Immediately she tried to pull away. It was a mistake as Thanos` hand left her breast and she received a sharp across her face. He pulled her hair down even harder forcing her to fall to her knees. Unable to look anywhere but up at him her heart sank as she heard his zipper undo feeling sick as he forced his engorged penis into her mouth.
“Make this worth my while and I’ll be good to your husband!” Knowing that resistance was useless she allowed him to thrust in and out of her mouth. Every now and again she would gag which only served to make the next thrust even deeper. It was all she could do to prevent herself from vomiting as he drove over and over again into the back of her throat. Eventually, deciding that it was time to take this further, he again ordered her to strip and took a sadistic pleasure in watching her slowly remove her clothes before laying on her back on the sofa.
As he looked down on her he felt the saliva increase in his mouth. His stiff cock was beginning to throb. She looked gorgeous. Her arms were taut and straight by her sides with her small fist tightly clenched. Her head was turned to one side so that she did not have to look at him. She had the most fantastic figure he had seen on any woman in a long time. He stood by her feet and looked over her almost perfect hourglass figure. Her large, firm breast with a small, perfectly trim waist with not an ounce of fat on her flat stomach, well-rounded hips topped of a pair of very shapely, thick but not fat legs which were, in his opinion, probably the best pair of legs he had ever seen on any girl.
A small smile appeared on his face as he noticed her vagina; it was shaved except for a small line of perfectly clipped hair just above her clitoris. “Appropriate, a Brazilian for a Brazilian.” He thought it was funny.
He tapped her ankles indicating that he wanted her to open her legs and then lowered his head between them as he licked and played with her before positioning his bulky body between her legs and, with one mighty thrust, drove his aching penis in and completed his humiliation of her.
Rosa closed her mind to the rape and constant barrage of verbal abuse coming from the animal on top of her as she told herself over and over that her husband would understand and still love her. She could hear the disgusting names he was calling her and the words spouting from him but something suddenly caught her attention.
“I'm going to cum inside you, you little slut!” he panted, “I'm coming! I'm coming! You’re going to have my little baby, slut!”
She struggled violently against him but was too weak to push him off. She desperately did not want this animal to ejaculate inside her. They had been trying to start a family for over a year with no success and, consequently, she was taking no birth control precautions and this heartless monster was about to leave his dirty seed inside her. She struggled wildly trying to get him out of her before it was too late but the more she fought the more he seemed to like it until, eventually, the inevitable happened as she felt him drive deep inside her and the thrusting stopped.
She rolled on her side hiding her face from him as he leered down at her. “Well, that was almost worth a weeks repayment,” he said cruelly, “we’ll have to see what my man says though.”
She was not listening to what he said she just wanted this animal out of her home and out of her life. She laid there curled up in the fetal position sobbing and then noticed the large man enter the small living room. Then the implications of his departing words struck home.
“No,” she said softly knowing that she was completely powerless to stop him but this one was different from Thanos. He was dangerous and not to be angered. Her thoughts drifted back to her husband and she consoled herself in the knowledge that what she was doing was for her love of him. She had witnessed first hand the barbaric inhumanity of this animal and she feared angering him.
Without a word being spoken she rolled onto her back and, as before turned her head off to one side, opening her legs ready praying this would be quicker than his boss. Still silently crying she waited for her ordeal to be over.
Morton looked down at the naked woman at his feet. God, he thought, she is beautiful. Carefully, he removed his suit and shirt and laid it over the back of armchair before beckoning her to join him on the sofa. He sat with his legs open making it obvious to her what he expected her to do and so, to save herself any more pain and to quicken their departure from her home she reluctantly knelt between his legs and took him in her mouth.
He placed his large hands either side of her head to guide her to give him maximum pleasure. He was much bigger than his boss and again, she was almost choking as he pushed into her throat. Surprisingly, though, he was much gentler, almost compassionate, compared to Thanos and took his time. His hand reached under her and gently massaged her breast. It felt soft, though, and not hard and rough as she expected as he gently rolled her nipples between his finger and thumb before he positioned her on her knees over the sofa. Rosa thought she knew what was coming next, after all it would not be her first time in this position, and she braced herself as she felt him enter her from behind. He pulled out of her and took hold of both her arms pinning them behind her back with one of his huge hands while pushing her face further into the soft cushions of the sofa with the other and lined up the head of his penis with her anus. Unable to struggle, her screams slightly muffled by the cushions, he sodomised her. The more pain she seemed to be in the more he enjoyed it until he, too, was spent and left her crying and in pain in a crumpled heap on the floor with blood trickling from where he had entered her.
******
The reading room of the elite gentleman’s club was panelled from floor to ceiling in oak. It was one of the last bastions of male chauvinism left were women were still excluded and the excessively wealthy members were pampered and waited on hand and foot by a silent army of staff – servants by another name.
The distinguished, fat balding gentleman looked relaxed as his bulky frame sank comfortably in the over-large, soft leather chair reading today’s copy of the Times newspaper, a half-drunk cup of sweet tea beside him.
