78 comments/ 100120 views/ 37 favorites A Portrait of the Artist By: FrancisMacomber "Take it, bitch, take it," Charles commanded as he thrust repeatedly into the panting blonde crouched on the hotel bed before him. Reaching over her sweat-sheened back, he grabbed a handful of her long hair and pulled, forcing her head up. As he began pumping harder and faster, her groans increased in tempo and pitch until she was almost screaming in ecstasy. "You're making me cum, you're making me cum" she cried out. Finally, when her lust had built to an unsustainable peak, she dropped to the sheets in exhaustion. Seconds later, having pumped his seed into her, Charles roughly collapsed onto her back. They lay there for long minutes, trying to catch their breath and regain some energy. "That was incredible," Susan murmured. "You're a pretty good fuck too," Charles replied with an arrogant smile. Suddenly he pulled out of her and slapped her ass. "Now get up and get moving. We've got to get that report to General Shelton first thing in the morning." "First thing in the morning?" she gasped. "I thought our meeting wasn't until Friday! There's no way we'll have everything we need for tomorrow." "Well, the meeting has been moved up, so you'll just have to make the best of it." "But what do we do about the latest data? We won't have that until Thursday night," she worried. "Simple," he said with that same mocking smile, "we make it up. Just take the data we've already given them and tweak it a little so the numbers are different but the results are the same." "But we could get into a lot of trouble if the Army were to find out," she objected. "Don't be so naïve," Charles laughed. "Just because we billed them all those hours, did you really think we wasted that much time gathering all that information? The truth is that most of what we've already given them is fiction. Those idiots at the Pentagon wouldn't know real data if it bit them in the ass. All Shelton really wants is some external justification for what he's already decided to do." Pulling his clothes on quickly, he said, "I've got a dinner meeting with a prospective client. While I'm gone, you crunch the numbers and get the report ready. " There was no warmth in his voice; he had issued a command, and it was clear to Susan that he expected her to obey without further discussion. But before he turned for the door, he reached down to Susan's right breast and gave her nipple a hard squeeze. She gave a gasp of pain that quickly transformed into a squeal of pleasure as the sensation sent an electric shock directly to her pussy. His voiced changed to the teasing yet demanding tone with which she had become so familiar: "Remember, the sooner you get the work done, the sooner you can have some more of this." He grabbed his crotch and smirked; then he was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts. "Damn, that's just like him," she mused. "It's all about what he wants, and he expects me to go along without hesitation." But the truth is that it was that very attitude which had drawn her to him in the first place. Charles Magneson was brilliant, and his intellectual superiority made him arrogant and uncompromising. It had also made him extremely wealthy and successful. After publishing numerous studies while a professor at a leading private university, he had turned his growing reputation into a consulting business that quickly became the "go-to" shop for numerous federal agencies and the U.S. military. The press had dubbed him the "Midas Mind" for his ability to turn his intellect into income. To staff his rapidly growing firm, Magneson recruited the top students from highly ranked graduate schools, and that's where he had found Susan Cayce. As the valedictorian of her class, she had no shortage of job offers. But even having met and talked to representatives of a number of leading corporations and institutions did not prepared for her job interview with Magneson. She tried to take the initiative by asking the first question: "Why should I consider joining your firm, Mr. Magneson?" "Because, my dear, we are the best at what we do. If you don't join us, you'll always hate yourself for settling for less," was his self-confident reply. She was not expecting such a bold response, and when she looked at Magneson with wide eyes, she realized that he wasn't boasting, he was simply stating a fact to her. The audacity of his attitude overwhelmed her, not only for its arrogance but also because it struck a chord in her personality. Susan had always been a perfectionist, always striven to be the best. Anything less was unacceptable. It was a trait that had developed in her early. From her first years in school, her parents had always demanded more from her. If she were to pick a phrase that characterized her father's attitude towards her efforts, whether in her classes, on sports teams, or any other activity, it would be "not good enough." He and her mother had loved their daughter wholeheartedly, but rather than put her on a pedestal, they made it clear that they expected her to live up to their high expectations. Over time she had come to adopt similar expectations of herself. So when Magneson made his outrageous declaration in that interview, Susan found herself challenged rather than offended. She felt compelled to prove to this famous, arrogant man that she too was the best. Now, as she worked to develop the algorithm that would generate and disguise the source of the new data they needed for tomorrow's meeting with General Shelton, an errant thought popped into her mind: was Clint