Nancy Screw and the Coming of Age (18+) Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The Road to Ruin

Nancy sat in the car with Beth and Janet by her side, nursing her wounds. She was lucky that the backpack from the first stakeout was still nestled safely in Beth’s car and that one of the things they remembered to bring last minute was a first aid kit. You never know when you might need it. Silence took over as Beth and Janet tended to Nancy. Finally, Nancy spoke.

“We need to answer a few questions, ladies,” Nancy brought out to the open.

“We need to know who this Paul is, who this third man is, and where Charles is.”

“Yea, and?” Beth looked up at Nancy as she inquired.

“We need to figure something out, you guys. We have school and this could be another late night mission.”

“I don’t know this time, Nancy.” Beth hated to disappoint her friend. “I hate to say this, but maybe you should think about your needs right now. School? Getting a good night’s sleep? These are things that are important to us right now. I say we call the police and just be done with it.”

Nancy looked at Beth with a surprised look on her face.

“I can’t let this go. What happens if I do and that poor man is killed? The police won’t do anything concerning Margaret, especially if I am involved. They’ll think that I’m making up lies for sure!”

“Okay,” Beth replied. “Calm down.”

“Look, Beth, I know that school and rest is important to you. It is to me, too. But I can’t concentrate knowing that Mr. Turner is out there somewhere and I know someone who may know something about it.”

Beth nodded in understanding.

“I tell you what, Beth. Let’s just see who she comes home with tonight. If it’s only her, then you don’t have to do anything. But if she comes with that man you said you saw last night, then we have to follow them to see where they go.”

Beth looked at Nancy, hesitant of the deal.

“It will be simple as that. And you can even drop me off where they go and go home to get some rest. Same deal as all the others.”

“See how the others turned out?” Beth presented her point.

“Yea,” Nancy said quietly. “I do.”

“But help me out this time and I’ll buy you malts for a month. Regardless of whether you stay or go, okay?”

Beth considered the tempting offer and reluctantly accepted.

“So, what do you want to do now, Nanc?”

“Well, first of all, Janet, are you in or out?”

Janet thought for a moment and, knowing her sister could use some support and company while Nancy did her haphazard sleuthing, came to a decision rather quickly.

“I’m in.”

“Okay, good. We’ll just wait.” Nancy looked up at the rear-view mirror as she finished her sentence and saw that there was just enough of a visual of Margaret Turner’s house above the crest of the hill to give the girls notice of a vehicle’s arrival in her driveway without giving away their position too quickly. Beth had parked the car in a prime location.

Several hours or so went by and the light of day lost its vitality. At approximately sundown two beams of light grew slowly brighter followed by the mechanic roar of a vehicle. The three perked up and focused their attention behind them and, just as the car was about to appear over the crest and give up their position, it turned into Margaret Turner’s driveway.

“That’s it, that’s her,” Beth exclaimed. It was evident that she had grown tired of waiting. From their position they could hear their car break, the engine turn off, and its doors open and shut. Then the front door to the house opened and shut.

Inside the house, a taboo ritual of adultery and abomination would soon take place.

The man the three girls waiting outside assumed to be Paul took out the corkscrew from a nearby kitchen drawer and opened a bottle of wine. Its pop could be heard around the world. Margaret Turner strode up to him.

“It’s easy to get the best tastes in life if you just let what you want breathe for a while.”

The man seemed perplexed. Margaret Turner was a mysterious lady, and often used jargon that was esoteric at best. But he took her word for it and agreed. How could he not? Her evening dress laid loosely upon her ivory skin, concealing all but the remaining eighty percent of her breasts. He knew what they were like. They were like her: temptress, lover, goddess. And though they were but a breeze away from complete exposure, he found himself lost in her eyes, instead. They were exotic; set in delicately laid eyeliner that seemed to resurrect Nefertiti. Diplomatic immunity. She always got what she wanted from him. And tonight those azure eyes craved excitement and execution. Upon her neck laid shimmering slabs of topaz to match those eyes. There they laid as oval egg-shaped sacrifices of toil to the superficial temptations the last were so well hidden in. Her ebony hair, aside from the signature caressing along her facial contours, fell which way in their descent, moving like asps along a cradle of alabaster, before disappearing into the midnight of her gown.

He swallowed hard as she coiled his necktie around her fingers and wrist. She led him into the kitchen and motioned to two wine glasses hanging from the underside of the dish cabinet. The man dutifully retrieved the glasses and poured the wine into them. He nervously gulped his. Margaret but sipped hers in elegance.

