tagIncest/TabooThe Object Lesson

The Object Lesson

byCindysBob©

“No,” Carol said emphatically, her small hands gripped tightly onto the edge of our dinette table.

“Look I’m just…”

“We do not go to him,” she cut in, her eyes suddenly welling up. She spun away from me so fast that she almost stumbled.

“I don’t have a lot of other choices out there,” I snapped angrily. “Fuck, I don’t have any other choices.”

“He’s…” was all she managed before her voice trailed off into sobs. I got up from my chair and slowly came up behind her, feeling the tremors rocking up through her as I settled a hand on her back.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered close to her ear. She shook her head at the words, biting down on her lower lip as tears streaked her face. It broke my heart how beautiful she was—broke my heart how I’d let her down like this.

“You don’t understand,” she muttered, her palm cupped to her mouth as if she were physically sickened by all of this.

“I know you two don’t get along,” I answered stupidly, “But…”

My wife scissored away the rest of my sentence by jerking free of my touch, inadvertently knocking her empty coffee mug to the floor.

“No!” she hissed, glaring at me as she stepped back across the shattered bits of white china. “Never. I’ll never ask him for—for anything.”

_________________

I stood in the kitchen for quite a while after she left, numbly picking up the jagged pieces of the broken mug. I was royally screwed and I knew it, thinking how only a day ago I’d been coasting without too many worries.

My real estate business was doing fine, and I had a housing development coming together that would more than possibly make Carol and I moderately wealthy. I could literally taste the payoff from it, fully aware that when one of these deals kick in, more of the same tend to fall right in your lap. The problem I’d had, however, was the one most common to small start-up operations, namely cash flow. My pockets weren’t deep enough to handle the construction delays, and my credit was stretched to the absolute max. When the contractor and supply bills started going past due on me, it had been so easy to tap into the escrowed accounts of my real estate clients.

I’d juggled the books for months like this—robbing Peter to pay Paul, every week getting closer to that proverbial pot of gold, always keeping my poor wife blithely in the dark as to what I was doing. Then yesterday the floor fell out from under me. One of my bigger clients had gotten suspicious for some reason and had unexpectedly shown up at my office with two of his lawyers and a written demand order on the monies I was supposed to be holding for him.

I talked myself sideways with them, but to no avail. He wanted his cash—$127,000.00—and he wanted it then. And, truth be told, I simply did not have it, finally confessing as much when we were out of earshot of his associates.

“Well, I recommend you get it, Sir,” he’d said, leaning across my desk with a stubby finger jabbed into my chest. “I recommend you get every nickel it by fuckin’ Friday, or I’ll be forced to have my barristers here contact the DA’s office. That you most certainly do not want. So have my check—my certified check—signed and waiting for me by three o’clock that day. Under-fucking-stood?”

I vaguely remember nodding my assent, having understood him in spades. If he went to the authorities, I was cooked. We’d loose everything we had—the development would be in the toilet, the banks would foreclose on the works. That and I’d most certainly be looking at state prison time. I saw my life slipping away as I watched them calmly vacate my office.

I wandered around town for hours that afternoon, dreading the thought of telling my wife what I’d done. Carol and I had been married for almost nine years at that point, and she was the absolute center of my existence. We had met on a blind date put together by some mutual friends—I knew from the instant I met her that she was the one. She was so lovely that first evening, her dark curly hair cut short, virtually no makeup. We were both hooked by the end of that night, her shyness and gentle manner coming through with every gesture. Even now, after all those years, I still had never tired of just looking at her, losing myself in the perfect set of her face, in the soft curves that defined her smallish breasts and hips.

I made it home after she did that day, her bright smile faltering when she saw the expression on my face. I sat down on the couch beside her and let the whole story come out, the sound of her crying being worse on me than anything else that day.

“What do we do?” she whispered hoarsely when I was through.

“I don’t know,” I answered, knowing that it was a lie even as I said it. I knew what I wanted to do. And I knew in my heart how Carol would react.

“The bank…”

“I’m totally tapped with them, babe,” I cut in. “I’m tapped with everyone till we start selling off houses, which is still a minimum of two months from now.”

“We have to think of…”

“Maybe Jimmy could help?”

Carol recoiled at the words, pulling back from me a few inches. She met my eyes and shook her head.

“It’s nothing to him,” I pressed. “He’ll get paid back with interest.”

