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The Wrong Thing To Do

By: loquere



It was snowing lightly in the evening as the taxi turned unto the exclusive street. The taxi driver tilted his head into the mirror, giving a look that summed up the question "really kid you live here?"

Mark Brice had decided to surprise his parents, well his dad, by coming home from college early. He'd been looking forward to Thanksgiving. With a sick professor and an early flight from Burlington to O'Hare, he made it home on Tuesday instead of Wednesday. 

Mark wished he could have gone to a closer school, like Northwestern, but his stepmom made even the tiniest thought of that unbearable, and therefore unrealistic.

Mark was now twenty. When his father married his stepmom he was eighteen, but she treated him like he was half that. Having his dad move his weekend curfew from 1 am to 9 pm was just the start; telling his first and only girlfriend that he was gay was the end! 

That was the point when he decided he had to go to a college that was far away. In retrospect, it encouraged him to work even harder in high school, but he'd be damned if he was going to give her credit for anything. 

Mark was pissed about being dumped by Courtney over something so baseless, and that's when his tolerance of Tiffany completely disappeared. Even though it was a lie, people believed it. He hadn't been able to get another girlfriend; it was hard enough getting a fit tennis pro like Courtney. 

Mark couldn't wait to see his dad, but he wasn't looking forward to a weekend with Tiffany. He understood his dad had been lonely after his mom died when he was thirteen, but really, a twenty two year old? "What was his dad thinking?" Was a thought that consumed Mark until he took keen notice of Tiffany's thin seductive figure.

Tiffany was forty two years younger than Mark's dad! They were married almost three years ago, and Tiffany was now twenty four, but didn't look like she aged or changed a bit. She was still that conniving, gold digging succubus. 

Like the Sirens of Greek myth, her seductive characters were dangerous. She caused more than a handful of car accidents when she went jogging. Some of the drivers happened to be female too.

Mark's dad was a captain of industry with great strength, except for when it came to women. Mark could remember a decade ago when his dad's weakness almost broke up a long fairytale marriage. 

Mark knew she was hot. He hated admitting it, but she was! Sometimes thinking about her was beyond his control. There were many times he rubbed one off to her image while laying there in his bedroom in Ledyard dorm hall. 

No girl on campus could hold a candle to her, not that he had ventured out to check, inspect or harvest the crop. The Courtney incident had killed his confidence.

The cab now arrived at Mark's stately looking home pulling up the long winding driveway. "Thank you," Mark said giving the cabbie two Ben Franklin's, even though the fare itself was only sixty dollars.

The old Irish cabbie responded angrily "I can't change this kid," he said while waving the bills, then he froze a little realizing there were two there, instead of the one his old eyes first saw. 

"You went out of your way to bring me all the way out here to Lake Forest, so thank you, I appreciate that." As Mark walked away he could see the beginning of a smile appear on the creases of the old cabbie's face. 

Mark continued away from the cab, easily hoisting the one piece of baggage he brought, his laptop tucked away in his media/technology bag pack. Since United lost his luggage two years back, he always traveled with one carry-on and only that. "It looks like they haven't cleaned the driveway." Mark said to himself as he slid through a half inch of snow.

When he entered the mansion he spoke "I'm home," very calmly into the intercom system. There was no response. He thought that was odd. He figured at least the bitch would be home. Thinking hard, he concluded his dad was bound to be away on business, possibly due back tomorrow. 

The staff must have gone home for the holidays. Mark recalled his dad insisting they take the holidays off. At Tiffany's protest, some would return for preparations on the day or night before the holiday. Tiffany certainly wasn't going to cook Thanksgiving dinner. Mark never actually witnessed her make anything for herself or anyone else for that matter.

As much as he detested her, he figured at least the bitch would be home. He recalled seeing her Bentley out front with her custom 'bad girl' vanity plate. 

Well it was a big house; maybe whoever was here didn't hear him. Checking all of the first floor, the nine bedrooms, and the third floor Mark decided he was alone.

Back on the first floor, Mark ordered a pizza and went into the film room. Figuring there was no one home, Mark decided to let loose with some porn, but decided to keep it classy, and rolled up to the playboy channel.

Ten minutes later he heard the intercom buzz, and he went to get his pizza, thinking out loud "that was quick." When he opened up the door, the pizza delivery boy had his head down, no pizza in sight, and he was unbuckling his belt.

"Hey just give me a second baby, then we'll get to the pool." The shaggy haired, Latin looking pizza delivery boy said, as he drooled with anticipation with his head still down.

Mark yelled out "dude I'm not fucking gay." The pizza delivery boy jumped at this. Looking up he went pale, as Mark clearly was not who he had expected to be standing there. He bolted out of there, jumped into his alien green Kia Soul, and skidded down the driveway.

"That was fucking weird." Mark thought as he grabbed a phone to call the pizza place to find out what the fuck just happened. Then he remembered what the pizza delivery boy said, and he remembered that his dad had added a heated indoor pool to the guest wing.

As he entered the hallway to the guest wing, he noticed clothes scattered all over; jeans, boxers, a halter top and the whole clothing rainbow. Seeing this evidence Mark prepared his Camera, taking it out of his technology/media bag pack. Seconds later, Mark tumbled into the swimming pool room. Lacking even the tiniest bit of grace, he had tripped on a 34 d bra. Not knowing what he was shooting at, Mark just snapped away. "Holy fuck" yelled a male voice."

Marks heart was beating like a water pump, as he brought the camera down to his side, he realized who it was. Andre and Mark attended high school together. They weren't friends, far from it; everybody around here knew Andre Williams or knew of him. 

Andre was the star quarterback for the University of Illinois now, just like the star he was when he went to Lake Forest High School, the same place where he took Courtney from Mark.

"Andre, what are you doing in my house?" Mark asked confused, disappointed, and relieved, all at the same time.

"Dude..... how's Dartmouth, how is that Ivy League pussy?" Andre asked nervous at the beginning and ending with the outward confidence of his typical swagger; avoiding the question by a mile.

"School is..." Mark started to say . . . stopping, and deciding not to play along with what he assumed was bullshit. Andre was clearly hiding something, as Mark saw him drop his head back while clenching his teeth. The expression seemed to be more of relief than that of fright or embarrassment.

Mark was about to speak, but as he looked at Mr. six pack standing perfectly still in the shallow end bubbles started to appear in front of him, and Andre rolled his eyes back, as he yelled, "oh fuck." As his hand went below the surface of the water, Mark noticed a wavy human presence under the water.

Seconds later, a head covered in platinum blonde hair popped up out of the pool gasping for air. Before Mark could react, he instinctively snapped away, capturing the downfall of Tiffany. Her long wet hair, flowed down well beyond her shoulders, almost covering up her fiery dragon back tattoo that ran down her toned back to just above her dripping heart shaped ass.

Slipping to the other side of the pool, Mark began to capture video as Tiffany unaware, of the breach began to speak. "Was that my all time record baby, or what? Now lick yourself off my tongue." 

While Tiffany spoke, her hands and well apportioned body were wrapped around Andre, who appeared slightly nervous. Tiffany suddenly noticed the wandering presence of Andre's eyes, and she turned to match his line of sight.

"AWWWWWHHH Fucking Jesus Christ!!" Tiffany yelled, followed by the clutching of her surprisingly full and firm large breasts.

"I got you now you, whorish, black cock sucking....." Yeah, Andre was black, and this comment seemed to provoke him. Mark didn't mean it in a racist way, but it was too late for explanations. 

Seconds after the words were processed by Andre, he jumped out of the pool, with animalistic speed. He stood on the edge of the pool shamelessly displaying his dripping wet, ebony, muscled nakedness. His mostly hard but softening, nine inch manhood wasn't doing anything to overturn stereotypical imagery.

"I'm going to take that camera away just like I took away that little cock tease Courtney." Andre said and then turned around and looked at Tiffany. "Thanks for the help with that babe. A lanky nerd like that certainly didn't deserve something that fine."

While Andre spoke he advanced toward Mark with slow intimidating steps, naked as the day he was born.

Mark really couldn't believe he was surprised by Tiffany's actions. With reality kicking in, Mark realized this was something she had done with the pizza boy and whomever else. Reality also told Mark this was a situation where he was quickly losing control. Mark took the camera he loved so much and dropped it into the pool.

"You're the biggest pussy! You didn't even try to defend your ass, you punk!" Andre sputtered out laughing while he taunted Mark, now ending his advance.

Surprising two, out of the three people in the room, Mark stepped close to Andre, and said, "I'm not backing down, I'll fight you. Just get dressed, that's all I ask. Contrary to the rumor, you two saddled me with, I'm not as fond of cock as my slut of a step-bitch!" 

Tiffany seemed to ignore that remark as she pleaded with him, "Don't do it, Mark. You can't do this Andre. You know Mark and I don't get along, but you can't do this. His father will kill both of us if you harm him." 

Although still agenda driven, Tiffany uncharacteristically exuded some humanity. Getting out of the pool naked, water ran down her perfectly slender body, ample bust, and heart shaped posterior. Ignoring, or failing to care about her nakedness, she rushed to put a barrier between the two young men.

She couldn't believe Mark was willingly going to fight Andre, who she thought could kill him with one punch. 

Tiffany was just about Andre's height, at five eight, while Mark was six three. At the moment, it appeared that Mark's only advantage was height. Just like how Andre's physique fell on stereotypical lines, the Mark that was known to both of them was the typical stereotypical intellectually active, but physically deficient, nerd. 

-------------------------

Mark recommended the indoor tennis court for the throw down.

"Don't do this Mark." Tiffany pleaded, once more finally seeming somewhat human to Mark.

Before anything could be agreed upon, Andre now dressed, threw a sucker punch. Mark was down for awhile, as Tiffany attempted to halt everything and while Andre pushed her away.

Mark got up shaking it off, as blood dripped from his face. The break that occurred when Mark went down quickly, ended as Andre charged him. Mark moved aside, causing Andre to hit the post.

This is when Andre took off his shirt, once again displaying his abs. Out of nowhere he started pounding his chest. Mark laughed at this, taking off his own slightly blood stained shirt. Tiffany and Andre looked on, surprised, as Mark revealed that not all his time at Dartmouth had been spent maintaining that 3.8 GPA.

"Oh you think you're hot shit now, huh! With your sad four packs no glasses big fucking whoop. You still that skinny little rich, pimple faced, loner, fool ass, punk ass, pussy of a nerd." Andre said, moving his body, grabbing his crotch, and moving his hands to match his onslaught of words.

Andre went deep into his pause-less spiel, and thuggish gestures. Mark moved, taking advantage of Andre's misplaced attention, swooping in with a swift and fierce determination. 

Pulling his right arm all the way back winding it up, Mark propelled it forward, knocking Andre across the jaw with the force of years of deeply repressed anger. While Andre attempted to play defense, Mark quickly moved left to right, pelting Andre with quick landing blows.

Mark then released his rage on the grounded Andre with a barrage of puncturing hits. After hit after hit, after hit, Andre simply used him arms, and hands in a failed attempt to block the blows.

Tiffany was finally able to pull Mark off of Andre. As Mark left the tennis room, he gave his final words. "I want you two out of this house now!" Mark dictated as calmly as he could in his exhausted state, with blood dripping from his bruised lip.

---------------------

A few hours after the fight, Mark was lying down in his bedroom, when a knock came at the door. With no response, the knocks kept coming. Tiffany, in her frilly red satin night gown, decided that Mark would not answer, and fell to the ground in defeat. 

Defeat didn't last long, she then moved to the verbal route. "Mark I'm sorry I fucked up and.... I don't know... there really isn't anything to say. I fucked up, but I fucked up more three years ago, when I treated you the way I did, no matter why. I'm sorr...." She began to say into the door, she was interrupted by Mark who chose to disembark his room.

"No... no, you don't get to apologize. Leave the house!!!" Mark yelled with uncontrolled emotion at Tiffany, as tears ran down her face. Tiffany, who had been lying on the ground, limberly rose up with an ice pack in hand.

Mark calmed down and twitched a little, as Tiffany for the first time, seemed to be acting like a real stepmom, by placing the ice pack and an alcohol cloth on his bruised cheek and lip.

"I cheated on your dad, and he did the same, you know that, but I know I was wrong. It started when I married someone old enough to be my grandfather, I'm sorry for that."

I was ready for something, but not for this, Mark thought. Without the camera, he lost his upper hand, but she was, well, genuinely apologetic. Mark had no game plan for this.

Tiffany stared into Mark's brown eyes pleading. "Do you forgive me?" Mark was fighting against himself, but a sympathetic response slipped out nonetheless. Out of nowhere, Tiffany rose up, lifting her head slightly and caught Mark off guard with a soft kiss.

Pulling back her smooth lips, Tiffany dropped her gown to the ground. Mark quickly scooped her up, dropped her on his bed, and pounced on top of her. Tiffany agilely slid out from under Mark, getting on top straddling and grinding her naked body on the still clothed Mark.

Mark was a virgin who had only had one blowjob in his entire twenty years. However, he realized that this was not an opportunity to be squandered. He was determined to make the best of what looked like the night he would lose his virginity, even though the person taking it was his step-mother and it was technically a forbidden act in the eyes of God. 

Mark picked up Tiffany as she attempted to kiss him, with the snakelike reach of her slippery, but focused, tongue. Mark rejected the goddesses tongue as gracefully as he could; he simply wasn't ready for that. Her hands slipped under Mark's pajamas, fondling his already hard length. She smiled mischievously as she tugged and dropped Marks pajama bottoms and boxer shorts.

Tiffany dropped back onto the bed. "Fuck me, take me any way you want" she begged. Mark took this to heart. Grabbing his seven inches, Mark stated "suck me off first please."

Tiffany said nothing she simply smiled, nimbly moving off the bed onto her knees, taking his cock head into her mouth and running her tongue around it teasingly. As Tiffany moved down further, Mark fell back unto the bed hollering out "I'm Cumming."

It could have been out of previous anger, but for some reason, he didn't allow Tiffany access to escape the upcoming flood. Not that she wanted to go anywhere, because she didn't budge. She swallowed what seemed like gallons of seed, without any spillage. "I am sorry." Mark said legitimately apologetic.

