Payment in Kind Ch. 02

Only momentarily put off her game, Eunice began again, one hand gripping his cock in an "O" near the base and the other pulling Terry into her waiting mouth. She licked, nipped, sucked, then inhaled the big man into the back of her throat over and over until she could literally feel the coming orgasm build within his loins. Just as he was about to complete his journey they heard: "Please remain calm. Maintenance is just outside of the door, which will be open in seconds. Please do not panic." Again, Eunice broke apart from the big man and howled in laughter.

"Remain calm!" she said, looking up at him with her big blue eyes and biting the bottom of his cock head.

Only when they could hear tools being applied to the outside door did Eunice give up, rise, and strike the red emergency button to turn the elevator back on. Fortunately, the doors remained shut, saving them the embarrassment of a confrontation with the hotel staff and taking them straight to the 25^th floor.

Terry and Eunice walked slowly down the long hallway to Eunice' room, hand in hand.

"I'm not leaving without your number," Terry said.

"This won't work," Eunice replied. "It can't work, I told you that."

"I don't care about that. I want to see you again. If you have to keep it on the down low, we'll keep it on the down low, but they shouldn't be running your life," Terry added.

"Tell me this doesn't feel different to you?" Terry added after Eunice said nothing, shocked that he meant it. Eunice paused and reflected. It did feel different, even if she wasn't comfortable admitting it. This Rod was inviting her down a very dangerous path. Instead of answering honestly, she said nothing and looked down to gather her key from her purse and head into her room.

"One last kiss," Rod said.

"One...last...kiss...and no phone number," Eunice replied. Terry kissed her softly and deferentially at first, then another bonfire broke out until Eunice broke it off.

"You're a dangerous man," she laughed as she keyed the door.

"You don't know the half of it," Terry answered, laughing. As the older woman began to shut the door, he stuck his big cowboy boot in the way just enough to keep the door from closing.

"I don't give up. I'm in sales," he said.

Eunice laughed one last time and stamped on the toe of his boot, causing pain to shoot up his shin. Terry pulled his foot back in anguish and Eunice quickly brought the door to. Terry knocked on the door, but Eunice wouldn't open it. He knew she would be looking at him through the peephole. Terry crossed the first two fingers of each hand so that they looked like the hashtag sign--number!!! He heard laughter on the other side of the door.

All in all, he'd spent three hours dancing in the arms of a beautiful woman, gotten kissed like she meant it, and was nearly able to finish a stunningly good blowjob. All in all, it was a great first night. He could find her damned number.

Part Four: The Reckoning

Something was wrong. At least it wasn't completely right, Eunice thought as she stared at the Linkedin entry for Rod Ruston. Like the other Google hits she'd gotten, it checked out. Rod Ruston, 42, executive Vice President, Topco sales, small private company, a contractor for BPV Corp, right street address for the business, right address for a home, Google satellite showed it to be a nice place, but not too nice. But it all seemed too neat. Rod said he was divorced, but no family law records existed for one "Ruston v. Ruston" divorce with a Rod Ruston in Harris, Webster, Chambers, Fort Bend, or Montgomery Counties, much less for the two divorces he'd claimed. It was entirely possible that the couple had lived somewhere else and gotten divorced there. But there were no fakey "net worth" guesses for a Rod Ruston by the services that tried to loop you into purchasing their compilations of public data on individuals, and there should have been. It was as if he were there in the web, but not really.

She shut down the top of her laptop and thought. It was always best to think one's way through these things before acting. She'd learned that in college. Nothing about her evening with Rod had made her suspicious of him--only that he was almost too good to be believed. Ruggedly handsome, genuinely Texan, smart in a clever rather than academic way, and so ungodly sexy that it portended he'd be good in bed--tender, giving, funny, and incredibly passionate. Maybe it was the fact that she was two-thirds toasted, but Eunice felt a genuine and unmistakable energy and affection from the man a well. She had intentionally parried all of Marsh Dedier's inquiries about her "new man," understanding instinctively that this was a part of her life that she needed to keep to herself. Who was she fooling? She hadn't even given the guy her number. Unless he was truly bedazzled with her, he wouldn't be back.