“No,” she blurted vehemently, sliding completely out of my reach.

“We don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“No!” she seethed, breaking into hysterical sobs as she ran from the room. I leaned back on the couch, sighing as I looked up at the ceiling. Jimmy was her brother, older than her by nearly ten years. Other than at family functions she never saw him, and even there, never talked to him; no Christmas cards, no birthday greetings, no nothing. I once tried to broach the subject of their relationship with her, only to have her say—and this from my normally prim wife who wouldn’t say anything much worse that damn or shit—that her only brother was “a no good fucker. A piece of fucking human garbage.”

But he was, I knew, a very well off piece of human garbage. He owned a trucking firm in the City and was a millionaire many times over. A gorgeous wife, a beautiful family, a home that could—so I’d been told, as I’d never been there—be described as a mansion. On the few occasions that we’d met, he’d came across to me as a charming, immensely likeable guy; a warm handshake; always a genuinely concerned query about how Carol and I were doing. I’d always been polite and friendly with him in return, always left to silently wonder how a brother and sister could grow so estranged.

Sitting on the couch that evening, I once again wondered what had driven the wedge between them. I knew that I had no choice but to contact him, even if it was on my own. All he could say was no. I’d let the subject rest over the rest of that night, but had brought it up again after breakfast the next day.

Now, looking down at the broken shards of china in my hand, her almost hateful glare still blistered into my consciousness, I knew I had to drive over the bridge this morning alone. I’d beg if I had to, drop to my knees and plead.

I went upstairs after a while, finding Carol balled up in the center of our bed. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she whispered.

“Its okay, babe,” I said, sitting down next to her as I stroked her dark hair. I felt a sudden urge to make love to her, to glide my mouth down her body, to feel her shiver as I found the small, lovely bud of her clitoris.

“You don’t know what he’s…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I said soothingly. “No is no. We’ll get it from someone else, or I’ll figure something out with the development. It’ll work out, I promise you.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, squirming over to come into my arms. I held her there, feeling her tears soak through my shirt, knowing that I was going to do what had to be done.

__________

I’d never been to Jimmy’s office before, and was startled by how plush it was. Not at all the rough blue-collar workplace I’d envisioned for a so-called trucking magnate. I had expected an austere room overlooking a grimy warehouse yard loaded with semi’s, not a luxurious suite in an ultra-modern business complex.

“Tom, I’m glad you came to see me with this,” Jimmy said as I fitfully concluded my story.

“I hated to do it like this, but I…”

“Don’t, don’t,” he cut in, waving away my humiliation as if it were cigarette smoke in the air. “I didn’t get where I’m at today without taking a few ethically questionable detours. And like you, a few times I got the old tit caught in the wringer.”

“I know the money’s there. It’s just…”

“Just this close away,” he laughed, showing be a one-inch gap between his thumb and his forefinger. “Right?”

“Yeah,” I said, making my embarrassment evident.

“Well, don’t worry about it,” he clucked, slapping a beefy palm down atop his antique desk. “The money’s here, end of story.”

“I’ll sign a note for it,”

“You betcha will,” he said with a broad smile.

“And interest too.”

“Market prime. Think it’s like what, six percent or so now?”

“Thanks. Thank you so much,” I said with a nod, rising from my high-backed leather chair to offer my hand. The relief I was feeling was so pure that I had a floating sensation.

“A note, interest and”—Jimmy smirked, the change of expression so chilling that I felt my legs go weak—“…and you suck my cock for me.”

My mouth moved over silence as I tried to react to what he’d just said. I knew I’d heard him wrong.

“What…” I sputtered.

“You get my money, you get on your knees,” he said quietly, hitching forward in his chair just a bit. “You perform on me what the Italians call an act of fellatio. A fucking blow job. And in case you’re wonderin’, I am being dead serious here.”

“…Fuck you,” I mouthed, the words barely audible. “Fuck…”

“No, fuck you, Tom, brother-in-law of mine, who’s never even been inside my house even though he’s married to my kid sister for nine frickin’ years. Come into my office and ask for a hundred and thirty grand to keep your name out of the papers and your ass out of the penitentiary. That’s nerve, wouldn’t you say? Huh? C’mon, answer me. Tell me how you’d feel if the situation was reversed?”

“I’d…”

“You’d be the one to telling me to play the flute on you.”

