Sometimes Love is Not Enough, Redux

We both hit the floor at the same time; me because I lost my balance on those spike heels and him because of the excruciating pain in his crotch radiating throughout his body. It was easy for me to get up from the thick-carpeted floor. I returned to the door and after locking it, sat on the edge of one of the overstuffed chairs that decorated his office. I carefully observed my handiwork, or should I say footwork, and had to grin. Abby had off-handedly remarked that what Smythe deserved was a good swift kick in the nuts and I had certainly accomplished that.

Smythe wasn't moving yet. He seemed to be devoting all of his resources to the process of breathing. His eyes were tightly closed and his face was grossly screwed up in pain. Both of his hands were tightly affixed to his crotch. I wished I had brought my camera with me. A life-sized picture of him exactly as he was right now would look so nice hanging on the wall behind my desk.

It was several minutes before he could stagger to his feet and limp to the chair behind his desk. I think he rediscovered the pain in his foot. A tearful whine escaped his lips as he carefully sat and his hands were still glued to his crotch. Oh, well, life can be a bitch at times; in this case it was me, and he would just have to deal with it, or me, as best as he could.

Several more minutes passed before he could make eye contact with me. He looked so pathetic sitting there. I think he wanted his mommy. I moved to the chair in front of his desk and carefully arranged my leather bag on top of it.

"The pain in your foot is for blackmailing me. The pain between your legs is for destroying my marriage. Any questions?"

He just sat there, eyes unfocused, trying to come to grips with the pain still throbbing in his crotch. He had progressed from gasping for breath to a subdued wheezing. Good, that was exactly how I wanted him; hurting but able to function.

"When you've sufficiently recovered, you may turn your computer on and start deleting a few selected files. Until you're able to do that, I'll just sit here and observe how an uncouth bastard like you recovers from a swift kick to the balls."

Finally, with great effort, he rallied and managed to croak, "Fuck you."

I continued to silently study him. Several more minutes passed but that was all right. If this took longer than I planned, I'd just key his intercom and tell his secretary we were in a private conference and not to disturb us. That would give us at least two additional hours to conduct business. I knew he was well on his way to recovery when he removed a hand from his crotch, pointed a finger at me, and hissed, "I'll get you for this, Bitch!"

"Keep that attitude and the only one you will get will be you. Look at it this way, Smythe, the last time we talked I had a lot to lose. Now, there is nothing you can do to hurt me. I've already lost everything that was dear to me. You took what little dignity I had when you made me spread my legs for Wilder. My husband found out about it and that destroyed my marriage. He's divorcing me and will probably never see or speak with me again. The only thing left for me to lose is this job and right now, it doesn't mean all that much to me.

"Now, you're the one who has the most to lose. I have a lot of things to cover so why don't you just relax and try to recover from the pain I've caused you. There's so much I want to say so I'll take it by the numbers.

"First, you have used Lois and Nora the same way you have used me. Lois is a bit of a free spirit and wasn't much help to me. The only thing she has that might be incriminating to you are the records of her bonus checks. However, that will be enough to collaborate other evidence. Nora, on the other hand, is devoted to her diary. Everything of significance she has ever done is recorded. She has the place, time, date, name of her date, and the amount of the bonus written down. She started keeping a diary when she was twelve and never grew out of it. When I told them what you did to me, they couldn't wait to put the screws to you. I think they're afraid you will force them like you forced me.

"Second, if you try to use any of the videos or pictures from the suite, the three of us will put names to the men involved. That ought to go over real well with the wives of those that are married.

"Third, if you pursue this, we will go to the prosecutor, sign statements, and give him all of the evidence we have. You will be charged with blackmail and coercion, along with anything else the prosecutor can think up. We will then bring a civil suit against you and the bank for sexual harassment in the work place. I'm sure we won't have any problem in finding a good lawyer to take our case.

