The Missing Link 02: Liza

At last Steve answered. He agreed to talk if he could see Eric as often as he wanted. He hung up on me when I tried to be smart, but I succeeded eventually in meeting him at a restaurant.

Why did I have to dress as sexily as I did? Why float into the restaurant on a cloud of perfume and strut with the airs of a catwalk model, made up to perfection, wearing the highest heels Steve knew of? It was pearls to the swine anyway; he didn't even rise to greet me. All he wanted to know was if I'd found a better story. I chose to attack, not even realizing that I casually accused him of amnesia, ill health and lack of mental capacity. When he pointed that out, I saw how disastrously wrong my strategy had been and tried to repair my mistake. It only made it worse.

I went all-out, lowering my voice, squeezing his hand, my lips trembling. In the end I was close enough to how I truly felt, but it proved just another huge mistake.

"I don't lie!" I said, vehemently. "There never was a cufflink on the table. You must believe me!"

"Why do you defend him so, Liza?" he asked. "Is he so important to you that you'd rather break my heart than break your secret?" Oh God, what soap opera did I get into? His sad puppy-eyes made my stomach crawl. I jumped to my feet, moaning with disgust. I grabbed my purse and left -- or rather fled.

So you said it would be easy, Daddy?

I decided to play it down for a while, allowing Steve to see Eric again. At least it improved my relation with the little guy and gave me undisturbed nights. It also gave me time to contemplate my concern with a marriage to a guy I cheated on in the most shameless ways.

That's when Roger phoned.

"Liza?"

"...Roger?" There was a chuckle on the other end.

"I won't ask you how you are, Liza. I know. And I need to see you." The steel in his voice confused me; it had never been there before.

"...?"

"It is about Robert. Meet me at the Luxor in an hour."

"Roger?" But he'd hung up.

The Luxor is an old and rather exclusive hotel in town. It has a lounge bar, which is a popular meeting place for business people during weekdays. Roger was hard to miss; he is tall and very good-looking -- a taller and slimmer version of his father. He smiled easily; I felt stubbles on his cheeks when he hugged me. I hardly shared the hug before stepping back. He smiled apologetically and bade me to follow him into a niche, cut off from the main lounge by an overgrown trellis.

"What about the cufflink?" I asked, ignoring his invitation to sit down. I wasn't there for small talk. He smiled.

"Hello Liza," he said. "How are you doing? You look as lovely as ever." Standing around started feeling awkward. I sat down at the low table, across from him. I wore slacks and a beige sweater, the dullest outfit I could find. My hair was in a loose bun.

"What can I get you to drink?" he asked, but I refused to be distracted.

"You smuggled it into our house, didn't you?" I asked. He sighed, raising his hands, still smiling.

"Guilty as charged," he said. I searched his eyes. They didn't reflect the lightness of his voice. What was going on?

"So after years of absence," I said, "you break into my house, invade my privacy and destroy my marriage. Fuck you, Roger!" His hands rose.

"Shhhh," he hissed. "This is a decent place. Mind your language." I tried to see if he was mocking me, but he seemed dead serious. His hand touched my arm to keep me from rising and leaving.

"I know I shouldn't have," he said. "But I'm glad I did. I know about you and Daddy. Steve has to know too and Robert has to be stopped. He'll destroy you and your family. I won't allow it." For seconds I didn't know what to say. Then I laughed. It sounded forced.

"This is ridiculous," I said, rising. He hurried to his feet too.

"You say me fucking Robert will break up my marriage, and to prevent that you break up my marriage? This is insane. Besides, if Robert wanted to end my marriage, all he'd have to do is call Steve, wouldn't he? Just tell him what we do or mail him a picture -- a video even. But he doesn't, because he doesn't want me single. He wants me tied, guilty, cheating, humiliated." His hand touched my shoulder. I shook it off.

"How would you know about all of this anyway?" I said. "What is going on?" He shrugged.

"This isn't about you, Liza," he then said. "Not about your marriage or your son. This is about him and me." I just stared.

"My dad and I hate each other, you know that," he went on. "It goes back to way before you and I met. I must have disappointed him ever since I was a boy. I took sides with my mother. I refused to learn 'manly' sports or go to a 'decent' college, as he put it. I refused to study much at all. I refused to accept the girls he threw at me. And then I went working for the competition, making a success of some of his worst enemies."

