Decisions and Consequences

Ken was working regularly at the restaurant now and proved to have a real talent for the business. The owner liked Ken and was planning to retire. Nobody in the owner's family was interested in the restaurant so a deal was struck for Ken to take over the business and buy out the owner over time. Within a year, Ken would own the restaurant outright, and it was doing quite well.

With the steady inflow of my whore's gold and Ken's improved prospects, we were back from the brink of financial disaster. Owning a home, kids, good schools, travel, and retirement were realistic aspirations once more.

George and I decided to end our arrangement after the fourth block. If, as I suspected, this whole scheme was some bizarre fantasy of George's to punish me for rejecting his adolescent crush and get even with Ken for his past cruel practical jokes, fucking me steadily over the last 24 weeks surely must have sated that fantasy by now. As George crudely put it at the end, "Barb, you are a mighty fine piece of ass but an expensive one."

That just added another insult to the list for which I could hate him. But now it was over, and hopefully, George could keep his mouth shut. It might work out for the best yet.

AFTERMATH

The good life had returned. We were starting to seriously plan when we would start to work on producing the first baby. I daydreamed about how we would paint and furnish the nursery. I had passed my doctoral exams, and the dissertation would take another fifteen months or so. Then I could get to work happily producing the family Ken and I wanted. Our parents were doubly anxious for us to get into production mode.

Ken now ran the restaurant and would own it outright soon. Business was booming but did require a lot of work on Ken's part. I came down on Friday and Saturday nights when it was often crazy busy. I pitched in wherever needed and did everything from bus tables to tend bar as the need arose. The other nights of the week, when I was not helping out, were spent working on my dissertation. It was a busy but happy time for Ken and me.

I am a pretty girl, and part of my business value was schmoozing customers, which I enjoyed. I had a selection of classy but sexy outfits for when I helped out Friday and Saturday nights. The outfits caught the mens' attention, and I am vain enough to enjoy my effect on men.

George was a periodic customer and went out of his way to recommend and steer business to Ken. Ken and George, who had absolutely nothing in common other than my ass, developed a rapport. Friendship would be the wrong term, but their relationship was certainly cordial. That really bugged me. When George had a date, that bugged me too - go figure! If we women can't figure ourselves out, what hope do men have?

At the lab I have a number of exotic organic and inorganic poisons. I would love to drop one in George's drink one night. I could not get away with it, of course; still it was fun to fantasize. The guy had made a whore of me. He had shredded my pride and what I believed of myself. Even worse he had humiliated that lummox of a husband of mine that I absolutely adore. That I could never forgive.

Whenever George was around me, he was exceedingly polite and proper and thankfully never made even a veiled inference to our sexual and financial history together. It did not lessen my hatred of him.

BACK AT THE MANSION

The handle on the mansion's massive oak door completed its turn, and the door swung open. George stood there barefoot in jeans and a nerdy t-shirt. His eyes popped wide with surprise when he saw me.

Well they might. I was standing there in come-fuck-me heels, a tight, black miniskirt that barely covered the cheeks of my ass, and a sheer beige blouse. I wore no bra or camisole, so my breasts were, for all practical purposes, on public display. There were no panty lines revealed in the tight skirt either. The Uber driver must still be fantasizing about his last fare.

"Barb, what are you doing here?" George asked in confusion. Despite his confusion, his eyes were busy absorbing all the feminine physical wares that I was flaunting to whet his appetite.

I pushed past him into the foyer. I wanted to get off the street before anyone saw me dressed like the whore I am.

I pouted and said silkily, "George! That is no way to speak to a lady who has come calling on you."

I walked briskly into his living room and looked around. The living room was enormous. A hall on the left led back to bedrooms I presumed. A formal dining room was to the right and beyond that would be the kitchen probably. To the rear of the living room, two large open French door led into George's large home office. It bristled with electronics. He had obviously been working in his office before my arrival brought him to the door. Through the office window, I could catch a glimpse of a pool and manicured lawn.

During the week, the house was staffed with a majordomo, maid, cook, and gardener. From my previous times with George, I knew they were all off on the weekend, and he was usually home alone and working on Sundays.