"Fourth, your beloved wife spends every Thursday afternoon with her three girlfriends. They go to the beauty shop, the mall, the museum, and other places of interest. Then they have a nice supper at one of the better restaurants. They always go to the bridge club after supper and play cards until the club closes at eleven. They have been doing this every Thursday for several years. What will she do to you when she finds out how you spend your Thursdays?

"Fifth, I hired a good private investigation agency. They gave me a very detailed report last Friday. It seems that you and Mrs. Johnson have your own ideas of how Thursdays should be spent. Her husband died several years ago from a sudden heart attack, didn't he? After seeing the two of you in action, well, if she was treating him like she treats you, I think I know why he had a heart attack. I know all about her secluded little cabin on the private lake a few miles south of town. The basement is very interesting. Once the agency figured out where you were spending your Thursdays, they managed to break in and hide a couple of cameras in that specially equipped basement. Last Thursday is all on tape and I have a few pictures made from the tapes. Would you like to review them with me? Maybe you can explain the thrill of being dominated. I had no idea you were so deep into BDSM.

"Tell me, how does it feel to be led around by a leash attached to the spiked collar you were wearing? Do you really like wearing that leather hood? Are the chains she attaches to you cold and uncomfortable? It looked to me like she might have left a few marks when she spanked you with the paddle and then whipped you with that leather riding crop. What kind of a thrill do you get when she calls you slave and belittles you while you're sucking on her pussy? Did it all come natural for you or did she have to train you?"

I passed a different picture across the desk as I asked each question. The more I talked, the lower he sank in his chair. Mrs. Johnson was not a small woman and very average in looks. The leather costume she wore looked almost ridiculous. Smythe's wife had her beat in the looks department by a country mile. It wasn't hard to figure out that his attraction to Mrs. Johnson was the millions she had in her accounts at the bank.

"It looks like the bank has a male whore on its payroll as well," I said with as much venom in my voice as possible.

"You can start deleting files now. If you don't, I assure you I will go to the county attorney. I will bring a civil suit against you and the bank. I will be more than happy to share the videos from the cabin with your wife and her friends."

He reached over and turned his computer on. I had won! He highlighted three folders and deleted them. He then opened the recycle bin and deleted its contents.

"Now that we have that out of the way, I want the tapes and pictures from the suite. Include those of Lois and Nora. They don't deserve to have that kind of crap hanging over their heads."

He opened a wall safe hid behind a large picture and started emptying its contents into a large garbage bag he got from a box by the shredder. I had to smile at the way he was walking and moving. I guess he was still feeling a considerable amount of discomfort. He gently sat back down and asked the question I had been expecting.

"May I now have the tapes and other stuff you have against me?"

"One more thing, Smythe. I want those letters of reprimand you placed in my personal file."

He opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out my file, and handed me the letters.

"You keep my file in your desk?"

"I told personal you were due for your annual performance review. I'll return it to them as soon as possible. Now, may I have the tapes?"

"No. I don't know if you've held something back. Our tapes are our insurance that you will behave yourself. As long as you don't do anything stupid, you won't have anything to worry about. However, if you ever mess with us again, I will do everything I said I would. Are we clear on that?"

"Yes, I understand."

"There's one more thing I need to know. Why?"

"I made some high-risk investments for the bank and some of them didn't turn out very well. There were a couple of large loans that I authorized and they were defaulted on. I made promises to the board that I would do better. It was the only way I could save my job."

I got up, slung my shoulder bag, picked up the trash bag and walked out of his office. His secretary was just arriving and she had to stop me and welcome me back. I could hear his shredder running. He was probably destroying the pictures I left on his desk. He shuffled out of his office, told us he didn't feel very well and was going home to rest. As it turned out, he didn't return to work until the following Monday.

Sue was waiting for me in the parking lot. I put the trash bag in the trunk and handed her the tape recorder that was hidden in my shoulder bag. We stopped by the post office and I mailed an envelope to Mrs. Wilder. All it contained was a business card from the investigation agency and a note asking if she knew what her husband did when she wasn't with him. Lois lived in the country and had a large brick trash burner. The four of us spent the evening there, making sure everything in the trash bag was burned to ashes.

