Lessons Learned

Emil Trudeau reluctantly tore his piercing blue-eyed gaze away from the shimmering desert vistas encircling his luxurious Reno compound. With a sigh, he blinked lazily, dreamily, and slid his silent contemplation of the world into a neat little chamber somewhere in the back of his busy mind. Perhaps he would revisit it someday, but for the moment, business was at hand.

Trek leaned closer. "They're here," the tall mercenary murmured softly, and then took two steps back, a sinewy, dangerous figure looming like a giant redwood over a nondescript weed on a forest floor.

Except the weed was far more dangerous.

Descending the steps to the pool area were four well-dressed figures, each looking like gawking tourists prowling downtown New York City. The two couples seemed much of a muchness -- typical privileged upper-class white Americans, treading the earth like they owned every inch of it and pretending they were too busy to notice it. Emil knew better, though.

The couple in the lead were Gretchen and Marcus Hamilton, real estate moguls with a popular show on HGTV. Gretchen was a platinum-haired, rail-thin prima donna with a steely gaze and blindingly white teeth in a mouth that didn't seem to know if it wanted to smile or bite, while her amiable husband Marcus had the air of a devil-may-care surfer who was just along for the ride. He was fit, trim, and sported a shaggy black mop atop his head. Emil had it on good authority that Marcus Hamilton was not very bright, and the man's vapid expression did nothing to dispel those rumors. It was also rumored that the Hamiltons were virulent racists, a little morsel of information that had intrigued Emil immensely.

Behind them walked Olivia and Jimmy Carpenter. Olivia was by far the youngest of the group, barely in her early twenties while the other three were well into their thirties. There was an innocence about her that automatically drew the eyes and stirred the heart. She was blonde, dimpled, and charming, possessing a girl-next-door aura that suggested a childlike naiveté unblemished by life in a grim world. Even her voice seemed to resonate with a little girl vibe, a falsetto with a soft, immature cadence. She was deeply tanned and looking far healthier than her pale, stooped husband. While the other blonde -- Gretchen Hamilton -- was extremely thin, Olivia had gone the opposite direction, blossoming with curves and softness. Jimmy Carpenter was the Hamilton's business partner, the guy who crunched the numbers and greased the right palms to get a job done. He was stocky, bespectacled, and balding, and he absolutely doted on his young trophy wife.

Emil watched them approach, noticing the way the group automatically deferred to Gretchen Hamilton. She was the brains and drive of their operations, a barely subdued beast waiting for its trainer to avert his gaze and give her the chance to go for his throat.

Emil had decided it was time to bring the beast to bay.

He stood, a cultivated, cosmopolitan Frenchman with a pronounced limp and an easy grin. "Welcome, my friends, welcome," he boomed in his deep, sonorous voice, smiling gently. "Please, join me at my table. The desert sun can be quite blistering in the summer, yes?"

"That it can," Gretchen Hamilton agreed pleasantly, slipping gratefully under the wide umbrella, taking a seat across from him. The others took seats as well, although Olivia's gaze lingered on the massive swimming pool.

"My dear, if you'd like, you are more than welcome to indulge yourself in my pool."

"That really sounds wonderful, Mr. Trudeau," Olivia smiled warmly. "I'm afraid I didn't bring a swimsuit, though."

"I assure you we have quite a selection of appropriate attire inside," Emil offered, waving one of his female attendants over. "I would be very pleased to offer you any you desire."

She beamed, glancing at her husband for approval. When he nodded good-naturedly, she jumped up with glee. "I think I will! That pool really looks incredible! Thank you so much, Mr. Trudeau."

"My pleasure," he assured her. "See to her needs," he ordered his attendant, a heavy-set black woman garbed in dark skin-tight clothes. The woman's cold eyes flickered briefly at Marcus Hamilton before she smiled gently at the grinning young blonde, gesturing for her to follow.

"That's very kind of you, sir," Jimmy Carpenter nodded politely. "My wife has done nothing but talk about that pool since we saw it through the windows upstairs."

"The woman is part mermaid," Gretchen rolled her eyes. "She spends all her time on the beach."

Jimmy gave a wry smile. "I am perfectly okay with that," he winked.

"Of course, you are," Gretchen replied, a hard edge to her voice. "She's almost young enough to be your daughter, but why should that bother you? She was Miss Texas, after all, right?"

Jimmy thought about it. "Yes, I'd say that's exactly right," he admitted, unperturbed by Gretchen's scorn.

