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by C. K. Ralston
Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: When She Won the Lottery - Her Luck Changed! Everyone wanted her and she wasn't about to say No. But did they want her for her money or herself? Follow one Lottery winner's odyssey through sex and beyond.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions,
eBookwise Release Date: April 2011
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [304 KB]
Reading time: 196-275 min.
It was four in the afternoon on a very hot September day. Allison Dunn stood perspiring in her driveway, thankful for the shade that had crept completely over the drive during the last twenty minutes, provided by the array of stately pines, oaks, and the handful of palm trees surrounding her small rental house. Allison--who was still getting used to calling herself Dunn again, now that her five year marriage to Beau Maddox was officially over at last--ran a hand through her newly-tinted golden blonde locks, admiring them as she did so.
She pushed the strands of shoulder-length hair out of her face, thinking how much prettier they were than the natural brown, dirty-blonde tresses she had previously been stuck with for her whole life. It was only last week she had finally found the courage to have her dull-as-dishwater hair dyed this gorgeous new, brighter color.
My friends say I'm moving too fast, that I'm suddenly changing everything in my life, Allison thought as she surveyed what was left of her household furniture and knick-knacks still strewn up and down the drive and stacked on card tables inside the small one-car garage.
Well, I think that's just fine, Allison reflected happily. Changing everything in my life is just what I want to do. A lot of things ... hell, most things in my life badly need a change!
"I think we did right well," said one of those old friends, who had been helping with the garage/moving sale since early this morning. She sidled up next to Allison and added, "Considering how unseasonably warm it was today, for September, I mean, I think we had a pretty nice turnout. We sold a lot of stuff."
Charlotte was a short, thin young woman whose mannerisms had always put Allison in mind of a perky, friendly songbird. She had pixie-cut dark hair and always cocked her head to one side, bird-like, when she made a statement someone might not agree with, such as hot weather in early September in this part of Georgia being "unseasonable". Allison looked at her and shook her head, smiling.
"It was hot as Baptist Hell here today, Char, is what it was," Allison challenged her. "As it often is until damn near November, some years. You've lived here all your life, just like me, so I don't see how this infernal heat could be much of a surprise to you."
Her friend gave her a pouty frown. "I swear, Ally, you haven't had a good word to say about the state of Georgia or your hometown for months now! It just seems like everything here is suddenly too small or too hot or too slow or too ... something for you lately, girl!"
Charlotte's eyes narrowed. "Ever since you won all that money, you've been acting different."
Allison continued to smile at her. "Of course I've been different. I have twenty-six million dollars now. I don't have to live in a rented, broken-down shack in Piney Woods, Georgia, if I don't want to, Char. And believe me ... I don't want to!"
She swept her hands about, indicating all the household goods, furniture, and general household junk still left in the driveway. "That's why I'm selling everything and moving out of town."
Charlotte's face fell. "I sure wish you weren't, Ally. It just kills me that you won't tell anyone where you're headed for either, not even me! We've only been friends since second grade."
Allison's smile faded instantly and a defensive look replaced it. "You know as well as I do why it has to be this way. If Beau ever finds out where I'm going, he'll hound me night and day."
Charlotte had a reply on her lips but, just at that moment, a black Toyota sedan pulled up to the curb out front. Both women turned and watched as Pastor Nehemiah Wesley unfolded his six-foot four, Ichabod Crane like frame from the front seat of the small sedan and ambled up the driveway. He was dressed in black, his spindly legs eating up the distance in a few long strides.
"Miz Maddox, how are you on this fine Saturday afternoon?" the preacher asked, flashing her what she always thought of as his "congregational" smile, the one he used when he was addressing one of the "flock". He nodded and smiled in Charlotte's direction as well, acknowledging her presence.
"I'm real fine, Reverend Wesley," Allison replied, a tight, insincere smile on her face. "But I keep telling you, it's Miz Dunn again now ... just like it was when you first baptized me all those years ago. It's not Maddox."