Tapes and pictures weren't all we burned that evening. The outfit I wore that fateful Thursday and wore again to confront Smythe was burned, piece by piece, including the large leather shoulder bag. If by some miracle Jim returned, I didn't want anything around to remind him of that day.

The next day, I moved Lois and Nora to a different department. They were given real jobs with real responsibilities. I was sure Smythe would figure out the reason why when he returned to work.

* * * * *

Life became routine and boring. It was work, eat, and sleep. Sunday evenings were the worst. That's when I sat down and wrote to Jim. Tears were always involved. I told him how sorry I was and assured him of my love. I started including little bits of news from the Friday evening get-togethers. I mailed the letters Monday morning on my way to work. They always came back unopened in a larger envelope. Maggie would sometimes include a note telling me that Jim was safe and in good health. She never told me anything else and refused to relay any messages when I tried to talk with her. She was loyal to Jim, as any good secretary should be to her boss.

I received a notice of the final hearing for the divorce. It took less than fifteen minutes. I signed where Jim's lawyer said to sign and left as soon as possible. I cried myself to sleep that night and skipped work the next day.

Jim's wages were set up for direct deposit. A portion went into the household account and the rest went into his personal account. I don't know why but he didn't change those arrangements. This continued after the divorce was final. I wrote to him about it but of course that letter was returned unopened just like all of the rest. I called Maggie and she said she would mention it to him but I never heard back from her. I even called his lawyer and he said he wasn't going to interfere in his client's business. It was the only thing that indicated Jim still cared for me. I never spent a dime of it.

Sue's husband called one evening and they spent over an hour on the phone. He had completed a treatment program for alcohol abuse and was going to AA meetings. He wanted her back and the only way she would agree to return was after he was sober and employed for a full year. He called every Sunday afternoon from then on. She started smiling a lot more and she now had a bounce to her step. At least her life was starting to look better.

My only recreational activities were the Friday evening get-togethers. Carl, learning of my divorce, tried to get a little frisky with me one evening. It took Adam and Brent just a few minutes to straighten him out. He was told to start paying more attention to his own wife or he wouldn't be welcome anymore. I guess he had made a pass or two at Abby and Beth. He left in a huff with his wife right behind him giving him all kinds of guff. I don't think their marriage will last much longer.

I met the most interesting man that started coming to the parties. His name was Roger and he was every woman's dream. I would have been afraid of him except for a beautiful little blonde bombshell named Rhonda. She called him husband and had him completely wrapped around her little finger. I would usually have one dance with Adam or Brent sometime during the evening. Roger took a turn with me one evening and he was a perfect gentleman. He maintained a respectable distance between us and kept his hands where they belonged. Roger started fishing with Adam and Brent and Rhonda became a part of our shopping excursions. They were a fun couple to be with and easy to talk to.

I celebrated the one-year anniversary of Jim returning my ring with a good cry. The only good news for the entire past year was that all of my blood test had come back negative for HIV/AIDS. Lucky me. Abby, Beth, Rhonda and Sue managed to get me drunk. I woke up in my bed the next morning not remembering how I got there and I had the mother of all headaches. The girls took me out to lunch and then shopping that afternoon. They went out of their way to cheer me up and for the most part, they succeeded.

Chapter 08

It was a typical Monday morning. We were busy with deposits from businesses that remained open over the weekend and I had just managed to convince a new customer to open his rental accounts with us. I normally wouldn't bother with new accounts but this customer's account was large enough to command my attention. I needed some forms from the teller cage and as I turned the corner of the hallway that led to the main area, there was Jim! He was standing in line and was looking directly at me. Damn, but he looked good. I tried to give him my best smile and raised my hand in a wave of acknowledgement. His stare seemed to go right through me, as if I weren't there. My brain finally realized that it controlled my feet and I started walking toward him. He shook his head no, stopping me in my tracks. I could feel the tears starting to build so I spun around and hurried back down the hall to the ladies room.