Another well-dressed gentleman entered the room and casually looked around before choosing to sit in the empty seat opposite the bald gentleman. His stiff straight-backed walk pointed to him being military, either past or current, even though his crisp, dark gray suit, which fitted him like a glove, gave the initial impressions of a city broker.
“It seems we have a problem!” he said quietly as he sat down.
“None that I’m aware of,” replied the distinguished gentleman without looking up.
“It would seem that there has been some unauthorised documentation on the activities of some of our clients.”
The distinguished gentleman raised his eyes without moving his head so that his line of sight was now over the rim of his glasses and the newspaper and he was looking directly at his companion. “What documentation?” the tone of his voice changed dramatically.
“That’s what we need to find out.”
“Who has been keeping records?” there was a hint of mild annoyance in the question.
`The military type gent looked calmly at him, “That’s a very good question and one to which I hope to have an answer for very soon!”
“If this is true it could prove very troublesome,” the concern clearly showed on his face as he looked up from his newspaper. “I thought we could trust our agent?”
The military gent raised one eyebrow questionably as he nodded his head once slowly, “So did I!”
“Keep me appraised, old boy.”
The military gent left the room.
Chapter 10
Francesca looked at the information her stepbrother had sent to her and wondered for the umpteenth time what he was involved in. She prided herself on normally being a good judge of character but could she have been so wrong this time. Andy did not strike her as the criminal type, in fact, just the opposite.
The sickening videos, too violent and graphic, had a ring of truth in them. In one of them she recognised the pervert. This was more than just a plot ju
st too publicly shame and humiliate one prominent politician! No, she decided, it was all to elaborate.
In the centre of a clean sheet of A4 paper she wrote THANOS and underneath, in smaller writing, his address. She drew two small arrows one starting from beneath the E in Thanos the from under the U going of at forty-five degree angles. Beneath the first she wrote her stepbrothers name and a question mark. Beneath the other she wrote T. Newlen and under it, again in smaller writing, his address.
Starting with Andy she wrote down everything she knew about him, which was not that much. She did the same for Newlen and again there were very little notes of any worth under his name.
She stared at the paper in vain hoping that it would talk to her, give her some direction. Anything at the moment was better than what she had.
She looked at the names in the files again and made a note of those in the most recent chronological order. The addresses did not make sense as they were all over the country but she arranged items by area starting with counties and breaking that down further into cities and towns within each county and finally each address visited was sorted by date with the oldest going on the bottom. It still made no sense to her.
She came back to the solicitor. How was he involved in this? There were no files or photographs on him or any mention of money or girls associated with him. So who was he? Was he another client that should have been added to the list or was he just simply that - his solicitor.
**********
The name above the shop front read `Christina Tyner – Solicitor`. It was a small, non-descript shop with a large, smoked glass window on a residential side road in a reasonably quiet suburb of London. Since the demise of the local corner shop, though, it had been converted to office use.
Francesca looked surprised at the name. Due to the nature of the material in the box and the profession she was expecting C. Tyner to be a man. Maybe she was his solicitor after all. She sat staring at her own reflection in the shiny window opposite the shop and wondered how to approach her. She could not just walk up and say; `Hi, I’m Francesca and I believe your client is dead so please tell me what you had to do with him.` She was still pondering the situation when the door opened and a well-dressed, tall, middle-aged, brunette woman came out of the office, locked the door and got into a car and drove away. Problem solved, for now, she thought.
She tried her brother’s mobile again before returning home.
Chapter 11
Ernie sat outside the expensive apartment complex waiting for Miss Bianchi to appear. Ready made supermarket sandwiches and a flask of coffee sat on the empty seat beside him. His expectations of yet another long vigil were mercifully cut short when after an hour the flash beemer pulled slowly through the gates. He easily tailed the reporter across East London to a run down council housing estate which he realised at once was Richards address.
She sat in her car looking around unsure that she was in the right place. This, Ernie surmised, was a sure sign that she had never been here before. He waited patiently for her next move but did not have to wait for long as the driver door opened and she got out of the car. Ernie caught his breath. She was not what he was expecting though he did not know what he expected her to look like. He had not really given it any thought.
She was tall, he estimated around the six foot mark with long, wavy almost black hair and the longest legs he had ever seen on any woman and pretty. Pretty was a very ordinary and insulting adjective to describe the woman he was looking at. She was incredibly beautiful. Her olive toned skin reinforcing her Mediterranean inheritance even though she was an American. Her light coloured skirt flapped gently around her knees as she walked across the cracked tarmac towards the dank stairwell. He watched as her legs gradually disappeared up the stairs and then realised he had broken one of his own cardinal rules – identification. He had forgotten to take her photograph!