“Why so nervous? You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“I have. Sure,” he replied. “But not like this.”

“I thought you liked surprises? Challenges?”

He presented a nervous grin. “Yea. Yea I do.”

“Then allow me a few more sips and show me what you got.”

She smiled savagely, sexually. Those lips of hers had nowhere left to blush. They were as red as blood, and twice as tempting. In his line of work, red meant go. She returned to the couch she had perched upon just briefly before. He walked briskly to her, but before he could sit down, she grabbed him by the belt. The man nearly yelped in surprise.

“Jumpy, aren’t we?”

“It’s the wine settling,” he lied.

“Oh come now, don’t play games.” She disconnected the man’s belt and pulled it through his pant loops towards her. His slacks fell to the floor. Margaret stood up and unzipped the back of her dress. It fell likewise down around her, leaving her with but her adorning undergarments and her topaz necklace upon her. He swallowed hard and reverence grew gingerly upon him. She lifted an eyebrow and tugged at the tails of his dress shirt.

“Eager, aren’t we?”

He didn’t respond, but, in his brain, there were all sorts of candidate replies collecting. He swallowed hard once more and felt like an idiot for not responding. She didn’t seem to mind. Margaret was eager too; for all of it. The frightened child that stood there before this goddess in his briefs found one thread of manhood and pulled it loose. He put his hands to her waist and coaxed her to the couch. She lied down.

“Now you’re speaking my language,” she moaned. He put a couple fingers to her lips and pressed them shut. She smiled and batted her eyelashes playfully. The man then took his hand and grazed the contours of her face, following the lead her hair had done from day one. She writhed and moved hypnotically as he caressed every crevice, every delicious curvature of her from her neck on down. With slow, tender inevitability the man arrived at her silk undergarment. Margaret lifted her back and raised her buttocks from its seat on the couch, and the man removed them. And, in an adolescent-like impatience, he planted his tongue in between her thighs and stroked eagerly. Margaret moaned and moved her torso in delightful protest, loving the pleasure she got from it, but fighting off the sensations to giggle like a schoolgirl at the tickling she was forced to endure. Finally, she succumbed and let that part of her loose. The man placed his hands on either side of her pelvis and stroked her deeper, slowing down to a rhythmic friction that Margaret couldn’t readily resist. The man found that his tongue could charm her; the one part of him that he had complete confidence in. He commanded her with it. When it rose, she rose, when he moved it in rapid motions against her, she trembled in unison with every stroke. And her taste, her taste was as sweet as honey and as intoxicating as wine; a perfect blend of sensual poison. Time went by irrationally and, through the measure of the waning of his oral endurance, he stood up.

“Done already?” Margaret’s tone sounded heavy. With her legs pressing tight against his ears, he couldn’t hear much of her thanking him during. He took the compliment now.

“Sorry, gotta save some energy for sweet talking.” He winked scandalously at her. A coy expression is what she returned. She looked straight to him. Now, rock hard, it was no one’s guess at what was on his mind as he slid down his briefs to admire the proclivities to come.

Outside, on the stretch that was Monte View Way, Nancy, Beth and Janet were waiting for what they expected to be a quick drop-in-and-go, but what ended up being a half an hour of boredom. Inside, the room grew thick with the sickly sweet smell of sweat and satisfaction. Margaret and the stranger lay beside one another sharing a rapidly degenerating cigarette. Ash broke off and stuck to the man’s chest as he exhaled and handed Margaret her share. Smoke snaked its way from the embers of its birth and hung as a pollutant haze above them.

“It’s getting late. We’ve got a job to do tonight,” Margaret whispered in the man’s ear.

“In a minute. Let me prepare myself.” She handed him the last bit of cigarette and he finished it, snuffing it out on a nearby planter.

Shortly thereafter, the two got dressed and made their way out the front door. Its slam broke the spell of drowsiness from the three girls waiting in the car.

“I think they’re leaving,” Beth stated as the sound of car doors closing followed that of the front door’s.

“Quick, get down,” Nancy instructed.

Beth’s car flooded with light as Margaret and the man with her shot past, hardly even aware of the three conspicuously parked to the side. Beth quickly snapped her seatbelt into its clasp, started the car, and recklessly merged onto the street to catch up with the suspicious two, who were nearly out of sight down the road.