"It's cool." she replied "I like to swallow." Tiffany said with the sexiest wink and a chuckle after the words because of the naughty undertone. As she licked the head of Mark's cock, it came back to life. Looking down at his stepmom and thinking that this was the wrong thing to do made Mark apprehensive, but at the same time it made him harder. His Id was clearly kicking his superego's ass here.

With Mark sitting down, she moved her right hand along his length and her left hand began to massage his balls. She took more and more of his length into her mouth, stretching her mouth to cradle his girth. 

Mark's cock was growing slick and slippery as Tiffany's quick tongue, and warm mouth smothered his aching member with saliva. It almost seemed as if his cock were already in a vagina's embrace. Tiffany kept her sucking and pumping, and ball fondling up for minutes as the tension began to build.

With a loud popping sound Mark's cock was dislodged from Tiffany's mouth followed by a chuckle from Tiffany. Tiffany took Mark's balls into her mouth from left to right, with vacuum like intensity; she moved her delicate hands along the length of his cock while staring at him with her seductive blue eyes.

Tiffany surprised Mark by thrusting her mouth down, taking the majority of Mark's length into the depths of her mouth and throat, and back again repeating it with rampant vigor.

Meanwhile Mark was sitting, ready to pop but distracted, staring at Tiffany's breasts, unsure how he should approach them. Should he grab them, he thought to himself. As Tiffany kept at it, like she was bobbing for apples. Mark remembered not to mistake this for what it wasn't, as he put his palm on Tiffany's plentiful breasts.

As Mark tweaked and massaged away gently, he felt like he was really near a second Cumming. This time, after yelling out "I'm Cumming," he kept his hands away from Tiffany's head. Instead he kept them where they were, buried underneath the twins, massaging them just below the point of groping them.

Mark didn't choose to do anything about the amount of his seed that was now rushing into Tiffany's mouth, but he could, and did, recall the efforts of his busy hands. 

The attention paid toward her nipples, caused moans of pleasure to escape her mouth, as she pulled away from Mark's now soft member.

Tiffany laid there on the bed, as Mark licked away at her breasts. As he started to kiss her stomach, she prayed under her breath that he would just go a little bit lower.

Mark now reached Tiffany's bald mound, this was partly the result of Tiffany's hands physically pushing him down there, and her now sticky mouth edging him on, to go just a little further.

For the first time in the longest while, Tiffany spoke, just as Mark was about to touch his tongue to her pussy. "You really don't have a problem with doing this?" She asked curiously, pushing her anticipation to the side giggling.

"Just lie down and guide me along." Mark stated, as he dropped his head to her nether regions, licking away at her vagina directionless as he lay on the bed below Tiffany, who quickly grabbed a pillow propping herself up.

Mark, the neophyte that he was, fumbled around as his tongue wondered directionless. Tiffany jumped when his tongue came across her clit. This was followed by hands forcing his head down. "Right there, yeah right fucking there!" She bellowed. 


The Wrong Thing To Do Ch. 02



I would like to thank darkangel718310. She was a great editor. There is a lot of detail and its takes time to get to the sex. There will be mistakes feel free to help me improve, by telling me what can be fixed. However be kind while doing so. 

-----

It was a cool June night as Mark peered over the edge of the Penthouse deck. However his eyes ignored the beauty of Tribeca as he stared inward. Mark was in deep thought, about life and his past actions. Beyond the doors that separated the large deck from the immense penthouse, the music was pulsing, the girls were shaking, and the drinks were flowing.

"Mark! Oh there you are. Man I've been looking for you everywhere, what the hell are you doing out here?" Mark turned his attention toward the voice.

"It's the best part of your penthouse, why shouldn't I be out here Richard?" Mark replied.

"It's nice that you like my view, but you have one just like it in your loft next door, not including that one, but your dad owns like four properties on the island... Whatever, I just wanted to let you know that you're missing your party..." Richard stated.

"Rich, thank you for throwing it for me, but I should really get home." Mark said, attempting to escape the group of Manhattan socialites he barely knew.

"Your fucking with me right? Tell me your just fucking around! Your twenty-two today, grow a pair, man up, and come back in." Richard said consulting his watch, and confirmed that it was well past midnight, and indeed Mark's birthday. "You just graduated magna-cum whatever from Dartmouth, go in there get yourself some pussy and celebrate your cock off." Richard said fighting his losing battle. 

"Seriously thank you for this, I know you invited a whole bunch of people and went through a lot of trouble, but I'm not feeling it." Mark said continuing his attempt on finding a way out.

"This isn't about me pulling the A list up in here Mark. Just stay one more hour and you can go." 

"I don't even know a quarter of these people..." Mark began to say.

"Well they may not know you like I do, but their experts on the weight of your last name, and they want to know you real good. Man there's supermodel caliber ass in there that would do anything to, for, or in front of you." 

Richard seeing the unflinching change in Mark's posture decided to pull out one last stop. "My sister Catlin will be stopping by later and she'll be bringing her best friend." Richard said using the tone a teacher would use on a difficult kindergartener.

Marks attitude made a one eighty as he heard the last statement. "Courtney's coming here?"

"Yes, your ex-girlfriend who dumped you four years ago will be stopping by, you pathetic excuse for a billionaires son."

Minutes later Mark was back in Richard's penthouse as he headed for the bar. He sat there alone slowly sipping his blue label. There were supermodels, actresses, amongst others. Simply put the women out numbered men eight to two. He did have to give credit to Richard, he really knew how to throw a party. 

Mark knew his old-school father would have appreciated the King George's edition blue label he'd been sipping. 

As Mark sat there, he was smothered with the attention of one bombshell after the other. Suddenly, Mark got up as he saw the one he'd been waiting for had arrived. Mark quickly made a beeline toward her. Courtney entered the room, her dark hair and tanned skin a reminder of his childhood love. Suddenly a tall man appeared next to her and their tongues embraced as they began to dance.

Mark feeling quite defeated and worthless walked the opposite way, not back outside but down a hallway looking for the room with the loudest music. He needed a place where he wouldn't be allowed to think. On his way there, his shoulder was tapped by a striking leggy blond in a tight strapless silver dress that extenuated her already substantial bust. "You want to dance....?"

"Yeah," Mark said cutting her short with his quick reply. 

As she pulled the both of them to a room, Mark realized it wasn't the room he intended to go to. It was a bedroom, now he could have sworn she had said dance. 

She pushed Mark onto a bed as she straddled his waist, giving him a deep kiss. "Happy birthday," she said before unzipping his pants and she fished out his cock. The touch of her hand felt amazing. But Mark was distracted on many levels of consciousness.  

However as she looked in his eyes, she wondered why he wasn't hard yet? He wasn't even semi erect. 

The blue-eyed blonde looked at him and asked. "Do you want me to ask my friend to come in here too, I mean, if you want it, you can get a double blowjob?" 

Mark simply shook his head in agreement, as he jolted back into reality. He had been stuck thinking about Courtney, which brought back thoughts of his stepmom, and how he betrayed his father. 

That was the defining cause of his limpness, well, until a double blowjob was brought up. Before Mark could say anything, the girl was texting on her iphone. 

"She'll be here in a few seconds.... but I have to ask... is it me?" the girl questioned.

"God no, you're beautiful, you look incredible.... I saw my girlfr.. ex-girlfriend and that led me to think about things I shouldn't have." Mark said, holding the girl as he began to harden. To give him credit, as soon as she mentioned the second girl, he had been knocked out of his daze and he started to resemble a rock down there. 

"Ohh well, fucking forget that bitch and thanks!" She said smiling and hugging him as he felt her breasts pressed against his chest, and she in return felt his hardened cock. She then stepped out of her dress revealing a stunningly toned body. 

"Well, we're good to go," She said as she patted his now hardened cock. Mark wasted no time as he disrobed. 

"I should have asked... What's your name?" Mark asked, disappointed in himself for being such an asshole even though she didn't seem to care.

"It's Abbey," she stated with a glow. 

"Abbey that's a great name, my name's Mark Bryce." She simply laughed while shaking his hand, and he smiled remembering, yeah, she knew it was his birthday, so of course she knew who he was.

"You think it's nice, it's my grandmother's name and I hate it." Abbey said contorting her face as she stepped out of her pink panties and red bra.

"It's a cute name, but your beauty amplifies it beyond reason." Mark said as she blushed like a thousand suns.

Abbey dropped her body to begin the overdue festivities. As she did this Mark lifted her up, positioning both of them into the sixty-nine position. 

Abbey rolled with it as she adapted her body. She licked the tip of his cock as he licked her bald vagina. He used his finger to part her pristine lips as he began to tongue the sensitive flesh. She captured more of his cock with her mouth as she slowly worked deeper. He moved two fingers into the unbelievably tight vagina. 

He moved his fingers in slowly as he began to lick her clitoris; he felt her hips rotating into his movements. He slapped her tightly shaped ass with a free hand as he felt a change, a shift in the universe. 

He felt a second tongue on his cock, but "no way," he thought as he was sure there was a third tongue. He was on the verge of cumming now. His cock buried in the depths of Abbey's mouth. 

He was on the edge, as one ball entered the suction of someone's mouth as the other was being licked like it was the sweetest candy. That was until that person began to suck as well.

"Oh my god I'm going to cum!" He yelled out as he gripped Abbey's firm ass. He tried to make it up to her licking and fingering her vagina with as much finesse as he'd been sucked.

Mark started riding her with his fingers as her pussy adapted and her hips shifted to every inward push. His tongue drove her mad with ecstasy, like she had done to him as he licked her clitoris with purpose.

He then used his finger to entice her clit as he began to tongue her asshole. She jumped at this before backing her body up without thought as her ass was tongued and her pussy fingered.

Mark did not get what he intended which was the two of them orgasm-ing in sync. His hips arched up, and he yelled "Fuck I'm cumming."

His warning went unheded, but to his surprise Abbeys' head stayed in place and the other two mouths he knew were there kept working away. 

After he came in the depths of Abbey's throat, Abbey backed up grinding her ass into Mark face, almost cutting his oxygen off. She arched her back and gripped the bed, slipping his cock from her mouth as she released a sticky aroma over his lips. "Aaammh Ooohhhhhmmm." She let out as soft as a whisper.

--------------

As Abbey rose off Mark, he got a surprise. One of the two naked mystery girls sucking his cock was identical to Abbey. 

"No fucking way, you have a twin... I mean your twin just..." As Mark said this Abbey's twin got up and moved toward her sister, giving her a french kiss. 

From the show developing in front of him, Mark was once again engorged. As the two kissed, the nameless twin seemed to be the aggressor. She steered at Mark as she put on the show while this happened she whispered something to Abbey. 

The third girl was a brunette who looked familiar to Mark, but he couldn't place her. She gripped Marks cock in one hand as she began to lick it staring up at him with her hazel eyes. 

As the brunette kept her rhythm, the twins moved toward the bed. As they lay next to Mark, they got into a sixty-nine position as they licked each other attentively. 

Mark looked on as the brunette sucking his cock made rapid movements in sync with her manic hands. As her tongue whirled around his cock, familiar feelings began to rise in Mark's cock. Mark lifted himself out of the brunette's hold.

She was confused, but seconds later he returned with a condom. Thinking he wanted to fuck her, she positioned herself with a smile. "What's your name?" He asked spreading his fingers through her hair. 

"Elle," she answered. 

"Elle which one is Abbey?" Mark questioned intently. 

She pointed to one of the twin's confirming his suspicions. Marks assumption was correct as he positioned himself behind Abbey.

Mark slowly eased his cock into her warm, ready passage as her sister's head below his cock moved so his cock could do its work. However, everyone seemed to pause as he entered Abbey. The room seemed to freeze, as he entered her tightly slick passage.

Abbey clenched her teeth as Mark slowly entered her tight warm soaking pussy. 

After a few seconds, everything returned to normal as Elle rose to her feet making her way over to Mark, who she became tongue tangled with. Elle kissed Mark, rubbing his muscular chest as he moved his hips connecting with Abbey, ass smacking away. 

Mark was in ecstasy as his cock was squeezed by the tightest vagina he'd ever fucked. Although in many books he was kind of still a freshman at this, however, after tonight in many other books he'd be considered a, well, player man whore so on and so forth. 

Elle used her hand guiding Marks head downward and their mouths griped like a vice, as their tongues danced. Mark took the time to acquaint himself with Elle's firm breasts, he slowly slipped his tongue from her mouth down to her neck and to her breasts.  

As this happened, Mark was undeterred from fucking Abbey, as he maximized his efforts as he sped up the pace. Unannounced to Mark, Abbey's sister had left from under her sister and began to elevate a two-way kiss into a three-way. 

The twin stole Marks mouth away from Elle as she initiated a deep kiss, with one hand falling behind Marks ass giving it a squeeze. She was a feisty one, as they kept this up Mark quickly exploded. As the night progressed, Mark had his way with three beautiful women, in what could only be a dear penthouse moment.

It was early Saturday morning as Richard Milton or Richie, walked into his bedroom to find the friend that he thought had left last night. He looked on smiling as he whispered, "Lucky son of a bitch," under his breath. 

His friend was in bed with three beautiful women, having clearly fucked them all. "No fucking way!" He said out loud. Two of them had been twins. Then he looked at the third. The third looked familiar. He laughed as he realized who it was. It was Elizabeth, Mark's ex-girlfriends eighteen year old sister.

Just then Richard realized he knew not one, but all three girls, and they must have crashed the party. They weren't underage, he knew that, they were eighteen but they were still in high school. He probably invited a few eighteen-year olds but no high school kids even if they were seniors. Sure he fucked eighteen year olds but he figured Mark Bryce and his big moral code would object.

Then Richard laughed as a bulb went on in his head. "He doesn't know!"

"What are you laughing about Richard." Said a voice barging into his room. 

It was Courtney, "My parents seem to think my sister is here have you seen her?"

As Courtney walked in the room, she saw Richard smiling and then looked at the bed, she was shocked for a second. Surprised that Mark had beded three women, but then she saw it and she flipped out.

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Courtney screamed.

The four sleeping heads woke up immediately.

"Mark! What the fuck is this; you wait four years to get back at me like this! What the fuck is wrong with you?" Courtney yelled at the unaware Mark.