Yet the man continued to intrigue her. What was it about him that let her relax her guard so completely? She had gotten down on her knees in a public elevator for God's sake and blown him. Worse, she had enjoyed it--lots. She admitted to herself that he fascinated her, and everything seemed to check out, so where was that uncomfortable buzzing in her mind coming from, that lingering sensation of doubt? She replayed her conversations with Rod over and over, both because she genuinely enjoyed them, and because she hoped to put down her discomfort. This was the first man she'd shown a genuine affinity for in thirty years, so if there were a possibility of a real relationship, she wanted to follow it to its logical conclusion.

When she was completely honest with herself, Eunice knew that she led a half-life. Her encounters with the young men whom she engaged gave her temporary personal satisfaction, and no small part of it was emotional. But there was a small, quiet corner of her mind that craved much more than the occasional red-hot flash of sexuality from a man. In her most sober moments, she had to admit she was lonely, desperately lonely, for someone to be with all the time, to trust, and to share the burdens of a life that had become so twisted. She wanted to love and be loved in return. Her entire life to this point had been a catch-basin of burdens, guilt and secrets, strung together to create the appearance of normalcy. Her rape, her revenge, the Dedier's criminal enterprise, her role in it, this dual life, she could share none of it with anyone and so the burden fell solely on her, and each year it seemed heavier.

Before her tears had the chance to stream down her face again, the words Del Rio came back to her. He's from Del Rio. Her hands flew across the keyboard and within scant minutes, she had located what she was looking for--an internet site that advertising the availability of every high school yearbook in America. She typed in Del Rio High School, then the years 1996-1999, roughly the time Rod should have been there. Bingo--copies were available and fortunately it only had one high school. She ordered without hesitation, paying the absurd $250 charge for the reconstruction of the annual and the expedite fee, and fretting that even with the extra charge the annual would not arrive for a week.

That week poured out like cold molasses and Eunice continually wondered why having the answer was so important to her. Rod had, she admitted, lit a fire in her that had remained long dormant. She realized that it wasn't so much lust, as hope that was rekindled. They were absurd hopes because no man would ever accept a woman who'd committed a well-planned felony assault and battery on four different men, killing one, who'd aided and abetted hundreds of millions of dollars in financial crimes, and whose preferred sexual release was to any objective thinker as twisted as sin itself. Her mind oscillated wildly between visions of leaving Sandstone with Rod, moving to Houston or wherever he wanted to go, to scenes of quick condemnation and rejection ending with his departure from her life forever.

Then, finally, the day of reckoning arrived courtesy of FedEx. The service had gone to the effort of making its colorized PDF look and feel like the original annual. Nice if you gave a shit about such. Eunice opened the little book with shaking hands and began looking through each of the classes for the 1998 Del Rio Rough Riders, starting with the freshmen and running all the way through the seniors.

No Rod Ruston! No Rod Ruston! Goddamn. Just once in my life I would like to run into a man who was what he said he was, who wouldn't lie to me, who wouldn't fuck me over just to fuck me. Are there no good men in the whole Goddamned universe? Eunice thought as she burst into wailing sobs. She thew the annual against the kitchen wall in a fit of rage and several of her clear glasses shattered onto the marble below.

She wept and wept, stopped, moped, and then wept some more. Finally, she rose to clean up the glass, mopping the countertop and floor with a wet paper towel to make sure every single splinter was captured. Then she picked up and opened the annual again. She knew that there was a good chance that whoever this Rod Ruston was, he would have no connection with Del Rio High School at all, or maybe he wasn't really 42 and so the date range of the Annual would be off. She didn't really expect the thing to tell her anything more, but it made sense to be--meticulous. Then, in the junior class, staring out at the world with the same guileless joviality he'd shown at the ball, was a sixteen-year-old version of Rod Ruston, only he was named Terry Clavell.

