0 comments/ 17883 views/ 4 favorites The Burglar & the Socialite Ch. 01 By: SusanJillParker Kathy had a perfect little life. She had plenty of money. She had no worries and no cares. Everything in her life was going along perfectly. To look at all that she had materialistically, anyone would envy her lifestyle. The house, the cars, the trips, the clothes, and the jewelry, she had it all. Fortune without fame and flying beneath the radar is always better in life than showing off and bragging about what you have. It's best not to draw attention to yourself, especially when you've had a colorful past. Let's just say, should her husband decide to run for political office one day, with so many of her skeletons ready to burst out of her closet, he wouldn't have a prayer of being elected with her by his side. The tabloid press would dig up enough information about her and nude photos of her during her wild and crazy college and socialite party days that their lives would be forever ruined. Fortunately, for her, her husband harbored no such political aspirations. The only aspirations he harbored were collecting as many of those small, green pieces of paper that had Benjamin Franklin's photo on them. His God was money and he worshiped it. He worked as an investment banker and recently, a few years ago, had become a partner in the firm. They lived in a perfect house right on the 9th hole of the golf course of an exclusive country club. When the banks did well and the economy boomed, he made money. When the banks failed and the economy busted, he made money. With his money needle pegged to global financial markets and growing economics, instead of national political agendas, no matter what happened, he made money with his investments around the world. A bad day for Kathy was when she forgot to wear her pearls to lunch with the girls. Big, expensive, and just perfect, she loved her exquisite pearls. They were her gift from her husband when he made partner. If she had to pick just one item of jewelry to save in a fire, that one item would be her exclusive pearls. Married for twenty-five years last June, she had a 23-year-old daughter, named Mandy, and a 21-year-old son, named Randy. Kathy just turned 45-years-old and was at the pivotal point in her life where she was considering having some cosmetic surgery done to freshen her look and give her a more youthful appearance. Pressured by her friends, who already had the surgery, she didn't want a surgeon taking a knife to her face, no matter how skilled he was. Having known many woman, who have had a facelift, she can always recognized someone who has had the surgery done. Accustomed to her beauty preceding herself to help open doors and to make her the center of attention, with her imagined sudden lack of interest from the opposite sex, especially from those men younger than her, she was just beginning to feel her age. In her uncharacteristic lowered self-esteem and wounded self-confidence, even though she thought differently about herself, whenever men young and old saw her, she was thought of differently by others that the opinion that she had of herself. Whenever she walked in a room, she was still a head turner and a conversation interrupter. Only, when she looked in the mirror now, she imagined what she'd look like in ten years or in twenty years. She was beginning to look how she remembered her mother looked, when her mother was her age now. It was a frightful horror because, at the same time, she remembered what she looked like ten and twenty years ago. As was everyone and everything else on Earth, yet so much more difficult for a woman, she was getting older and every time she peered in the mirror, she imagined she saw new wrinkles and new sags. Even though aging was inevitable, especially when her mind felt so much younger, she needed time for her brain to catch up with her body. Even though she looked middle aged, she still felt so young. She felt no different now that she was in her forties than she did, when she was in her twenties. Certainly, she didn't feel 45-years-old and she still possessed much of the vibrant energy and vitality that she had in her twenties, especially when on the golf course or the tennis court. She had yet to slow down and adjust to a more sedentary life. A wakeup call to how much better she looked than most women her age, women who didn't have the time or the money to pamper themselves with designer clothes, hair, makeup, creams, lotions, and spas, she needed a minor adjustment in her perception of her age and how others perceived her. She needed a reality check. Her only consolation was that she was aging with the rest of her peer group. Only, sometimes, whenever she was down on herself and in a funk, unbeknownst to her, she was aging better than the rest of them. Certainly, even without having plastic surgery, a non-smoker who exercised regularly and who watched her diet, seldom drank, and took care to wear sunscreen. when out in the sun, she looked ten years younger than her age and much younger than all of her friends her age and younger even. Nonetheless, feeling sad that life was passing her by, while she sheltered herself in her little cocoon of luxury, where did the time go? Twenty years rushed by with the blink of an eye. As if it were yesterday, she still remembered being newly married. It wasn't that long ago that she was walking her children in a stroller, chauffeuring them back and forth to grade school, and attending high school and college graduations. It wasn't that long ago that her husband made his first million dollars, moved them from upstate New York, where she was from and where she met him, to this lovely closed community and exclusive gated estate