"Very nice, George. This is far too tasteful to have been done by a man. You must give me the name of your decorator. "

I turned back around to face him. He had followed me from the foyer and was standing there with crossed arms and a bemused smile. He had no doubt been staring at my half-revealed ass. It is quite a nice ass, even if I say so myself.

"But not today. I have other things on my mind. Is it too early for a girl to get a drink around here? Maybe a white wine."

"Certainly," he replied, as he walked behind a small bar at the side of the living room.

I followed him to the bar. With some effort, I worked my way onto one of the two bar stools. I did what I could to get my skirt's limited quantity of fabric to cover the most critical parts of my bare lower anatomy. I put my purse on the stool next to me.

"How about a Spanish Albarino? A nice crisp white."

"That sounds lovely," I replied.

George poured two generous glasses, pushed one to me, and then propped on the bar looking at me with curiosity. "What brings you here, Barb, and where is your husband?"

I looked at him with coquettish gaze, "Ahem, my husband and the head chef are at a convention in Atlanta. Left first thing this morning and will be there until Tuesday midday. Their assistants are running the show until they get back. Sooo, I have a little free time on my hands. Thought I would call on an old friend and catch up."

We sipped our wine as we each contemplated the other. George broke the silence, "Come calling, huh. Certainly, you are always welcome. I recall some very fine times together. But I must ask, what are the terms of your visit?"

"Oh silly boy! You were renting me before. This time I am visiting of my own volition. A girl is allowed to be more forward today than when we were growing up."

"Ah, I see. But why would a married woman all of a sudden decide to call on me. And why you, of all people. Smart, beautiful, successful. The only way I ever was on your radar was when you needed my money."

I took a sip of wine, smiled my best seductive smile and leaned forward affording him an ample view of my breasts. His eyes were focused on my breasts now.

"George, to be blunt, you gave me six months of the best fucking I have ever had. I am simply anxious to sample that forbidden fruit once again. And my husband is conveniently out of town."

There is no better way to get a man eating out of your hand than for the woman to brag on his sexual prowess in the bedroom. Sure enough, I could see George swell up like a toad. I had him hooked.

I unbuttoned my top blouse button and took a sip of wine. I unbuttoned a second button, keeping George's rapt attention.

"Of course, I see I have interrupted your work."

I unbuttoned two more buttons and had another sip of wine.

"Perhaps I should just finish my wine and go back home so you can get back to work."

I unbuttoned the rest of my blouse and slipped it off. I nonchalantly draped it over the back of the adjacent stool.

"George, I really like this wine." I took a sip and went on, "My husband thinks I am at the university library doing research for my dissertation. On Sundays the library closes at 6:00 pm so I need to be home shortly after that to talk to my husband when he calls from Atlanta. Until then, I am free to spend my time as I wish."

I kicked off my high heels and stood up. Slowly I unzipped my dress and let it fall. I stepped clear of the tiny mound of fabric, folded it, and put it on the bar stool.

George's eyes never left me and had a hot, lecherous look. Yeah, I got him now.

I sashayed around to join him on his side of the bar. I slid my hands under his t-shirt saying, "Uhm, this seems to be an unneeded impediment". I quickly slid it up over his head and tossed it on the floor and began slowly rubbing and kissing his chest.

I crooned, "Anything to say big boy?"

George was grinning like the cat who just ate the canary. He croaked, "I guess it would be rude of me not to make time for us to have a visit."

I purred, "Oh good. Now you drink your wine while I tend to a few things." I began slowly unbuckling his jeans while I looked in his eyes. I eased the jeans off. He was in a pair of boxers that, unrestrained by the jeans now, were dramatically tented by his erection. I knelt down and slowly worked his boxers off, taking a few seconds to amuse myself with his erection in transit and elicit happy groans from him. He never did get around to drinking his wine.

I stood back up and pulled our naked bodies together and stretched up to kiss him. Slowly at first and then more deeply. I stepped back and cooed, "Oh Baby, I think we are of a like mind on how to spend the day. Take me on a tour of your beautiful home. Let's start with your master bedroom."

