Stricken Resolve

by S. K. Logsdon

  Parking in the driveway, I get out, leaving my bag in the back. Entering the front door, my nose is immediately assaulted with pleasant aromas wafting from the kitchen. Mixed with the sounds of….?

  Is that Bad Company? Yes, yes, it is. It must be playing on the satellite radio in the living room. Am I the only one who realizes how ironic it is that this song is playing when we have our drug dealer neighbor’s wife in the kitchen with my ‘wife.'

  Eww, the thought of her being my wife makes my stomach churn.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I call out, loud enough they can hear me over the eighties rock.

  Gonzales—in a stunning red dress, hair up in a clip, barefoot and a cherry printed apron tied around her waist—pokes her head out from behind the corner.

  “Hello husband,” she winks, and takes a long gulp of the glass of red wine in her hand. Sweet Jesus, her and alcohol don’t mix well. It makes her too forthcoming.

  “Uh… hi?”

  “Come, join us husband,” she drawls huskily and then produces a childlike giggle, covering her mouth.

  Yep, already inebriated. It’s already been a very long day and it’s going to be an even longer night having to keep track of that wild one. I thought I was done playing babysitter when I quit being a bodyguard for Johnathan. Apparently not.

  Following her into the kitchen, I find three—yes I said it—three empty bottles of wine and a cute misses Landers dancing behind our island sautéing something in a pan. Shaking her round bottom rather well to the music.

  “Well hello, Wade.” She turns, and smiles at me, spoon in hand. She is wearing a cute formfitting black dress along her thick body and long white pearls tied in a knot. Giving off a classy nineteen twenties aura.

  “Hello, Mrs. Landers.” I politely bow and she laughs.

  “Oh my darling Wade, call me Joanna. Or Jo for short, that’s what all my friends call me.” She winks and turns back around returning to her busy work.

  It really does smell fantastic in here.

  Heading over to the island, I plop myself down on a stool and the song changes into another Bad Company tune. I don’t want to socialize but the few times I’ve chatted with Joanna and the even fewer times I’ve met Mike, I’ve sort of grown to like them. I know they are drug dealers but they’re nice ones. At least from the outside looking in. And my radar doesn’t go off when I’m around them. They are friendly, nice, sweet, and somehow genuine people. Strange, huh?

  “How about a beer?” I turn and the swivel barstool around and find myself with an eye full of big breasts. Joanna’s breasts.

  “Ooopps, sorry those things are always in the way.” She steps back and I think I actually blush, embarrassed.

  “It’s okay Jo, he doesn’t get to see big knockers very often. Mine aren’t as big as yours are, by a long shot,” Gonzales chimes in, with another drunken giggle as she takes point cooking at the stove. There should have been a clause in our contract stating a two drink max each night. She can’t control her alcohol. This isn’t the first time or even the fifth time she’s been drunk since we moved in here. The past few times I’ve just left or locked myself in my bedroom after that first night. But tonight I have to play the doting husband. Not my idea of a night well spent.

  And she’s right I don’t get to see—knockers, as she so eloquently calls them. The only ones I’ve paid attention to are Emily’s in the past however many years it’s been. And hers are big. Not as big as Jo’s but more than my handful. Which is saying something.

  Taking the step she took backward forward again. Her breasts are at eye level and less than eight inches from touching my nose. Talk about uncomfortable. I don’t want to make her uneasy but I’m not a fan of a female exhibiting this behavior, other than my Mama Bear of course.

  Touching my shoulder, Jo leans in to whisper into my ear. But says nothing and…. crap!

  Her hand brushes the inside of my thigh and cups my junk. With quick reflexes, I stand up, pushing the stool back at the same time and she does nothing but widen her smile. A naughty glint gleaming in her dark almost black eyes. This evil woman. I don’t want a throw down with her husband. Some men get sick with jealousy. I should know, I’m one of them.

  A man’s deep chuckle reverberates in my ears as I have a stare down with my sexual harasser.

  “Sweetheart, are you coming on too strong, again?” Her husband, Mike, slides up beside her with a kiss on the cheek and a loud crack on the ass, causing her to her yip and bite her lip. All the while, she continues staring me up and down, devouring me with her sinful eyes. This is beyond screwed up. Even compared to the life I’ve led with Stricken.

