Aced

Once I'd quit twitching and throbbing inside her Kristine held my head in her hands, kissed me warmly, smiled into my eyes when they again could focus, then ran the back of her fingers over my cheek. "Goodness, that was intense. You're a wonderful lover, Mark. I could get used to having you around. But, now that you can concentrate, shouldn't you get back to work?"

* * *

Marco D'Antonio smirked as he poured the entire test-tube of salt into the beaker of disgusting, reeking, brown water. It was the day of the make-or-break demonstration of my invention, the AmmaCorp Desalinator, and, as the most likely potential buyer, Marco was going to make the test as difficult as possible. I cringed at the stink as I stirred the vile brew – water laced with fertilizer, pig excrement, lead, and motor oil, amongst other impurities – ensuring that as much of the salt as possible would dissolve.

When done I took the large beaker, poured the concoction into the well of my machine and flipped the switch. Everyone – Sam Phillips, Kristine, Paul Erickson, D'Antonio and his two cohorts, stepped closer, rapt. As the Desalinator began to hum and emit random clicks I stepped back, marveling at all that had happened.

That first evening, even before we'd fucked after Sam surprised us in Kristine's office, Kristine and I had decided that, given the short timeline and impossibility of the project, I should construct a fake, something that would appear to do the job and pass a cursory inspection.

In my meeting with Sam Phillips two days later he'd been simultaneously demanding – I had to come through, and quickly (he didn't say "or else," or mention my children because he knew he didn't have to) – and evasive about why. After I'd reviewed for him the history of the research others had done for thirty years, concluding that his demands on me were impossible, his mood darkened as his temper flared. Fists pounded the desk and "or else" was shouted. Often.

The obvious, intense pressure he felt so acutely inundated me, and when I suggested that, while I certainly would work on the project, a short-term remedy might be to construct a prototype, a machine that would perform exactly as the real one would once I'd had sufficient time to invent it. Only he and I would know the truth. Though he wouldn't repeat the word "fake," when I said it, he nodded. When I used it again he grunted and said, "Fine, that's what you should do." I was certain it was loud enough for my phone, on record in my pocket, to pick up.

As my invention hummed away, purifying the horribly polluted water, I succeeded in suppressing my smirk when the assemblage oohed and aahed as the first drops of crystal clear liquid plopped into the beaker at the terminal end. I passed out spoons and as soon as enough was accumulated I replaced the beaker containing the purified water with another, dipped my spoon into the pristine pool, and put it in my mouth. To heighten the drama I kept my face expressionless as everyone stared at me. I nodded and smiled at the fine taste – it was Evian, after all – and invited the others to try it.

D'Antonio went last. He rolled the liquid in his mouth like it was a three hundred dollar cabernet and then said, "Well, it seems fine. Now, take off the side panels so my scientists here can examine the works."

I froze in terror. I'd done my homework, knew D'Antonio was a mob boss and believed Sam was totally insane. Deceiving D'Antonio was impossibly dangerous and Phillips was playing with matches. While covered in gasoline.

"Marco, my old friend, surely you jest," interjected Sam, rescuing us both. I hoped. "This is an extremely valuable, proprietary process, and while Mark needs to make it work faster and on a large scale, to reveal even the appearance of the machinery inside could lead your team to reproduce it. It stays closed until we reach an agreement on the sale. Sorry."

"You expect me to buy a pig in a poke?" D'Antonio snorted derisively. "Surely YOU jest."

"Marco, you knew the parameters of this demonstration before you came. You agreed to them. I will hold you..."

As they quarreled my armpits got even more clammy. If the side panel came off everyone would see the container which still held the disgusting, reeking water, and the other one that still held some Evian, along with the various pumps and noise makers I'd installed. I rooted for Sam as he argued. Hard.

He won.