“No. No, I wouldn’t. I…”

“Well we’re a little fucking different then, I guess,” he shrugged contemptuously. “But if you want an off-the-books loan from me, then you’d better be ready to do the job. You better be ready to stand in front of me and take off all your clothes, be ready to kneel down and unbuckle my belt and unzip my…”

“You go to hell!”

“No, Tom, that’s where you’ll be going. I don’t know that much about the law, but I know enough to understand that you’ll be looking at serious prison time for a deal like this. In there, you’ll probably suck lots of cock. I can just picture some big ol’ cellmate knocking your teeth out on a bedrail so as your mouth’ll feel smooth as his old lady’s snatch. You’ll be a girl inside those walls, pal. You’ll be taking stitches in your asshole every other week. Carol’ll come up to visit you at those windows with the phone and she’ll see it in your eyes. She’ll know you’re somebody’s gal. That you’re getting… ”

“Shut up!” I heard myself shriek, Jimmy’s figure blurred by tears as I staggered towards the door. I heard Carol’s voice echoing inside my head, the names she’d called him, the raw way she detested him.

“Wait,” he barked, stopping me with my hand on the doorknob. “This bird you’re dealing with gave you till Friday to cough up on his account, right?”

I nodded, feeling nauseated by the horrific picture he’d painted of prison life for me. I’d had a nightmare last night of being locked in a small prison cell, the claustrophobic stench of feces and sour sweat gagging me awake.

“Well then, that gives you two full days to change your mind on my offer,” he went on judiciously. “And of course it’ll be our little secret if you do take me up on it, seeing how it ain’t exactly something I’d be bragging about down at the club. You just call my secretary and make an appointment if you decide blowing me isn’t so bad as all the possible alternatives.”

_______________



I watched the buttons on the elevator panel flicking upward—one—two—three—four.

It was late Thursday afternoon, almost five o’clock. I’d telephoned Jimmy’s secretary that morning, a late appointment as per some earlier instruction he’d issued. When the doors opened to the sixth floor, I had to force myself out into the quiet, deserted hallway.

“I don’t believe this,” I whined under my breath. I was here for this sick, dirty fucker’s money, fully aware of what conditions he’d tagged onto it. The elevator doors closed behind me with a dull thump, my mind still racing for some other way out of this. There was none, however, none at all.

“I’m so sorry,” I muttered to the empty walls, my mind flashing back to the sound of Carol sobbing next to me in bed the previous night. That sound had eaten my heart whole, made me promise to do anything to deliver us from this hellish mess I’d trapped us in.

Anything!

I willed myself forward, opening the door to his suite, finding the receptionist desk vacant, the lights dimmed.

“Tom, how you doin’?” came his voice, a disembodied sound that made me flinch.

“I…”

He stepped into the room, tall and smiling, looking immaculate in his gray suit. It was a most reassuring smile.

“So you want the money, I take it?” he said coming up to me with his hand extended. I nodded and numbly lifted my hand to his, something inside me hoping that he wouldn’t make me lower myself to do what he asked. That he’d been playing me with some kind of power game, some head-trip.

“And you agree to the terms and conditions I imposed?” he went on, shaking my hand firmly.

“I…”

“It’s yes or no, Tom. I don’t want to waste any more of my time here.”

“I need that money,” I almost muttered, yanking my hand free of his grip.

“I’m fully aware of that. The question was do you…”

“Yes, yes, yes. Yes, you f…”

“Easy, Tommy. Gotta watch how you speak to your new banker.” He waved for me to follow along behind him, looking back impatiently when I didn’t immediately follow. “C’mon, lets move it.”

I reluctantly fell in step behind him as he led me down a long hallway. Do what you have to, just do what you have to,” I mentally repeated over and over, as if trying to convince myself that I could do what he demanded. That it wasn’t as bad as I knew it to be.

“In here,” he said, stopping to swing the door to a large conference room wide. I hesitantly stepped past him—my feet jamming in place when I saw them standing there.

“You know my boys?” came Jimmy’s voice from behind me.

Jimmy’s two oldest sons—Jimmy Jr. and Anthony— were seated at the far end of the long mahogany table, leaning back in their chairs with a casual, almost bored arrogance.

“What is this,” I said in a barely audible voice.

“Kids, you know your Uncle Tom, right? Aunt Carol’s husband?”

