingly.

"Including you being questioned as a possible suspect?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes Shaun, especially that reference though don't let it be used as the lead or incorporated in the heading."

"Good one," was all that Mike said when she came off the phone.

He also suggested she should get her company to offer her car back to the Kennedy Car Leasing.

"I think they will cancel the contract without penalty. If you keep the car it will remain a sore point and they may take a crack at seizing it illegally or even destroying it outside your home."

"But not with me in it?"

"No, I don't think so. Attrition through pressure including mischief is their way; I'm not aware of violence being employed apart from stand-over threats.

When Betsy was walking Mike out to his cab he made a useful suggestion. The company ran a plain car for VIP clients; she should use it.

"Good idea, Mike. I don't really like city driving. Could you phone Michelle my PA to give you an idea of car usage a month as she collects the data, and then negotiate a favorable rate for our company on my behalf – I'll be the only user."

"You trust me to fight to my own company to get you our best deal?"

"You're a bright guy, Mike."

When Betsy booted her laptop, there were four emails awaiting her attention. Three were from Matilda McBride seeking information to supplement information she'd gathered from financial records Betsy had given her. That reminded Betsy she needed to issue authorization for Matilda and Kenny to go anywhere throughout the company they wanted to gather information and for everyone they contacted to cooperate fully.

The fourth message was from Kenny – very brief: "Your room tonight?" She replied: "No, pick me up at nine."

Betsy then phoned Matilda and had a lovely chat as well as exchanging business information.

FOUR

Betsy did some paperwork and at 11.25 a security consultant arrived.

"Lovely to see you again Trevor," Betsy said, kissing him. They had been an item at college and Trevor was showing a reluctance to let go.

"Okay, Trevor, kiss me as if you mean it." Closing the door with his foot he kissed Betsy passionately and had a boob out of her dress-front with incredible speed and finesse. Obviously making house calls had turned Trevor into an expert not only in security.

"Where do you want it, babe?" he asked, removing their combined saliva off her mouth then his.

"What are the options?" Betsy asked, running her tongue over her lips and staring at him with the sultry look that came so easily.

"Bed if time is reasonably limited, out beside the pool if time is unimportant or over the kitchen bench if you are in a hurry."

"There's enough time for bed but kitchen bench sounds more exciting, breathed Betsy moving forward to take most of his erection in her hand, although it was still zipped up out of sight.

"Jesus, still the full-on babe. Not too many around like you these days, Betsy. They think their cunts are so precious that they expect to be wined and dined with all the trimmings before lifting their skirts.

Betsy kicked a low stool against the kitchen bench, pulled her other boob from her bra and after removing her knickers jumped on to the bench and squatted, presenting a delectable pussy for Trevor to plug.

"Jeeze – you might be a bit too high for me but think of the freedom you have to thrust back."

"Brightness never was your strength, Trevor darling, but you always could please a lady. Hop up on to the stool, sweetie – why the fuck do you think I put it there?"

It was a rather precarious ride, one participant squatting high above the ground, the other with his feet close together on a stool. But there was the added excitement of having to prevent each other from taking a tumble, which required teamwork. They proved themselves to be experts.

Trevor's hunk of meat – the best description for it – went in with a couple of grunts from both sides.

Betsy balanced not as well as a hen on a perch, but adequately while having one hand working on her clit and the other cupping Trevor's balls.

"My, have your balls grown, darling?" simpered Betsy, having no idea if they had or not. Trevor reacted by pulling her in against him and ramming hard forward, as if trying to get all of his cock plus his balls up her spout.

Betsy shrieked but didn't think she was damaged.

They advanced into a good rhythm considering they had also to concentrate on staying both connected and upright. She had a wall behind her but the fall sideways in either direction was not a pleasant prospect.

As Trevor grunted away Betsy sighed and thought why she was doing this – it was such an unwholesome act bordering on indecency. She much preferred the candle-light type of seduction but even that was not on the plan for tonight. Gosh, you're awful, Betsy scolded herself; fancy being with a man and thinking about his successor only a few hours' hence.

Betsy let her clit and Trevor's balls go and quietly worked her beautiful dress up and over her head. She then unclipped her bra and threw them across the room to where her panties lay. She knew Trevor would want to display his manliness by shooting his cum over her and then wanting her to suck him clean, so why let him mess up a lovely bra and beautiful dress? They would clean easy but she didn't want her good clothes defiled.