When D'Antonio took the second beaker and gulped down all the water I knew it was over, even before he turned on heel and stormed out. Sam gave me a curt nod and Paul a wan smile as they left, following Marco's assistants. I cast a huge sigh and saw affection, in addition to the great relief, in Kristine's eyes when ours met. It warmed me. It had been there often recently, and I knew she saw the same in mine.

* * *

Pain.

My head throbbed terribly with each heartbeat and the blackness didn't abate a bit when I forced my eyes open. Before I could even try to recall what had happened, my body convulsed in shock as icy water drenched me. My gasps continued as the hood was torn off my head and I took in the scene.

It was bad.

I was naked, sitting upright, forearms, wrists, and ankles zip-tied to a large wooden armchair, in what I took to be a warehouse. A derelict warehouse, just like those in which Mafiosi kill people. Kristine was likewise zip tied to a chair to my left, but clothed. Standing not three feet in front of me was the hulking hood, the one who'd confronted me as I left work and cold-cocked me from behind. He was sporting a sneering leer and an empty bucket. Worst of all, just ten feet away was an angry Marco D'Antonio and two other behemoths I took to be his bodyguards. The man in front of me dropped the bucket, stepped forward and slapped me. Hard.

"Good. You're awake," snarled D'Antonio. "Listen. This can go easy, or it can be hard. Very hard. If you're smart, Wolfe, you'll tell us what we need to know. Got it?"

I got it, all right. I nodded but knew this was serious trouble.

"Where is Sam Phillips?"

"I don't know. He just disappeared," I tried to speak clearly, but heard that I stammered. Terrified people often do.

"You do NOT want to take that approach, Wolfe. Now, I'll ask again. Where is Phillips?"

I truly had no idea. Not a clue. After he closed the deal with D'Antonio, Sam Phillips, and his private jet, just vanished. Along with the money from the sale of my fake desalinator. I fervently hoped the desperate truth of what I said would color my voice. "Honestly, I really don't know. You have to believe me. He just took off in his jet, embezzling the funds from the sale."

Marco sighed. "Monte, give Mr. Wolfe some incentive to be frank with us."

Though fearing it, I was ready for another slap. I was not at all ready for Monte to step forward, flatten my left little finger against the arm of the chair and firmly insert the steel toothpick under my fingernail. As far as it would go.

It was unspeakable. But as the mind and body always strive to adjust to anything no matter how awful, after a few seconds enough consciousness returned that I became aware of a few things. Monte, standing beside me, sadistic glee plastered on his visage. D'Antonio watching impassively. Kristine's mouth agape in horror. My body, reared up, levitated off the seat of the chair, trembling. When my knotted, cramping muscles couldn't hold me aloft any longer I collapsed back down.

"Wolfe, I told you this can be hard. You have nine more fingers, plus lots of teeth Monte can extract. I'm going to ask you again. Where is Sam Phillips?"

The hopeless desperation of my situation seized me and my fevered, reeling brain cycled through obscure locations. I blurted out what I hoped would be the most believable lie. It was hard to even hiss through my agony-clenched teeth. "Santiago. He's in Chile."

"Are you sure? How do you know?"

"His plane had a black box on it. I was able to track..."

"You're lying! Monte!"

When Monte shoved, twisted and turned the toothpick my perfectly reasonable response was to scream and wail as I tried to lurch up and off the chair.

When I could breathe again I tried another lie, "I was able to get copies of his flight plans. He had to file them..." I stopped, terrified as Monte reached out towards me, holding another toothpick.

I shuddered and shook as the cold water inundated me, shocking me back to consciousness. Monte's hand in my hair yanked my head up. To see D'Antonio smiling thinly. And the toothpick protruding from my ring finger.

"Where is Sam Phillips?"

"Please God! You've got to believe me. I just don't know..." I know I blubbered, pitifully, but was beyond caring.

D'Antonio smiled coldly and turned to Kristine. "Ms. Danson, I'll ask you the same question. Where is Phillips?"

Kristine's voice was understandably tremulous and hardly audible. "I don't know. No one does."