THE MISSION

I listened to George's steady breathing by my side. I was exhausted and would love to join him in dreamland. We had quickly screwed back in his bedroom - both of us passionate and on fire. I had allowed him no rest and with some oral and manual encouragement soon had him rising to the occasion for another frantic coupling. Now he was out like a light. A woman has more sexual stamina than a man, but I felt like I had run a marathon. I hate that bastard George, but damn, he sure knows how to screw a woman.

I slipped out of bed, checking to be sure George was still sound asleep. I padded back into the living room and retrieved my purse that I had left on the bar stool. I extracted a flash drive and my cell phone.

I listened carefully to be sure that there were no sounds coming from George's direction. All was quiet. I slipped into George's office. The computer was on waiting patiently for George to return to work. I inserted the flash drive. The flash drive's light flickered showing it was doing whatever it was supposed to do. I texted to a number I had been given, "loading."

FLASHBACK

It was a week ago last Friday when one of the hostesses had to miss work because of a sick child. I filled in for her. By 10:00 pm the dinner rush had subsided, and I was no longer needed. I spoke with Ken for a minute, made a pass through the dining room visiting with guests, making sure that things were satisfactory. After finishing my dining room circuit, I headed to the still busy bar to chat up the guests there.

As I entered the bar, a booming voice echoed through the room, "Barb, come join me. I must speak with you."

I looked over and saw Sergei, a bear of a Russian who had fled to America as soon as Glasnost made it possible. He had been a mathematics professor at the University of Moscow and was given a part-time appointment at our university. He also founded a technology company on the outskirts of campus that he bragged combined the Russian genius for mathematics with American hardware knowhow and software engineering skill. The employees were a wildly eclectic combination of refugees from the old Soviet empire and local homegrown talent. The company was phenomenally successful, and Sergei fended off all attempts by big corporations to buy him out. There were rumors that he still had contacts with the more unsavory elements back in Russia, but I suspect that was just silly student gossip.

I had gotten to know Sergei taking his class, "Advanced Math for Scientists and Engineers." I found him to be a superb teacher, a brilliant mathematician, and a kind, warm-hearted, if somewhat boisterous, gentleman.

He and Ken had also forged a fast friendship. Sergei convinced Ken to carry a few classical Russian dishes and to stock the bar with the better Russian vodkas. Sergei was a well-known and beloved character around campus and town.

I walked over to Sergei's table with a grin. It was good to see him.

Sergei effused, "My favorite krasotka, pretty woman; how many hearts did you break today? Sit, sit. Have some vodka."

As I sat, the waitress delivered two glasses of vodka, and Sergei pushed one in front of me. I laughed at his banter, "Sergei, I am not drinking vodka with you. I know better."

"One day I will teach you to drink in the Russian style, but tonight you can sip it like the Southern lady you are. This is good imported Russian Beluga vodka, not the swill you Americans usually drink."

Sergei did not slow down, "I had lunch with your major professor today. He said you did brilliantly on your doctoral exams and are started on your dissertation. Very important. Do not tarry, press on, and finish that damn thing. I hear they will offer you an assistant professor position when you finish."

I shook my head in amusement at Sergei and took a small sip of the fiery vodka. "Have to finish before I worry about that. I am knee deep into the literature review writeup and have almost finished the experimental design. It is going well."

We chatted on about campus gossip, news about town, and personal doings. Sergei ordered his third vodka and a second for me. I tried to demure, but Sergei's bonhomie and old world charm made it impossible to resist.

Sergei clasped his hands in front of him, leaned forward, and spoke more quietly so only the two of us could hear the conversation. "You know Barb, I do not like that friend of yours, George. I gave him a job when he finished at Georgia Tech. Ten months later he quits. All that state-of-the-art software I paid him to develop for us, suddenly it is patented and sold by his new company. He is a thief."

The hair rose on the back of my neck. I do not like to have my name associated with George, for obvious reasons. "Sergei, George went to high school with Ken and me. We didn't hang out. We all heard about his financial success, of course. He comes to the restaurant some, but that is pretty much all we see of him." My cheeks felt fiery. I hoped Sergei didn't noticed.