really the best husband for her? She'd met Clint Cayce as an undergraduate. None of her friends at the time would ever have imagined the two of them would become a couple; indeed, they seemed polar opposites. While Susan was a business major with a minor in mathematics, Clint was an art major with a love for photography. Where Susan was almost obsessive in her devotion to her studies, Clint was low-key and laid back. Where she was highly competitive, he was contemplative, content to spend his time with his camera in hand trying to capture the personalities in the faces he loved to photograph. As part of the undergraduate curriculum, it was mandatory for Susan to earn a minimum number of course hours in the humanities, and since she felt that it would serve her career well to be at least conversant with the fine arts, she decided to take a two-semester survey of art history. Clint was taking the same class, and by chance the two of them were paired together to work on a report during the first semester. Somehow, despite the differences in their personalities, the two were surprised to discover a growing attraction. Those things that made Clint so unlike Susan became the things which attracted him most to her. His innate awareness and appreciation for line, form, composition and color made a pleasing counterpoint to her pragmatic, analytical nature. She found his calm demeanor and considerate nature a welcome change from the hard-charging business-men-to-be she normally encountered in her B-school classes. And there was another facet of Clint's personality that she had noticed from their very first meeting: he was a gentleman who treated her like a lady. He was unfailingly polite and unselfish, always giving first consideration to her opinions, wishes, and, ultimately, her needs. This was particularly significant to her because, to put it simply, Susan was a fox. Ever since her body began to mature in high school, she'd had lots of masculine attention. At first she loved having boys flock around her, but she soon realized that they weren't interested in her for mind or her personality, what they wanted was her nubile body. And after a high school senior she thought loved her took her virginity and then promptly dumped her, she became wary and cynical about masculine attention. She didn't withdraw from the world of dating, but she zealously protected her heart. She brought this attitude with her to the college campus, and while she engaged in a few hot, sweaty encounters, she never allowed any of her dates to get close to her emotionally. It was clear to her that the men on campus were no different from the boys in the high school halls. It didn't take long for her to see that Clint was different. She could tell that he was attracted to her -- that was obvious from the start. But unlike the other men she encountered, he never made suggestive remarks nor let his hands wander, always treating her with the utmost respect. He admired her intelligence and was quick to ask for her help, particularly in areas that were her strong points. On top of that, as they began to spend more time with each other, he took every opportunity to learn more about her, asking about her upbringing, seeking her attitudes and impressions about every aspect of life. In short, Susan realized that Clint cared about her as a person, not just a sexual opportunity. One day near the end of the second semester when he had brought her back to his room after a date, he surprised her with a gift: a large rectangle wrapped in plain brown paper. When she opened it, she found a picture of herself taken while they were on a picnic. She hadn't even realized he had taken her photograph. He had captured her just as she had been turning her head so that her hair was in motion. Her face was filled with happiness and her eyes were sparkling with laughter. As Susan looked at his work, she knew it was the best photograph of her ever taken. It wasn't just that it depicted her beauty, it seemed to Susan that he had captured her ideal self, the kind of woman she wanted to be. As she continued to stare at it, she suddenly realized that she was looking at herself through Clint's eyes. This was the way Clint saw her. And she suddenly knew with absolute certainty that he truly loved her. At that moment, all her defenses fell away and she felt the warmth that had been growing in her heart burst forth. Setting the picture down, she flung herself at Clint, throwing her arms around him and kissing him without reservation. Before he was able to say a word, she whispered, "I love you too." Then she was tearing at his clothes as well as hers, unwilling to wait a minute more before consummating that love on his bed. For the last two years of college, the two were inseparable, and by their senior years they were spending much of their time together making plans for the future. Their marriage was held in her parents' back yard a week after they both graduated from college. She had managed to land a management trainee position with a manufacturing company while Clint pursued his photography. After freelancing for several months with various design studios and the local newspaper, he accepted a job as an assistant to a moderately successful local wedding photographer. The hours were inconvenient and the work boring, but at least it allowed him to work in his chosen field. After a few years, the owner of the studio decided that he had had enough of crying babies and awkward bridal couples, and offered Clint the opportunity to purchase the business on favorable terms. After consulting with