Wesley looked pained. "Divorce is an abomination unto the Lord, Allison! I know man's laws recognize it and condone it, but true believers and their true church rarely sanction it. One of the reasons I came here today was to ask you, one last time, if you might not reconsider a ... rapprochement with Beauregard? I know he can be a trial, and I certainly don't approve of his recent ... behavior with that brazen strumpet Orville Garnett married, but still--there is a sacred bond between man and wife that no court of law should--"
"Reverend, we've had this talk before, more times than I can count," Allison said testily, her blue gaze growing angrier by the moment, staring up at the sanctimonious, smarmy face of Nehemiah Wesley. "It's past four, and the truck and the two men I hired to load this stuff should be here any minute. I'm moving ... to parts unknown. I want nothing further to do with Beau Maddox or this town or anything else around here!"
"Allison," Wesley sighed. "When did you become so willful? You were always such a sweet, obedient child. I'm sure if you, Beauregard and I sat down for a few counseling sessions..."
"To hell with that!" Allison practically shouted.
All the anger and resentment that had built up in Allison from twenty-some years of sitting on the hardwood pews in Wesley's fundamentalist, no-nonsense Baptist church virtually every Sunday suddenly boiled to the surface. It was an anger she hadn't been aware of until recently, when she'd finally identified the source of her bitterness toward the pompous churchman. The right reverend Nehemiah Wesley was a hypocrite, plain and simple.
Allison was a practical woman and it rankled her to the core, knowing she had wasted all those Sunday mornings listening to the pious ranting of a man whose supposedly cast iron sense of right and wrong had turned out to be made of much more malleable stuff ... something more akin to putty! Deep in her heart, she now believed that most of the reverend's passionate desire for her to stay married to Beau and remain here, in Piney Woods, was so she and--more importantly, her new fortune--would not disappear from his congregation.
She had finally reached her boil-over point with Reverend Wesley a month ago when he'd suddenly reversed his lifelong, absolutely rigid stance against all gambling. Instead of berating her for buying such an "instrument of the devil" as she had feared he would and fully expected him to, he had instead made a shamelessly oily, fawning plea for a ten-thousand dollar donation to cover repairs from last year's storm damage to the church roof before winter set in again.
Bake sales and youth car washes, accompanied by a round of righteous begging at the end of each sermon for nearly a year had managed to raise only a paltry two-thousand dollars thus far, the reverend had explained--at the end of his pitch for funding--and winter was bearing down on them. Allison, who had a hard-earned two year degree in library science from a local community college and whose part-time job in the country library system had made her one of the poorest members of the congregation would not normally have rated even a half-hearted personal request for money from Pastor Wesley.
But there he'd been last month, standing on her doorstep, the white straw hat quite literally in his hand, asking her for enough money to "put them over the top", now that she had been so "blessed" financially and was thus able to "contribute".
Allison had been thoroughly disgusted. She had sourly, wordlessly written out a check for ten thousand dollars and handed it to him, not even asking him to come in out of the sun and have some iced tea while she did so.
The upshot of the whole sorry experience had been her complete loss of faith, not in God or Christianity, but in her particular church and its chief representative. She had had quite enough of Wesley and his hidebound sense of morality that had proved to be so incredibly flexible when the need arose.
Marriage counseling for me and Beau ... my ass, she thought now, standing in the shaded drive, looking up at him, absolutely certain the only reason he cared a fig whether she and Beau got back together was so that she and her newly-fattened checkbook wouldn't move away to some unknown location where he no longer had access to them! She was sorry now that she had donated the unsold furniture and other belongings littering her driveway and garage to his up-coming church rummage sale. She had half a mind to tell the men with the truck, if they ever showed up, to drive the whole mess over to the Salvation Army and give it to them instead!
Just at that moment, of course, as such second thoughts were running seriously through her mind, the big yellow truck with the blue lettering that she'd rented came around the corner. She stood waiting with her hands on her hips while the two large, slow-moving young men she had hired backed the bobtail truck into her drive and got out.
"Reverend Wesley?" Charlotte's friendly little voice piped up just then. "I don't know where Allison's manners are today. Won't you join us for a glass of iced tea inside the house, where it's cooler?"