in northeastern Massachusetts. She couldn't believe that was more than a dozen years ago. She remembered that she looked good, real good, ten years ago. She wished she could have always stayed thirty-five forever. She loved that age. She was old enough not to be bothered with all the immature bullshit, but not too old that she still couldn't enjoy all the immature bullshit. Some of her friends have already been under the knife and she envied the results, but cringed at the pain, the bruising, the swelling, and the forced isolation, while they heeled. Was it all worth it? She didn't think so, at least, not for her it wasn't. Blessed with good genes, she was glad that she didn't have to do all that to still look young and attractive. For the time being, she was content with her skills at applying her makeup. Maybe in a few years, she'd reconsider. Maybe in a few years, going the way of Heidi Klum and so many other celebrities, who weren't vain enough to have surgery and Botox unnaturally alter their looks, maybe she just wouldn't care. She felt that plastic surgery was a vicious cycle that had to be repeated in five to ten years, too. Always, there was the risk that something could tragically go wrong. Always there was a chance that they could make a life altering or fatal mistake on the operating table. Reluctantly, she decided, she'd rather age gracefully without having a surgeon pull, nip, and tuck her skin beneath her hairline and back behind her ears. How dreadful to have her face pulled so tight that it hurt to smile. How embarrassing to know that everyone knows that she was vain enough to have plastic surgery. Still, she had to give her brave, albeit vain friends credit. They looked ten years younger. They looked rested. They looked happy. Only, she was nervous. She had heard some of the horror stories of botched surgeries and she was vain, but not vain enough to put herself in the hands of a surgeon's knife. Still, her friends pressured her to go ahead and, at least, have a consultation. She promised she would, but never did. She was friends with Christine, Ellen, Audrey, and Brenda. They were all members in good standing of their little gang of women, who looked like one another, dressed like one another, thought like one another, and talked like one another. They even had a gang name, The Rich Bitches, and a gang sign, when out on the town shopping, they'd flash their American Express Black cards, the ultimate credit cards that had an unlimited credit line. They lunched together, shopped together, and talked about their perfect little lives to one another. It was a glorious existence being rich and not having to work at a mundane job all day, while their husbands made money. Able to hire people to clean their perfect homes, care for their lush lawns, filter their posh pools, cook their delicious meals, pamper their precious pets, and chauffer them, wherever they needed to go, they were free to indulge themselves at the spa for hair, makeup, massage, and skincare treatments. Except for the young men she dated in college, once married with all the naked, sexual parties behind her, Kathy never had sex with anyone other man than her 52-year-old husband, Robert. Although, define sex, that is. As was Bill Clinton's definition of sex, she never had penetration from any man other than her husband, since she's been married. In Clinton's case, even though he didn't believe that an exchange of fluids constituted sex, Kathy did and in all the years of her marriage she has never exchanged fluids with anyone other than her husband. Certainly, there have been episodes of touchy feely, especially when alcohol was involved, but she was careful not to ruin her reputation for the foolishness of a flirtatious fling. She was a good wife and a good mother. She was Robert's trophy wife and he was her security blanket. Robert liked how they looked together. An average looking man, short and stout, and looking much like the stereotypical banker and, but for the top hat, he looked a bit like the man that appears on the cover of the Monopoly game. No doubt, he was happy that his money could buy him the affections and loyalty of such a beautiful and charming woman, who looked as good as did Kathy. She appreciated how he kept her in the lifestyle that she had grown to love. In the way that there is someone for everyone, they not only deserved one another but also they were made for one another, the socialite with the rich man. Often, her husband commented that they looked much better together than did Senator McCain and his wife, Cindy. McCain was his idol, a political measure of the man that gives insight into Robert's political preference. She, on the other hand, certainly hoped they looked much better together than Senator McCain and his wife, Cindy, as Senator McCain was twenty years older than Robert and Cindy McCain was nearly ten years older than she was. Moreover, she preferred Obama over McCain. She always thought that Michele Obama was always so poised and charming. Still, she understood his preference of an older man with a younger woman, albeit Robert was almost eight years older than she was, whereas John McCain was eighteen years older than his wife. Remaining forever faithful, until death do you part, she never cheated on him. She never even thought about cheating on him. Although, there was that young tennis pro at the club that she was so smitten with and a new, handsome golf pro, too, who she found interesting enough to flirt with, while having him give her some pointers with her game. Still, she'd never do anything more than masturbate in the bathtub, while imagining them tying her up, spanking her ass, and forcing her to have sex with them. Oh, how