Susan, Clint accepted the offer and became the owner of his own business. Within a surprisingly short period of time, that decision proved to be a wise one. The former owner had been a less than inspired photographer, and his work revealed more about the attitude of the person behind the camera than the subjects in front. In contrast, Clint's work captured the personalities of his subjects, not just the poses, and his business began to grow, along with his reputation. This was fortunate because by then Susan had decided that she wanted to go to graduate school to earn her MBA. She had found the world of manufacturing boring, and the slow pace of promotion offered to those in the trainee program made her impatient. "I'm wasting my time in this place," she complained to Clint. So while Clint continued to carry camera bags, set up back-drops and change lenses, Susan returned to the classroom. Without her income, his paycheck was barely sufficient to cover their cost of living, and they had to take out significant loans to cover her tuition. But Clint had no complaints as long as Susan was happy. Her happiness grew dramatically after her graduation when she was offered and accepted a position with Magneson Consulting Group. At MCG there was no training program to ease new associates into the business; instead, Magneson tossed the new grads directly into the action to see how they would perform. Those who didn't, didn't last. Those who did were given handsome salaries and even more responsibilities. Magneson called it his "knee-buckling" theory of management: "I pile on the responsibilities until their knees buckle, then I pile on some more." But Susan loved the challenge, and her quick mind and drive to succeed made her a survivor of Magneson's harsh initiation. Just as he had caught her attention in the initial job interview, she found him even more fascinating as she observed him at work. He was demanding and abrasive, not just to his employees but also his clients. Yet the latter kept coming back because his firm's reputation was so high and its work leading edge. He had a reputation for being brilliant but ruthless, insightful but opportunistic, and absolutely unwilling to suffer fools gladly. "He's like a pirate," Susan thought to herself, "a twenty-first century pirate." Just as Charles Magneson had captured her attention, she also caught his. About three months after she had joined MCG, Charles required Susan to accompany him to Washington to present to one of the federal agencies who made up much of their clientele. Although Susan was nervous about being thrust into the limelight in this way, she was also excited about the opportunity to "perform" in front of clients and her boss. Determined to do well, she pored over the presentation material and supporting documents with the same thoroughness she had devoted to her final exams in graduate school. Her performance went off without a hitch. She knew the presentation backwards and forwards, and was able to give her part without notes and without even having to turn to refer to the slides. During the Q&A session that followed, she handled all their questions with aplomb. When her presentation was finally over, it was clear that she had won over her audience. They crowded excitedly around Charles and her, discussing details and even raising the possibility of future consulting. Since the session had extended well beyond the end of the work day, the discussion relocated to one of Washington's finest restaurants for a dinner that seemed less a business meeting than a celebration. Expensive wine flowed, and one of the clients even made a toast to her. Susan was virtually floating on air, and when the dinner had ended and Charles and Susan returned to their hotel, she hadn't wanted the magic to end. So she felt no concern when Charles followed her into her room, nor when he swept her into his arms to give her a celebratory hug and kiss. When he didn't end the kiss but thrust his tongue into her mouth, that too somehow felt like the logical next step. And when she felt his erection pressing into her groin, the fact that she was able to arouse the great Charles Magneson seemed like yet another in the series of triumphs she had achieved. By then, her nipples were fully erect and her French-cut panties were soaked, and she surrendered to the lust that enveloped her as though it were the inevitable, ultimate culmination of the day's activities. As she dropped her arms and fell back on the bed in surrender, however, she was startled to find that Charles didn't worship her body the way Clint would have. Instead, he began to dominate her, using her for his own pleasure. Instead of loving caresses, he roughly shoved his cock into her mouth and demanded that she suck. When he was ready, he reached down, ripped off her panties, bent her legs back until her knees were beside her ears and plunged himself fully into her in one stroke like a rutting stag. But what absolutely shocked her as she lay there helpless under his assault, what registered on that small part of her mind still able to do anything other than feel, was how absolutely aroused she was by his forcefulness. Normally slow to orgasm, she found herself losing control and exploding within minutes of his penetration. Accustomed to a single orgasm per session, she was astounded when her pussy began to spasm again under his continued thrusting. And when he flipped her over onto her hands and knees and began rapidly driving her to her third orgasm of the night, she lost all sense of rational thought and totally gave in to the