Allison swiveled her head angrily, meeting Charlotte's guileless gaze. The other girl was staring up at the reverend, her head tilted to one side, finch-like.
Damn you and your infernal Southern good manners, Char. I think he was going to leave just now. With any luck, I'd never have had to lay eyes on his hypocritical face again!
* * * *
The two hefty good-old-boys Allison had hired to clean the place out proved to be slow moving and deliberate, but they made fairly good progress once they finally arrived. In less than an hour, they had stripped the house, garage, and driveway mostly bare.
Allison, Charlotte and the reverend now stood in the kitchen, sipping the last of the iced tea from three paper cups. Allison had told the movers that they could come back tomorrow and take whatever was left, like the big iced tea jug in the refrigerator and whatever else they or their wives wanted. Any items remaining after that were to be hauled away to the dump.
"I can't believe you're not even taking your dishes when you move!" Charlotte tsk-tsked.
"Beau and I bought 'em at Walmart just after we got married," Allison answered, finishing her tea. "It's not like their family heirlooms."
Charlotte had a retort on her lips but, just then, a red, late-model Chevy pickup truck rounded the corner down the street on two wheels, dropped back onto all four then roaring up the street directly toward Allison's house. The hurtling truck had many coats of wax on its custom paintjob, huge new tires, and rims that cost as much as some folks in Piney Woods would spend on a late model used car.
"Dammit!" Allison cursed aloud, not caring the reverend was standing right next to her.
"Well," he smiled uncertainly back at her. "It's Beau! Perhaps this is a fortuitous meeting, Allison. Maybe if you and Beau and I can discuss things calmly, progress might yet be made! Perhaps we could schedule a few counseling sessions before your departure then ... who knows?"
Allison made a sour face as Beau Maddox skidded to a noisy stop, flung open the door to his truck and vaulted out into the street beside the moving van. He stomped up the drive, the high heels of his expensive Justin cowboy boots ringing on the pavement.
Stopping briefly beside the last of the furniture waiting to be loaded into the van, he noticed an old, battered sewing machine with a hatbox piled on top of it. Even from clear inside the kitchen, looking across the empty living room and out the screen door, Allison could see Beau's handsome face instantly change color, to a bright, hot-tempered red.
"Motherfucker!" she heard him scream angrily, sweeping the hatbox off the sewing machine with a savage chop of his hand, spilling it and the hat it held out onto the driveway.
He turned and practically ran up the driveway toward the house, his dark eyes flashing with rage, his jaw resolute as he came toward them. Up the steps in one bound, Beau flung open the screen door and was in the living room in seconds.
"There you are, you bitch!" he shouted, seeing Allison in the kitchen. "What's the idea of giving away my granny's antique sewing machine without even asking me about it first?"
Allison choked down the bile his very presence raised in the back of her throat. Just as she had thought earlier about never seeing the reverend's sanctimonious face again, Allison had fervently hoped to slip out of town tonight without ever coming face to face with Beau Maddox again either.
"You want that old piece of crap ... it's yours!" she hissed angrily at her ex-husband. "It doesn't work, and it would cost way more than it will ever be worth as an antique to get it running again, according to Mr. Guthrie down at the sewing shop. So by all means, take it if you want it and use it in good health, Beau!"
"Likely story," Beau snapped in reply, stepping up into Allison's face, glaring at her.
Seeing him so close, with his penetrating eyes, perfect cheekbones and sensual lips, Allison remembered why she'd been like putty in his hands when he'd first come calling years ago. She'd had little experience with boys and absolutely none with a gorgeous, sexy, ex-athlete, ex-big man on campus in high school, bad boy, like Beau.
He'd simply bowled her over. He'd had her bra off on their second date and had stolen her virginity by the fourth. She'd been pregnant within a month then Beau had surprised her, their families, and the whole town by actually doing "the right thing by her" and marrying her.
From out of the blue, she'd miscarried at the beginning of her sixth month and the marriage had disintegrated not long after. They'd stayed married since Beau's job as a long-haul trucker kept him away for weeks at a time anyway. Neither one bothered to make the split between them final until the perfect opportunity had presented itself last year and Allison had pounced on it and filed the papers.