Roger once more tried to touch me, but I didn't let him. He shook his head and went on.

"Just short of killing me, he wants to destroy me, Liza. He always has. He refused to fund anything I wanted for myself. And he took away everything I loved, including you. By now, I don't know if I would stop at killing him." I slowly sat down again, thinking, confused by what he said.

"So you dropped the cufflink to spite him?" I asked. He didn't respond for a while. Then he grabbed my hand and didn't let go. When he started talking, his voice sounded urgent.

"I have been trying to get you back, ever since you returned from your 'crazy year.' Suzan Atkins was my eyes and ears, sorry for that. I went as far as becoming friends with Steve from the very moment you picked him, just to be close to you... to be there when you'd dump him. I was certain you would, but you didn't. At last I accepted your choice and went to Europe. And now, after the asshole grabbed you back, I returned to fight him."

I heard what he said and knew it should have touched me and maybe it did. But I guess I am who I am -- his obvious loyalty hit my warped mind as weakness. It disgusted me and made me laugh sarcastically.

"You? Fight him?" I said. He winced at the venom. Then he shrugged.

"I know your opinion of me, Liza." His voice was calm. "It seems that decent men go against your grain. You thrive on assholes, don't you? It is why what happened before will happen again. I don't care what you do to Steve ; it is your choice, your marriage. But at least remember: last time there was no Eric."

The name hung between us. It caused a multitude of emotions to wash through me. There was irritation for his unwanted interference -- and of course the typical, amorphous rage of the true addict seeing her habit threatened. But there was also a spark of anguish, an underlying feeling that he was right, however inconvenient his truth might be. I sat down again.

"Liza," he said, his voice warm. "I kept Robert away from you for years. I never told you, but he was enraged when I took you away from him and had you nursed back into sanity. He threatened to kill me, but I didn't give in; not again."

I couldn't help being skeptic; weak Roger standing up to his father, to Daddy? Back then I had never wondered why Robert had left me alone. I just assumed he was done with the used-up slut.

"My father is obsessed with you, did you know?" he went on. "He was hooked, right from the moment I introduced you to him, and he still is. I never understood, but there is something in you he can't get enough of. He almost loves you more than his vintage car collection." He said it without a trace of irony. "I never forgave myself for introducing you. It was like offering a lamb to a wolf." His voice trailed off; then he shrugged and focused his eyes.

"He stayed off your track because -- let's say I had something on him, something that would destroy his corporate image. He loves his image even better than he loves fucking you, you know."

My initial confusion slowly lifted. I had known Roger only as an immature, insecure boy, bullied by his powerful father. He'd been incapable of standing up for himself when his girl was taken away from him. But he had changed, I saw. He was calm now -- strong? My mind struggled to fathom the change, but my body knew. A warm tingle invaded it -- a familiar feeling. His smile turned sly; had he seen it?

"Well," I said at last, invoking sarcasm yet again to drown out the sudden turmoil inside me. "So you tamed the mighty predator? I'm impressed, but it seems things have changed. The magic must have worn off, honey. The wolf has his teeth in the lamb again." I stopped short at making a mocking 'bah' sound. I saw he wasn't amused.

"Brave girl," he said. "Just a pity you are not as brave when he summons you. I know what's going on, Liza. I know where you are headed. And yes, he made someone betray me and took away what I had over him. That's why he returned and grabbed you again -- and why he is so reckless with you. Soon he won't care about you, your marriage or your child; he thinks he's untouchable."

I had to hang on to my sarcasm. Maybe it was to control the weakness in my knees. Whatever, I couldn't resist; so I laughed.

"He took something away from you?" I mocked. "Story of your life, isn't it?" His eyes flashed. Was it annoyance? Shame? A sudden sting startled me. His hand slapped my face, making my head spin.

"Don't think you matter, whore," he hissed. His voice sliced straight through my artificial conceit. The venom in his words stripped me of my sarcasm. I shivered... the lamb knows the scent of a wolf -- a young, strong wolf, challenging the leader of the pack.

"I am not your boy anymore, Liza. You are the pawn this time, you know?" he went on, losing the venom. "I decided long ago to stop playing the good son, being content with the crumbs that fall off the king's table. Now it'll be me who takes away. And you are the prize."