Courtney hastily grabbed her naked sister, pulling her out the door. Richard just stood there smiling. Richard left after giving Mark thumbs up and Abbey's twin who Mark later found out was named Blair left as well. 

Mark and Abbey lay together in bed alone. "I always imagined losing my virginity to a guy I was dating, I mean it's no big deal and I knew if I got a chance with you last night I would lose it to you, but it was, well, a lot in one moment."

"I had no clue you were a virgin." Mark stated regrettably, like he had done something wrong as he held her naked body close, which ended up making him hard.

Abbey paused for a second, filling the room with silence and reflection, her fingers toying with her post fucked hair as she decided to say it. "You should probably know this, you're a good guy, I wasn't expecting that, my sister and my friend crashed this party."

"Oh, so you're not rich, I don't care!" Mark stated while caressing her arms.

"Well we're not billionaires, but no." As Abbey spoke Mark started to think, well if Elle was Courtney's sister she was well off then that meant Abbey was well off, so then what was she saying?

"We're all senior's in high school." Abbey stated as Mark realized that Courtney's sister was four years younger than him; he wished he'd realized this earlier.

You could see the shock in Mark's face from a mile away.

"I'm eighteen I mean where all eighteen."

"Oh, oh," Mark said as he slowly rose. 

"I am so sorry." Mark stated apologetically.

"Why are you sorry, there are sixty year olds married to twenty year olds, that's much more of a leap in age than it is for us. You didn't do anything wrong, it was a very right first time." Abbey said giggling.

Abbey said as she began to straddle Mark's waist and he began to harden.

"Plus I like you," she said.

"I like you too." Mark replied continuing with "I'm sure there guys your own age that you dreamed of losing your virginity to."

"I'm glad it was with you." Abbey said with a smile, as she pulled Mark's head in for a morning breath kiss.

"Me too!" Mark said in reply in between kisses to Abbey's soft lips.

"Well that's that then, nothing else to it, when Victoria Secret Angels were hunting for you, but I got you and I have no regrets.... I mean..."

"What?" Mark asked. 

"It did take two other girls for me to get you."

"We would have had sex without them being in the room."

"Prove it." 

"What?" Mark asked.

"I dare you to take me right now." "The door is open!" Mark cried.

She didn't say another word as she beckoned him with a simple come get me stare. Mark didn't wait a second as he flipped Abigail over, with him on top. Mark positioned his cock at her pussy lips, his cock head slowly breaching her entranceway, driving her wild. He was overwhelmed as they kissed; his cock now slamming forward with no second to waste. 

His hands staking hold of her breasts as he dropped his head to feast. 

Later that day, Mark realized he had things to sort out and a truth to tell his father. He couldn't carry the burden of having slept with his stepmom any longer. He was resolute as he boarded the private Boeing 787 as he headed to Chicago to tackle his problems head on.

Leaving the small airport in New Jersey, he was surprised as about twenty minutes in the private jet began to descend. The phone near his seat began to ring, and as he picked up the pilot spoke. "Mr. Bryce we're landing at Stewart International Airport. We've been informed that your father isn't in Chicago; he is currently at the Bryce estate in Poughkeepsie. That's about a twenty minute drive from the airport."

As Mark landed, beyond the military aircraft he saw a Gulfstream jet with the Bryce logo. Later to his surprise there was no car waiting for him. As he got off the airplane, he spotted his dad surrounded by bodyguards and a few other people. They were waiting for him next to a Bryce helicopter. "You thought I forgot your birthday didn't you. You kind of ruined the surprise though." John Bryce stated with his white stately head of hair flapping in the breeze.

Mark embraced his father as he began to speak to him. "We need to talk alone in the flight back, in the helicopter." 

"It's like a four minute flight." John Bryce stated, as he saw something in his son's eyes he never saw before. It was fear.

"It'll be quick; it's just the right thing to do." Mark stated. 

---

To be continued if you'd like...



The Wrong Thing To Do Ch. 03



I would like to thank Overlord & VampGirl1991. They were really great editors. There's a lot of detail and it takes time to get to the sex. There will be mistakes so feel free to help me improve, by telling me what can be fixed. However, please be kind while doing so. 

---

---

Tensions seemed high and the mood appeared grim from Mark Bryce's elevated perspective. His father, John Bryce, sat silently and perfectly still across from him inside the slick helicopter. John Bryce's stern, stoic face kept the truth at bay. This was the same unreadable face that had looked on as competitor after competitor overreached and self-destructed, eventually succumbing to his machinations.

Captains of industry and giants of capitalism would grovel at his feet as their life works were aggressively acquired and melted into the Bryce Empire. Unmoved, John Bryce would simply stare dispassionately into the shuttering eyes of his former peers and sip un-weakened single malts, aged for God himself. 

The helicopter buzzed as the propeller blades spun, slicing through the late morning sky. Inside the helicopter's cabin all was quiet. 

In the movies we are made to believe that it's so loud inside a helicopter that you can't even hear the fellow sitting next to you. That really isn't true, at least not with helicopters built by the Bryce Corporation. This was the fact with all their choppers, defense, commercial and private, especially the series that John and Mark Bryce now flew in on as they made their way to the Bryce estate in Poughkeepsie, New York. 

Just out of rigorous flight testing and fresh off the line, the tilt rotor Bryce 270 was both a helicopter and a plane in one compact unit, something John Bryce, the boys at R&D and over eight hundred pre-ordered customers were quite proud of. 

The passenger cabin was like that of an airplane. To top it off, its advanced features made it virtually sound-proof whenever you wanted it to be. For Mark, this made the silence even harder to bear. 

Inside the cabin of the brand-new piece of engineering excellence, Mark Bryce had just finished spilling his guts out to his father. Now it was eerily quiet, like the calm before the storm.

"I am... I'm so sorry," Mark said pleadingly, looking as if he was seconds away from tears. 

The few minutes it took to fly from the airport to the estate felt like hours. The elder Bryce's eyes looked out the window as he said, "When this helicopter lands, get out. Don't say another word... enjoy your birthday." John Bryce stated this in the calmest, steadiest voice. Had you not known the events prior, you would have suspected no malice at all.

What hurt Mark more than anything was that his father was purposely avoiding looking at him. It was as if his dad was disgusted by his presence. 

The helicopter began to make its descent, one that felt hellish from Mark Bryce's point of view. He felt like he needed to vomit, but not from the flight. Mark played it over and over in his head; seconds turned into minutes and minutes into hours. 

He remembered how it had gone down, how he'd confessed to having had sex with his stepmother.

Mark looked out the window in distress, trying to forget the last four minutes and the guilt spurring his stomach's discontent. As the estate came into view, Mark's eyes mapped out the thousands of acres of the sprawling historic compound. To the west of the mansion, Mark saw a glimpse of a stage tent and a group of spectators. 

As the helicopter landed, John Bryce kept his eyes firmly toward the window. Nothing was said as Mark exited the chopper.

'What more could he say?' Mark thought. 

A black man stood outside, preparing the exit. Of the two passengers, only one emerged. Mark lowered his head, scared that his six foot three height might just get him killed. 

His son now off the chopper, John Bryce lifted a single finger, directing the pilots beyond the separating glass yards away to launch back up into the uncertain sky. With that, the chopper was up and out.

Mark walked with the man that had opened the helicopter door for him and pulled out the stairs. He had seen him before but had never actually met him; he had a wire of some sort in his ear, dark sunglasses, and a Bryce Corp security lapel pin.

"Young Mr. Bryce, I'm Tyler Casper. I'm your father's head of personal security. Oh, and before I forget, happy birthday," stated the dark-skinned man. His hair was black except for some peppered gray spots. Mark visually placed him in his forties.

Clearly distracted, Mark shook the man's hand, throwing out a less than joyous, "Thanks. Nice to meet you."

"Must have been some important conversation you and your pa had, young Mr. Bryce. He left his entire detail at the airport to be alone with you, and my boys are a trustworthy bunch," Casper said with his southern twang.

"That's really none of your business," Mark spat bitterly as the man walked with him toward the awe-inspiring century-old manor.

The man said nothing in return, but Mark did. "I'm sorry, that was... I'm just not feeling too well right now."

"No need for apologies, young Mr. Bryce; good people are allowed to have bad days from time to time. Try to have some fun, though. It's your birthday and they're pretty rare. Plus, the staff has a great night planned for you."

"How do you know I'm good?" Mark asked, speaking his feelings.

"You don't know me well, but it's been my job to know you. I've also known some evil sons-a-bitches in my time on God's green earth. What I've learned is that we can't fight our nature; you're always going to be the core of what you've always been. I tell ya what, young Mr. Bryce, you're a good kid, but we all make mistakes. What matters is that we rectify them and keep to the good Lord's path." 

'Could he know what I did?' Mark wondered to himself as it began to rain. It was slow at first, then seconds later it began to beat down like something out of the Amazon. A young kid from the grounds crew came with a golf cart. Seconds later they were sloshing through pathways, passing great oaks and trees from all over the world, planted by Bryce's of generations past. 

Arriving at the grand stone structure, the teenage driver with his blue Bryce uniformed top pulled out a uniformed umbrella, preparing to walk Mark the few yards to one of the side entrances of the stone structure. 

Mark sped on ahead, purposely leaving the umbrella standing under the beating rain. Casper, right beside him, started to say, "Getting sick today will be a waste of a birthday."

Casper took the umbrella from the young driver, trying to cover up Mark who seemed to be stuck in a daze and begging to catch his death. 

Eventually Mark was inside the Mansion, dragging mud and dripping water until he noticed what he was doing and went to wash up. About half an hour afterwards, he found the main kitchen. Upon his entry, an explosion of birthday greetings hit him all at once from at least thirty kitchen staff. 

After dispensing with pleasantries, something else caught his attention. Mark noticed Casper eating what looked to be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

"Is that peanut butter?" Mark asked with preserved urgency.

"Don't worry, young Mr. Bryce, it's artificial," stated Casper, smiling.

"How'd you know I was allergic?"

"It's my job to know."

"Do you need to be so mysterious?" Mark asked.

"No, but I tell ya what, it sure makes life more interesting."

One of the chefs in the kitchen laughed before she spoke. She was a short Puerto Rican woman. "Mister, I need you out of here. We will bring you food in other room, birthday meal for you and guests. Is surprise," she said with a slight Spanish accent and broken English. She pushed Mark out of what she considered her kitchen.

Casper sat there chuckling until she rushed him out as well. Minutes after his admonishment, Mark sat waiting for his snack in the library, thumbing through dusty old books.

Instead of a butler, for some reason, a petite girl with a Monroe piercing, bleached blonde hair, and red streaks appeared. She was dressed in a kitchen uniform that Mark had just become acquainted with.

She was all smiles, her teeth perfect pearls. She brought Mark a steak sandwich and a root beer.

"Happy birthday," she said in her soft voice.

"Thanks, and thanks for the sandwich."

"I hope you enjoy it, I made it myself."

"Root beer is my favorite, too, thanks." 

She began to walk out, but stopped to reply. "No problem! I'm sure I'll see you later!" she ended knowingly.

Mark, going for a bite, stopped. "What's your name?" 

"Jade," she said, smiling as she left.

Mark picked up his sandwich and made his way to his bedroom, eating it on the way. Finishing the sandwich en route, he noticed something written on the napkin that was previously wrapped around the sandwich. 

'Call me! 347-969-8355.' Mark's surprise caused him to break out in laughter.

Mark was stunned. This was every guy's dream, a cute girl who was down to fuck. But for some reason all he could think about was Abbey. Thoughts of Abbey from early this morning ran through his mind like wildfire. He had gone from barely any experience to a foursome. 

"How the fuck did that happen?" he asked himself, once again literally laughing out loud.

At the end of it all, Abbey had assured him she didn't want anything long-term. She was just looking to have fun. But Mark couldn't escape the fact that she had been a virgin before he'd penetrated her. He also couldn't escape the fact they kind of clicked when they were alone.

Thoughts of the early morning ran through his young head as he entered his bedroom. His mind was far from being occupied with helicopter issues now. With his head down, he giggled and mumbled to himself as he headed toward the nearest window.

They were erecting rows of large tents outside, but he didn't feel much like celebrating. 

Mark jumped suddenly as he turned around. On his bed was his ex-ex-ex-girlfriend in a red matching bra, panties, garter and stockings, lying sexily under the covers of his large bed.

He'd just gotten over her last night after nearly four years and there she was naked in his bed. "Courtney, what the hell are you doing here? Are you here to kill me after what happened with your sister, because I swear I didn't know?"

"Oh, I know that, and I don't care. This morning made me look at you differently." Courtney beckoned him forward with a single finger in the most seductive way possible. Her long brown hair brought out the flawless white of the quilts and her skin. 

"What do you mean differently?" Mark asked as her fingers seductively encouraged him to come closer to the bed. 

"I never thought you were capable of something so dirty, so... bad. When we were going out you were the silent, shy, passive guy afraid of risks. I hated that."

As Mark began to speak she sprung up and put a finger to his mouth. "No more talking!"

Mark stood at post as Courtney dropped to her knees. To Mark this was a distant memory, now it was a long-awaited dream coming into day.

She gripped his pants and pulled him closer by the buttocks. She assertively brought his left hand to her mouth and licked his fingers, her other hand swiftly taking out his already hardened cock.

Her eyes took in his chest. Seeing him naked early this morning she was surprised how he had changed. His wrestling and rowing endeavors at Dartmouth had crafted quite the muscular physique.

"Did you miss this, baby?" Courtney cooed as her mouth slowly engulfed his cockhead. She moaned, staring into Mark's eyes.

For some reason all Mark could think of were blue eyes and long, blond hair. In his mind it was clearly Abbey. 

Then he thought, 'She has a twin!'

'Not even,' he thought to himself.

Mark had dreamed of getting Courtney back for four years now, but once more Abbey lingered on his mind. Not even her own twin could compare. He was now sure that he no longer had a desire to pursue Courtney. This gave him the willpower he needed to dislodge his cockhead from the inducing mouth of the stunned brunette. Mark dodged from his room, leaving behind loud yells and heavy baggage.

With his hardened cock back in his pants, Mark went straight to the east wing of the mansion. It took a minute to get through the sprawling 150,000 square foot building. 