"What's that?" Marcus interrupted, jutting his chin and staring off to the side.

Emil followed his gaze. "Ah," Emil smiled. "That is a yurt."

"It looks like a tent," Marcus replied.

"It is indeed a tent, Mr. Hamilton. Yurts have a long history of use in the Middle East with the Bedouin and other peoples who travel the hot and dusty wastes. I had this one modified and enlarged, however." He chuckled ruefully. "You must forgive my eccentric décor choices, my friends. I enjoy my home in Reno, but the heat can be unbearable at times. After a brisk swim, I retire to my yurt for a peaceful interlude of meditation. It is quite comfortable inside, I assure you. It could sleep fifteen people easily."

While his guests were gazing at the circular structure, Emil made a subtle hand gesture. Trek made no response, but he immediately stepped out from beneath the umbrella and slipped through the servant's entrance nearby.

Emil allowed the conversation to stay relatively benign while Mrs. Carpenter changed. He played the perfect host, smiling congenially at his guests' remarks and listening with interest as the Hamiltons described their latest venture into beachfront properties in Costa Rica. Soon, Trek returned, followed by two burly, bare-chested laborers clad in jeans and boots. Trek took up his usual position behind Emil, and the workmen disappeared inside the yurt.

Emil noticed the curiosity of his guests, but he chose to ignore it. He decided it was time to swing the conversation around to the reason why he had invited them to his estate.

"Most remarkable," he said in a complimentary tone. "Costa Rica has been a favorite tourist location for Westerners for quite some time. I imagine your investments there will pay off quite handsomely."

"We anticipate that as well," Gretchen Hamilton replied smugly, taking a sip of her wine.

"Almost as profitable as your recent endeavors in Detroit, perhaps?"

Gretchen froze, and beside her Jimmy Carpenter paled, his eyes shifting briefly to his partner's face. In an instant, both managed to quickly regain their composure.

Emil had to admire their self-control.

"Detroit?" Marcus Hamilton asked, confused. "We don't have any properties in Detroit. The place is a cesspool." He glanced at his wife. "We don't, do we?"

Gretchen didn't respond. Her eyes were boring into Emil's face.

Emil was shaking his head. "You kept this from your husband?" he inquired with a gentle, reproving frown. "Ahhh, my dear, you are a true talent, I'll give you that."

"What's going on?" Marcus demanded, leaning forward in his chair.

"Shut up, Marcus," Gretchen murmured absently, tilting her head. She continued to stare at Emil. Jimmy Carpenter was suddenly more interested in his napkin than his surroundings.

Emil spread his hands in a benign, regretful fashion. "Mr. Hamilton, I have been paying your wife and your business partner a considerable amount of money for several years now. Many of the properties that you 'flip' on your television show were bought by me, and in return your wife and Mr. Carpenter reimburse me -- with interest -- when you sell the property later. It is far more detailed than that but suffice to say that your wife and Mr. Carpenter have been very helpful in assisting me with, ah, cleaning large sums of ill-gotten gains."

Marcus was staring at Emil as if he was speaking Swahili. "I don't understand," he confessed finally.

Gretchen shook her head in irritation. "Money laundering, Marcus," she growled. "That's what we've been doing for Mr. Trudeau. Money laundering. Try to keep up."

"I didn't know anything about that," Marcus exclaimed.

"I didn't think so, Mr. Hamilton," Emil commented, amused. "Such efforts require considerably more intelligence than you seem to possess, after all."

Marcus bristled. "You-

"Shut up! Now!" Gretchen screamed at her husband. He subsided, folding his arms, giving the impression of immense anger, but Emil could see the uncertainty in his eyes. All three of his guests were far more aware of Trek's imposing and impassive presence than they had been before.

"I knew you were greedy, my dear," Emil murmured. "I expected a little skimming off the top, and I accounted for that. However, I did not anticipate that you would take such a remarkable risk for ideological reasons. A foolish ideology, at that."

Jimmy Carpenter looked startled. "What is he talking about?" he asked, looking hard at Gretchen.

She remained silent, still staring daggers into Emil's face.

"You did not know?" Emil queried.

"We were skimming, sure, taking a little more than we should here and there, and I knew she bought properties in Detroit, but --

"I swear, the men in my life are the stupidest --

"What is he talking about, Gretchen?" Jimmy Carpenter barked angrily.

"Mr. Carpenter, your business partners are neck-deep in white supremacist activities. Didn't you know that?"

