19-07-17

It’s Just Business Chapter 2: Business Meeting

On the way back from my office Trish Thomas seemed perfectly content, not at all ashamed about what had happened, and we made tentative plans to meet for lunch later in the day.   To be honest, I wondered if she would spend the next few hours thinking about the risks of being a married woman and having an affair with another man.   I hadn’t fucked her, true, but the oral sex and handjobs were enough to make a case for adultery in a divorce.   The wise thing for her to do, I realized – and I suspected that she would also – would be to cut and run.   In the parking lot of the supermarket I suspected that she had reached the same conclusion.

Exiting my Suburban, she got into her car – a red Volvo – and started the engine.   She still hadn’t given me her telephone number when, without a word, she put it in gear and drove away from me.   I shrugged and started the engine of my vehicle just as she suddenly did a U-turn and drove back, stopping next to me and facing the opposite direction.   "I can’t invite you to my apartment, Jake," she said quietly, looking up at me.   "That would be all I need, a neighbor seeing a strange man coming in at three o’clock in the morning while Frankie is away on business.   But – I don’t want to spend the rest of the night alone."

"A motel or my place?" I asked, surprised but pleased.

"Your place," she answered immediately, and then gave me a small, wry grin, "unless there is a wife stashed away that you didn’t tell me about."

Forty-five minutes later, after retrieving some clothes and toiletries, she parked her car beside mine at my Old Metairie home, just across the New Orleans line in Jefferson Parish.   It was a mild early fall night with just a trace of chill in the air and a promise of rain later in the day.   Glancing around, Trish noted the seclusion of the old house, effectively shielded from any neighbors by thick hedges and oak trees dating back a century and a half.   "No one else is here?" she asked quietly, smiling broadly in the moonlight as I confirmed the fact.   "Then take it out, Jake.   Let me have your cock again, come all over my tits right here in the yard!"

As I unzipped my trousers she pulled her sweater over her head for the third time that night, tossing it on the hood of her Volvo and teasingly cupping her small, firm breast.   Even in the fading moonlight her youthful beauty was striking and my cock hardened at the sight of her.   I could feel the heat of her body radiating to me and I felt my breath catch in my throat as she reached out gently gripping my dick.   Jesus! She looks like she’s a fifteen-year-old virgin! I thought and hardened even more.   "Touch my breasts, Jake," she ordered.

My hands closed on the small, firm mounds of flesh, her nipples hard against my palms, and she sighed, closing her eyes as she released my cock and quickly stripped out of her jeans as well.   Only when she was naked except for her shoes did she seize me again, moving closer and pressing her lips to mine, sliding her tongue into my mouth and moaning softly.   I dropped one hand to her small, almost boyishly rounded ass and squeezed softly, turning the moan into a hungry growl.   I felt her body convulse and realized that she’d come yet again.   Dropping both hands to her ass I held her, supporting her as her legs trembled, waiting for her breathing to return to normal.   "You just touch me and I come, Jake," she sighed.   "I never dreamed I could come so fucking hard."

Then, as I leaned against the fender of the Volvo, she sank to her knees in front of me, shifting her grip on my cock and slipping the swollen head into her mouth as her hand began to move in a gentle rhythm along its length.   Without being told, she moved one hand between her legs and I could clearly hear the liquid sound of her fingering her wet, hungry pussy while she worked on me.   Dropping my hands to her head, holding it stationary, I slowly began fucking her mouth and she groaned, teasing her nipple and working her tongue over my shaft as I moved my hips with a slowly increasing pace.   Suddenly, as if trying to swallow me, she forced my cock deep into her mouth, using it to mask her muffled screams of orgasm, and then, just as quickly, her breathing ragged and labored, the pulled away.   "Come on my breasts!" she hissed, using both hands to work my shaft, her palms teasing the head.  "Shoot your load on my breasts, Jake, and then watch me eat it! Hurry! Come!"

I was bracing myself against the fender as I tensed, looking down to watch my white cream shoot out to splatter first on her face and then on her tiny titties.   She milked me excitedly, groaning again, her entire body tense and rigid, and only when the last drop of semen had fallen onto her tits did she sit back on her heels and slowly collect the fluid with her fingers.   "I love the taste of you," she told me, slowly swallowing the cream as if it was a precious dessert.   "God, my pussy is so wet."