The world became a tunnel. His eyes were at the end of it, almost black, raging with anger, hypnotizing mine. Had the boy finally become a man, and more than a man -- a giant? A monster? I trembled. I felt lost.

He rose, walking around the table and taking my hand. He raised me to my feet; I had trouble standing. Then he pulled me against his body, my head on his chest. I smelled his scent.

"Go home, Liza," he said. "Tell Steve what happened between you and Robert. He has a right to know. Don't worry about my father, I'll take care of him."

***

The next days were confusing. Ever since Robert came back into my life, he'd taken over completely, even when he wasn't there. I was like a demented person. One short moment I had these flashes of clear thinking, feeling horrified, only to plunge back into long stretches of misty fatalism. I was truly out of my mind, having lost it in the churning maelstrom of my horny, aching body.

From the moment he burst through my front door, Robert's dominance had become my sole motivation; he was always on my mind. I was an addict. Of course there were my day-to-day chores, like work, motherhood and household duties, but I executed them mechanically. All my social activities, like being around Steve or talking with my mother, friends and colleagues, had been conducted with a certain distance. With Steve I even faked my lovemaking and orgasms with the ease of a professional hooker. Or, maybe more to the point, I managed my addiction like a socially functioning drugs user.

Then the discovery of the cufflink shook up my lethargy -- as did Steve's reaction to it. And, to complete my confusion, now Roger also rattled at my nice and secure cage. He re-entered my life and challenged the man I belonged to. Why did he plant the link? If not to hurt me or my marriage, then why? Of course I knew why. I had felt Roger's erection against my soft belly when he took me in his arms, and I knew I had become just what he said: a battlefield of the Moreland males.

In the over-all scope of events, I decided to put my problems with Steve on a back burner -- it was just one problem too many, and not the one I gave priority to.

Steve came to get Eric every few days. I just smiled and played the perfect mommy and understanding wife. The urge to talk it out with him became as scarce as my clear moments. The battle of the father and the son over my befuddled little person took all the energy I could muster. And then, on an afternoon three days after I met Roger, there was a loud knock on my door. There is a bell, but it wasn't used. The thumping had an alarming quality.

Eric would eat and sleep at his father's that night -- they would go to a new theme park all day tomorrow. I was alone in the house, so I grabbed Eric's baseball bat before opening the door on its chain. First thing I saw was the wide backside of a uniformed man. He turned at the sound of the door opening; he was Robert's driver. My fingers relaxed; the bat fell rattling to the floor.

"Count Moreland needs you," he said.

"Now?"

"Now."

"Just a moment, I have to..."

"Now."

The Bentley drove almost soundlessly. The ticking of its flashing light interrupted the silence whenever we took a turn. The driver hadn't said a word after his summons. I hugged myself in the corner of the back seat. I wore a thigh-length t-dress over skinny jeans; my hair was in a tail, my feet were in flip-flops. We soon arrived at a large Victorian type mansion. I'd been there before.

Two hours later I sat at the foot of a long table decked with china and crystal, sparkling with the light of tall white candles. I wore a long, slinky, cream-colored evening gown over my naked body. My feet were in silver heeled sandals, my hair had been done up to show long, pendulant earrings. Robert sat at the head of the table; two men were at my left, one more at my right. They all wore black tuxedos over snowy white shirts.

'Lots of cufflinks, no doubt,' I thought.

I knew the men would all fuck me before the night was over. It was why I was here, the only female. Two of the men I knew; they had done me before. I made polite conversation with the guy left from me. His English had an accent -- French, maybe. Then my attention was caught by the sound of silver against crystal. Robert had risen; he was about to make a speech.

"Gentlemen," he began, looking around the table. "It isn't often that dessert is already on the table before the entrée is served." The men chuckled at the joke, turning their heads my way. Then Robert droned on about business matters. I understood that the men were associates to be rewarded for another successful season. I didn't listen; I'd heard it before. I knew I would be the reward, together with a fat check, no doubt.

I hardly ate, but I repeatedly had my glass refilled with the heady Sancerre wine. So, when the men had their cigars, and a good sniff off the elegant mirrors, my head buzzed on my shoulders -- a nice buzz that subdued any weak objections my mind still might have.