  “Oh you know me too well, honey. You know he’s so delectable. I could just swallow him up. Look at those arms.” Licking her lips, she admires my big biceps.

  “What I’m looking at isn’t his arms.” I turn to Mike, to find his gaze resting on my soft bulge in my Dockers. See, I knew I shouldn’t have changed. Jeans wouldn’t accent my package. It would hide it. I have some major freaks for neighbors.

  Turning to keep them from ogling my junk, I leave the room and find my way to the couch. Sitting down, I pull a book from the coffee table, kick off my shoes and prop my black sock covered feet on the brown coffee table. I’m not socializing any longer.

  Immersing myself in another Dan Brown book, I let my growing anxiety wane and faintly listen to the group of three socialites chatting it up in the kitchen. Something about chocolate lasagna. Whatever that is. I’ll stick to my trusty Snickers bars— that, you can never go wrong with.

  “Wade, honey, can I speak with you?” Gonzales calls me from the kitchen.

  “I’m in the living room,” I answer over the music and she comes and sits down beside me.

  “We need to talk.” She leans in, lying her head on my shoulder so I can listen to her whispers, to keep prying ears away.

  “Okay? Shoot.”

  “I’m a little, you know…,”

  “Drunk?”

  “Well, yeah… that and...”

  “You’re suggesting I give into those sickos, you’re sorely mistaken. My manners and the fact that they are part of this job, are the only reasons I’m not kicking them out of this house for making me uncomfortable. And let me tell you, Marie, that is putting it lightly,” I chastise her, my tone low, but I know she can feel the weight behind my words. I can’t hide my disdain. Not with this.

  “Jo propositioned me before you came home. Telling me they were swingers. I told her that you weren’t into playing but that I could. However, you will have to watch.”

  “What!” I roar, throwing my book into the air and standing up. Unable to control my outburst.

  Mike and Joanna rush over, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

  “Is everything alright?” Mike looks to Gonzales and back up to me. His eyes lingering at my bulge again.

  Okay, sicko, I realize I’m not small. But could you please stop it? I really don’t want to put a bullet in the back of your skull for this. You’re testing my patience.

  “We’re great, don’t you two worry.” Gonzales assures them, smiling their way. Her hand brushing flirtatiously over her bottom lip and Joanna sighs. And not a bad one, it’s a sigh that says only one thing; I-want-that. What have I walked myself into and why would Gonzales agree to this?

  Reeling in my anger, I sit back down next to her and they retreat back to the kitchen. Listening, I hear them setting the table. Making themselves right at home. Oh boy, and I thought the rest of this assignment was already testing my ability to stay cool under pressure. I don’t know if I can keep from cracking.

  “Listen, I knew from my paperwork they might be swingers. That’s why they hired me. Me to lure them in and you to investigate. You’re not exactly a people person but you’re the man for the job.”

  No shit! It’s no mystery that I’m not a people person. I’m more of one now than I’ve ever been. Emily brought that out in me. But still, I’m no M
r. Socialite.

  “Didn’t you find it a bit odd they hired me? If they wanted a sheer professional they would have the FBI in here. But from my record they know I swing both ways. They also know I’m good at the art of seduction. Apparently with everyone—but you. So I need to do my job and get close to them, in my own way, to find out what I can. And you have to help me follow through, since you’ve done a shit job investigating them yourself.”

  She’s right, I’ve barely done a thing. I haven’t bugged their house or tapped their phones. Nothing. I’m way off my game.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask, but it doesn’t mean I will agree.

  “Dinner's ready,” Jo announces from the kitchen and I turn to face Gonzales to get my answer before we have to eat.

  “I want you to follow my lead. I didn’t think they’d want you, too. So you’re going to have to watch, and play the part. Trust me, I’ve done this a hundred times, usually alone. But I’m a pro. Let me do my job and you get off that fuckin’ bullshit of a whiny ass of yours and do yours. The sooner were done, the sooner we can go back home.” She gets stern with me.

  A woman with cojones, good for her.