sensations coursing through her body. As they both peaked, she simply dropped her over stimulated body to the sheets and slept. She awoke the next morning to find him again firmly mounted between her legs and pounding away at her. Once again she lost all control and gave herself to him and the demands of his lust and her own. When they were finished and had caught their breath, he pulled out of her abruptly and stood beside the bed where she lay. She wondered fleetingly what she should say to him as he stood there staring at her, but before she could think of any words to express how she was feeling, he said, "Better get dressed – we have a plane to catch in less than two hours." Then he calmly pulled on his clothes and returned to his own room. Later, when they were both seated side by side in the first-class section of the plane, she again found herself at a loss for words. As she struggled with her thoughts, he put down the magazine he was reading long enough to lean over and say, "You did well yesterday on the presentation. You can expect a large bonus in your next check." Then he picked up his magazine and resumed reading, ignoring her for the rest of the flight. The silence continued in the ride home from the airport until they neared Magneson's luxury high-rise condominium. As the limousine pulled under the portico and he prepared to get out, he leaned over to her once more and said, "We need to go back to Washington next week for another session with those idiots. Do your homework and don't disappoint me." She gulped and nodded, "I will, Mr. Magneson, I mean I won't, I mean . . ." As she stumbled over her words, he leaned into the glassed-in compartment of the car and, with a knowing smirk on his face, added, "Next week, don't wear any panties." As he walked rapidly away from the limousine, Susan shuddered slightly, knowing that she would obey. Now, as she worked at her computer in the hotel room to generate the numbers that would satisfy both General Shelton and her boss, she was surprised to find her thoughts turning to Clint. She recalled how guilty she had felt when she returned from that first lust-filled encounter with Charles. When she had received the promised bonus in her paycheck, she spent part of it purchasing a Mac Pro with all the processing power and memory she could buy, along with a 27"cinema display for Clint to use in editing his photography. Yet even as she lavished her gift on him out of guilt over her infidelity, she found herself having doubts about him. Why couldn't he do something useful, something more challenging? While she and Magneson were out conquering the public and private sectors, Clint was shooting snapshots of babies like a discount store photographer. Taking family portraits and wedding photos was so mundane; she felt like Clint was living in some kind of middle-class limbo. His willingness to accept such a mediocre existence seemed to her to be holding him back, and her as well. As for his artistic efforts, she felt it was highly unlikely that he'd amount to anything in the art world and she thought it was a waste of his time even trying to do so. A Portrait of the Artist Likewise, the gentleness and consideration that he always showed her was also becoming less attractive now. Why couldn't he be more like Charles? Charles didn't wait on her, he didn't ask what she wanted; instead, he took what he wanted and he made her like it. While Clint made her feel safe, Charles made her feel extraordinary. As her thoughts turned back to Charles, her body twitched involuntarily. "I hope he won't be long," she thought. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - It was a beautiful spring afternoon some two months later, so the two women decided they wanted to eat their late lunch al fresco on the restaurant's patio. That decision gladdened the hearts of numerous males passing by, as both ladies were extremely attractive. Susan's friend Jennifer was every bit as shapely as herself, but the latter had dark brown hair that was cut in a shorter style than Susan's. The two had become close friends in graduate school, and their luncheons together had become a tradition. They used these sessions to catch up on each other's lives, exchange gossip and share intimacies. As they exchanged hugs and cheek kisses, Jennifer asked, "How's Clint?" "Oh, he's the same old Clint," was her off-hand response. "Lately I hardly see him all that much. He just spends all his time in his studio, working on his personal stuff. Frankly, he's been a little moody lately and hasn't been that much fun to be around anyway." Jennifer picked up on the discontent in Susan's voice and she thought she knew the reason for it. She was uncomfortable with this thought, and tried to change the subject. "So how was your last trip to Washington?" Jennifer asked. "Do anything exciting, or was it just more of the same old grind?" With a sexy grin on her face, Susan leaned her head closer to Jennifer's ear and said in a low voice, "The only grinding going on in Washington was Charles -- with me." Susan had already revealed her affair to Jennifer, so her friend as not surprised at the risqué remark. This was exactly the topic that Jennifer had hoped to avoid. She didn't want to cast a pall over their get-together, but she felt obligated to registered her disapproval. "You know how I feel about what you're doing, Susan. It's just not right. Besides, you're taking a huge risk with your marriage, and you're going to hurt Clint badly." "Oh, don't be a scold! Clint is totally clueless; he'll never find out. Charles and I are