this little vixen loved to vex men, while playing the virginal victim. Oh, how this socialite of a woman, so wanted to be bound and disciplined. To be continued... The Burglar & the Socialite Ch. 02 Chapter 2 Even rich, privileged women have dirty secrets and sexual fantasies. Butter would melt in her mouth, and her smile, when cast in a man's direction, would make him do anything she asked. She was the type of woman that so many lust over but that few ever have. Educated, articulate, intelligent, witty, and funny, she had the charm, the confident poise, and the practiced personality to make any guest feel at home and at ease, while entertaining them with interesting conversation in her home or at a cocktail party. When talking to her, she made her guests feel, as if they were the only one in the room. She made her guests feel as important and privileged, and as special, as she thought she was. She had a knack for getting the best out of people, especially men. She had a flirtatious sexy way of making men feel that they had a chance with her, should Robert suddenly have a heart attack and die or should they divorce. Little did they know that, while she knowledgeably talked to her guests about current events, passionately discussed art, expressed her taste in music, or recommended a good book, a great movie, or a fine wine, married or not, she was undressing them with her eyes. Imagining them naked, she imagined them making love to her and imagined sucking their cocks, before and after they made love to her. A woman held prisoner in a marriage of convenience, instead of love, she hungered for the lustful attention of a man, any man, who'd show her the forceful, sexual affection and domination that she yearned to have again, and that she once had during her wild and crazy party days. The husbands, including her own, were unaware of her dual personality. If only they knew she was always so horny, they may have taken her up on her secret desire of needing to have rough sex and of wanting to be being tied up and slapped around. If only they knew she was everything and so much more than what they imagined she'd be in bed, they may have been more forceful with her and gotten from her what they so wanted. If only they knew that she desperately wanted them, as much as they desperately wanted her, they definitely would have risked the scandal of a romantic affair to be sexually intimate with her. Suddenly having trouble getting and maintaining an erection, without taking a pill, Robert, on his best days and when in an amorous mood, was only an adequate lover. Nothing adventurous or spontaneous, as soon as she gave him a blowjob, he'd be off to sleep. Occasionally, he'd return the favor and lick her a little but, as he grew older, because of his bad back and bad knees, those days were getting fewer and further in between. Except for ones given her from her own hand and by one of her many sexual toys, it had been a while, since she had an orgasm. Certainly, having married him for the financial security, instead of for love, he's never given her an orgasm. He was always at the office and sometimes working weekends or away on overseas business trips, especially whenever there was a special deal going on or a special client, who he was trying to romance to have him or her commit their assets or have them invest their investment portfolio with his firm. After having experienced every sexual position in her college days, after having a life filled with erotic activity and sexual promiscuity, once she married Robert, she had grown content just to tease men, while showing them a bit of innocent skin with an up skirt flash here and a down blouse flash there. It was fun and sexually exciting again for her to imagine men wanting her and undressing her with their lustful eyes, while she imagined them making love to her. Recently becoming a bit of an exhibitionist, she enjoyed the attention she received when the guys stole a look up her short skirt or a nonchalant glance down her low cut blouse or designer gown. Just as much as she enjoyed pretending that she didn't know they were looking, she enjoyed pretending that she didn't know that she was showing. Whenever she saw a handsome man with a cute dog, she was never shy about squatting down to make a fuss over his dog, while giving him plenty to see with an innocent down blouse view of her breasts and a purposeful up skirt view of her panty. Whenever trying on shoes a size too small or boots on in a shoe store, she wasn't shy about giving a young, good looking shoe salesman an inadvertant look between her legs. Athletic after years of dance classes and gymnastics as a child, but probably from playing a lot of tennis during the past twenty odd years, she always a toned body with shapely legs, a flat stomach, a tight ass. Without having celluloid saddlebags on her thighs or flabby wings on her triceps, she was most proud of her shapely breasts and her firm, round ass. As much as they were her prideful joy, her permanently, perfectly perky, B cup breasts were the envy of all her friends. Until she showed them, none of them believed that she didn't have breast implants. She looked marvelous in a bikini and having seen her sunning topless by their backyard pools, her gang of rich, bitch friends were still all surprised that her breasts were natural and not surgically enhanced silicon creations of a plastic surgeon. A game she enjoyed playing, flashing an attractive man accidentally on purpose was all just innocent fun and part of being a woman, who still wanted to feel that she was still attractive, desirable, and sexual. No doubt, looking ten years younger, certainly, she didn't look her age and at 45-years-old, she