"Well, yeah, sure, they're racist, but that's none of my business. I don't really care what they do in their personal lives."

"Oh, it is more than just racism, I am afraid. Mrs. Hamilton is, apparently, a true believer, a fanatic who really believes that a race war is imminent. She has been funneling large sums of money to various white supremacist groups around the country, and the properties she recently purchased in Detroit are being used as safe houses for racist extremist groups." Emil chuckled. "You could say that they are like terrorist sleeper cells deep in enemy territory -- black territory -- in Detroit's inner city. I believe the gentleman we questioned said it was better to 'strike first than to wait and get your head blown off.' I love American euphemisms, don't you?"

Jimmy stared at Gretchen in horror.

"What I do not love, however, is finding out that my money -- my name -- is now connected with activities that are bound to find themselves on the FBI's radar," he said menacingly, all pretense of friendliness gone. "You have endangered my operations here in the U.S. with your idiocy, Mrs. Hamilton, Mr. Carpenter, and I have called you here to set things right."

At that moment, Olivia Carpenter reappeared, vigorous, golden, and bouncy in her eagerness. She had on a lovely red and black bikini that barely restrained her glorious curves. The black attendant followed her, and a second trailed behind. The two women were extremely dark-skinned, almost literally rather than figuratively black, and they were solidly built -- heavy-set but not quite fat. The newcomer had dyed her long braided hair pink, but otherwise they could easily be mistaken for sisters.

"Oh my god, honey," Olivia gushed, rushing over to hug Jimmy briefly before standing back up. "I think Mr. Trudeau has a harem or something, because he had two entire walk-in closets full to the ceiling with women's clothes! It was amazing! Do you like?" she asked, twirling briefly and posing.

Emil smiled, inwardly amused that the woman hadn't noticed the tension. "You look absolutely ravishing, my dear," he praised her. Then he sighed theatrically. "I am afraid, however, that there has been a change in plans."

She pouted quite charmingly, Emil thought. "I don't get to swim now?" she asked, discouraged.

"I'm afraid not," he replied. He gestured behind her. "You will, however, be thoroughly entertained by my associates Paolo and Lucien while I continue discussing matters with your husband."

The two workmen strolled forward. They had apparently slipped out of the yurt while everyone was distracted and then stood quietly nearby.

They were completely naked.

Momentarily shocked by their nudity -- and not incidentally the large organs dangling between their legs -- Olivia stared at them in confusion. "Why are they naked?" she asked finally, ogling their cocks.

"Didn't your husband tell you?" Emil asked, feigning confusion. "He expressed an interest in French customs, especially our world-wide reputation as lovers. We are, after all, very casual about nudity and sexual activities, and he gratefully accepted my offer to introduce all of you to some of our pastimes. As my honored guest, you will be the first of your friends to experience our unique hospitality."

"Oh, um, well, yes, they are very handsome, aren't they?" she ventured, bewildered and uncertain. "Jimmy, are you sure this is... okay with you? You didn't tell me anything about this."

"I believe he said he wanted to surprise you, Mrs. Carpenter."

Jimmy offered a sickly half-smile to his wife, his eyes slowly widening with horror as he began to realize what Emil had in store for him.

"Is this really what the French do, Mr. Trudeau? It's just... I've never done anything like this before, and... well, I know rich people have a different way of doing things than people where I come from, but..."

Events happened very fast at that point. Marcus Hamilton had started to get to his feet, anger clearly written across his face, but Trek was much quicker. The big man had Hamilton in a vicious headlock, choking off his air, and within seconds, Marcus Hamilton was collapsing to the floor. A startled Gretchen Hamilton had wisely kept her seat, although she was clearly rattled. Olivia Carpenter had missed the action with Marcus, though, because Paolo and Lucien had embraced her and yanked the new bikini from her body. Her sumptuous physique bobbled and jiggled appealingly as she was fondled. Jimmy Carpenter uttered a protest, and started to leave his chair, but the attendant shoved him back down roughly, shaking her head.

"Don't worry, mate," one of the workmen laughed in an Australian accent to Jimmy. His massive penis was starting to stiffen from repeated contact with the lushly built Olivia. "We won't hurt her none. We'll just keep her occupied while you make things right with Mr. Trudeau, won't we, Paolo?"

The other man only grunted. His hands were all over Olivia's big, swaying breasts. His dick was also lengthening, and with one swift motion, he lifted Olivia up and placed her on his shoulder. Her tanned and rounded ass was pointed at the group momentarily until Paolo turned and carried her toward the yurt, with Lucien following him.