Striping completely bare, he jumped into the Olympic-sized pool. Its heat encouraged him to dive deeper and deeper. 

The water calmed his thoughts as he swam around. His naked body eased through the warm water. He felt looser as he forgot about the plaguing paradoxes of women and helicopters. Mark thought the heated pool mimicked the feeling of a hot days jump in a neighborhood lake as he kicked his way to the bottom.

He swam for a good half an hour, at which point he disembarked the pool to find none other than napkin girl, Jade.

Jade made her way to the edge of the pool where she began to strip, walking ever closer to Mark.

"Sorry, I don't want to shoot you down but..." Mark began to say before he was cut off.

"One of the maids said she spotted a naked girl in your bedroom. I don't care if you have a girlfriend, we can do this any way you want," Jade said as she striped down to her undergarments.

"I am sorry, I really am!" Mark retorted firmly as he rushed to dress his naked body, seeing that more of a priority than drying off. Mark's apologies weren't only meant for Jade, but also for his cock, which had been set abuzz by the tight, compact body that now revealed itself. A nice, firm ass, perky breasts and glowing skin, ready and waiting.

"Well, I'm here all summer and you have my number," she said, before Mark disappointed her.

--------

John Bryce's pilots pleaded with him, "The 270's double rotor span is too big to land on the renovated rooftop helipad." John Bryce wasn't in the mood to hear no's and cant's. He'd spent millions adding the helipad to the Upper West Side penthouse. 

"Mr. Bryce, the helipad at your Bryce Towers office in Midtown is big enough; you can take a ca—" one of the pilots said as he was cut down by the thunderous John Bryce.

"Gentlemen, your careers depend on you landing right there and right now," the crazed white-haired billionaire stated, his wrinkled finger pointing the way. 

"If I was asking you to land at my condo on the Upper East, I'd understand. That building has no helipad, but there's a helipad right in front of us on this penthouse and you're going to land or you're both finished here and everywhere else, and I mean globally. I am the world, gentlemen."

Seconds later, through the most complicated maneuvering they had ever done in the fresh-off-the-line piece of aerospace technology, the pilots managed a landing. John Bryce was trying to open the chopper doors, surprised to find three of his bodyguards on the pad after they opened the door.

"What are you guys doing here?" 

"Our jobs, sir. We're supposed to be with you all the time."

John shook his head. These guys were good. He had to hand it to Casper, he ran a great team. What else would you expect from a former secret service agent, though? 

"Is Tiffany here?" John asked, thrusting his finger downward.

"Yes, sir, we believe your wife is in the master." 

"Thank you, but I'm going to need you guys to wait outside now," John Bryce said as he and his detail walked inside the penthouse, their eyes busily scanning away.

"We have people on the front door already, sir," one of the bodyguards stated, unaware of his intent.

John Bryce didn't say another word. He gave them a look and they moved away.

"If you need us use your panic button," one of the guards said. John Bryce lightly nodded his head as he walked further into the penthouse.

They left, but they didn't completely heed the instructions. It was a huge penthouse so they simply set up next to the servant's quarters. The lead guard saw no need for them to leave.

As John Bryce arrived in the master bedroom, he loosened his double Windsor knot and took off his Patek Philippe watch, a never-ending symbol of excess and one's longstanding arrival at the world's highest stations. 

"Oh, baby, I wasn't expecting you back here," John Bryce's twenty-six year old wife Tiffany said, attempting to lock her diamond-studded necklace around her neck, its large pear-shaped, pure diamond center weighing it down.

Her strapless white dress clung to her body, amplifying her natural beauty and sizable bust.

"I wasn't expecting to be here, but we need to talk," John Bryce said in a calm, steady voice.

"Ok, well, we're going to need to hurry up. I planned the party and there are some last minute touches, plus I haven't seen Mark in so long," she said, brushing her long, light blonde hair out of the way for her necklace.

"Do you miss him or his dick? Or is it both?" John Bryce asked, still in a steady, calm voice as he took off his blazer.

The diamond necklace dropped from Tiffany's neck, hitting the thick white carpet. 

"God... John, I—"

"Shut up!"

"Baby, please," Tiffany pleaded, tears running down her face.

"Get on the bed now!" John Bryce yelled and she followed right away, her long legs spread. She began to take off the dress.

"Keep the dress on and get on all fours. That should be a natural pose for you."

Tiffany brushed her tears away as she stayed there, waiting for it to begin and be over. 

"Baby, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, this was my fault. I shouldn't have married you, you were too young and I was a fool," he said as he pulled down her panties. Tiffany braced herself, but she couldn't have prepared herself for what was about to happen. 

Her husband, more than two times her senior, grabbed her perfect bubble ass and pushed the tip of his cock toward her asshole. She wanted to beg him to stop but she didn't, she couldn't. He pushed his rod in with no lube and no compassion. Tiffany bit her lip as she tried to deal with the near unbearable pain of losing her anal cherry.

"What did you think? I was going to fuck you in your vagina when you had my son, a nigger, and whole world up there for all I know?" John said as he blatantly fucked her ass, slapping her ass as his cock tore through her flesh.

Tears of pain fell down her face. "All my life I've had to deal with everybody's bullshit. There was my father, then father, then Benjamin Bryce the fourth, Mark's grandfather. That asshole made sure I would never control his family's fortune.

"Can you believe he forced me to take his daughter's name when I married her? I felt so emasculated. So weak!" John said, berating his wife, pulling her hair as his cock ripped her flesh, causing her bottled-up pain.

Tiffany cried heavily as her husband took out his anger at the world on her. "Here is the best part. Every major decision I make now has to be approved by my son. You didn't know that, did you? His mom left everything to him when she died. Now that he's 22 he controls everything. The money? It's all his! You, you were supposed to be mine! Can't I have one thing in the world that's just mine!?" John yelled as his cock moved bracingly once more through the tight canal.

His cock rammed in, cumming deep in her depths, and his body collapsed on top of hers. He ran his hand across her back, pulling up the dress, revealing the fiery dragon back tattoo. 

Tiffany waited there for her husband to roll off. After ten minutes he never did. 

After a period of thought, shock and fright, a blood-curdling scream rang out in the penthouse and a panic button was pressed. Bodyguard after bodyguard poured into the bedroom. 

----

Dressed in his tailored tux, Mark stood at the mirror in his room, failing to tie his bowtie. Someone knocked at the door.

Opening the door, Mark was stunned to see none other than Abbey, dressed in a curve-hugging blue gown. "You look amazing," was all Mark could muster to say.




The Wrong Thing To Do Ch. 03



"Thanks, you look amazing, too" she said with a smile. It didn't take long after they got into the room before her hands went straight to his neck and she rectified his error. Mark looked into her blue eyes, not saying a word, as if she was performing surgery on him. 

When she finished, Mark moved over to the mirror, looking at his bowtie. "Wow, great job, thanks."

Blushing, Abbey responded with, "I didn't do much. Happy birthday. I brought you a present, but they put it with the others."

"Thanks, you didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. By the way, it looks like all your guests have arrived. It looks like you've got half of Wall Street down there."

"Are you joking? It wouldn't be a party without you. Fuck Wall Street!" Abbey laughed awkwardly as Mark noticed she was holding something back.

"Do you want to talk?" Mark asked, looking at the pair of leather chairs in his bedroom's inner living room. Instead Abbey pulled him to the bed.

She brushed back her long blonde hair before she spoke. "I was thinking about what I said this morning..."

"Yeah? Me too."

"I'm not ok with just hooking up with you. I know we don't know each other that well, and it's not just because you're the first guy I had sex with. I like you," Abbey looked into his eyes before finishing off with, "a lot."

Mark wrapped his arm around her as they leaned into each other.

"You just pretty much said it all," Mark stated as he embraced her tighter.

"What did you want to say?" she asked, once again brushing her long hair from her hopeful face. 

"You know what I wanted to say," Mark stated. Abbey just smiled, knowing full well what he meant.

"I want to hear you say the words, Mark," she said, now crawling on top of him, her lower lip smoothly pressed into his upper lip, her blue eyes staring into his.

"I like you. There, okay? I like you!" Mark yelled.

Abbey smiled as the phone rang.

"They need me for this inheritance, will thing."

"I'll meet you outside," Abbey said. They left each other with a lingering French kiss.

As Mark left, Casper was behind him with two other suits. Mark assumed they were bodyguards, and he was right. "Why the muscle?"

"The estate is crawling with unknowns right now. They've been screened, but it creates a breach. Plus, we both know that after you meet with the lawyers downstairs you're going to become one of the biggest targets in the world. In a few minutes you'll take your dad's spot as the fourth richest person in the world."

"How'd you know that? And don't reply with 'it's my job to know'," Mark said with air quotes. One of the suits walking with Casper snickered at Mark's remark. He knew Casper said that a lot.

"It's public record that your father married into the Bryce fortune. But yes, it's my job to know that it was all in a trust waiting for you."

Mark arrived at the boardroom on the second floor of the west wing. There were at least thirteen people in the room, most of them board members of the Bryce Corporation. 

Casper and his guys stayed outside at the entry doors. "Mr. Bryce, I'm Robert Peirce. I'm a partner at Peirce--Rosenberg. We're the law firm your mother entrusted with her will before she passed."

"You're Robert Peirce the second or third, right? For my sanity I'm hoping you're not the first, unless you're that good a lawyer?" As Mark said this, the room erupted with cigar-puffing laughter from the good old boys.

The room reflected the men and singular woman that sat around its aged leather brushed elegance. "Actually I just won the name lottery. I'm not related to the long past Mr. Peirce; I'm just a small town Illinois boy who worked hard enough to squeak into Harvard Law." Saying this, he pulled out some documents followed by some 'hear hears' from the Crimson boys in the room.

A man at the back of the room spoke up as the documents were put on the table. "Mark, my boy, will your father be joining us soon?" 

Mark knew Edgar. He'd worked for the company longer than his mother, probably longer than his grandfather. "I think he's attending to something. I don't think he'll be here in time," Mark said, knowing the truth of his dad's absence.

The room erupted slightly with comments such as, "Shameful. It's the boy's birthday," "He's mad, he's lost control," "Shhhh, not so loud," and "Don't worry, you're with family."

In five minutes it was all done. Mark was given the power and financial control entrusted to his father for years, although he had every intention of entrusting it to his dad once more, so he could run the company. That was Mark's thought before and still after the helicopter ride.

As Mark began to leave, the room went abuzz. What looked to be the only female in the room clutched her blackberry, yelling, "Shit." The room began to echo, buzzing and beeping all at once, with phones being put to ears. 

Mark looked her way. "What is it? I'm assuming it's Bryce business?"

The room fell silent as she spoke, the men in the room content to allow the young female exec to take the fall. "Lintex Computers, Inc. will be announcing a recall tomorrow of thirty million laptops, millions of tablets, and that might just be the beginning... it seems like there's a malfunction with the chips that destroy the entire device."

"I don't get it. Why's that our problem? Yeah, I know it's bad, that's most likely the end of one of the world's largest computer manufacturers, but that's not our problem. Plus, we're a private company so we're insulated from the market. What's the problem? Are we invested in them or something?" Mark asked, feeling like the least informed person in the room.

Once more none of the men said anything, putting the full weight of this on their female contemporary. "I doubt we're invested with them. If we are it's peanuts," she said, starting to feel she had said enough, hoping someone else would finish the story.

"Then why...?" Mark began to ask before being cut off by the reenergized girl.

"We built the chips," the woman shot out, the room now going abuzz after the young executive was left to take the heat

"What are you saying?" Mark asked, his shoulders feeling heavier by the second.

"We had a worldwide contract to build certain hardware for Lintex. Their chips are all from Bryce's entertainment division. Lintex is done. There's no way they'll survive this, but they want to wound us on their way down. Tomorrow they're telling the press we're culpable."

Just as she finished speaking, Casper opened the door. One of the overstuffed men around the boardroom table attempted to verbally expel him as he entered, but he stood his ground.

Casper whispered in Mark's ear, increasing the weight he now felt on his shoulders. Mark was beginning to feel increasingly lonely as he fought back tears. Nonetheless, he fought them winningly. 

"What's your name?" Mark asked the female exec.

"It's Catherine Porter, sir."

Mark whispered to Catherine, "Ms. Porter, my dad just had a heart attack and he's in critical condition. I'm putting you in charge. As of now you're acting CEO. Can you handle that?"

"Yes." She nodded as Mark called over firm directors and lawyers to make it official. Mark could tell most of the men in the room were pissed at his decision, but he couldn't care less. 

Mark left the mansion, ignoring his guests, escorted by Casper and a gang of eight guards. His mind attempted to deal with the weight of the personal problems that now faced him. At least he didn't have to worry about the business problems now. 

---- Mark sat in the waiting area of the hospital as the doctor came to tell him the news. He walked in, moving beyond the wall of men in suits that now surrounded Mark. 

"Mr. Bryce?" the doctor called out. 

"Yes?" Mark replied, jumping up and walking toward the front of the room, now followed by his armored shadow. 

"Your father suffered a severe heart attack. He fell into a coma after arrival. Your moth... stepmother is with him if you want to go in now."

Mark shook the doctor's hand, thanking him as he walked down the hall to the private room. Mark walked into the room to find his father hooked up to a thousand and one machines. It hit him that the last time that they had talked his father most likely hated him.

Then Mark looked across the room.

"Are you okay?" he asked, going over to his shaken stepmom. She raised her body from where she sat to hug him. 

Both were dressed for the party they most likely would not be attending. Tiffany cried into his shoulder as they looked at the man that had been angry with both of them before he fell into his near-death slumber.

They took seats beside each other as Tiffany spoke, "Happy birthday." 

Mark's only reply was, "I'm so sorry but I had to tell him."

Tiffany said nothing for a while. She simply stared at her motionless husband that had most likely intended to leave her before his massive coronary. 

"This isn't your fault," Tiffany said, with a hand on Mark's knee. 

Mark looked into her swelling green eyes, feeling her layered pain. That was the most motherly thing he felt Tiffany had ever done.

"It isn't your fault either," Mark stated in an attempting reassuring manner.