"Joe, fill the eyedropper with the acid. Maybe some drips down her cheek will jog her memory."

"D'Antonio, you're a fucking moron!" I had no idea why I instinctively blurted that out. A pathetic attempt to save Kristine? Probably. Perhaps some portion of my mind thought that since I already had two fingers screaming at me, a third wouldn't make a difference.

So wrong. I'd passed out during the second insertion and would have given anything to do so again. No such luck. I couldn't hear anything other than my own screaming, but I could see. Monte grinning as he backed away after thrusting the needle under my middle fingernail. D'Antonio turning to Kristine. Joe holding Kristine's hair and pulling her head back and sideways, the eyedropper drawing close to her cheek.

"D'Antonio! Stop! Think! If she knew, if anyone knew, we would have told the FBI. They questioned everyone, over and over. She would have told them if she knew. Think!"

D'Antonio held up his hand and Joe froze. Then he nodded to Monte.

"Stop! Think! FBI!" I just got it out before I started screaming again as Monte did his job, creatively this time, jamming a second needle under my middle finger's nail.

OH GOD! NO!

When I surfaced again my eyes had jerked to Kristine. My pain was even more intolerable when I saw the sheen from the track of wetness down her cheek.

As I gawked in mindless horror at first I thought it was just wishful thinking. But no, as I blinked, trying to get my eyes and brain to work, I saw it was true: Kristine was not writhing, not crying out. I realized the moisture was only her tears. Joe had released her hair and Kristine, though terrified and weeping, was not in agony. D'Antonio was staring at the wall behind me, his right hand worrying his chin.

"So, Ms. Danson, is it true that the FBI got involved in this?"

Kristine's voice was brave, strong, "Yes, it's true. Phillips' embezzlement was fraud, and the FBI always gets involved. They questioned everyone, more than once. No one had a clue." My heart leapt with pride at her courage.

D'Antonio continued to give his chin a workout.

I tried to seal the deal. "It only makes sense. Even if either of us knew where he went, why would we protect Phillips? He betrayed us both."

D'Antonio's chin finally got a rest. "Okay, that makes sense. I'll find him through my usual sources."

Salvation! The incredible, ecstatic feeling of relief flooding me was short-lived when D'Antonio continued, "However, there's still the matter of you assholes deceiving me, selling me a machine that doesn't work. No one cheats me and lives to tell about it. And you'll have to suffer before you die."

That alarming pronouncement flipped my addled brain into hyper drive. "Wait! Kristine didn't know about my deception, didn't have a clue. I can prove it."

"Hmm. Seems to me that you're carrying a torch for this woman, Wolfe. She is very beautiful. Part of my revenge will be to see how much you suffer as her face gets eaten away. Slowly. Permanently. Until she finally dies, of course."

"Fuck you. Are you so stupid that the truth means nothing?"

"Monte, do another finger."

"Wait! Please! Give me my phone. I recorded the conversation where Phillips ordered me to create the fake. It makes clear that Kristine had no knowledge whatsoever of the deception."

"You're lying to me again, Wolfe. Monte."

The one upside of the agony was that I'd succeeded in diverting D'Antonio's focus to me rather than Kristine. I tried to concentrate on that as I writhed and wailed. When my eyes were again able to focus, and my gasping abated, I continued baiting the bull. "D'Antonio, you have to be smart to be successful at what you do. Why the hell won't you even listen to the recording? You need to be a tough guy, but isn't being a smart tough guy better than being a stupid one?"

I was not happy when Monte picked up the pliers. Evidently some dental work was next. There was only one way out, and to keep the focus on me I persisted. "Jesus Christ! Think! You know you're going to listen to the tape at some point. Why not now, when it can inform what you're doing?"

"God, you are one stubborn, bull-headed son-of-a-bitch. I have to admit that. Joe, get me his phone."

Thank God! There might be a way out, at least for Kristine. As Joe came back I urged, "Give it to me. I'll set it up."