was still young enough and looked good enough to command the attention of a roomful of horny and sexually unsatisfied men, especially those who were all her husband's age or a bit younger, and especially those, who were a bit older. Now, instead of giving her body to whatever man who forcefully took it, she had grown content to just want to be noticed, wantonly wanted, and secretly desired. Instead of acting out her every horny thought, it was all left providence and to her imagination, while she masturbated. Besides, it was all just a game to her that made her wonder, if she was going through the change of life. Suddenly, with the hot flashes she's been experiencing, she was horny all the time. As the way she was when she was in her late teens and early twenties, she was always thinking about sex now. If anyone could read her mind, they'd see that it was filled with dirty thoughts of being bound, while forced to suck cocks and fuck strange men doggy style. For someone who looked so classy and who appeared to be an unapproachable, rich bitch, she was such a down to Earth, roll in the mud. Fuck her in a haystack type of girl or, preferably, tie her to the horse stall and ride her like a wild mare, she loved pillow talk and talking dirty, while giving her lover everything he sexually wanted and lustfully desired. Her favorite fantasy was for two men to attack her. She imagined them tearing off her clothes. She got so wet, when she thought about them not unbuttoning her blouse, but ripping it open and exposing her bra clad breasts, while she pretended to feign embarrassment. She imagined them pulling off her short skirt and breaking the zipper in the process. She imagined them slapping her across the face, when she mildly resisted, before vehemently protesting them cutting her bra off with scissors and doing the same with her panty. Now, stripped naked, she imagined the men touching her everywhere and forcing her to kiss them, first one and then the other, while they caressed and fondled her tits and pulled and twisted her nipples. She imagined one man fucking her doggy style, while slapping her ass and she imagined the other man forcing her to suck his big, hairy prick, while pulling her hair and slapping her face. She loved thinking about that fantasy, while touching herself at night, while her husband worked late hours of the evening or was away on one of his business trips. She liked being forced. So long as they didn't hurt her, she liked it rough. So long as they forced her, she'd do anything and everything that they wanted her to do. Even though she didn't look the part, she enjoyed being treated like a dirty slut and an insatiable whore that she imagined she still was and used to be. If only she could have it all, sex and money, she'd be happy. Only, the difference is that, being married and playing the faithful wife to such a rich and successful man, whose ability to get clients depended upon him having a sparkling clean reputation, she couldn't get what she needed from Robert. He was a dud in bed. If only he'd attack her in the way that he went after an investment portfolio or a stock offering, she'd be a sexually satisfied wife. If only he'd push her back on the bed and tear off her clothes, she'd never think of wanting sex from another man again. If only he'd slap her around, she'd be satisfied to be his woman. If only he'd tie her to the bed and demand that she do whatever was his desire, she would. Only, standing up high on her pedestal, she was his trophy and he'd never do anything to violate her beauty with violence. A softly spoken man, a gentleman, he didn't have in him what she needed and so yearned to have. He worked too many hours and went on too many business trips. Gone two and three days at a time, he was never home. Once in a while, on those trips where he was gone for a week at a time, he took her, especially if he was going to Europe, especially Paris or Geneva. Yet, having been there several times, she was bored to go with him to Europe again and sit, so much like the obedient wife and listening to her husband talking and watching the men leering at her, while she undressed them with her eyes. Already having everything she needed, it wasn't any fun to shop alone. She invited her friends, but they always had other commitments. She wondered if he was having another secret, sordid affair with another one of his secretaries or endless interns. He did have an admitted penchant for young and beautiful women, as she once was, when he chased after her with gifts and promises of a good life. He was such a lecher and just as she was faithful her him, she was surprise to discover that someone, who looked like him, as short as he was rotund wasn't faithful to her. Money bought him everything, even an endless array of young, beautiful women to service his twisted, sexual needs. Besides, he was so polite, too polite for her liking. She loved talking dirty, but he didn't like it, when she said anything vulgar or inappropriate, as he called it, during sex. She craved real sex, body sweating, hip humping, and deep fucking, the sex that she couldn't get from him. Being married and not wanting to ruin her financial arrangement with her husband, as his faithful, trophy wife, she couldn't get real sex from anyone else for that matter. The only time her husband had been her lover was when they were dating and that quickly waned, once they were married and even more so after the birth of the children. What is it with guys and children? Just because she's a mother now, doesn't mean that she's not the same woman with the same sexual needs. Now, thinking of her as the mother of his children, he doesn't even cum in her mouth. To be continued...