Caught in the Crossfire Ch. 01

The photo was a still frame of her and Chris. Her head was framed, front and slightly off center in the shot, and positioned low on the bed. Her ass, on the other hand, was stuck high in the air, pointing away from the camera. Chris was behind her, doing her doggy-style. One could see thin lines of sweat, glistening and streaking his face and chest, as his fingers pressed deeply into the firm globes of her ass. One didn't need much imagination to know he was pounding away into her pussy with total fury. As for Brittany, her eyes were closed and her brows deeply furrowed as if she were in deep thought. She clutched strongly at the bed sheets, as her full lips were parted in an over-exaggerated 'O' shape. Her nostrils noticeably flared.

Jack had picked this still for a reason. It was the moment she came, and she came hard. The slut scream Brittany had belted out was deafening, and even now, it was making him hard just thinking about it. Jack only regretted he couldn't provide sound with the still as Brittany continued to stare down at the picture.

She swallowed hard. Staring at the image, her emotions ran the gambit between embarrassment and fear. Moreover, the thousand-pound gorilla that stood between them, the reason Jack was there in the first place, became all too clear. That picture alone would be enough to send Santos into a murderous rage if he ever saw it.

Jack talked slowly and clearly, "As I was saying, Mrs. Medina, before you rudely opened your fat trap, I'm prepared to go the extra mile to keep your husband from finding out about your very dirty, little secret."

At that moment, they heard, "Mom, is that Chris?" followed by young woman, scrambling around the corner and into the foyer where Brittany and Jack stood. She was in her late teens, taller than mother, with chestnut brown hair and eyes to match. When she saw that it wasn't Chris at the door, Alandra stopped dead in her tracks.

Hearing her daughter's voice, Brittany clutched the picture flat to her chest, fearful that Alandra might peek over her shoulder and see what she was holding.

"I'm sorry," the daughter said to no one in particular, "I thought it was someone else." Standing still for a moment and eyeing the situation, she asked, "Mom, who's this?"

Brittany didn't answer. She just stood trembling in the doorway clutching at the picture. Tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"Mom?" the daughter asked, full of concern. Noting that her mother was being unusually distant, she hesitantly walked forward to see what was wrong.

Brittany snapped out of her tremors when she heard her daughter's footfalls. Not turning to face her daughter less she reveal her tears, she babbled, "Ally, dear, this is...a, uh...a Mister..."

Jack jumped in and saved her, while giving a false name, "Hansen. Peter Hansen." Taking his eyes off Brittany, he smiled at the daughter, and continued, "Hello. You must be Alandra. My, such a pretty name for a very beautiful, young woman. I'm sorry to bother you and your mother, but I'm here collecting on an old debt."

Brittany winced at Jack's phraseology, and quickly corrected, "What Mr. Hansen means, Ally, is he's here collecting donations for charity. I was about..."

Disappointed it wasn't her boyfriend and already bored with the conversation, Alandra rolled her eyes, turned to leave, and said, "Whatever Mom. Make sure you let me know when Chris calls."

Jack smiled at Brittany, and said as she breathed a sigh of relief that Alandra left, "Like I said, Mrs. Medina, these things are best talked over in private."

Brittany didn't hesitate this time, leading Jack to a private study on the second floor of the house.

As they made their way up the stairs and onto the second floor landing, Jack scanned into the open rooms he passed, taking a quick inventory of what he saw. Once inside the study, Brittany quickly closed the door.

Jack looked casually around room, admiring the rows of books that lined the walls, and then sat in a large, black leather chair behind a large oaken desk. Everything he had seen of the house, and particularly in the study: from the wood shelving, the leather-bound books, the few pieces of tasteful art, the intricately, hand-carved table and chairs, to the plush carpeting, stank of money—a lot of money.

Jack commented, "Quite a palatial home you and Santos have, Mrs. Medina, even on a lieutenant's salary."

Brittany remained standing, ignoring the slight to the honor of her house when Jack took the seat of honor without asking. She had already crumpled up the picture, balling it tightly in her fist, and would burn it later, but to what end. She knew Jack had more. She also knew what he wanted, but wasn't sure if she had enough savings to satisfy him. She wanted to ask him 'why.' Why her, but thought that was secondary to how much. Being a cop's wife, she gathered up her composure and cut to the heart of the matter, "How much will it cost me to get you out of my life?"