  I nod, in agreement. I hate this, I really do. And it doesn’t make me feel any better that I’m the executioner and she’s the harlot. A government trained harlot. Now that’s what they meant by specialist. Greeeeaaatttt…..

  ***

  Clearing the table, I place the dishes in the sink for the maid to wash them when she drops by around nine tomorrow. We have a very young maid; her name’s Chelsea. It’s a part of the image we are trying exude and having a maid comes with that territory. Johnathan’s had a maid the entire time I’ve known him. So I’m well aquatinted with this high dollar lifestyle. Just don’t agree with it.

  Dinner went by smoother than I expected. Mike didn’t come on to me. Jo didn’t try to undress me with her eyes. I drank some orange juice that I pretended to pour vodka into when I made Dr. D one as well. But into his glass I poured a generous amount. Maybe if he gets too tanked he will get the well-known ailment that we all like to call, the dreaded whisky dick. However if this happens to him tonight, it won’t be dreaded; it will be welcomed.

  The ladies drank glass after glass of red wine, ate lasagna and flirted. Gonzales, placing a flirty touch here or there on Jo’s hand or arm. And Jo’s eyes lighting with complete joy and the more alcohol the friendlier they became. It’s not hard to feel the sexual tension in this room. I could cut it with a knife.

  Mike and I carried on normal conversations about the stock market, investments, cars and other various things. All of which I’m well-versed in and I kind of enjoyed talking to someone who actually knows the ins and outs almost as well as I do. Whoever chose my job for this assignment as a financial advisor was spot on. I could turn a penny into Benjamin without batting an eyelash. Not that I’m tooting my own horn or anything. Ok, maybe I am. I’ve secured a substantial nest egg for me and my Mama Bear. Or I did. All I can do is pray that the pretense isn’t set in the past. I’ve got months to wait and find out. Months. Now if that doesn’t fill me with dread I don’t know what else will. Oh right, the swingers. Yep, those too.

  Turning around to leave the kitchen, I find myself alone. Where did they go?

  “You-who, sexy husband, we’re down here,” my ‘wife’ calls.

  Downstairs? Why would they be down here? Our bedrooms are up. Oh…, the guest bedroom is down here. Good, at least she’s smart enough to deter them from realizing we don’t share a bed. Nice to know she’s not just a government harlot. I’d hate to see her entire file. Mine is dripping in blood and I’m sure hers is dripping, but not with blood, more like a sticky substance that comes from men. The thought of doing that versus killing. I’d pick the killing. It’s less degrading. Wait, if she was in the desert in a small group living in poverty, that means her group was a group of American harlots, sleeping with the locals for information. It makes complete sense. I wondered why they’d leave her in such terrible conditions….

  Extracting my overactive mind from my musings, I follow the hall to the guest bedroom on the first floor. Outside the door, I stop and listen to the wails of powerful moans coming from a woman inside.

  “That’s right Marie, let my Jo suck your pretty pussy,” I distinctively hear Mark order.

  You’d think situations like this would be commonplace with me, having lived with Stricken all those years. But it’s never the same, and just when you think you’ve seen it all, you’re rudely awakened with another sick and twisted antic, position or toy. Johnathan’s sex life is a colorful one. Including but not limited to pussy pumps, nipple clamps, whips, various anal toys and a plethora of other items. All of which I’ve had to watch, if it included more than two people or multiple bandmates. It was in my signed contract, to keep him from getting sued.

  Here goes nothing.

  Turning the knob, I push open the door. Sprawled out on the queen sized, white linen covered bed, is Gonzales with a naked Jo loudly slurping her lady parts. And Gonzales looks like she’s enjoying every bit of it. Her hands are threaded through the back of Jo’s short brown hair, pressing her firmly to her core. Grinding her sex to Jo’s mouth.

  This would be the perfect sight for men who love lesbians. Fortunately, I’m not one of those men. One woman, curly red hair, lithe body, kissable lips, dazzling green eyes, pale skin and perfectly sweet honey scent of her arousal. That’s all I want or need.

  Mike is standing next to the edge of the bed, stroking what I’d call an average penis between his legs. His hand is gently stroking his woman’s large, round butt, as she continues to dive into Gonzales's wetness.