"Mark, don't kid yourself. I started all this and I'm so sorry." 

"No, if anything, every last one of us has to take some of the blame in this. We all made poor decisions." 

"I hope he wakes up soon, but I know at the same time he's going to banish me into poverty when he does," Tiffany exclaimed, her eyes set ablaze with tears.

"No, he's not."

"Sure he will. He was about to before this happened," Tiffany said through her tears.

"I guess he told you about the significance of my twenty-second birthday."

"Yeah," Tiffany stated, brushing away tears.

"Well, as long as I'm not impoverished, neither will you," Mark stated, embracing his stepmother.

An hour went by, Tiffany fell asleep and Mark's eyes began to feel heavy. Suddenly he saw something wrapped in blue fast approaching. 

It was Abbey. She moved toward Mark and he joined her in the hallway. They sat together in the waiting area as she consoled him. 

They took turns listening to each other's truths, and Abbey reassured her boyfriend that everything would be fine as they gripped hand in hand, topped off with a reassuring peck.

To be continued if you'd like...



The Wrong Thing To Do Ch. 04



I feel that I have finally arrived at the right place with this chapter after ten very long months of discussion, reading, researching, and writing. This chapter begins with a minor character who I introduced at the very end of Chapter 03. I would like to thank my editor. In the last few months, she has been a great help in the editing process and a sounding board for new story ideas. Finally, thank you to my readers for reading this—the solid, very final chapter of The Wrong Thing to Do. 

*

Manhattan's Central Park buzzed with youthful activity as lucky New Yorkers, momentarily spared the duties of adulthood, took advantage of the freedom-filled summer day. The cool gentle breeze amplified the warmth of the clear baby blue sky as Scarlett Tanagers and Yellow Warblers chirped their singsong tunes to reflective souls below.

The allure of the bright mid-August afternoon had passed Catherine Porter by again. Her days slipped quickly by now and as usual this day was turning into another one with a duty-bound night. However, after tonight's board meeting, she anticipated that the limitless alcohol and potential for carnal indulgence at the philanthropic gala of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art, the "Met," would provide some relief from her hectic schedule. 

Today Catherine's morning was an average one for her as she awoke at dawn. With boundless energy and a cup of java in hand, she was escorted by bodyguards from her condo's lobby to one of the awaiting corporate Escalades. 

It had been well before sunrise as four conspicuous black Cadillacs zoomed purposely toward lively awakening Midtown. Like every other morning following her eleven PM day-enders, Catherine returned to work at five am with the four SUVs turning onto Sixth Avenue and rolling to a stop inside the executive garage of the towering behemoth known officially as Number Seven, Bryce Plaza. 

The promotion had been sharp and sudden, like the heart attack that had cleared the path to her new position. Two months previously, Catherine had taken command of the Bryce Corporation as its new Chief Executive Officer and Chairwoman following John Bryce's heart attack and subsequent comatose state. 

Mark Bryce, the young billionaire who inherited the entire privately held Bryce Corporation on his twenty-second birthday, made Catherine's appointment. Heart attack or not, the company and the Bryce family's historic wealth would have been bestowed on Mark, who would have given his proxy to his father. Before she died, Mark's mother had made sure that her family's wealth would be left only to her son and not to her distrusted husband, John Bryce, who under pressure from her father, had adopted his wife's family name and signed a ball-clamping prenuptial agreement.

Don't be fooled. With a salary that had the potential for Catherine to amass great personal wealth and a powerful platform to effect deep global change, Catherine's position is one many men would kill for.

In June Catherine had been in the right place at the right time. Through the decision of a twenty-two year old heir, she was rocketed to the sixty-ninth floor where she now occupied the captain's chair.

In her first few days at the helm it appeared as if the Bryce Corporation ran Catherine instead of her running it. Within a week of her appointment, she quickly adjusted to her new role. Her style had proved to be gentler and more reasoned whereas John Bryce's style had been unsympathetically blunt. 

She was a long-term player who knew her opponents' movements long before they did.

Catherine had studied industrial engineering, unlike her colleagues and the man she had replaced who possessed an MBA. She carried in her mind an intimate knowledge of all the corporation's moving parts, which enabled her to fine-tune the whole. She looked at problem solving from every angle, knowing that one relatively minuscule decision could have a domino effect.

In the end Catherine's affinity for detail and her analytical mind helped grow the Bryce Corporation's financial standing during troubling economic times. 

Spending all of her time in the head office was rare though. A great deal of Catherine's time was spent travelling. But let's not confuse this with anything fun, though, because every blinking second was still work dedicated.

In two months she had seen more of the world than a National Geographic photographer. To put the UN to shame, Catherine had effectively negotiated with more heads of governments than Kofi Annan. 

From negotiations at London's 10 Downing Street, Moscow's Kremlin, and China's Great Hall—to being the first CEO to take the podium at Davos where she made the keynote address—Catherine's Euro-Asia swing was simply a scaled-down picture of the hectic schedule associated with her new title.

Compared to the hundreds of other CEO speeches at Davos, Catherine's was the most anticipated. Pundits and reports the world over followed that commented on her youthfulness and the possible fallout of her naivety and its ambitious vision. 

She was an unknown to the business community. Indirectly, her promotion had affected the world markets more than the politicking of any world leader in the weeks following her appointment. 

On top of all this Catherine had cracked the heel of her favorite beige Valentino's while dashing for a plane in Delhi. She'd momentarily forgotten that the jet was there for her, and seeing her entourage swarm to keep her balanced was a reminder of her new station. 

During her term as junior Vice President of Operations, she had witnessed the large-framed John Bryce time after time bring down the full weight of his position from the very throne which she now occupied. Some of the largest companies in recent history had met their match in this very boardroom and just over a month ago Catherine herself had been the arbiter of such a hostile fate. 

Lintex Computers Inc., once one of the world's largest technology companies, had outsourced the manufacturing of its hardware to the Bryce Corporation until a defect occurred that created the need for the largest computer recall in history. 

Lintex quickly entered bankruptcy protection where their executives promptly blamed Bryce. Bryce General Counsel, in its investigation ordered by Catherine, found the blame to be a flawed design of Lintex's. 

During her first week at the helm, Catherine turned a situation that could have seen the Bryce Corporation lose billions into a deal that saw Bryce acquiring a humbled technological force for what amounted to be pennies on the dollar. At present, Catherine sat in the regal Bryce boardroom with its aged splendor and chestnut walls. Sitting in the center of the endless table was a strategic position as she maneuvered around the delicate male egos that weighed against her.

Catherine sat upright, denying her spine the luxurious support of the decadent leather armchair. This was her ship to captain and protect from the terrors of the deep, cold, dark ocean. She couldn't afford to be distracted by indulgences and was focused and on point as always, knowing that any sign of weakness would cause the old boys to pounce.

Her eyes never left George Hollis. Catherine knew if she wasn't vigilant he could be the end of her. "Profits for this quarter are up sharply; however, the acquisition of Lintex Computers will drive up our overall operating expenses due to the initial capital infusion we're using to overhaul Lintex. They have about one hundred and twenty thousand employees. I know I originally planned on only cutting thirty percent of their workforce, but it'll need to be more."

Catherine struck the mahogany table causing the room to fall silent. With her keen focus on the sharply dressed balding older man sitting directly opposite her, she asked, "Thirty percent, George? I thought we decided on ten. What is this?" 

George Hollis relaxed his torso into his plush chair, his posture showcasing his lack of respect for the woman across from him. "You may think this company can't go into the red. Yeah, we netted six billion this quarter, but...look, I'm the CFO and it's my job to make sure the quarterly profits rise. I changed the numbers; so shoot me."

"No, George. Your job is to assist me as I drive profits while balancing our commitment to the owner, our customers, our employees, and the communities we operate in! We bought Lintex out of bankruptcy for less than ninety-five percent of its average trading value; plus, you see the strong numbers it's already projecting. What you need to do is watch your tone. We'll discuss this privately after—"

Masked hatred and contempt began to appear on George's face. "Your naivety continues to astound me. Purchasing Lintex was a bush-league move that continues to cost me precious capital."

Catherine began speaking from the diaphragm, her voice firm as she gave him one last chance. "George, you need to step out," she said, thrusting her frame in his direction.

Ignoring her, Hollis blazed onward. "We could have gotten it for far less and forced them to make concessions on pensions." He paused, making a loud grinding sound with his teeth. "The President asks you to save the economy...and you bend over like a bitch in heat!" 

Other than Catherine there were no other women in the boardroom. With disbelief in their eyes the male executives verbally rejected Hollis's comments, the room exploding into chaos as some tried to be chivalrous in the face of pigheadedness. 

The first person to respond was seated at the furthest end of the table. Square-jawed William Mitchel, a young junior Vice President who had twice been declared bachelor of the year by GQ, jumped to rebuff Hollis. At thirty-four, William was the only one at the table that even neared Catherine in age. 

Prior to this incident, most at the table had grown to genuinely like Catherine. The others that didn't, having witnessed her economic and organizational acumen, had been forced to at least accept her—all except for Hollis who believed she was sitting in his chair.

She had proven herself a worthy manager. Love her or hate her everyone had grown to respect Catherine, except for George Hollis who believed the CEO position was rightfully his.

He had actually gone crying to Mark Bryce about it multiple times, getting the same response from Mark after every intrusion. "I know you were good friends with my dad, but Catherine remains in charge. She's proven herself."

As chaos ensued Catherine rose to her feet, walking over to a side table and pouring herself a tall glass of water. She smelled the roses that lined the table, smiling inwardly. She had finally found a way to fire Hollis. Even though Mark gave her full autonomy, until now she had reasoned that firing his comatose father's good friend would not go over well. 

George Hollis had given her what she needed: just cause and sympathy from her executive board. In a discreet move she picked up the phone, made a call, and then calmly walked back to the table.

She said nothing and the room fell silent until George Hollis broke it. "Everybody clear the room for Catherine and me."

The executives began to rise until Catherine chimed in. "This executive meeting is not over. Anyone who is not in their seats in two seconds can surrender their access cards to the front desk on their way out!" The mood quickly tensed as Catherine continued with the meeting, ignoring George Hollis. Those at the table were confused as they listened to their chief.

"Look, we need to restructure our different divisions—creating uniformed synergy—to shield us from an unpredictable economy. If a division operating in an industry is not dominant, and its track record and reason dictates it won't be, we will move out of that industry completely." The room grew deeper into eerie silence as the game-changing announcement was made. "We need to consolidate under the umbrella of our strengths and that is our core divisions of Defense, Natural Resources, Pharmaceuticals, Technology, and Infrastructure. That's the big picture. We cleave off all the left-over fat." 

George Hollis held his tongue for the moment. Even if he had intended to do something, he wouldn't have a chance. Eight uniformed Bryce building security officers marched into the boardroom.

As the security officers walked in, Catherine kept speaking as though nothing unusual was happening. Security positioned themselves behind George Hollis, whispering a command to him at which point the large balding man exploded into incoherent rage.

"You bitch. You're firing me? Do you know who I am? I'm gonna slit your fucking throat!" he yelled, spraying spit with his fuming words. Security restrained him as he prepared to lunge for Catherine. "You're dead...fucking dead...you hear me, cunt?" George's hands began flailing about and his eyes went wildly wide. Security quickly restrained the struggling elderly executive and dragged him out kicking and threatening.

With George now removed, Catherine stood the course unfazed and determined to use her newfound capital. "Our objective should be to invest heavily in our expertise to become number one in those sectors. Owning a fourth-rate television network, studio, and a chain of accident-prone amusement parks does not make for common-sense strategy. We can do the profitable thing while creating sustainable American jobs and in turn reignite economies the world over."

The room stood silent until William Mitchel raised his hand like a kindergartener. Catherine glanced at him. "I second the motion. I only watch NBC during the Olympics anyway and they still screw that up. It's a shithole money pit. Let's dump it." The room chuckled at Mitchel's ice-breaking remark. They were now solidly behind Catherine who had been waiting to make that play at George Hollis for a while. When the meeting ended, she went around the room accepting shocked apologies as the old man's club voiced their approval of the unanimous removal of their colleague. 

Catherine gave William special thanks and a visual once-over before she left the boardroom feeling invigorated. Clair Smith, her Chief of Staff, shot toward her. "What happened with security?"

"George Hollis is no longer our Chief Financial Officer."

"Ma'am...I mean Ms. Porter...I don't understand—" Just this week Catherine had won a personal battle with Clair. At thirty-five, Catherine didn't feel 'ma'am' to be suitable.

"It's the darndest thing. He just up and quit." Catherine walked toward the confines of her office but avoided actually entering it, afraid she would never leave tonight if she did.

As she approached the reserved special elevator near her office, her second shadow appeared. The tall man in a suit followed behind her staying the agreed ten-foot distance. Since becoming CEO Catherine was guarded twenty-four-seven. Allen gave her the wide berth she requested, making sure all his men did the same. 

Allen along with Clair followed Catherine into the elevator. Challenging the parameters of their arrangement, Catherine asked, "Do you really need to be in the elevator with me? Other than the washroom it's the only time I feel I'm truly alone. You too, Clair. What am I saying? For all I know you guys probably have tiny cameras in my pillows."

"No," Allen abruptly replied.

"No, what? I need more than one word."

"No, we don't have cameras in your pillows...not anymore."

Catherine couldn't tell if Allen was joking or not. In two months she had never heard him make a joke nor even seen him smile. Even with his burst of dry humor, he failed to smile even now. She squinted her eyes as Clair, laughing, said what she'd entered the elevator to say. "Catherine, tomorrow morning you're flying to Santa Clara, California, to meet with the new executive team at Lintex."

"I haven't forgotten."

"I've reserved the Boeing 787 from the BFO," Clair said, speaking of the Bryce flight office, "because the next day you're in—" 

"Melbourne, I remember that, too, Clair."

"If you keep doing this I won't have a job...just hush and listen." Catherine smiled at Clair's first attempt at firmness. 

"You're meeting with the head of our Australian mining division and then touring a new mining facility—"

"Add William Mitchel to my executive traveling team." 

"Isn't he a bit junior?"

"Yes," Catherine said with a telling smile.

"Hmm, GQ's never going to know this to share it so I'll give you the inside scoop." Clair whispered to Catherine with the hiss of intrigue.