Good god, thought Betsy. Am I losing my sluttish tolerance now that I'm about to turn thirty. She chose to ignore the inner voice saying that most sluttish young women had gained respectability by their mid-twenties.

Excited, Trevor pulled out, almost over-balancing since he had to lean back so much. Somehow his big tool didn't look quite so large in his huge hands; in hers it looked almost like an offensive weapon.

Red-faced and grunting Trevor leered as he began to spray, not even warning her so she would have time to close her eyes, but she managed to do that – just.

Sorry, Trevor, this is the last time you'll be over-filling my twat and so arrogantly pasting my skin with your foul syrup.

As soon as she thought that Trevor made his announcement.

"Sorry darling, no more today – I've got one more client to service this afternoon."

Arrogant is right, talking to her about another women as if he were the top stud around. He'd not even bothered to asked if she'd cum. Well, she had intended not to let herself go emotionally or deliver a wet one, but she'd been vibrated with a couple dozen of orgasms in small series during his penile battering of her vagina that she'd let him have the full works and who wouldn't?

Grabbing the kitchen towel she wiped her chest and face and tossed the now soiled towel at him.

"Wipe yourself and pour a beer from the fridge. I'm having a quick shower then will explain what I want, and then I'm off to lunch."

Artless Trevor didn't bother to ask if she meant lunch and a shafting; presumably he'd think she meant both, the artless fornicator that he was.

Trevor was at Betsy's house, and getting lucky in the process because he was considered to be the best security hardware specialist in town.

They walked around the house inside and out and Trevor said he could make it very secure, but not impregnable. He could install a series of intruder detection units in the two rooms she wanted heavily alarmed – her bedroom and the office – that would almost certainly outwit intruders and snoopers armed with the latest scanning devices.

"But it will cost you, darling."

"Just prepared your quote and I'll get my back-up consultant to check it out. He'll be looking for fair pricing, integrity of system and whether the discount is genuine. That's what he told me."

"Who is he?"

"Confidential information in the interests of security," smiled Betsy. She would be giving the quote to Mike Street to get checked out. She also decided that she and Mike should not be seen together unless he was driving her somewhere.

It was past 1:00 when Betsy entered the restaurant with Dirk. Betsy was therefore able to chose a wine, her rule – rarely broken – being no alcohol after midnight or before midday.

"Dirk, you know more about the day-to-day running of the company than any other two people. I want you to spend an hour each day with Matilda McBride and possibly her son reviewing what they have done since the last review and to answer their questions and deal with any incorrect assumptions. It's essential they have your liaison. When and where you meet is between you and Matilda."

"That's fine, cheers," said Dirk, raising his glass.

"Now for the absolutely confidential bit, Dirk: Matilda is in the processes of taking over the mortgages on the company held by Kennedy's bank and she will also be providing us with megabucks to restructure and kick-start."

"Well, well. Matilda the witch. How did you accomplish that – take her to bed?"

"I've already had enough vulgarity for one day, thank you."

"Oh really? Who has been talking to you?"

"Button it, Dirk. Now this is the basic strategy we're working on. I trust you to accept that what I'm about to tell you is for you ears only at this stage?"

Dirk nodded, and looked very interested.

FIVE

That evening, waiting to go out, Betsy reviewed the people closest to her. There was room for a traitor to be close to her – a Kennedy informant. She'd have to be very careful. She'd also have to consider the possible existence of a deep-seated spy, such as Dirk's wife Mary.

Potentially it was a knife-edge decision, but Betsy believed without question the three people she could trust were Dirk Hamilton, Matilda McBride and Mike Street. She was tempted to add Kenny McBride but she had the tiniest doubt, she couldn't put a finger on it: ex-soldier or solider of fortune? Perhaps that was it? Kenny had suffered at the hands of the Kennedy's but who hadn't? Some people easily changed allegiances for the color of money.

Betsy heard the car arrive outside the front door and went out to greet the arrival.

She slipped in beside Kenny and he asked directions to their destination.

"The top of Half Bald Mountain."

Kenny shot a surprised look at Betsy but did not question her.

She'd been dismayed he'd not jumped out and opened the car do for her. Taking her for granted already? True, he'd had leaned over and kissed her long and deep as soon as she was strapped in, but he'd not displayed the courtesy of opening the door. Once again Betsy nagged herself that his lack of basic human kindness had disappointed her.