  Taking a seat opposite the bed, in which I’m still able to see from if I choose to. I reach under the chair and quickly retract the gun I put there, sliding it behind me and under the cushion so if the situation calls for it, I have it readily available. I don’t trust these sickos for one second.

  “Hey baby,” Gonzales smiles at me, with one of those lazy sated smiles. I’ve seen my Mama Bear adorn one of those a time or two.

  “Hi.” I don’t know what else to say.

  Mike turns to me and his eyes light up. Sick fucker. Pardon the language, but this situation calls for it.

  “Take off your shirt, honey. Just your shirt,” Gonzales moans, her body shaking the bed.

  What doesn’t she get about the fact I don’t even want to be in this room?

  “Please,” she cries out and I’m pretty sure that’s another orgasm.

  Still panting, she pulls Jo’s lips from between her legs and Jo sits up, mouth actually dripping with Gonzales’s juices. Gross.

  “Your turn,” She gives the come-hither finger to Jo and she complies with a giddy little sound.

  Turning to face me before she muff dives, she stares right into my eyes.

  “Shirt baby, you know you like it when I eat a woman out. Play with yourself inside your pants. You know how hot that makes me. Please baby, show us that hot body and get off to me sucking her.” She motions her hand towards an anxious Jo, about to jump out of her skin. Just before she breaks our eye contact, she winks and gives me a stern nod.

  Fine. I have to remember this is for the government. To keep scumbags like Mike from dealing to children. And tomorrow I’m going to call and bitch to Brewer and start my investigation into these sickos. I have to stop slacking. I need them behind bars. If I’d done what I was supposed to, I would have accomplished that already. But I’ve been stuck in my own head, with Emily. That’s still not going to change but I can’t let this go on with Mike. He’s got to go to jail.

  “Yeah Wade, I wanna see your hot body,” Mike adds, knocking me out of my thoughts.

  With Gonzales laving Jo’s vagina, I get the horrible pleasure of watching Mike sitting on the edge of the bed, looking straight at me. Throwing my shirt on the floor, and reaching into my pants I fake playing with myself. I couldn’t get hard if I tried. I’ve seen so much of this worki
ng with the band. It’s nothing new. Except for the fact that I have a bisexual man eating me alive with his eyes and I want nothing more than to pull the gun that’s behind me under the cushion and shoot him in the forehead at point blank range. This is some sick crap and I’ve seen a lot of gross stuff in my days.

  “Oh fuck Wade, you’re damn hot. Look at the big muscled body of yours. I bet it tastes so good. I bet your cock would fill my mouth.”

  Keep talking sicko, and I will put a bullet in your brain.

  “Oh yes!” Jo screams, coming from getting licked and whatever else they are doing on the bed.

  “How big is that dick, big boy?” Mike moans, fisting his member fast, his eyes watching me. I’m glad I have an iron stomach or this would make me puke.

  Absentmindedly I pretend to stroke my manhood. Ignoring him.

  “That’s right big man, stroke that. I wish you’d whip it out and fuck me with it. Oh fuck, Wade. I’m going to come just looking at your hot body. See this dick Wade. See how hard I am for you?”

  I’ll whip something out alright. My motherfucking gun, you sicko. Just letting him watch me makes the tension in my build and I know if I don’t cool down, nothing will stop me from killing him. Killing a man for finding me attractive and masturbating in front of me as he talks dirty.

  “Are you hard? Let me touch that big cock.” Mike stands and starts to walk the short distance and I can’t take this sickness anymore. Yanking my hand from my pants I grab the gun and point it straight at his head.

  “Whoa big boy, I didn’t mean we had to play. I just wanted to touch him.” He doesn’t stop moving forward, hands held in the air.

  I stand up and the chair crashes to the ground behind me.

  “I don’t touch men, you sick fuck. Don’t even think about touching me,” I warn, flipping the safety off with my thumb.

  The woman both stop and stare at us.

  “Wade, put the gun down,” Gonzales orders.

  Hell no I won’t.

  “It’s okay, he likes a challenge,” Jo soothes her lesbian lover, both of them naked, wrapped in each other’s arms.