"Do you want me to eat you?" I asked quietly.

Standing, touching my softened cock, she smiled and shook her head.   "I couldn’t survive that, Jake.   It would kill me.   What I want to do is take a long, hot shower and then just talk a while before we go to sleep."

That was fine with me.

An hour later I joined her in the den where she was sitting with her feet on a low coffee table, wearing only a pair of black bikini panties.   She’d showered first and then, while I took my turn, she’d fixed a drink and explored the house.   Surprising me, she was reading a highly confidential proposal I’d written and then, violating my own security policies, left unguarded in the den.   Oh, shit! I thought as I saw her.   I fucked up! The report dealt with a clandestine female escort service, another name for an intelligence Swallow operation.   When she looked at me, Trish made no effort to hide her surprise at the contents and, I sensed, a growing anger.   "You’re building a corporate prostitution ring," she said.   "I would have thought that a company as large as yours would already have one in place.   Frankie had never admitted it but he’s implied that they have one as well." She hesitated and let her eyes clearly show her anger.   When she spoke, though, it wasn’t to condemn the common corporate practice.   "Is this why you seduced me, Jake? Were you planning on recruiting me as one of your whores?"

It had never occurred to me that she would think that and for an instant I couldn’t think of a thing to say in reply.   Angrily she slammed the folder containing photographs of two dozen potential recruits closed.   Before she could rise from the sofa I moved closer, holding my palms up to silently beg her to listen to me.   "No, Trish! No! I was not trying to do that.   I swear! I wanted you, yes, but I wasn’t trying to do that.   God, please believe me when I tell you that I want you for myself, not for anyone else!"

She hesitated, glaring at me, and then she seemed to relax slightly and her eyes softened.   "You’re not lying to me about this? You weren’t trying to turn me into another one of your whores?"

"I swear I wasn’t, Trish.   Honest to God, I wasn’t trying to do that."

Standing, she walked past me into the kitchen, returning with a soft drink.   She’d already told me in the supermarket restaurant that she didn’t use alcohol.  "Okay," she said, sitting on a chair rather than the sofa where I could get close to her.   "Tell me about your escort service."

I did, leaving out only a few minor points.   The Swallow plan was simple in concept and in operation.   I needed eight to twelve women – housewife types – to fill out the stable [a term I did not use!] and working on the average of once a week.   For each session, the housewife would be paid $500 in cash, tax free with no paper trail.   The sessions would be in safe houses under the control of my department rather than in hotels and motels, something that would help eliminate the image of prostitution, I hoped.   And each session would have a male member of my organization nearby to protect the housewife in case the John, another term I didn’t use, turned mean.   Rarely would any housewife be asked to work more than once a week but scheduling would be flexible and that was something anyone wanting to earn more could schedule.   It was, I did admit to Trish, controlled prostitution, but it would be far more respectable than working as a hooker would be.   "I want to keep it as – genteel as possible, Trish.   The ladies won’t be harmed, they may even enjoy themselves, and they’ll be well paid.   Each one can expect to make $2,000 a month."

"Fifteen hundred," she corrected immediately.

"No, four times … "

Laughing, she shook her head.   "You men seem genetically incapable of remembering that one week out of each month the lady will be having her period! That essentially ends her sexual activity for that week.   Silly male."

She was laughing at the obvious error in my thinking and I accepted the correction without hesitation.   "Shit, I blew that one, didn’t I?" Instead of getting angry that my plan had been holed so easily, I realized that she was absolutely right.   I had thought like a male and missed the obvious.   Part of my mind started considering the ramifications of that error.

"I have to assume, Jake Kelly, that your corporation already has its secret little escort service in place.   That would make me think that you’re setting up a second escort service, one that the bosses won’t know about and one that will be a security operation.   Am I right?"

I nodded, admiring her incisive mind.

"what’s the legal term? Extortion? Blackmail? Your service will be a tool, obviously.   Will any of the ladies be injured by whatever legal term is appropriate? Will their services be made public?"