"Jimmy?" Olivia called out. "Aren't you coming with us?"

They disappeared inside.

Emil quietly assessed the situation. Jimmy Carpenter was pushed back in his chair, plainly frightened. Marcus Hamilton was unconscious on the ground nearby, while Gretchen Hamilton seemed in shock, her eyes darting everywhere.

"Sin," he spoke up suddenly. The woman who had shoved Carpenter back into his chair looked up. "Go get it," he ordered.

She grinned. "Rute!" she called to the pink-haired attendant. The two slipped quietly around the corner of the house.

"Now," Emil began, drawing their attention back to him. "I've learned that people who cross the line will usually cross it again if they are not properly... chastised."

From within the yurt, Olivia's high-pitched, little-girl voice kept floating out, filling the air with a running commentary.

-- that's my ass -- no, don't bite it -- Jimmy! --

"I've arranged for the two of you to repay your debt to me...

-- my tits -- that's -- no, I won't -- you --

... and, unfortunately, your spouses will be involved in settling your obligation."

-- Jimmy, he's got his tongue in my pussy -- no, that isn't --

A rattling sound drew their gaze away from the yurt. Sin and Rute were pushing an odd-looking wheeled table into place near the comatose Marcus Hamilton. It was made of metal, wider than a normal hospital gurney, and adorned with clamps at each corner. The women locked the rollers in place, and then looked at Mr. Trudeau expectantly.

Trek lumbered forward, picked Hamilton up, and set him on the table. Rute drew a knife from her belt and quickly sliced through Hamilton's clothing. The two women ripped his button-up shirt, jeans, and boxers to pieces and tossed them aside while Trek secured Hamilton's wrists and ankles with the clamps.

"Makeshi," Sin chuckled, glancing at his nether regions. "This white mumo is blessed! I think I might enjoy this more than I thought! Go get the camera," she directed Rute.

Rute muttered something in her native tongue. "Yes, I know you don't like big dicks," Sin responded. "He's got a tongue, though. You take his face and I'll take his dick. Get the camera."

Gretchen finally found her voice. "What...

-- no, I don't think -- unnnngh, no, get -- unngh, oh jesus your face is all up in my pussy --

... do you intend to do to my husband?" she asked.

Sin was tapping a syringe, winking at the immaculately dressed TV personality. "He is going to feel very, very good, muma," she grinned. She leaned over and injected the syringe into his left arm. "This," she continued, concentrating on the task at hand, "will make your husband not so aggressive, yes? He will be very friendly, too. Very friendly."

Rute was setting up a tripod and digital camera, looking through the viewer for the proper angle. She was murmuring to herself in her native tongue, noticeably amused.

"Sin and Rute are... quite talented," Emil chuckled, enjoying the rage that Gretchen Hamilton was clearly struggling to contain. "They are from Namibia, on the southwest coast of Africa, and they have done some work for me in the past. Your husband is about to cross certain lines he never expected to be traversing."

-- ohhh, this -- OHHHHHHHH -- oh, Jimmy, they're -- sucking on me -- my nipples -- my pussy --

Marcus Hamilton began to rouse. Rute glanced at Sin and said something again in a language the others couldn't understand. Sin nodded, laughing, and the two women began to remove their skin-tight clothes, peeling them off slowly, casually, never taking their eyes off Gretchen Hamilton. The platinum blonde clearly did not like being stared down.

Marcus suddenly giggled like a little boy as consciousness returned. He glanced at his wrists and pulled, testing his restraints. "Why am I tied down?" he warbled in a singsong voice, sounding drugged. His penis twitched and started to grow. He lifted his head slowly, blinking uncomprehendingly but happily. "Honey? Why am I naked?" he inquired, laughing. "Are you showing me off again?"

"Now that is an interesting question," Emil murmured maliciously at Gretchen. "Did we just learn something about you, my dear?"

-- oh, you have such a big cock -- Jimmy, he's -- he's got a big cock --

Marcus caught sight of the nude Namibian women, and he smiled broadly. "Hey, you're naked, too!" he giggled. Sin rolled her eyes, and then gripped his rapidly rising erection. He watched her stroke his penis, mesmerized, while Rute moved behind him, her full breasts brushing the top of his head.

"Have you ever had African pussy, mumo?" Sin asked seductively, leaning down quickly to give the tip of his big dick a long, careful lick.