Jack always liked playing with them at this point. After they shit their panties hearing a price they could never attain, it was easier to get them to chug cock when he lowered his expectations. "Down to brass tacks, I like that. To be equally blunt, I think a hundred grand will buy my silence and your freedom."

Brittany just about swallowed her tongue hearing such an astronomical sum. Tears of frustration and futility rolled down her cheeks, as she contemplated how she could even begin gathering up that much money. She whined, "A hundred thousand! I-I don't have that kind of money."

Jack looked around the room again, reminding her of just the wealth that surrounded them. Looking back at her, he said, "You have a lot of pretty things, and very expensive things, Brit. If I were you, I'd start selling some of these things to raise the money. You can start with that new Mercedes you tool around town in."

"I-I can't sell the car," she continued to whine, "Even if it was mine, I couldn't sell it. Santos will know..."

"Santos is going to know pretty soon if I don't see a good faith effort on your part. Start selling things, or I'll start sending the two-hour video of you fucking Alandra's boyfriend, right to him at work. Then I'll send it to all of his asshole cop friends, and to all of his asshole, cop friend's wives. Maybe 'Captain Daddy' would like a copy. I'm sure he'd love seeing his daughter taking it from behind by some punk. It would make him so proud...your mother too. Oh and what about the punk, maybe Alandra would like to see what mommy's been doing with her..."

"Stop!" she wailed. "P-Please don't! I'll get you the money. I promise."

Jack loved hearing the wail. It was the abject cry of total helplessness and dread. They all did it to one degree or another. Those with the most to lose, like Brittany, wailed the longest and loudest, and promised everything under the sun. They were empty promises, of course. No one had that kind of money lying around. It was just said to forestall the pending disaster of leaked videos, giving them time to think. Still, even though empty, the promise was important. It bound them to him, whether they knew it or not.

After staring long and hard at her as if she were a suspect, he asked, "When will you have it?"

"I'll need a couple of months at least, maybe a year."

Jack scoffed, "A year! I'm not going to wait a year, not without a sweetener. How much do you have, now?"

"I can give you two thousand now, and m-maybe another five thousand in a couple of months."

Jack stood up shaking his head, a mock look of disappointment donning his face. "Sorry babes, but no dice. I can see this is wasted effort on my part. You'll never get the money. Don't worry, though, I'm sure you'll put your life back together in a couple of years. That is, if your husband can keep his anger in check."

As he walked toward the study door, Brittany fell to her knees, clutching hard around one of his legs. Her wailing was continuous, and through great rending sobs, she begged, "Please...don't...I-I promise I-I'll get you the m-money. Don't do this."

Come on, stand the fuck up," Jack said as he grabbed her arm, pulling her up and off his leg. "You and I both know you're not going to get the money, no matter how much time I give you. I thought maybe your asshole, grafter husband had enough cash squirreled away in a safe somewhere, but I can see he put everything into the house and cars. Now I'm out a significant payoff. Well, that's tough on me, and, too bad bitch, it's tough on you. I'm not just going to forget about it."

She was still crying as she asked slowly, clearly pronouncing every word between sobs, "Why...are...you...d-doing this...to me? W-Why...d-do...you...h-hate me?"

"I don't hate you Brit. I'm not too fond of that jag-off husband of yours, but I hold no ill will toward you. You just happen to be in the unfortunate circumstance of being in the middle; 'caught in the crossfire,' as we call it. It's a common situation people who know your husband find themselves."

"Please, if he did something to you then I'm sorry. Truly I am. Believe me when I say, I'm so very, very sorry something bad happened to you, but please, don't punish me for something Santos did."

Jack answered, sarcastically, "That's so sweet. You're sorry your husband's a douchebag. Well, I'm sorry too, Brit, but it really doesn't matter to me if you have the money of not. Knowing he'll be humiliated when everyone he knows watches his bouncy-bottomed, little wife taking it doggy from a dick-less punk with acne, will be sweet enough revenge for me."

Jack smiled when he saw the last remnant of hope drain from her face.

Then he looked at her long and hard. When it looked like she'd melt under his stare, he softened is appearance as if he had just discovered a heart. Sitting back down in the chair, he said, "I just know this will be wasted effort, but I'm a nice guy and a sucker for big tits. You have a couple of grand. I want three by Monday. Can you make that, at least?"