"What? Is he gay or something?" Catherine asked jokingly.

Clair gave her a look.

"No!" Catherine said with a disappointed, shocked face while Allen's remained steely. 

"I took a look at his Section Nine file that documents the multiple times he's traveled to our Bangkok office," Clair said with emphasis.

"Well, he could be bisexual—"

"He likes to get dicked hard by chicks with dicks; you can look at the pictures and judge for yourself. To me, it seems that he likes them huge," Clair said, making hand shapes the size of a coke can, her fingers detailing the length of a foot. 

"Christ, Clair, does Bryce Security spy on all our executives?" Allen's face still remained unmoved.

"It's not Bryce Security; it's not really even Bryce Corporate Intelligence. Like I said, Section Nine provides dossiers on select executives."

"I've never supported continuing Section Nine. The only executive file I've ever wanted is George Hollis's and they tell me it doesn't exist." Catherine told herself that by the end of the month Section Nine would be history. "So, William Mitchell, huh?"

"Yup," declared Clair.

Catherine looked into the reflective mirrored wall of the elevator and let her shoulder-length brown hair free; looking to her left in the mirror she could see Allen. He was rather handsome she thought. At six-foot-five he was almost a foot taller than her. As she thought this she caught Allen's eyes returning her glances, but she knew he hadn't seen hers. The interplay had been lost on Clair who stood next to her Chief.

One thing Catherine knew for sure was that she intended to enjoy herself at the Met gala tonight. 

Having crossed all her t's, Clair exited the elevator alone into the stadium-sized limestone lobby, Walter Bryce's iconic eighteenth century locomotive displayed at its center. An iron statue of the Anglo-Saxon man, clad in his three-piece scrubs, stood next to the steam engine that once allowed a small railway to grow from the transporter of oil to the owner of it. From railways to oil, the iconic steam locomotive stood as the past catalyst and current symbol for the ever-evolving Bryce behemoth. 

Seconds after Clair, Catherine exited the elevator into the executive parking garage, stepping from the elevator right into the cabin of a conspicuous black Escalade. Having made the journey to her condo and then back out again nearly an hour later, four Escalades slowed, stopping in front of the red carpet that streamed down the mile-long steps of the mighty white pillared Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Catherine's passenger door swung open at the hand of Allen. He guided Catherine with care as her three-inch silver Manolos touched the crimson path, his mind thinking what his lips dare not utter. Soon he melted into the invisible line that was her security detail.

Flashing cameras flickered like manic eyelids capturing Catherine's frame-hugging, custom-made scarlet Nicole Miller gown. 

As reporters swarmed around her, eight tuxedoed shadows repelled the incursion and ushered Catherine out of the public eye.

Within seconds of entering the main gallery Clair took to Catherine's side, whispering the names of the powerful attendees into her ear. Violinists harped away with soothing tunes that coalesced with the champagne and lowered the inhibitions of the room's heavy wallets. 




The Wrong Thing To Do Ch. 04



Catherine took her seat at a table next to a painting depicting George Washington charging up a mountain toward the hopes of a free America. She noticed the splendor and richness of her surrounding, but more than that she noticed the absence of two important guests. "Where's Mark and Abbey?"

"He's at Presbyterian Hospital visiting his father; they're going to be a little late." 

Clair continued to talk, but Catherine's focus had shifted to the other side of the room where a well-chiseled waiter served parched guests. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five, but her lustful eyes still lingered.

His short black hair and caramel skin made him glow in a room dominated by inflated one-percent egos. 

Purposefully, Catherine decided to walk discreetly toward the Latin waiter, but before she could move a war-hardened man in a dark tuxedo marched her way and eased to a stop under the backdrop of America's emancipator. 

He gently ushered Catherine into an isolated huddle. "Ms. Porter, I was going to contact you today but then I remembered my wife scheduled me for this cock show. So here I am. It's always better to ask these questions when you can look in a man's eyes. I don't like to be lied to!

Catherine had been focused on her Latin eye candy and had to search her tired mind to place the aged man draped in militaristic regalia. 'Where the hell is Clair?' she thought. 

However, it didn't take more than a few seconds for her to recall who he was, her memory aided by the black naval dress tuxedo and the ever-present golden Joint Chiefs' badge affixed across his chest.

"Admiral Campbell, I would have expected you to be wearing, or at least be waving, white. Isn't that the tradition of the Navy?" Catherine asked with a smug smirk. She loved messing with the admiral as he always reminded her of her ex-soldier grandfather. 

"We have different uniforms for...wait...was that an attempt at a joke, Ms. Porter?" 

"My Grandfather, his father, and mine all served as army officers in World War One, Korea, and Vietnam so I grew up as an army brat hearing tales of the Navy contrasted against an Army that never failed," Catherine said.

"The Navy is always the first in and the last out. Surrendering is an Army game we don't play. Talk to your papa about Dugout Doug's policy of abandonment." 

Catherine loved rattling Admiral Campbell, not the smartest thing to do since Bryce's shipbuilding division had billions of dollars worth of contracts with the U.S. Navy, but he reminded her so much of her grandfather.

"Admiral, I know what this is about. You don't need to guide me like I'm a child; we're on schedule."

"No one's ever on schedule." 

"Why would I lie to the United States Military? Trust me; I don't need the headache of a Senate enquiry. Take me on my word, Mr. Vice Chairman. We're on schedule."

"Let's say I believe that you'll keep the deadline. What about cost overruns?"

"Well there are going to be overruns, of course, as we have put every resource into the project to meet the deadline. This is a brand new stealth class and the largest aircraft carrier ever built." Now whispering, Catherine continued with, "Plus, we're installing our new shield system, rendering submarine surface and air vulnerability a thing of the past."

"The U.S. Navy is not willing to pay more than four times the tendered estimate."

"Four? It's nowhere close to that, Admiral, but if you're offering, I'm not refusing."

The Admiral squinted. "Contractors usually increase the cost six-fold. John Bryce loved to do that weekly." Now himself whispering, "To be frank, I don't give a horse's ass about cost overruns. Time is my biggest concern. Peace can only be achieved by those prepared and equipped enough to scare others away from war." 

"Look, Admiral, I'm personally handling this file. The infrastructure and supply chain is in place, plus we're maximizing labor and equipment efficiency twenty-four-seven. We're pulling people off other less time-sensitive projects for this, so extra cash won't hurt." The Admiral responded with a grin.

"All I care about is putting my unsinkable carrier out to sea. That's good...very good. Now, what about my space-capable stealth fighters?"

"That's another story."

Admiral Campbell brushed his tongue over his teeth—thinking, deciding, and agreeing. "You're right. You've certainly made an impression on me; that rarely happens."

With that the old tactician was off with a hidden smile and a bounce in his step. It was the first piece of good news he'd heard all week. 

Catherine now tried to find her eye-candy waiter, but she couldn't spot him. That's when she felt a brazen hand brush her smooth ass. He had caught her keen stares earlier and had decided to take a bold risk.

The waiter, unseen by others, continued running his fingers along the dress's rich fabric. You wouldn't have guessed it from his actions, but his heart froze for a second while awaiting her response. 

Their cat-and-mouse chase lasted for half an hour. Catherine, hidden from view and therefore more brazen, grabbed the waiter's crotch. A smile appeared on her face as shock appeared on his. Talking quietly, they exchanged names. He already knew hers; everyone did. She found out his name was Marco Mata. 

Minutes later they had escaped from view, having done so free from the view of others. Catherine was lucky that as a child she had conquered her claustrophobia. Things became heated in the Met's spacious toilet stall as their lips opened over each other's and his tongue dominantly twisted over hers. 

Marco's shirt was the first item of clothing to go, showcasing his solid pecks. His hands roamed Catherine's supple, smooth flesh while her little fingers continued Marco's disrobement, pulling at his belt. 

She reached for his boxers, but instead he held her, twirled her around, and dropped his boxers down himself. Standing behind her, he dominantly pulled her cloth-covered ass into his long, hardening cock.

Marco's lips kissed along Catherine's neck as she released her French twist, causing her hair to flow just above her shoulders. His large strong hands rubbed her shoulders and pulled away her scarlet straps causing her gown to gently cascade downward and land atop the growing pile. Well-practiced masculine fingers swiftly released her sumptuous breasts from their encasement. 

His hands reached forward and grasped her pear-shaped breasts. Teasing her nipples with gentle pinches, Catherine responded with whispered soft murmurs of encouragement.

She wanted to turn towards him but he held her in place, his cock rubbing against her panties. Her head turned as he dove in for a slippery, salacious kiss. They kissed their way into a long clashing storm as his large fingers worked her sheer black panties down which she then kicked away. 

With his tongue deep in her mouth and one hand on her breast, Marco guided his thick hard shaft to Catherine's soaking crevice—the tip holding ready at the wet, underused entrance.

Marco broke from the kiss abruptly, causing saliva to leak to the floor. "Get ready," he warned. Catherine's right hand gripped the upper stall door while her left hand braced the bathroom wall to hold herself in place. The tip of his hefty manhood pressed into her taut pussy. Feeling her immense wetness he switched gears and plunged in deep, knocking the air from her lungs and causing her mouth to hang open.

The musky scent that Catherine had craved for so long drove her wild. With one hand she held onto the wall of the stall, her pussy stretching under the endless Latino cock. Her senses ran wild, her audacious pussy now forcing her thighs and hips to roll back to meet his feverish thrusts.

The smacking sounds of Marco's flesh colliding with hers resonated throughout the otherwise empty room. Catherine craved it all, missing him when he would pull out to slam back in.

Sounds of pleasure fell from her lips, "Hmmm...yes...oh...yes...yes!" 

Catherine moaned, trying not to scream in elated eruption. 

Marco now worked in deeper—fucking her harder than before until he fell back—shooting his cum all over her ass. He began to groan, collecting himself.

Catherine didn't say anything; she shook her ass and backed into him. 

She couldn't see Marco, but he was all smiles. His cock was ready to breach her tight gate once more, but this time he was going to make her beg. He slapped his heavy meat teasingly against her ass, his rigid tool wanting entry again just as much as her wet pussy did. 

He pushed in closer, pinning her up against the wall, their naked sweaty bodies sticking together. 

"Fuck me!" 

"With what?" he asked, pushing three fingers up her pussy—twice in close succession. 

"Fuck me with your big cock!"

Moans of ecstasy emanated from Catherine's lips like puffs of smoke from a well-crafted Cuban cigar as his fingers were replaced by his much wider cock.

The moment was soon accompanied by the sounds of Vivaldi's Four Seasons. The music seemed to arouse him further as he quickened his pace. Gripping Catherine's sides, Marco rocketed deeper and deeper, his balls smacking against her pussy. 

He hammered away, leaving her breathless, panting, and craving more. 

This time ended quicker as she moaned hysterically. "Ohhhhh...fuck...God," she uttered uncontrollably as her legs weakened and her body shook. She fell back into Marco, dazed and disoriented, as eruption after eruption flooded her depths. 

Turning around to face each other, Catherine kissed Marco's lips as his strong fingers glided along her neck. He dropped his hands to her ass, making a deep imprint in her flesh and pulling her into a snaking kiss. Her nails ran along the Latin god's chest, replicating his marking of territory. 

She bit his ear playfully as she collapsed onto him. "That was great!"

"I know," Marco said, pompously confident. Drifting his head to her firm breasts, he licked her areolas intently as his fingers ran along her hot body.

"Hah! Well after that I guess you're allowed to be proud."

"You want to go again?" he asked Catherine as she dressed.

"Christ, you're kidding, right?" she asked while stepping into her dress and pulling it up.

"Does it look like I am?"

She peered over at his hardening cock.

"I'm going away for a few days. Put your number in my phone." 

"Sure," he said, accepting the unusually designed glass Lintex phone.

He stepped behind her placing her straps in place, running his hand over her shoulders.

"Who are you? she asked, grinning.

"Marco Mata. I told you," he said, kissing her ear.

"No...where are you from...how old are you...what do you do?"

"I'm twenty-five if that's what you're worried about."

"I want to know about you," she said turning, looking into his eyes.

"Alright...my mom brought me to America when I was thirteen. We lived in California until she died, then I moved to New York to live with my uncle."

"Sorry, that's awful."

"It happened a long time ago."

"Still..."

"It happens...people die and we move on. You're the one that wants to know this shit. My boss is gonna kill me if I don't get out there."

"Wait. Is this what you want to do? Or are you going to school?"

"I want to fuck you again. That's what I want." Catherine smiled.

"Be serious."

"I work for a catering company as a waiter right now but I'm going to City College, training to be a chef."

"You should cook me something sometime." Catherine glimpsed at her golden watch and surmised the same as Marco. "I have to go...sorry."

"No, I know. Me too. I'll just wait until you leave."

"Smart...I'll call," she declared.

"Oh, I know you'll call," he said with a smug smile.

Upon exiting the washroom Catherine was surprised when she found Allen guarding the bathroom door, having placed a closed sign over it. No sign of emotion was on his face...no smirk...no movement of his eyebrows. He simply did his duty and stood at post like a Roman centurion but for some reason Catherine felt an uncharacteristic coldness from him.

PART 2

At the very moment that Catherine Porter's designer heels had propelled her past the Romanesque pillars into the Met an hour earlier, twenty-two year old Mark Bryce was on the other side of Manhattan past 3rd Avenue, exiting the main lobby of New York Presbyterian Hospital on East Sixty-Eighth Street next to the East River. 

Mark had become accustomed to all the idiosyncrasies of the hospital. After two months in the Coronary Care unit, it had almost turned into a second home. During that time Mark's father John was still locked away in a coma with no sign of reversal in the near future. The surgery two months prior had stabilized him, but he still hadn't returned to consciousness.

Mark's summer days consisted of internships at the company he owned, and would one day run, followed by visiting the hospital and falling asleep while reading to his father.

The large glass exit doors were held open for the twenty-two year old heir as he walked out of the hospital with the inescapable presence of his own tuxedo-clad bodyguards.

Outside under the cover of a fast approaching night, Mark's exit was met by two identical black Range Rovers and an imperially elegant Rolls Royce Phantom. Tyler Casper, Mark's head of personal security and a man he'd grown to respect, stood by the large sedan with his redundant sunglasses plastered to his ears. 