always careful, and we only get together when we're out of town." "But it's still a risk," Jennifer objected. "Besides, I don't know why you'd want to cheat on Clint in the first place. He's a good-looking guy and he's completely devoted to you." Susan sighed. "I know, Jen, but he just doesn't do it for me anymore." "Is he just not that good in bed?" Jennifer asked. "No, he's fine," Susan replied. She leaned closer to Jennifer again. "He'd use his tongue on me down there for hours if I'd let him." "Oh, really," said Jennifer, sitting up a little straighter. "Yes, and that's the trouble," Susan continued. "Clint treats me like some kind of princess. But Charles treats me like a whore, and for some reason that just pushes all my buttons. I feel so slutty and dirty, and I get turned on like nothing else when he uses me that way." "You'd better be careful, girl, you're starting to sound like you're obsessed." "Maybe I am, but it's my obsession, and I don't want it to end." "Well, you'd better think about what you're doing. If Clint finds out and dumps you, Charles is not going to turn into the white knight who rides in and marries you," Jennifer warned. "Oh, I know that," Susan responded. "He'd never leave his wife for me. He's using me just the way I'm using him. "Besides, I have no intention of losing Clint. I love him and plan to keep him. It's just that I need that something extra from Charles that Clint just can't provide." "But aren't you afraid he'll find out?" Jennifer asked. "Isn't he getting suspicious about all the travel time you're putting in with Charles? And if I can see a change in you, how can you be sure he hasn't noticed anything different?" "Oh, Clint is totally clueless. He loves me and he loves his photography, in that order. He'd never suspect me of fooling around, and he's so busy on his projects that he doesn't have time to be checking up on me. Besides, between my travel schedule and his little art projects, we hardly spend that much time with each other anyway." "Well, I hope you're right. It would be a shame if some other women came along and stole him away. He's a real cutie; he wouldn't stay on the market long." "Not gonna happen," Susan said emphatically. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - On a Friday a month later, Susan and Charles were working in the latter's office. They had just completed reviewing the material for the next client presentation when Charles roughly grabbed Susan by the hips and plopped her unceremoniously on the desk in front of him. Without saying a word, he forced her legs apart, reached up under her skirt and ripped her pantyhose. Then he pushed Susan's back until she was leaning on her elbows, tugged the crotch of her panties to one side and began to lick her pussy. Except for her initial gasp, Susan hadn't made a sound as her boss began to abuse her body so abruptly. But as he continued to take his pleasure from her, her head fell back and she began to pant. Her pussy began to lubricate and her hips to rotate in a subtle rhythm that made clear that she had abandoned all resistance to his further liberties. As Susan lay there shuddering from his oral assault, the door to Charles' office suddenly burst open and a man Susan had never seen before barged in. Her cheeks flaming in embarrassment, she quickly sat up straight, pulled down her skirt, and turned away to hide her disarray. Ignoring Susan, the man proceeded to walk straight to Charles' desk and stand facing him, a flat expression on his face. "Are you Charles Magneson, the president and owner of Magneson Consulting Group?" the man asked. "You know goddam good and well I am," Magneson shouted at him. "Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my office?" Maintaining the same bland expression on his face, the stranger reached into his breast pocket, removed some papers, and responded, "I am Special Agent Joseph Mason with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I have a warrant for your arrest on charges of conspiracy to defraud the federal government." As Magneson gaped at him in stunned surprise, the agent proceeded to read Magneson his Miranda rights. His face purpling with anger, Magneson ignored the agent and turned to Susan. "Get MCG's lawyer on the phone and get him here immediately!" Before she could find her voice to respond, the agent turned to her and asked, "Are you Susan Cayce?" When she nodded in fear, he announced, "Ms. Cayce, I also have a warrant for your arrest as a co-conspirator in attempted fraud on the government." As Susan's knees began to tremble, the agent also read her rights to her. Then, as he placed handcuffs on Magneson's wrists, a female agent who had followed Mason into the office gently but firmly pulled Susan's hands behind her and cuffed her as well. Susan and Charles were led into the hallway outside Charles' office, and it seemed to Susan as though everyone in the firm was standing there watching them with wide eyes and open mouths. Agent Mason stopped their procession and turned to the whispering employees. In a loud voice he announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, this workplace is now the scene of a federal criminal investigation. You are to leave your desks and computers immediately and go home. You are to remove absolutely nothing from the offices. If you do so, you will be placed under arrest for obstruction of justice. This office will be closed for business until we complete our investigation." In the silence that followed, Magneson quickly turned to his secretary and ordered her to call the corporate