Moments later she appeared on the top floor and made her way slowly along looking at the door numbers. She stopped outside a red door and hesitated before lifting the cheap brass knocker and letting it fall back. When she got no reply she tried again. Again there was no answer so she took her mobile from her small bag and dialed a number. From observing her actions Ernie assumed that she was having as much luck getting an answer from the phone as she was getting the door answered.
He wondered what the connection was between her, Richards and Thanos. He picked up his camera ready determined not to slip up again as she turned to look over the balcony across the estate. As he raised the camera and adjusted the telescopic lens to focus in on her she looked down directly at him. His finger hovered above the shutter button as he looked at her on the LCD screen of his digital camera and for a moment, just a moment, it was as though their eyes met, even though he was watching her from a distance.
Fuck it, he thought. He had been caught. A very rare occurrence for him as he was usually good at his job. He thought quickly and decided that a direct confrontational approach was probably the best policy. As he walked towards the stairs he looked up at her making it obvious that he was coming to her.
Francesca felt a wave of fear run through her. She looked around desperately knowing that the stairs were the only source of exit from the block. There was nothing she could do but wait.
The suited man appeared from the stairs. He was taller and bigger built than he had looked when she was looking down on him. He stopped about twelve feet away from her.
“Miss Bianchi?” his voice was deep and had a certain calmness about it.
“Who are you?” she spoke quickly trying to remain calm knowing that to show fear at this point could be dangerous for her but she could feel her heart pounding inside her chest. She had been in this situation before and knew it was imperative that she tried to take control as much as possible.
Ernie Davenport studied her carefully before extending his large hand towards her, “I’m Inspector Davenport, Scotland Yard. Could I ask you what you are doing here?” It was a direct and personal question to ask and he knew he had no right to ask it but he needed to break the ice and, for him, time was of the essence, as usual.
She took his hand and was surprised at how warm and soft it was, “I’m Francesca Bianchi,” she was momentarily stunned at his introduction, “er, I’m sorry but do you have any i.d.?” the reporter in her suddenly kicked in. Ernie reached inside his jacket pocket and held his warrant card out for her to see. “Why does Scotland Yard want to know why I’m here?” there was a slight tinge of anger in her inquisitiveness. “I didn’t realise that I needed permission to visit friends!” She changed tack, “Why are you here?” There was a sudden hardness in her voice. Ernie contemplated her question for a moment, a few seconds silence that seemed to fuel her anger. “Well? Is it me you’re interested in or is it my friend?” The package from Andy came immediately to mind along with the cryptic hand written note. So, he is up to something, she thought.
“That depends” he could feel himself staring at her.
She cocked her head slightly to one side as her eyebrows lifted inquisitively as she waited for the Inspector to finish his sentence. She was well aware of the effect that she was having on him. Her looks were her private weapon that she had used on many occasions when interviewing that had opened many avenues of investigation for her to exploit. Men, she thought, were so predictable. Bat an eyelid at them and most of them will fall for it.
“I would be interested to know why a reporter of your noted stature is nosing around in an area like this?” It was all he could think of.
“If you know who I am then you would know that I spend much of my time in areas like this.”
She just oozes beauty, he thought, every pore of her perfect, flawless porcelain like skin just oozed beauty. He nodded slowly, “I was just in the area and saw you,” he lied, “just interested. That’s all.” It was the mouth, he decided, she had a very full, sensual mouth. Suddenly he felt himself start to blush when he realised that he had not taken his eyes off her
since they had met. He forced his gaze away from her and looked at the red door.
“What’s your interest in him?” she asked. The question took him by surprise.
“What makes you think I’m interested in anyone, especially the tenant in there?” his bluff did not sound quite as convincing as his lie.
She had caught the subtle change of tone in his voice. “I’m sure Mr. Trimble is a good citizen,”
“His name isn’t Trimble” he stopped realising that he had been trapped by the oldest and corniest trick in the book. He thought it only happened in bad movies. He felt his blush begin to burn as it deepened in colour. He looked back at her to see that she was already grinning and smiled involuntarily back at her. It was impossible to be annoyed with anyone that beautiful.
“Got me,” he confessed. “Okay, why don’t we talk?”
“You first,” her triumphant grin broadened into a perfect smile.
“The man who lives here is a Mr. Richards and he is associated with someone that I’m interested in.” She raised her eyebrows in question wanting more. “Your turn.”
She hesitated pondering what and how much to tell him, “He’s an informant of mine. He said he had some information for me.”
Ernie was equally good at reading people and knew that she was holding the truth back. “Have you any idea what he had for you?”
“If I did I would not have wasted my time coming here! What, exactly, is your interest in him?”
Ernie decided to bluff again, “He was one of my informants as well. We were supposed to meet yesterday but he didn’t show up.”
Her expression suddenly changed. The sweet smile disappeared to be replaced by a worried look. She lightly rubbed her chin with the tips of her manicured fingers of her left hand.
Suddenly the door to the left of the red door opened and they both turned round to see a rather rounded old lady, probably in her late sixties, standing there in her tatty red slippers looking at them.
The Qadesh Club Page 7