The dark-skinned Casper took his place in the front seat of the Rolls Royce with all of its handcrafted opulence. 

In the back seat of the Phantom Mark pulled down the overhead mirror to check his red bow tie. His hair had been freshly cut that morning. He was ready for the gala and everything seemed in order.

He removed his state of the art glass panel cell phone from his pocket to alert his girlfriend, Abbey, of the location of the Rovers.

"On FDR now will b there in 10 U ready?" he texted.

"When you arrive we need to talk."

Mark took in the weight of her full words. "about what?"

"We just need to talk." 

Mark had a distressed feeling in the depths of his gut. Abbey's character and her appearance had proven to be nearly flawless, a rare trait for an eighteen-year-old. In their two months of dating, they hadn't had a serious fight. They did not have everything in common, but her soft, accommodating nature stabilized the relationship. 

Tonight was not going to go as planned, Mark reasoned. His stomach rumbled and his smile turned into a frown. He peered through the thick glass of his protective shell into the dark unpredictable night. "Ahh!" he exclaimed in lament. 

The Range Rovers and the opulently stretched sedan rolled to a stop, pulling up to the chic three-story Soho townhouse owned by Abbey's dad. The Rolls Royce's heavy suicide-style door swung open under Casper's diligence. Mark's legs turned outward as he reluctantly placed the leather soles of his black bespoke Berluti Derbies onto uncertain ground. He was no longer in a rush. 

However, as usual when he visited Abbey, Casper stood ever vigilant just outside the door while the others stood nearby or near the cars. Standing observantly, their eyes circled the darkened stylish street—their fingers inches away from deadly force.

Mark did a double take as Abbey answered the door, something she rarely did. He had become accustomed to being welcomed by their maid, Anna. Abbey was dressed in a robe and silk pajamas and prepared for bed, not a night of ego petting as was intended. 

Mark wasn't an idiot. He knew what was coming his way. Other than beating her to the punch he had no out.

"Hey," she said with a sheepish reluctant smile. Mark moved closer for a kiss but she turned her lips away from his.

Her jaw and facial expression projected her anguish, but her wide eyes soon showed her resolve.

In spite of this, Mark found a little hope and shook off his cynicism.

"You're not dressed for the gala!" he said, standing in the entryway lined with wilting plants. 

"We should have a seat in there," Abbey said, directing her boyfriend toward the great room.

Mark entered the family room and Abbey rolled the sliding doors shut, blocking the private conversation from her twin sister, Blair, and all others in the house. 

"We should sit," she said again, once the two of them were in the room. 

"No, I'm fine."

"Okay," she said, getting control of her wits and composing herself with a long pause.

"Abbey, before you—" Mark began to say, feeling there was time to salvage this due to her lack of words.

His defense, however, allowed her to kick-start her well-reasoned offence. "We barely see each other. I'm making too many sacrifices, and it's always me working to keep this relationship alive. This is just not working, Mark." 

"What are you talking about? We see each other."

"Most of my time spent with you is holding your hand while you read to your Dad. He's in a coma. I understand that." 

"Then let's spend more time together. I can do this; we can fix this together." Mark moved towards her as she sat down and sat next to her in an attempt to reason with her.

"When we met on your birthday, at Richie's place, you were spontaneous and exciting. Two months later and it's like you're a different person. We've done nothing, nothing the whole summer. You spend all your time interning in the office and after that all your spare time and mine is spent with your dad at the hospital. I understand...I do...but I can't keep doing it...I can't." Abbey forced out her words, her eyes brimming with tears.

"We can fix this. I can do better. Just give me some time, Abbs."

Finding her resolve, she continued, "In a few weeks, I start at Harvard and I want to enjoy the rest of my summer."

"About that, I chose to go to graduate school there so we could be together," Mark said as his tone peaked. "I'm trying here; this isn't easy for me, Abbey. I have obligations and you're breaking up with me because I'm not fun?"

"Mark, are you serious? Don't lie to yourself; you're smarter than that. A Harvard MBA isn't a death sentence. You didn't make some grand sacrifice; you were going there either way. I just made sure you didn't miss out on a year because you wanted to be near your dad. It's tragic, I know, but you still need to live your life and I need to live mine. I start my college experience in a few weeks. I want to be able to enjoy it, and you've already had yours!"

"So this is about me being four years older than you?"

"No, I'm eighteen and you're twenty-two. So what? Our age difference was never an issue. Stop! Stop simplifying this, Mark. This is about you always being so distant and so sad to be around when we are together." Abbey's face was now beet red.

"So we don't spend enough time together and I'm boring. That sums it up then?" Mark asked, pulling himself to his feet and coming to terms with not changing her mind.

Brushing away the loose strands of her lengthy blonde hair that showcased her beautiful face and eyes, Abbey's small fingers gripped his forearm. "Look, it's not that you're boring. It's not. The root of everything is that you blame yourself for what happened to your dad. You had sex with your slut stepmom, you told your dad, and later he had a heart attack. You messed up royally. We all do, but you tried to fix it and that's what matters. You didn't cause your dad's heart attack. He did!"

Mark's eyes opened and he listened intently, but he couldn't take in her words.

It's turning you into somebody who's not fun to be around. You blame yourself for it and it's a burden on you. You need to forgive yourself."

He took a deep breath. "So this is it?" he asked.

"No, I hope we can still hang out together. When you move to Cambridge to go to business school, I hope you cross the river and visit me at Harvard Yard and if you want...if you'll allow me, I'll do the same." 




The Wrong Thing To Do Ch. 04



"Abbey, we can work this out, come on," Mark said as a voice neared the room.

Abbey chose not to reply. Mark got up and started walking towards the door, but when the door opened it blocked the sight of his body from the doorway. It was Abbey's sister, Blair. 

"Before Mark gets here...please don't break up with him. He is cute as hell." From behind the door Mark began to smile inwardly at Blair's defense of him. "Okay...if you have to break up with him, do it after we come back from Aruba," Blair said, causing Mark's smile to turn into confusion. 

"Blair, do yourself a favor and shut up," Abbey said, trying to shut her sister up.

"What? You know I want to use The Margaret. Going to one island is a waste of two weeks," Blair said, speaking about the six-hundred-foot yacht named after Mark's long-deceased mother.

"God, Blair you are selfish," professed her sister.

Before Blair could respond, Mark moved from behind the door and looked at Abbey's twin with contempt. On this occasion she was dressed opposite to her twin, a silver strapless mini hugging her thin tall frame and amplifying her already substantial bust.

Spotting the tuxedo-clad Mark, Blair attempted to turn around but decided against it as she was now a part of the awkward moment. 

"Wow, awful fucking timing, Blair," he declared. 

"Well, can we get the boat or not?"

Mark turned his head toward Abbey. "Is she serious?"

Abbey nodded. "I'm sorry for this, Mark," Abbey said consolingly. 

"No need to apologize. I'm fine...I'm going to go now," Mark said, hiding the full depth of his emotions.

"Where still friends, right?" Abbey replied.

"Sure," he replied, grinding his teeth. 

He began walking past Blair whose flair for fashion clearly made her the artistic socialite of the two twins. 

Broken hearted and now a little disgusted, Mark headed for the hallway and speedily moved toward the exit. 

As he gripped the curved handle of the door, a soft hand covered his. He tilted his head slightly, a sweet flowery scent sweeping through his nostrils. "My sister's an idiot. Yacht or not, we can still do whatever you want—like old times," Blair said, licking her lips, bringing up the three-girl foursome she and her sister had with Mark on his birthday the night they met.

Mark shook his head. "Goodnight, Blair." 

He exited the room, but her hand remained on his shoulder. So, The Margaret? Mark laughed and left. "Wow," he said aloud to himself with Casper following behind. 

Casper knew better than to ask and waited for Mark to provide the driver's directions. Mark's laughter soon turned to agonizing reality as he directed the driver. "The Chateaux, please," Mark requested as he somberly slid into the lavish cabin. Still, the driver didn't change course from the Met.

The Rolls Royce came to a rolling stop on East 79th Street at Fifth Avenue outside his seven-story palatial home. Its handcrafted sculptures, peaks, and century old limestone came together to solidify its name, "The Chateaux." Mark stepped out onto the walk directly in front of the imposing manor and looked across Fifth Avenue at Central Park, then turned his head to the right to see the structure that was the Met.

"Huh!" Mark breathed aloud. "Two minutes away," he mumbled, thinking about how close but how far he was from the moderately enjoyable gala. 'What was tonight? We don't do anything, my ass,' he thought before walking through The Chateaux's large Victorian doors, held open by a stereotypically dressed butler. 

He quickly walked through the foyer, his legs feeling heavy, and up the winding stairs past the Pollock and the Van Gogh's.

He continued climbing even though an elevator was just a few steps away. Arriving on the floor of his bedroom Mark passed the portraits of Bryce past patriarchs, billionaires who used and abused and made up for it with superficial philanthropy. 

These were the thoughts running through Mark's head. It was his house now but he still complied with the parameters of old parental rules. He could sleep anywhere, even the master King George suite, but he climbed further to the room his parents had long ago assigned him.

Lying in bed, Mark thought, 'So I don't take every liberty!'

He tossed and turned. Hours later, with the sun now set to rise, he hadn't slept a wink. One sleeping pill later and he was out. Waking up in the afternoon he called in to the office at Bryce Plaza where he interned and arranged to work from his laptop from home, drawing up his engineering drafts. Three days later his room was filled with used plates, cups, and general evidence that he'd been hibernating. Deciding to distract himself by taking advantage of the upstairs gym, a place he had learned to frequent during his time on the Dartmouth Wrestling and Rowing teams, Mark began to move beyond the craziness of extreme seclusion. Both Dartmouth teams had been out of character for him. Thinking back, Mark realized he had joined the Rowing Team first to impress a temporary crush, but had kept at it long past the crush. Once she had found out how much he was worth, nothing else mattered; she wanted him, but he no longer wanted her. 

Wrestling was double edged; it was a way for Mark to vent his frustrations and gain attention and approval from his dad. The latter ended up fueling the former, as Mark's dad had never attended a match, not even championships. John Bryce showed little attention, sometimes only congratulating his son on winning a track meet. You could tell he was paying a little bit more attention when he would confuse Wrestling with Boxing instead of Track and Field. 

Hours on the rower and doing pushups and lifting weights did little to enhance the years of already toned muscle. All the seclusion still left Mark alone with his problems. The more he thought about them, the deeper he focused on the workouts.

In the middle of the deep workout, Mark's phone began to buzz. It had been ringing for days, but he had ignored it until now. Looking at his glass cell, he saw that it was Edward, the most grounded, and his only middle-class best friend. He'd been ignoring calls from him, his other friends, and Blair for days, but decided to briefly open the lines of communication with Edward specifically.

"Hey?" Mark said, not able to think of anything else to say. 

Multiple voices spoke up at once. "Dude the fuck? We've been calling."

"She was not fine enough for you to turn to into a pussy," said a Latin accent. 

"Sorry about them. Richie took my phone. Still, I heard you've turned into Howard Hughes and that you went off the handle and turned into a recluse. This is Edward, by the way."

"Over some eighteen-year-old pussy too; what a shame, you pedo," said the infamous Richie.

Mark broke into a broad smile, not having heard from his best friends in days. Richie, Edward, and Enrique had a knack for pulling Mark out of ruts. If they had been in town things would have been different. However, they were currently in the middle of some international nation-hopping partying spree. 

"Fuck you, Enriqueee, you Spanish man-whore," Mark said with a laugh. "Ed, I know your voice. I haven't suddenly become retarded nor am I a subscriber of AT&T so you should know that I can hear and understand you just fine. Oh yeah, the last and actually the very least, Richie, go fuck yourself. It's not about her; I'm just taking time to reflect, that's all."

"Bullshit it's not about her, my ass. Every single time you get dumped you fixate and you reflect. The last time you 'reflected' for four years!" Richie stated firmly with air quotes that Mark couldn't see.

"It's not that simple."

"Like Richie said, you always get like this when you get dumped. Man, you're the richest person in New York; you can get any pussy you want. Just get up and take it. For the record I'm from Brazil, I don't speak Spanish, and I speak Portuguese," Enrique said, thickening his accent to mockingly make his point. 

"You're right, Enrique. Everything's all better now. I'm gonna go pay some girl to suck my cock right now because gratification is the key to everything." 

"Nothing's wrong with hiring a call girl!" Enrique yelled heatedly, causing Mark to stop his exercise.

Mark scratched his head as loud laughter filled the cell's glass speakers.

"You don't know how on target you are," Edward stated. 

"What? What are you guys talking about...what happened...what? Clue me the fuck in!" Mark begged. 

"I don't care if she's the hottest porn star ever," shouted Enrique from the other end. Mark was on his toes due to the shock of it all.

"Did you pay her? Just answer. Did you pay the slut?" Richie asked like a cross-examiner.

"It doesn't fucking matter," Enrique said, followed by an explosion of laughter from both ends. "It was Isis Taylor...Isis Taylor."

"True," Richie said as silence reigned.

"Dude, really?" Mark questioned, his cock hardening as his mind thought of the light bronze-skinned beauty.

"Yeah, I fucked her sideways," Enrique said, with Mark and Richie laughing.

"Desired porn star or not, she's still a call girl. You really are a man-whore," Mark said into the phone, heading back to the bed.

"I don't think that's the proper definition of whore, Mark. Isis is the whore. Enrique is simply your average slut," Edward clarified.

"Edward, thanks, so I guess you're supporting my 'Spanish man-slut' nickname for Enrique."

"Okay, forget this nonsense. We've been to Amsterdam, Ibiza, Prague, and Los Angeles. You missed all that. We're in Vegas now. Hop onto one of your Gulfstream jets. Summer is almost over for you and Edward. Soon you two will be heading off to that crap school in Cambridge, Massachusetts. So get your ass down here," Richie stated.

"I don't know. I'll think about it."

"Come on...just do it; fly down here. It's amazing. Remember your birthday? You fucked three girls, twins too. I've never even had a foursome. I was impressed until you started dating one of them. You need to slam it and ban it. Stop burying yourself in the details. The devil lives in that shit," Richie said encouragingly.