attorney. "Tell him to get to the federal courthouse immediately and get us out." Mason made no effort to interfere, but as soon as Magneson had finished, he and Susan were escorted down the elevator, out through the lobby and toward waiting black SUVs. As they cleared the building's entrance, a host of news photographers surrounded them, eager to get a picture of the well-known consultant doing the "perp walk," along with his pretty young colleague whose mascara was running down her cheeks. Before the two of them could be separated for the ride to FBI headquarters, Magneson turned suddenly to Susan and hissed, "As soon as your bail is made, get your ass over to my house so we can talk. Till then, say nothing." The agents quickly pulled the two apart and pushed them into the cars, holding their heads to avoid hitting the roof, just as Susan had seen done on so many cop shows. "My life is now a TV cliché," she thought ruefully. At FBI headquarters, Susan was immediately taken to a small room for interrogation. She knew enough to refuse to answer any questions until her attorney arrived, and he counseled her to continue to keep silent until they could understand what was happening. Nevertheless, the agents continued their efforts to interrogate her late into the evening, at which time she was turned over to the local authorities for the night. It was not until the next day that their attorney was able to arrange for her release, so Susan had the not-to-be-forgotten experience of spending a night in jail. It was not one she wanted to repeat. After she had signed for her purse, she was able to call a cab, and, remembering Charles' instructions, told the cabby to take her to his home. When she arrived, she found Charles awaiting her. He had been released earlier. They had the house to themselves, as his wife was away on an outing. In the past this would have meant a day of debauchery, but sex was the last thing on either's mind at the moment. Susan's emotions rotated between fear and shame, followed by dread of further humiliation to come. She felt as though she had lost the capacity for rational thought. For his part, Charles was livid. He paced the floor, talking to himself in anger. "How could they have known? Those assholes in the Pentagon wouldn't know a derivative from a standard deviation! "It must be a spy. We must have a mole in our group somewhere. That's the only way they could have found out anything!" He took Susan by the shoulders and shook her to get her attention. Together they began to go through the names of various members of the firm, trying to identify who might have blown the whistle. But neither of them could think of anyone who had the knowledge or motivation to do such a thing. Suddenly Magneson turned to Susan. "What about your little pet artist at home? Could he have done this?" Susan was astounded. "Clint? He knows nothing about us and nothing about our work. Even if he did, he wouldn't understand half of it --he's a complete idiot at math. Besides," she continued," he loves me completely – he'd never do anything to hurt me." Magneson returned to his pacing. "You're probably right. I've met him and he's such a wimp! Besides, how could he have found out anyway? No, it's got to be somebody inside MCG." Their conversation continued into the night, trying in vain to identify the probable leak and discussing the best course of action to minimize the threat to themselves and the damage to the firm. They ate a meal of cold sandwiches and continued until both were too tired to think. Susan lay down on the sofa and quickly fell into an exhausted sleep; Magneson headed off to his own bedroom to do the same. In the morning, after a quick breakfast of coffee and toast, Magneson sent Susan away, calling a taxi to take her back to the office so she could pick up her car. Again he reminded her to keep her mouth shut and lie low. As she drove home after picking up her own car, she suddenly realized that it was Sunday afternoon and that she had been out of touch with Clint for the entire weekend. What was she going to tell him? How would he react to this shocking news? Guiltily, she realized that she hadn't even thought to contact him before now. "He must have heard the news; someone would have told him. But what if he doesn't know? What if he's been worried about me, looking all over trying to find me?" She quickly checked her cellphone to see if she had missed his call, but the only numbers she saw were her parents'. When she pulled into her driveway, she was so agitated that she rushed to the front door, unlocked it and began to call out for Clint. But her voice echoed through the empty rooms, and she quickly realized that the house was empty. Hoping against hope, she went to his studio, wishing that he was working and somehow hadn't heard her. It too was empty. In fact, as she walked into the studio, she suddenly realized that Clint was not the only thing missing: his photography, his cameras and all his new computer gear were also gone. It was as though all traces of his presence had been cleared away. But as she looked around wildly, she saw that his desk wasn't completely empty. In the middle sat a sheaf of papers with a hand-written note on top. As she neared the desk, she could make out the words in Clint's handwriting: "You've been served." Underneath the note was a notice of petition for divorce. "Oh, yes," she thought, "I guess Clint did hear the news, and now he's deserting me. So much for 'for better or worse.'" She allowed herself to slip to the floor, cursing and weeping. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The next twelve months of Susan's life comprised a descent into the lower circles of hell. The federal investigation consumed not only her time but her funds as well. Deprived of its charismatic leader and shunned by its former clientele, Magneson Consulting Group closed its doors within a few months. This not only cut off Susan's primary source of income, it required her to retain her own defense attorney. Clint's divorce petition added salt to her wounds. She had to hire a second attorney to handle that matter; her criminal attorney didn't handle civil matters. But in truth, the divorce was not as great a problem for her because, although he adamantly refused to meet or talk with her, Clint was being quite fair. The grounds for the divorce were irreconcilable differences, and he sought only an even split of their assets. Given their income disparity, Susan's attorney told her Clint could have sought much more. At first, Susan was bitter about his abandonment. And the speed with which he had acted was equally galling. She couldn't even figure out how he could have filed so quickly after the news of her arrest broke. "He must have had an attorney on the phone the instant he heard the news about my arrest. And I thought he was committed to our marriage!" she complained bitterly. But her conscience reminded her that her commitment to her wedding vows was not irreproachable -- she had not exactly "forsaken all others," she admitted. "But Clint never knew about Charles and me, so he really had no call to abandon me the first time things got rough." However, she had to admit to herself that, had the circumstances been reversed and Clint been indicted, she might have abandoned their marriage equally quickly. The loss of her marriage and her unresolved questions weighed heavily on her, but she had other, more pressing concerns to address. So to save on attorney's fees and enable herself to focus on the little matter of the federal charges she was facing, she decided to agree to the divorce and get on with her life, such as it was. Soon after she had signed the divorce papers, she got some unexpected and favorable news from her defense attorney. The government was now offering to drop the charge of conspiracy against her if she would provide evidence against Charles. As she thought about it, she remembered how Charles had used her, both sexually and as part of his scheme. His sexual demands and unfeeling treatment, which had aroused such lust in her before, now merely seemed callous, even brutal. She could scarcely recall the excitement she once felt, nor understand how such treatment could ever have seemed desirable to her. Instead, she remembered the love and consideration that Clint used to show her, and she felt a great sadness at what she had lost. Despite her melancholy, she came to realize that she was extremely fortunate to be offered a chance to regain some semblance of normalcy back in her life. Instead of a humiliating trial, likely leading to her conviction as a felon and the possibility of years in a federal penitentiary, she was being given a way to end her agony with the least possible scars. What loyalty had Magneson shown her? She grabbed the lifeline. Once she had reached her decision, she spent countless hours with the FBI detailing how she had been able to generate the data used to dupe General Shelton and his staff, and how she had been able to disguise the fraud so that it had looked so convincing. On the one hand, confessing what she had done and providing evidence felt like penance for her sins. Yet she dreaded the coming confrontation with Magneson when she would have to testify in court. So she felt as though her sins must have truly been forgiven when she learned that her testimony was no longer required. In fact, there would not even be a lengthy trial: when the prosecutors showed Magneson's attorney the wealth of evidence they had assembled, the attorney convinced Magneson to plead guilty in return for a lesser sentence. As he was led away after sentencing, Magnesen could be heard still vowing to find the bastard in his firm who had caused his fall. Susan could care less at this point; for her the long ordeal was coming to an end and she was only too happy to put it all behind her. That's not to say that her life returned to its former state of ease. Although she no longer faced the prospect of a prison sentence, she was now deep in debt thanks to her attorneys' fees. She was unemployed with no prospects for duplicating her former income. Even without a felony on her record, her association with the scandal made her unemployable at any of the larger consulting firms where once she would have been a prime candidate. And, of course, there was no possibility that she'd ever be allowed to consult with a federal agency again. After months of job-hunting, she was able to secure a position as an office manager with a small law firm. The work was a well below her educational level and capabilities, and the pay was a far cry from what she had earned at MCG, but she took the job without complaint because there were no other realistic options available. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - One evening several months after she'd started her new job, she was waiting for a bus to take her back to her apartment. The home she had shared with Clint was, of course, long since sold as part of the divorce settlement, and she could no longer afford the lease on the BMW she had once sported. As she stood waiting in the bus shelter, she noticed a poster on the wall announcing a one-man showing of photography at a fashionable gallery in town. The photographer was Clint! She was stunned. She would never have believed that he would achieve such prominence, and she couldn't decide if she were pleased for him or jealous for herself. On a whim, she left the shelter and began to walk down the street in the direction of the gallery. "I just want to see his work," she told herself, but, if she were honest with herself, what she really wanted was to see Clint again. She was curious to find out what had happened to him since their divorce and to see how he was doing. Since she had never been able to speak with him after he filed for divorce, she couldn't help but hope to get that chance tonight. A Portrait of the Artist When she reached the gallery, she was impressed to see what a large crowd the opening had drawn. As she walked in the door and began to squeeze her way through the crowd of people sipping wine and nibbling on hors d'oeuvres, she looked at the photographs she saw hanging on the walls and was surprised at the high prices. As she moved from one work to the next, she was also surprised at the quality of the images. It was hard for her to believe this was Clint's work. She had always thought of Clint as run-of-the-mill wedding photographer, yet the number of red "sold" tags seemed to indicate that others had a different assessment of his talent. "Why did I underestimate him?" she wondered. She also noted that none of these works seemed to have been done while they were married. None of them were familiar to her. That absence somehow made her feel as though he'd erased that period – and her -- from his life. Just then, looking across the room, she spotted Clint's tall handsome figure surrounded by a group of well-wishers. As she began to make her way in that direction, she noticed an attractive brunette clinging tightly to his left arm. Drawing closer, Susan suddenly halted in shock. The brunette was Jennifer! Her old friend was staring into Clint's eyes with a look of devotion. Jennifer's remark from their luncheon so long ago that some other woman would snap Clint up in a hurry suddenly popped into her head. "I never guessed she was talking about herself," she hissed angrily. As she watched, she saw Clint turn to Jennifer, and Susan recognized the expression on his face all too well. "That's how he used to look at me," she whispered. Her eyes began to sting and water, and, not wanting anyone to see her distress, she turned and quickly walked out of the gallery. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Although it had been several days since the encounter in the gallery, Susan found that her emotions were still raw. She felt almost as bad as the day she found the divorce papers on his desk after her arrest. A sense of loss and anger mixed with guilt and envy to stimulate an inner monologue that circled in her mind, producing a series of unanswered questions. "I know I didn't treat him very well, but, damn it, he didn't have to dump me the first moment he heard I was in trouble. Sure I was screwing around with Charles, but Clint never knew about that. If only we could have talked, maybe I could have changed his mind. Why would he never talk to me? How could Jennifer have betrayed our friendship? She warned me, but I never thought she would do that to me. The minute I was down, she must have pounced on him. Damn her. And damn me, I really screwed everything up." As she sat in her apartment feeling sorry for herself, she was startled by the sound of her doorbell. Peering through the peephole, she saw a man wearing the familiar uniform of the delivery service and carrying a large package. She opened the door. "Ms. Cayce?" he asked, and when she nodded he handed her his electronic tablet to sign, then gave her the package. After closing the door, she examined the package, which was wrapped in what appeared to be brown butcher's paper. On the front beside her name and address was a brief hand-written note: "Saw you at the gallery opening last night. You should have this. Clint." Her mood brightened as she tried to read between the lines of his note. From the shape and feel of the package she felt certain that this was one of Clint's photographs. Why would he want her to have it? Could this be some kind of peace offering, perhaps even a first step toward a possible reconciliation? Like a child she tore at the paper, unwilling to take the time to remove the tape. As she did so, the first image she revealed was a face -- her face! But she looked so strange: her face was twisted into a grimace. She'd never posed like that. She continued to tear at the wrapping until it fell away to reveal the entire photograph. The image was a little fuzzy; it was clear it had not been made with a high quality camera. Nevertheless, there was Susan, nude, facing the camera in a crouching position. Her face was exposed because the hand that clutched her hair was pulling her head back. Unmistakably, she was in the midst of an orgasm. Looking more closely, Susan could make out the figure of Charles, standing behind her in the hotel room, thrusting into her writhing, willing body. "Oh my god!" she cried out, unable to believe what she was seeing, unable to comprehend what it all meant. Where could he have gotten this obscene photo? When did he find out about her affair? How much else did he know? The implications began to pile up too quickly for her mind to digest. Just then, she noticed the title of the photograph on a small plaque at the bottom. Through her tears she read, "Take it, Bitch, take it." She screamed.