There was no sense in denying her conclusions so I stuck to answering her question.   "I see no reason why their activities would ever be made public knowledge, Trish.   Not unless one of them decided to run off at the mouth and admit what was happening.   And, even then, they would have no idea, or no proof, at least, that their services had been used against anyone else."

"Blackmail or extortion," she muttered.   There seemed to be no sense of revulsion in her voice or posture and I realized that she’d become absorbed in the intellectual exercise of examining my proposal.   "Would your targets – is that the proper term? – all be males? Are you going to need a BI-sexual or lesbian housewife? Or even a male homosexual?"

That, I didn’t admit, was an eventuality, for sure, but I wasn’t addressing the fact in the initial proposal.   I didn’t have to because she continued, "I can help you with the housewives and even with one BI female, but not with the gay guys."

"What?"  Her quiet comment had really caught me off guard.   "You can help?"

"Sure," she beamed.  "I know six housewives in my neighborhood who are bored with their marriages, who definitely could use an extra five hundred a week, and who would be thrilled by the excitement of earning it as a pretend prostitute! It would be a form of revenge against their loving husbands and it would be fun! I think the final selling point would be the fact that someone would be close by to protect them, too.  Give me four or five days and I can give you a definite answer on all six.  One of them, by the way, is BI.  She’s come on to me but I wasn’t interested and she let it go."

"In a week or ten days I can probably have the full dozen you expect to need," she added, "including a full-blown lesbian.  You’ll have to pay her more cause she’ll probably have less work, right?"

"Right." My mind had shifted to the earlier tangent.  "Now, how would you like to work for me? Not as one of the – I like your term! – pretend prostitutes, but as the coordinator of the operation? You’ve already modified my proposal in ways that should have been obvious to me but weren’t."

It was, finally, my turn to surprise her and I grinned at her expression.  At least she wasn’t angry this time.  "Coordinator?" she parroted.  "At five hundred a week?"

"No," I smiled.  "Coordinator at one thousand a week."

Without hesitation, she said, "Let me think about it." Then she stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth for about two seconds, grinned, and said, "Yes. I’ll do it, but that’s our secret, okay? And there is one condition." When I made a tell me gesture, she smiled and did.  "I want to come one more time before I go to bed, and this time I want you to kneel over me on the floor and shoot on my belly."

I didn’t know if I could get it up again but she solved that problem for me by moving to lay on her back even before I could answer.  As I stood over her she peeled off her panties and, grinning, began to play with her pussy, her legs parted widely so I could clearly see the pink lips of the inviting slit.  "Oh, yes," she smiled, seeing my cock surge to hardness against my running shorts.  "Take your pants off and show your whore your cock, Jake.  This time I want you to use me as your whore.  I want nothing more than to have you tell me how to jerk you off to make you come on my belly."

Removing my shorts, I straddled her and sank to my knees, looking down at her.  She made no movement, simply looked up at me, and I knew she was waiting to be used.  "Touch my cock, woman," I ordered quietly, watching her nostrils flare, her tongue flick along her lips as she obeyed.  I inhaled deeply as her hands found my cock once again and then I leaned forward, resting on hands and knees, watching her face.  Her hands moved slowly on me, teasing, already knowing how I liked it, and she was in no hurry, easing me slowly closer to orgasm and then stopping to prolong the lovely feeling.  I was tempted to shift forward and put it in her mouth again but, remembering what she’d said, I resisted and then straightened, my back arched as I sat above her naked body.

"Even when I do let you fuck me, Jake," she whispered, and I noticed the when as opposed to if, "I want you to come on my tits and face, not in my pussy.  Promise me that you won’t come in my pussy."

"I – I promise!" I hissed, tensing and looking down to see my come gushing out onto her firm, flat stomach and up onto her breasts.  Jesus Christ, this was one hot fucking woman!

I briefly wondered if our new business arrangement would in any way interfere with our growing sexual activities … but as I spilled the last of my come onto her body I really didn’t care!

09:39 Gepost door Pé de Cenoura | Permalink | Commentaren (0) |  Facebook |

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