I knew it was coming, but I felt surprised when a strong hand pulled me to my feet by the roots of my hair. I heard the loud clatter of china and crystal as someone cleared the table. My poor dress tore with a wail as it was ripped open from throat to hem. It obviously had more resistance in its fibers than I had, I thought, just when I was pushed down on the dinner's debris. A familiar fat cock split my cunt. I may have meant to moan in protest, but whatever came out was stomped into a gurgle by a second cock sliding down my throat.

***

The next day I returned home. At the mansion I had slept until noon. After rising and showering I was amazed how fresh I looked. The mirror mercifully didn't show how I felt on the inside. It also didn't get a chance to show off my puffed, swollen slit, my stretched ass hole or the labyrinth of bruises on my tender tits. Since Steve left me, Daddy must have thought there was no need to hold back -- if he even thought about it at all.

Arriving home in a cab, I saw Roger sitting on the porch. He had a present for Eric, a computer game. I told him the boy was with his father, as he followed me inside. I didn't want him to, but he grabbed my upper arm and pushed me to the stairs. We went up to the master bedroom.

"Undress," he said. I didn't move. He slapped my face; then he held it in the vice of his large hands. His eyes were into mine. His body radiated cologne-scented warmth; I smelled it as I felt his fingers slide down my shoulders and my sides to the hem of the t-dress. He pulled it over my head and threw it in a corner. Then he opened my jeans, pulling them down my legs. Both bra and panties were soon gone. I did not resist or cover my ravaged body while his eyes inspected me.

"Asshole," he muttered under his breath. Then he threw me my bathrobe. "I hope you at least enjoyed it." He walked over to the window, where he turned around. The fluffy inside of the robe rubbed against my sensitive nipples. It made me wince. I sat down on the bed.

"I feel awful," I said.

"Sure," he answered.

"I do," I insisted.

His sarcasm hurt me; I had no clue why.

"Listen, Liza," he said, pushing his body off the wall and getting down on his haunches in front of me. "I never stopped caring for you, and seeing you like this makes me mad. I was devastated when you chose Steve over me, but at least he loved you -- loves you still. Robert doesn't give a shit about you; he only cares for himself. You're a prize now, but he'll destroy you. I want you to leave him." His eyes grew more intense, capturing mine. It caused a wave of heat to wash over me, like it had at the Luxor hotel.

"You know I'd want to," I said with a trembling voice. It sounded unconvincing, even to myself.

"But you can't," he added, matter of fact. I just stared. He rose to his feet.

"Suck my dick," he went on. His voice had the same steel now as his father's. He unzipped his fly, freeing a half-erected cock. It was as long as Daddy's, but tighter, slicker -- younger. My fingers were around it before I knew. The tangy taste of his flesh spread across my tongue when I took him in. He never stopped until the head slid past the entrance of my throat. I didn't gag, but as his hands cupped the back of my head and he just started fucking my face, I produced wet, fleshy noises.

He didn't come. After minutes of pounding, he suddenly withdrew, leaving my mouth empty, my throat producing spasmodic swallows.

"Good girl," he said, stuffing the dripping pole back in his pants. The zipper hardly closed over his bulge. My mind reeled. My hands reached out for the hidden treasure as a moan of frustration left my mouth.

'Good girl," he repeated. "Now listen careful to what I have to tell you."

***

When Steve told me a few days later that he'd met Roger again and wanted to invite him to our house for a small barbeque, I already knew. I also knew I had to seem surprised. That's why I acted as if I hardly remembered Roger and thought he was still in Europe.

Did I feel guilty for deceiving Steve again? Not really. I was touched by the wonderful dinner he'd made for the two of us, but I knew his agenda was as double as mine. In a way, I thought, he was being just as deceitful as I was. Besides, by then my cheating on him had become such a routine that it hardly mattered anymore. When he called to propose our dinner-date I wasn't at the Mall; I was waiting for Roger, who had summoned me. I was soaking in a steaming bath in his hotel suite, preparing to be fucked all afternoon. He never showed up. I don't know why I came to the hotel when he asked me to, or why I kept waiting for him, but I did. Just as I have no idea why I submitted as easily to him as to his father.

I also don't know why I cried when Steve left after dinner. It can't have been guilt. Maybe it was the innocence of the evening -- knowing that the sweet, easy closeness would be lost forever? I saw how my tears shook him too. It made me feel even worse.