"I want my share of that money, bitch before you leave town!" he breathed angrily, his face close to hers.
"What share would that be?" Allison smiled vindictively up at him. "Our divorce had been final for two weeks when I won my prize and you were sleeping with anyone in town who'd let you, Beau. The judge already told you to go screw yourself as far as the money was concerned and I'm tellin' you exactly the same thing, you bastard!"
Beau snorted. "I got papers drawed up out in the truck that I want you to sign, 'for you leave town, tellin' them lottery people to pay me my half of the money. A man's wife wins money, he gets half. If that ain't the law, then it ought to be. I want my share, you miserable, penny-pinching ... cunt!"
Allison gasped at the vile word. The reverend Wesley gasped. Charlotte gasped.
Beau sneered and grabbed her by the Georgia Tech sweatshirt she was wearing. He drew her up right into his face, wadding the shirt material tighter in his grip as he did so.
"I'll find you, wherever you run to, if you leave without signin', Allison," he warned her, his voice soft and low but dripping with menace. "And then I'll slap the shit out of you until you cough up my half of that lottery prize money, you just wait and see if I don't!"
Allison sneered back, so angry she had trouble speaking, at the incredible gall of this man she had made the mistake of marrying once upon a time! "Yeah, I just bet you would. You're quite the stud duck when it comes to a defenseless woman, and I've had the bruises to prove it a number of times ... but I heard you cried like a little girl when Orville Garnett caught you with his wife and put you in the hospital. The way I heard it, you were sniffling like a baby and begging him to quit hitting you when the cops finally showed up!"
For long seconds, there was no sound in the tiny house at all. Beau's face went from stormy and upset to positively apoplectic in two rapid heartbeats. His grip on Allison's bunched shirtfront was so tight she could barely get a breath.
Allison had brought up the lowest point in a life filled with them ... the night last year when Orville Garnett had arrived back in town a whole day early, only to find his blonde bombshell of a teenaged wife shacked up with Beau. He was supposed to be somewhere near Norcross in his big rig, but was, instead, firmly "in the saddle" between Jenna Mae Garnett's sleek young thighs when her six-foot, five inch hubby stuck his head unexpectedly into their bedroom and said, "Baby, I'm home already!"
What had truly added insult to injury, as far as her ex was concerned, was Allison's filing for divorce, citing the incident as irrefutable proof of Beau's serial adultery, while he was still in the hospital in Atlanta, recovering from the beating he'd suffered. Not only had the whole county been laughing at him already, his estranged young wife had cast him aside in the middle of the worst mess he had yet managed to enmesh himself in, giving everyone a further chuckle at his expense.
"Thas' a fuckin' lie!" Beau screamed at the top of his lungs, flinging Allison's five-foot, six-inch frame across the kitchen, where she slammed into the wall and slid down onto her butt. Her eyes watered and her head suddenly ached from the impact against the sheetrock. "That sumbitch is twice my size and I got some good licks in on his sorry ass, 'fore he broke my arm and commenced to stomping on me!"
"Get out!" Allison murmured, looking up at Beau, trying to clear the stars from her head. "Get the hell out of my sight and stay gone, you ass! You touch me again and I'm filing assault charges, and I've got witnesses this time, you stupid bastard! I don't ever want to see you again, and I'm never giving you a nickel, understand?"
Beau started toward her, murderous intent flashing clearly in his blazing eyes, but the reverend stopped him, intoning in his very best, sanctimonious preacher voice, "Violence is never the answer, son."
Looking up at the much taller man, Beau pushed his hand away. He glared at everyone for long moments then stormed out of the kitchen. They heard the screen door slam then seconds later, Beau's big V-eight turn over. A long squeal of burning rubber announced his incensed departure.
"Well, Pastor Wesley," Allison said, looking up at him with a wry smile. "Still think counseling is the answer for Beau and me?"
After a long pause, Wesley answered sadly, "Perhaps not."