"Ah, yes, I see. Well, in a month or so, he will release a new top-level security software package. Reports are it will be the best on the market. Particularly good at protecting against ransomware. He will be releasing it through his old company and pre-orders are said to already be in the millions. He is very well thought of in the industry; truly one of our geniuses."

I didn't like this line of conversation, even though I could not see how it applied to me. I just nodded my head, murmuring a noncommittal, "Uh-huh."

Sergei, glanced away, staring toward the bar, not at me. "Certain friends from my home country are very anxious about this program. It threatens a very lucrative business of theirs."

I gave a start. Was Sergei confirming the rumors of his relationship with criminal elements back in Russia?

Sergei turned back, looking me in the eye. "You must remember, my home country is a lawless place today, like your old Wild West. I do not do what my old friends do, but I am an American citizen now and safe here. My friends live and fight to survive in a chaotic and crooked world."

Sergei gave a shrug of his massive shoulders and sighed expansively, "But we have long been friends. Went to school together. Were persecuted by the communists. Two even served time in the Gulag. I almost did also. My friends came to me a few months ago asking my advice on this problem caused by George; I cannot refuse them."

I said softly, "Sergei, this is not information I should know or hear."

Sergei looked sadly in my eyes, "Barb, I am afraid it is. My friends arranged surveillance of George looking for a weakness to exploit or blackmail material. They intercepted the Hilton's CCTV camera signals from the rear exit and hallways that showed a beautiful young woman going to George's hotel room many, many times. They asked if I could identify the woman."

My face must have matched Rudolph's nose. I had been outed. The worst of my nightmares had come true. I could not meet Sergei's gaze.

Sergei patted my hand. "Barb, let me tell you a story. My parents had been married four months and lived in a small village south of Minsk. The Nazis came and burned their farm and the village. Many were murdered. The women were raped many times before being shot. My mother, like you, was a beautiful young woman. A Nazi general added her to his entourage to keep him amused when he was off duty. My father escaped to fight with the partisans in the Pripet Marshes.

"For almost a year my mother was the Nazi's whore before she could escape. She made her way back to my father and joined the partisans in the marshes. If a German was taken alive, my parents ensured he died very slowly."

Sergei's voice was soft, "Look at me, Barb." I raised my eyes to my old friend. "I do not judge. I know you and Ken were in desperate financial straits in that time. We must do what we must do to survive. Only I know the identity of the young woman. I had my friends give me all the copies of the intercepted films. They have been destroyed."

Tears blinded my eyes as I lowered my head in abject humiliation. "Thank you, Sergei. I must keep this secret from Ken," I whispered.

Sergei reached over to lift my chin so he could look in my face. "Your secret is safe with me, Barb." He smiled broadly, "Now to other business. You know, I love American literature. I am especially fond of the Southern heroine - that steel magnolia type woman. Such a woman is strong in the face of adversity and fierce in her passions ... And she is patient and ruthless exacting her revenge upon her enemies." Sergei looked at me questioningly, "So Barb, do you wish to revenge yourself upon George?"

I laughed weakly, "Yes. I hate myself for what I did, but I hate him even more. I fantasize about bringing poison from the lab and putting it in his drink. But what can I really do?"

Sergei ordered another round of vodkas for us. I really shouldn't have another, but I took a healthy slug when the drinks arrived. The burn of the vodka seared my senses and seemed to clear my head and counter my shock.

Sergei continued thoughtfully, "The people from the Caucus in my country have a saying, 'The female assassin is more deadly than the male. Even the most vigilant warrior removes his armor to sleep with the female.' My friends cannot get through George's armor. Would you like to try?"

Sergei then placed the flash drive on the table between us and sat back watching me.

I stared at the flash drive, thinking about the implications. "And what will this do to him?"

Sergei replied tonelessly, "It will ruin him. You need know no more."

I picked it up the flash drive. I looked Sergei calmly in the eye and replied firmly, "Yes."

Sergei gave me a broad smile. "Xorosho, good. This will not be easy. His computer must be on when you insert the flash drive. It will self-execute but will take several minutes to set up. Then it is important that George be distracted from looking at his computer."