She jumped back onto the computer and typed the name in the space bar. The first story told her nearly all that she needed to know:

"High" crimes on the Balcony

Houston Police Department records made available to the Chronicle under the Freedom of Information Act detail the arrest and detention, earlier this month, of Texas Ranger Terry Clavell for public indecency. Clavell, 37, was allegedly engaged in sexual intercourse with a married woman of his acquaintance on the fourth-floor balcony of the Warwick Hotel facing Herman Park. Sources close to the situation suggested that Clavell's paramour may have been the wife of another Texas Ranger, though this allegation could not be confirmed. Clavell has since plead guilty and received deferred adjudication for the crime of public indecency, a class B misdemeanor, and has been dismissed by the Texas Rangers.

It took only a few more keystrokes to confirm that the Terry Clavell was a top-of-the-line private investigator specializing in white collar criminal and civil litigation who'd received a fair amount of press coverage for his notable cases. Eunice knew what was up immediately. The Dediers--the only group significant enough for anyone to give a shit about--were the target of an investigation, and someone thought their lonely prim proper old bookkeeper would be their Achilles heel.

She would kill him. She would seduce him, strap him to her special chair in the back room, make him believe she was about to grant his every sexual desire, then while his balls were as dark and ugly a shade of blue as was humanly possible, choke him to death. The 9MM wouldn't do--too loud, too messy, and the bullet would travel too far. But she would find a way, and it would be clean, permanent, and whoever sent this son-of-a-bitch would get the damned message just like Bern had. She would never be taken advantage of again, not by "Rod Ruston," not by Terry Clavell, not by anyone. There were plenty of places to dispose of the body on the Dedier's ranch and she would be meticulous about it. Hands trembling, she shut her laptop, but not until she had ordered five clear solid medium sized dinner glasses--four replacements and one back-up.

Three days later the ancient dial telephone hung on her kitchen wall rang. "Hey" she heard. It was Clavell.

"Hey yourself" she answered warmly, surprised at her own excitement at hearing from him and marveling at her ability to mask the depth of her anger, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you got the number?" she asked.

"I'm in sales," he responded lightly. No, you lying fuck. You got some buddy from the Rangers or an old flame at the phone company to breach protocol and get my unlisted number.

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised, but I am pleased," she continued.

"I'm coming up your way next week. Can I take you to dinner?" "Rod" asked.

"How can I resist?" Eunice asked. "But I warn you it's not free like the bar Rod, you'll have to pay. So, will this be a McDonald's trip?" she joked.

"I like McDonalds. I truly do. I'm probably carrying three or four pounds from Whataburger, but I like McDonalds too, but no, I'm not thinking McDonalds."

"Well, so long as it's at least Sonic quality, I'm game" Eunice postured.

"Sonic it is then" Terry joked back. He seemed inclined to break the connection at that point, but Eunice had work to do. Slowly and painstakingly, she opened the conversation lightly, then after the two had relaxed, moved it to new subjects, choking down her revulsion at each new lie Clavell told, and becoming ever more intimate with him until, with nerves fully exposed to the possibility of failure, she suggested lightly that she might be into "other kinds" of sex, some of it "very kinky." Blood was placed in the water, chum guaranteed to draw the shark in so that it could be gaffed. It worked quite nicely as "Rod" quietly and genteelly admitted he had never done anything like that but was "open to new things" because he "liked her very much." Eunice assured him that if he was inclined, they could take it slow but that he felt sure he would love it. In fact, she guaranteed it, then rapidly broke the tension by joking that it was surprising what a good meal at Sonic would buy the right guy. She closed by assuring him that she liked him very much as well.

A hundred and twenty-five miles to the west, Terry Clavell hung up his cell phone, stared at it, and had the same reaction Eunice had felt the week before: that was wrong. Something is off. Like Eunice, he replayed the nearly hour-long conversation over and over in his head. Nothing jumped off the page to him on the first replay. The conversation had playfully progressed from remembrances of their night together in Houston and shared surprise at what they'd done in the elevator, to a broader discussion of sex and what each of them liked, then to a rather shy, hesitant admission by Eunice that she sometimes liked "rough stuff" and for her to later to wonder out loud if he might be adventurous enough to try it. Then the reality of it hit Terry: the conversation was too smooth, too well-planned and focused towards securing his agreement to try "the rough stuff." Plus, all of Eunice's resistance to getting "too close" to someone had miraculously disappeared. The warning bells continued to go off many times over the next week, but he never seized upon an explanation. Terry felt ill-at-ease as he drove the 125 miles from Houston to the Silsbee steak house at which they'd agreed to meet, but he knew he had to go to get the job done. Much depended on it. He worked for money, most often, but this assignment honestly didn't promise much. If the Dedier girl was in danger, he had the tools to help protect her, and he meant to use them.