She nodded her head vigorously.

"Of course you can. Now that's going to be three grandin cash. I don't want any checks."

Brittany was almost cheery. "And that's it?"

"No, that's not it. Like I said at the front door, I don't like redheads and you have a fat ass. You're really not my type at all, but because I'm a nice guy, I'm prepared to accept services for a delay in payment. That's just a delay in payment, mind you. I expect the rest of the hundred grand over time."

"What kind of services?" she asked, with suspicion.

"Come on, Brit, don't be dense. We're all adults. I don't need someone to wash my windows."

Shaking her head in disbelief, she said, "Now wait a minute..."

Jack broke in before she could finish, "No, you wait a minute. This is the deal and there's no negotiation anymore, because you've got nothing else to negotiate with." Jack wrote an address on a piece of paper, and handed it to her. "Be at that motel by noon, Monday, and have the three grand with you. Rent a room and wait for me. When I get there, be ready to do anything I want. And I mean anything!"

Brittney was having a hard time wrapping her head around the idea of becoming a whore. Tears flowed, again, as she squeaked, "I can't..."

"Yes you can. You've had no trouble fucking boys on the side. Now it's time you fuck a man, and a better man than that piece of shit jag-off you've married. No negotiations, Brit, this is the deal. If you're not there by Monday noon, I start emailing your amateur porn video to all your family and friends by twelve-oh-five."

This was all happening so fast. She felt lost and untethered from herself. She couldn't believe how quickly her life spun out of control—spinning like water in a toilet bowl as it was being flushed into the sewer. Even though the full weight of the potential consequences of her actions barely registered in her mind, she still had the wherewithal and temerity to ask, "And it will only be this one time?"

Jack rolled his eyes in exasperation, and said, "You really are this stupid. No, there'll be many times until you pay off your debt. However, because I'm a nice guy, after we've met for a few weeks I'll open up our deal for renegotiation. Who knows, if you suck good cock I may cut you some slack. Until then, you should always be thinking about gathering up the rest of the money. I'll expect a little bit each week, and deduct it from the total. Understood?"

She nodded her head slowly and was about to ask something else, but Jack continued, "Let me be clear, just in case you get stupid again and start thinking with something other than your snatch. If something should happen to me, purposeful or accidental, if I should get a whiff that I'm being tailed or that you're being tailed, by your husband or some of his thug cop buddies, the video I have of you will upload automatically. No one will be able to stop it but me. So, you had better start praying nothing happens to me or that Santos ever suspects. Understood?"

She nodded her head, again.

"Good girl. Now, because I'm being generous, letting you make payments for services, and since you've been a stubborn, whiny bitch this whole time, I'll need to see a little, up front, good-faith effort from you. You know, show me a little 'earnest money' that you're serious in our deal."

"What do you mean?"

Jack thought his suggestion was obvious, but stood up, anyway, making things more obvious to her.

Brittany caught his drift when she saw the bulge he didn't try to conceal in his pants. Again, shaking her head in disbelief, she started to say, "Now, wait a minute..."

Jack interrupted her, "I think a hand job would go a long way in showing me you take the situation you're in serious, and that I can expect you on Monday."

Brittany hissed in almost a harsh whisper, "What? Here? Right now?"

"Unless you'd be more comfortably doing this in Alandra's room, yes and yes."

"I-I can't do..."

Jack was losing patience with her, and was close to calling the whole thing off out of frustration. "Look, you stupid cunt, I've had it with all your bullshit."

Brittany stared at him, blankly. Even after all the things he said and did to her up until that point, the insult of being called a 'cunt' to her face was almost too much for her to bear. However, seeing his cold, dispassionate eyes staring back at her, she bit her tongue and remained quiet.

After a moment, he continued in a mocking voice, "I'm really getting tired of all your, 'I can't do this,' and 'Wait a minute,' shit. You've got three seconds to pull my cock out and start stroking it, or else I start uploading the video of you and Chris. One..."

Brittany stood as a statue, and whined, "You're so vulgar!" After a long silence where she hoped he was bluffing, she continued, "Please...not here."

"Two..."

Another long silence, she made an appeal to logic, "Please, I can't. Not with Alandra in the house..."

Jack threw up his hands, saying, "All right, fuck off," and walked briskly to the door.