He was back – here – in the city – oh, my – how long – damn! Would he let me see him? Could I at least talk to him? It's been over a year. How do I find where he's staying? It took several minutes to collect my thoughts. I wiped the tears away, repaired my makeup and returned to my office. I apologized to my new customer for the delay and called Lois and asked her to bring the forms I needed. It took an hour to conclude our business and just as soon as he was out the door, I left to take the rest of the day off.

I told Sue as soon as I got home. She called Abby, who called Beth, who called Rhonda, and they all ended up in my kitchen. I was in a first class funk and the girls were determined to bring me out of it. Rhonda came up with what she thought was a great idea.

"What we need is a place that has ambiance. Let's all go down to Club One. It just opened last weekend."

"That's the new dance club, ain't it," asked Beth.

"Yeah, I heard about that place," replied Abby. "Too bad it's the middle of the day. They'll be closed and we won't be able to get in."

"Well, in that case, we'll just have to convince 'em otherwise," said Rhonda, with a knowing smile. "I bet they'll make an exception for five wild and crazy girls. Come on, we can take my van."

They all started for the door, dragging me along with them. "Hey, I don't want to go anywhere. Can't we just stay here?"

"No," they all exclaimed, simultaneously.

Rhonda parked by the rear entrance of a large building about twenty minutes later. There wasn't a single car in the large parking lot in front and there weren't any parked in the back lot either.

"See, I told you," whined Abby. "No one's here."

"So what," Rhonda grinned. "I know where they hide one of the keys."

She opened her purse, took out a key, smirked at us and said, "Come on, ladies, time's wasting."

We got out of the van and cautiously followed her to the door. Her key worked and we looked on in awe as she entered the security code for the alarm system. We filed down a short hallway as she carefully locked the door behind us.

The bar had a very slight curve to it and seemed to stretch forever. There were at least thirty padded stools lined up in front of it. The main entrance was on the north side of the building and the wide double doors stood directly opposite the center of the bar. The doors were separated from the bar by at least sixty feet of polished floor that was littered with small tables and chairs all the way to the west wall. The walls were lined with booths and I could only assume that this was the social area of the club.

The east end of the bar made a ninety-degree turn to the south and that made room for at least ten more stools. Slightly raised booths lined the north and south walls all the way to the raised stage at the east end of the building. Small tables lined the dance floor in front of the booths. This left a clear area of about seventy five by one hundred feet to dance.

A small case on the wall behind the bar contained the necessary licensees and a large card stating the capacity was limited to five hundred and fifty people. I could almost imagine that many people in here laughing, dancing, having a fun-filled evening away from stress at work and the mundane of home.

Rhonda stepped behind the bar and the rest of us found comfortable stools to sit on. She turned a small knob on the wall behind her and the soft, captivating voice of Enya flooded the building.

"Don't tell me this is the type of music that draws the customers in," exclaimed Abby.

"No, not quite," laughed Rhonda. "Roger and I like the milder stuff when we're cleaning, stocking the bar, or doing the mountains of paper work associated with getting this place off to a good start."

"So, what made you and Roger decide to go into the clubbing business?" queried Beth.

"Well, to make a long story short, we kind of fell into it. Three guys got together, formed a loose partnership, and started building this place. They ran out of money and their financial backers foreclosed. We heard about it, checked it out very carefully, and here we are. Roger and I have been working our tails off for three months finishing what was started and last Friday was opening night. If our first weekend is any indication at all, this will be a very successful endeavor."

"I'm impressed," said Abby. "Any chance of the swing club having a private party here sometime in the near future?"

"Nope," laughed Rhonda. "Too many rules and regulations to take a chance on something like that. However, any club member who visits us gets their first drink on the house."

"This place must have cost a fortune," ventured Beth. "How did you come up with the money; if you don't mind my asking?"