D'Antonio nodded and Joe put the phone in my right hand. D'Antonio went back to rubbing his chin as he listened.

I tried to press the advantage. "You heard it. It's clear that only Phillips and I knew of the deception. Kristine had no idea. But now, please look at this picture. Please." I brought it up, and, at the nod from his boss, Monte took the phone to him. "Those are my children. Swipe to the right and look at the next picture." D'Antonio did. "That's the note that was sent with the pictures. Please, Mr. D'Antonio, you have to understand that, though I tricked you, I had no choice. None whatsoever. To keep my kids from dying I did what Phillips demanded. If you still need to kill me, I'm sure you will. But there is no reason at all to harm Kristine. Please, have mercy on her."

As we all watched him, the air bristling with tension, I could see that the weight of being the boss, having to make every hard decision, lay heavy on D'Antonio. He took his time, but maybe ten seconds before he rubbed the skin completely off his chin he made up his mind. He cast a long, tired sigh and said, "Well, fuck it. Listen, Wolfe, you, too, lady. I'm just going to leave now. I'm a reasonable man. But don't even think about going to the cops about this. Even in the very unlikely situation that they'd arrest me, I've got dozens of Montys out there, and you'd both die within the week. Very painfully. So would your kids and every single relative you have. There is just so much random violence in society these days. Tut, tut. Such a shame. Do you understand me?"

We did. We were even more convinced a week later when Sam Phillips' tortured body washed up on a beach in Columbia.

The zip ties were no match for the wire cutter Monte used to free Kristine, and as they drove off she released me. At my urging she pulled the toothpicks out hard and fast, like removing bandages that rip off hair. She kissed me sweetly, coddled my head in her hands, and called me her hero before and after each one. Despite the tenderness, each toothpick's exit seemed even worse than the entrance, perhaps because the danger, and the masking adrenaline it provoked, was gone. By the last one I was a quivering, moaning mess, and Kristine helped me up and into the bathroom. While I splashed cold water on my face and began to feel human again, she found my clothes and helped me dress. After the Lyft dropped us at the hospital, the ER doctor shook his head sadly at my stupidity as I explained how I'd hurt myself. I waited in the Uber while Kristine went into the drugstore and filled the prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, and didn't never considered objecting when she had the driver drop us at her place.

* * *

"Oh please, dear. God, not again?" I whispered as her fingers slid between the mattress and my stomach and wrapped round my limp, oozing, pampered penis.

"Come on, Mark. You can do it. Man up." Kristine Danson giggled at her double entendre. Chuckling, I flipped over on my back and when I pulled my knees as high and wide as they'd go I earned a "Good boy" and another giggle from my wife. There had been no question that she'd keep her last name – as new CEO of AmmaCorp it would have been awkward to change it, and it was HER name after all – just as there was no question of my assent when she told me we were going to be married.

I inhaled sharply but winced just a little – my sphincter was used to being penetrated by now – as she guided her cock into me. She flipped the switch on the strapless strap-on just before our pubic bones met, and once we were fully joined she just lay in my arms. We kissed, slowly, sweetly, and stroked each other gently until the vibrations started elevating her arousal. She clenched her vaginal muscles to keep the dildo inside her as she pulled back, and my "ooh" matched her sexy huff as she thrust it back in.

By the fourth stroke the tingling in my prostate and the wonderful feeling of being filled, being taken, – I truly loved being fucked by Kristine, as much as I loved fucking her, which I'd done twice already in the past hour – worked their magic and I felt my cock twitch. By the time her "Oh, oh, ohs" announced her first orgasm I was hard, and my hand – hers were busy holding her up – began stroking.

When her "Ohs" started again I raised my head on her outstroke and the glorious sight of our two cocks side by side – hers just a bit bigger, of course – drove me over the edge and Kristine collapsed down onto me as the steaming ribbons of cum shot out and puddled on my chest and abdomen between us. She clicked off the motor and we lay in each other's arms, blissfully content, joyfully in love, perfectly matched.