McCauliff's was a good quality steak house in Silsbee, about 30 miles from Sandstone, well within range by Texas standards. Terry and Eunice had agreed to meet there, rather than have her come pick her up, to avoid having tongues wag about their continued association. The ensuing week, and the long drive to Silsbee had given both Terry and Eunice time to think about next steps. For Eunice, the path seemed clear, use nectar to draw the bee in, capture him, and at a minimum find out what all of this was about, and worst case, do what she had to do. She had calmed enough to believe that she could avoid hurting him, at least not too much, but wondered whether she would be able to keep control of her rage when the moment of truth came around. Well, that was a chance she'd just have to take. Rather, it was a chance he would have to take. One thing was for sure, there would be no safe words for him tonight.

Terry faced a Hobson's choice. He worried that it was risky to appear under the pretextual identity he'd set up. Something he couldn't put his finger on told him that his pretext was busted. Every time he replayed their telephone conversation, he became more convinced of it.

He toyed with the idea of coming clean. Eunice' most likely reaction would be to walk out of the restaurant and immediately inform her boss that they were under investigation. Still, it was a chance he might have to take. Underlying his decision, he realized, was the fact that he had allowed himself to lose detachment. Eunice had affected him. She was no longer just another mark. She was a woman of substance, so bright, energetic and unusual, that while she had not captured Terry's heart, she had at least monopolized his interest. She'd been on his mind constantly since the Gala, and if he was honest with himself, he was more worried about losing her than blowing the assignment.

"Thanks for coming all this way" Eunice opened when Terry sat down.

"Thanks for coming to see me" Terry responded.

"I" they both started at the same time, before dissolving to light laughter. There was a palpable tension in the air.

"Can I go first, please?" Terry asked. "I think...maybe...I have something to tell you. Please let me push it all out at once, because it's going to be hard to get out."

Eunice nodded her agreement, stunned by that Rod might reveal his true purpose. But he didn't, and his intransigence made Eunice' blood boil.

Terry paused, his resolve to come clean losing steams he envisioned the disaster that this assignment could become if he did. "Maybe...I...I...like you a lot. A whole lot more than I planned on. I mean..." he panicked, "...I wasn't planning on meeting anybody at that deal. I just wanted to go and dance a little, but then there you were. There's something else...let's...let's...wait, a little if you don't mind? Not here," Terry said.

Eunice looked at him quizzically. Clearly Clavell was having a raging inner debate on whether to come clean. It surprised her that he was even contemplating the idea. But he hadn't, and he might not, and given her participation in the Dedier's criminal conduct, she had to know exactly who was running this investigation and where it was heading. So, she bit her tongue, bided her time, and reverted to her original plan of seduction and interrogation.

"It isn't always easy to say what you need to say," she heard herself say, surprised at the mock sincerity she was able to generate. "It'll be fine. You can come over to my house after we're done with dinner and you can tell me there," she concluded.

"Thanks," Terry replied, "Thanks for doin' that."

Both spent the remainder of dinner in role, Terry as Rod, the hopeful paramour, wanting nothing more than to win Eunice' confidence enough to bed her, Eunice as the coquettish old maid, flattered at the attention of the handsome younger man, but set in her ways and not given to temporary relationships. As the evening wore on Eunice grew concerned that Clavell might just bolt and return to Houston, so she upped the ante by rubbing her long fingernails over his inner thigh and cock, both of which were shielded from view by the bright gingham tablecloth covering their corner table. This was something she was good at and by the time dessert arrived Clavell was quietly gripping her hand over his cock. He would be chomping at the bit by the time they reached Sandstone.