“Jimmy what the hell is…”

“This is an object lesson for my sons, Tom,” he answered smartly, moving slowly up the opposite side of the table from the two teenage brothers. “A lesson as to the raw power that money sometimes gives you over other people. A lesson that sets out…”

“What in the fuck’re you talking about. Are you fucking…”

“Hey, watch your language in here, okay? And what I’m talking about is how these young men are going to watch you do what I said you’re gonna do. How they’re going to watch you do it, and how they are going to learn a valuable life lesson from it. Probably the kinda lesson old man Kennedy used to teach his boys, huh?”

“You’re out of your mind,” I said as I staggered back up against the door, grabbing down for the knob blindly as I panned their faces—Jimmy’s cruely intent, the two boy’s, simply awed.

“Walk out that door and the offer is rescinded,” he laughed, stirring through a cluster of papers with his index finger. “The note and everything’s right here by the way, all signed and ready for your signature. And of course there is a cashiers check in the exact amount we discussed waiting in the top drawer of my desk.”

“Please.”

“Yes or no,” he said, looking from me back to his sons.

“Yes,” I muttered after several excruciating seconds, feeling drained of everything, almost ready to be physically sick.

“Well, then, what say we get started. Get your clothes off.”

I stood there for another long moment, averting my gaze from them, not moving.

“Hey c’mon, Tom. Lets do it today. Boys got a date in a little while, and I gotta get home to my wife sometime tonight.”

I started to unfasten my belt, fumbling with it, reading the smirk on the oldest boy’s face. I turned a little as I pulled the zipper on my trousers down, tears of humiliation clouding out my vision.

“Take off the jacket too,” I heard Jimmy snap. “And the shirt and the shoes and the…”

“Please,” I muttered again, hating myself for begging like that.

“Naked,” he snorted. “Every fucking stitch.”

My hands were shaking as I peeled out of my clothes, chilled as I stood there in an overheated room. Then I was nude before them, turned to the side, my crotch partially capped beneath my clammy palms.

“Good, now get over here and suck me off,” came Jimmy’s raised voice. I looked over as he took off his jacket and neatly draped it over a chair, watching as he unbuckled and slid his trousers down to the mid-point of his thighs. “Lets go.”

I hesitantly came across the floor till I was in front of him, one of the boys letting out a mean chuckle as Jimmy motioned me down onto my knees. I looked down at the polished hardwood floor then knelt, my cheeks burning.

“C’mon, look at it,” he went on. When I didn’t obey fast enough, he reached under my chin and forced my head up as he freed his erection from his boxers. “Tell me an’ the boys what you think?”

His penis was thick around as my wrist, with an obscene upward bow to it. Other than in dirty movies, I’d never seen an erect man before. He stroked a hand down over it, trailing his grip off at the heavy testicles, which were shrunk tightly to its base.

“Say my cock is nice? Nice an’ big.”

“It’s…” I choked back a sob.

“Nice and big! Just like you like ‘em.”

Nice and bi…” My voice trailed off, as I thought with dread as to what I was being forced to do.

“You ever blow a man before, Tom?”

I shook my head, closing my eyes to the thoughts of how terrible this was. How it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“First time for everything,” he said, grabbing hold of my hair and bringing the swollen head of his dick to my lips, prodding it against my closed lips like battering-ram hoisted by barbarian tribesmen.

“Suck.”

I opened my lips, feeling the shocking warmth as it slid into my mouth, gagging as he shoved it against the back of my throat.

“Ugh,” one of the kids groaned.

“Forget that disgusted shit,” Jimmy bellowed. “You just watch this guy suck my cock ‘cause he got no other choice. He hates this, hates having my penis in his mouth, hates having to be my girl tonight. Right, Tom? Just fricking nod if you can’t express yourself verbally.”

I was crying then, weeping, feeling my wife’s brother running his cock back and forth into my mouth in a slow rhythm.

“Swirl your tongue on the underneath part …Nice …like that. And suck on it too, get some movement going on it.”

I was trying not to think of what I was doing to him, but as if beaten, I obeyed his commands meekly.

“See, that’s the reality of how money works,” he went on after another minute of so, pulling out of my mouth abruptly, his saliva slicked penis bobbing up and down in front of my face. “I broke him down to do exactly what I wanted, something a week or so ago, he would’ve sworn he’d never do. Money makes ‘em dance—and, on occasion, makes ‘em suck. …Me an’ you are done here, Tommy-boy.”

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