Brittany finally realized he wasn't bluffing. Stepping in front of him to impede his progress, she said, earnestly, "Okay, okay, just give me a second to..."

Jack shocked her by roughly pushing her out of the way, saying, "It's too late for that you stupid bitch."

Put off balance by Jack's hard push, Brittany stumbled back and violently slammed into the study wall. She was still in shock when she saw him opening the door.

Flinging herself at his feet, again, she cried, earnestly, "I'll do it. I'll do it. Please, just close the door and let me do it."

Jack paused for a moment. Framed in the open doorway with Brittany clutching at his feet, he thought about calling out to Alandra. Show the daughter on a more personal level what her mother was truly like as she groveled at his feet, before uploading the video to her and Santos.

He had second thoughts, however. Brittany and Santos deserved each other. So far, he thought her a weak, milquetoast of a woman that he could use to his supreme advantage. It was too good to be true. She'll do anything he wanted. He'll fuck her six ways to Sunday, while she pays him any amount of money for his trouble, and in the end, Jack will still exact revenge by sticking it to Santos.

Jack roughly shook her off his feet, before turning around to face her. Closing the door, then leaning back against it, he said, "Get up, but stay on your knees like a good, little, 'wifey' cunt. Last chance, bitch, do exactly what I say, when I say, without complaint or hesitation, and I might forget about uploading your video, today. Now, look up at me."

She turned her watery, green eyes up at him, and waited patiently for his next command.

Seeing full submission in her eyes, he commanded, "Unzip me, cunt, and pull it out!"

She remained quiet although tears continued to roll down her cheeks as she snaked her hand through the opening of his pants and boxers. When she finally grabbed his cock, she gasped quietly, feeling the full heft of it in her hand. Pulling it out, she let go of it for a moment in order to determine how best to proceed, staring at it intently as it hung down, heavy and thick.

Jack smiled to himself when heard her gasp, and said with a roguish laugh, "Thanks for the compliment, but it isn't that big."

Jack was being modest. At eight inches long, his cock was well above average, but not overly large in comparison with others. However, what really astonished the ladies when they first laid eyes on it was its girth. It was extremely thick along its whole length, yet not too daunting to those vestigial housewives who hadn't been with anyone larger than a wine stopper. Certainly, it's the perfect tool that could pleasure a woman to the right depth, while wonderfully tickling their sensitive walls. In the immortal words of Goldilocks, 'It was just right.' The humorous part for Jack was once most of the cheating wives got a good look at his dick, it took most of their will power not to immediately flop over onto their backs, and beg the blackmailing asshole to stick it in them.

Brittany was different, however, and maintained a certain degree of sexual restraint that he hadn't witnessed in the other wives. She surprised Jack, and, while he wouldn't admit it, she fostered a bit of admiration in him.

Brittany didn't need to be told what to do. Cupping his member between her soft palms, she kept the tips of her thumbs pointing back at her and in contact with the sensitive underside of his shaft, as she stroked Jack's cock to full hardness.

The whole time she jerked him off, Brittany's features remained stoic, almost regal in their aloofness. Her breathing never deepened or quickened. Outwardly, it was as if she were performing any number of mundane household chores—with complete detachment. Internally, however, her heart was racing like a thoroughbred's at full gallop.

Looking down at her, Jack said, "Keep your eyes on me, bitch...oh, that's nice. That's a good bitch, getting me so nice and hard." Brushing a hand across her cheek in a gesture of mock affection, he continued, "Your hands are so smooth and dry. I like that. I don't like sweaty palms. They make for a rough hand job. Keep your palms dry, sweetheart, or you'll be sucking me off, instead. It wouldn't do for you to suck it just yet. You're just not ready for the cock in your mouth. Not yet, anyway."

Brittany tried to ignore his taunts and rancid comments, concentrating, instead, on finishing the job at hand with as much dignity as possible. As such, she kept her eyes and mind focused squarely on the tip of his member as her soft thumbs, palms and fingers slid easily along his thick and meaty shaft.

Once, she pressed her thumbs a little too hard along the underside of his cock as she slid them along his shaft, causing a small bead of pre-cum to issue from the head. There it stayed, neither falling off nor growing larger. It glistened from the light in the room, appearing as though it was winking at her, mocking Brittany's pride and resolve.