"I'll talk to you guys later," Mark said, ending the conversation with whatever's and laughs resonating on the other end.

The next day, Mark was running on the treadmill when his phone buzzed. He was going to ignore it when he saw that it was Richie.

His tone was heavy and direct. "Hear me out, okay?"

Bypassing his better judgment, Mark said, "Okay." 

"You need to fuck someone random to get your mind off this."

"My mind is fine. I'll hear you, but I'm not going to one of your seedy strip clubs again."

"It was Manhattan's best gentlemen's club...and no...not that. You need to book an escort."

"You're not that fucked, Richie. Yes, thinking about it you are that shady. Are you serious?"

"There's nothing wrong with having a bachelor party from time to time. You and Edward are such prudes."

"Not going to a strip club and not hiring a hooker. Richie, you're fucked!"

"Calm your shit. I was fucking with you. You know the Standard Hotel?"

"Yeah, Abb...my ex wanted to go to this supposed rooftop club there."

"It's called the Boom Boom Room. Go there tonight and you'll hook up like that. Your honest game somehow works. even when they don't know that you're worth north of fifty billion. The guys and I will fly in tomorrow and then we can go out together if you want to still stay cooped up in the city."

"I don't know about that."

"You're going there tonight. It's nine-seven right now. The Boom Boom Room opens at ten. Don't be a loser so don't go earlier than eleven.

"Being a bit presumptuous aren't we?"

"Look, why the fuck not?" Richie asked.

"Probably tomorrow night?"

"It's Saturday today. Tonight's a prime night."

"I'm not going."

"Yeah, you are."

"Really."

"Yes."

"How are you going to accomplish that? I know your construction boss dad has mafia connections. Are they going to drag me out? Casper and the others might have objections."

"Rumors and bullshit from the guy now responsible for an empire more corrupt than Standard Oil."

"Bullshit. Corrupt how?"

"Every Forbes and financial ranking ever released that listed your family's net worth, what is now your singular net-worth, makes sure to add multiple question marks after the estimated politically correct amount—with editors afraid to use the truthful larger multi-hundred billion dollar figure. The corruption behind your wealth is irrelevant to my point, unlike your point."

"Fuck you! Is this supposed to make me feel better; what's your point?"

"You're nearly a trillionaire. Go out and take the world by the balls. Fuck your feelings; take the world for a joyride."

"Richie, you're really pissing me off. I'm not fucking going anywhere."

"Okay, I'm going to have to step this up. Remember those porn stories you wrote and posted to that site, back when we were roommates at Adam's Academy, before your dad put you in public school?" 

"What?" Mark thought, not understanding at first. When he finally did, his running on the treadmill slowed to a standstill causing him to nearly fall off.

"Are you serious?"

"I'll quote a line: 'their toned feminine bodies rubbed against each other, Katie's red hair washed over Melisa's soft flesh, Melisa's fingers glided into Katie's gripping moist pussy forcing her lover's kissing lips to form into a blissful puffing O—"

"Richie, how the fuck? I took those stories off Literotica five years ago."

Richie began laughing on the other end. "Dude, there's like eighteen stories here. How the hell did you find time to write this shit? Assistant Headmaster Leyland made sure we never had any spare time."

"Richie, what the fuck are you playing at? Before you were being a jerk, but now you're being a disloyal asshole." 

"Just go out tonight." 

"This is so not cool, Richie, you fucker. I'm not doing jack. You'd better not be serious because if you are, I swear to God...!"

"Look, you know I'm fucking with you. I'm your best friend and I wouldn't do that. You know where my bodies are buried and I know where yours are, and I've done a hell of a lot more digging than you."

"Over the fucking top, Richie. If I didn't know you, I swear...! You didn't share this with Edward or Enrique, did you? You're the only one that knows about those stories."

"Of course not, and no one else will know, but you need to stop being a hypocrite. You need to do the shit you practice in your stories. The stepmom story you wrote, I have to say that was hot. Can you imagine if you fucked Tiffany? She was only your dad's girlfriend when you wrote this, but—"

Mark choked up a bit saying, "Yeah, I wrote them so long ago it's hard to remember, but the character wasn't me. Let's stop talking about these stories. There's a reason why I took them down. This really wasn't cool, Richie, definitely not cool, man."

"When have I ever been cool?" Richie questioned, before taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. You're my best bud and I was just trying to draw you out of the dark place you're always in. Just get some pussy to clear your mind."

"I'll think about it."

"That's all?"

"You're lucky I don't fly out to Vegas and kick your ass."

"I'd prefer that," Richie said with a throaty laugh.

"I thought you would...look...even though that was an asshole move, I just might go to the club...and I might not." 

The call soon ended and shortly afterwards, Mark smiled and left his upstairs gym with intent. He entered into his recently cleaned bedroom, the staff having taken to cleaning it during his exercise sessions. He stood in the center of the apartment-sized space, thinking, before making a beeline for the shower.

He toweled off and went to his spacious closet, picking out a combination of a Burberry shirt, Dolce leather jacket, and Tod's suede Buck shoes.

He threw on the fashion-consultant dictated look and began to move downstairs where he had not been in days. Casper stood at the bottom of the stairs with his dark suit, glasses, and white-streaming wire running from his left ear, all culminating in a vigilant stance.

Mark waved and asked, "Don't you ever sleep?" 

"You do enough for both of us. Are we ready to rejoin the world, young Mr. Bryce?"

"It appears so, but I'm gonna need a car."

"We have the Range Rovers outside. We can get an Escalade, Bentley, Rolls-Royce, Maserati—" Casper said, about to add in the Jaguar XLJ before Mark cut him off.

"Maserati. Forget the others."

The ever-perceptive Casper shifted his eyes, focusing his pupils. "Are you asking for a car to drive yourself?"

"Bingo!"

"Where are we going tonight?"

"Do I need to clear everything with you?"

"I'm not your parents; you're more than of age. Moreover, this is all yours. I'm just trying to keep you alive. You and Ms. Porter are both to travel in chauffeur-driven and specific vehicles because they're armored."

"I've noticed and I've always thought it ridiculous."

"Corporate executives get kidnapped all the time. Two years ago the regional CEO of Ellis Oil, which is a Bryce subsidiary, was taken outside of his home. If it weren't for Section Nine, it would have cost fifty million dollars to get him back. From then on, your father gave me full authority over personal security for him as I see fit." 

"What backwater was he in at the time for that to have happened?" Mark asked Casper smartly.

"A city called Calgary in a country called Canada," came the reply that shut Mark up. 

"Your loyal bodyguards are the best, and they're discreet. If you like, they can be discreet and unnoticeable. So I ask again, where are you planning on going tonight?"

"Look, I'm sure I'll be fine. I'm not leaving Manhattan. Like you said, I'm in charge now..." Mark took a deep breath and released the air. "Just get me a car, please!"

Casper took a second, and then whispered into his watch.

A man with an earpiece, clearly another bodyguard, appeared from the long hallway under the stairs, handing keys to Casper. 

Casper turned back to Mark saying, "In two minutes a Lamborghini Reventon and Bugatti Veyron will be outside. The cars I mentioned before are there too. If you don't like them, there's more back in the garage that I can have driven up."

"Doesn't really matter. The Maserati is fine."

"Thought you didn't care about safety," Casper said with a sly smile.

"I'll take the Maserati, but for tonight I don't want to see any Bryce Security."

Casper nodded and tossed Mark the keys. The billionaire, dressed for a night on the town, was soon off through the front door. 

Casper followed Mark to the large oak Victorian door, watching as Mark slipped into the red-leather cabin of the sleek, silver Italian sedan.

Five seconds after the Maserati took off, Casper spoke into his watch communicator. Four motorcycles were in hot pursuit, followed by two Range Rovers.

There were initial creaks and unintentional sparks caused by Mark's unfamiliarity with the sedan. Soon he straightened things out, switching from gear shifting to automatic fluidity, zipping through blinking yellow lights at shooting speeds. Minutes later the car came to an abrupt shock-testing stop outside the dynamic art deco landmark, the Standard Hotel. His eyes admired the uniqueness of the modern hovering-looking structure with an engineer's eye. 

He disembarked from the sleek vehicle, pre-tipped the valet and was soon through to the lobby, his coiffed dark-brown hair lifting up as his suede shoes propelled him into the free-expressive lobby. 'Now, how do I get to this damn club?' he thought to himself as he moved toward the hotel's front desk which had a gorgeous raven-haired young woman behind it.

"Excuse me?" 

"Welcome to the Standard Highline. My name is Jenny." Mark's eyes drifted from her cute face to her nametag and unintentionally to her chest.




The Wrong Thing To Do Ch. 04



"Hey, Jenny, I'm Mark." She smiled at that. "How do I get to the Boom Boom Room?"

"Right up the elevator. It's the last stop although booking a room won't secure entry due to the club's exclusivity, I'm sure you'll get in either way. Booking a room still has much more to offer. We're offering drastically discounted minibars now. You can do a little pre-drink since it's just after ten, meaning the club will be pretty tame. Plus, later on after drinking, sleeping it off here instead of traveling is a great, safe idea." She had been smiling approvingly through her spiel but stopped as Mark's finger rose.

His right hand ventured into his pocket fishing out a black limitless credit card. Upon seeing the card, Jenny too smiled. "I thought I lost you when you put your finger up. Outside of class I've never seen anyone do that."

"No, you were great. You sold me."

"Really, you think?"

"I know so."

"Thanks," Jenny said. "It's my first night. I've been here a week, but it's my first night shift."

"I wouldn't have known. You're very good."

"You're just saying that."

"No, seriously, it's true."

"Thanks," she said, blushing. "I really appreciate that as I'm actually studying hotel management at..." She paused and looked at the last name on his credit card, but then she shook her head back into focus.

"What is it? he asked.

"Just a coincidence, really. It's just that Bryce is the same name as my university." Before Mark could confirm her observation, she started speaking again. "You don't want to hear about what I'm studying. Where were we? What kind of suite would you like?"

"Now I'm curious about what you're studying. In college, I was originally in Architecture where my main interest was actually hotels, but then my major shifted to Engineering and Economics. Hotels are magical. You're lucky; the world is going to come to your doorstep." Her elbows were on the desk, her light blue eyes following his lips, agreeing with every word. "Well, like you said, where were we? I don't know, so you pick." 

"Are you sure you want me to pick? We may not have the same taste."

"I'm positive," Mark said.

"Really?"

"Absolutely!"

She smiled and whispered saying, "Okay, well, I'll add in a discount code." After processing the card, she handed Mark the room key. "Suite 1607...two floors below the club...all the closeness with none of the whatever."

"Thank you, Jenny," Mark said with a smile that she returned twofold. 

"Well, you're more than welcome, Mark," she said, after which he took his room card and left.

Mark left, heading for the elevators with Jenny watching him leave with a keen focus.

He settled into his hotel room waiting for the prerequisite 11'o'clock, opening up the fridge and drinking the larger than expected bottles of vodka.

While sitting and watching the television from the leather couch, Mark heard knocking. He walked to the door, looked through the peephole, and saw Jenny. That surprised him. She brushed back her hair, licking at her upper lip, using her hands to push up her bust.

Mark smiled to himself, waiting a few seconds before opening up the door. He too took a breath to calm his nerves "Hi!" he said, looking at the five-six artificially five-nine dark-haired girl.

"Hey, how are you enjoying the room?" she asked, stepping in as Mark made way for her.

"It's great," he said, scratching his head.

"You forgot your credit card downstairs," Jenny said, bursting Mark's balloon slightly.

"Yeah, that makes sense," he said, accepting his card from her delicately extended fingers.

"Makes sense in regards to...?" she asked with her back now set towards the door.

Mark was going to try and translate his thoughts to words, but decided he had an extremely hot girl alone in a hotel room. He went for it, lowering his neck, his lips on top of hers. She didn't move to stop him, just the opposite.

Jenny's toes pressed down lifting her height upward. Mark's lips pressed forward as hers parted for his tongue, allowing entry into her accepting mouth. His hands moved under her white work blouse, moving toward her bra.

Her head suddenly turned as she let out, "Stop." Mark slowly backed off, easing to the side next to her.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

"I'm sorry if I did."

No, it's me...I have a boyfriend."

"Oh?"

With her back to the door, Jenny snapped her head back. "Technically, we're on a break...his break."

Applying his hands to her sides, he blocked her exit. "I just went through a breakup too. Honestly, if he wants a break from you he's not even worth another glance."

"This was inappropriate. I'm sorry," she said, making her exit.

"Okay, no, I'm sorry," Mark said, backing away to allow her to leave.

When the door finally closed he looked into the large reflective window saying, "The fuck just happened?"

Jenny left the sixteenth floor, riding down in the elevator kicking herself. "Jenny, that was stupid. You're still going out with Marco," she mouthed aloud to herself. 

She exited the elevator and headed to her post at the front desk. "Thanks for covering, Kim," Jenny said to the blonde girl.

"That was quick. Did he not measure up?"

"What are you talking about?" 

"I saw and heard the way you two were going on and the way you looked at his ass when he left. On top of that come-on, I saw that you noticed the credit card after he was just a few feet away. I was just over there in concierge. I saw it all. You created the need for you to go upstairs."

"Okay," Jenny said, trying to drop the subject.

Soon, Kim was gone and Jenny was back to booking people. She smiled as she booked twenty different people from twenty different countries. This made her think of Mark.

Seeing a familiar man, her former man, broke Jenny from her daze. "Marco," she mouthed. 'I didn't tell him I got a job here,' she thought to herself. 

Kim walked over to Jenny from her post in concierge. "Isn't that your ex?"

"We're still together—at least I think so," Jenny said as she and Kim watched him kissing an older beauty.

"Well, why's he kissing that old hag?" Kim said, exaggerating. 

Jenny remained silent, not answering her co-worker. 

"Kim, I don't want to talk about it," Jenny said, looking on as Marco, his companion, and entourage walked through the lobby to the elevators. Before reaching the elevators, Marco's eyes discovered Jenny. 

"He's coming over," Kim said, and then he was there.

"Jenny, you work here?"

"Welcome to the Standard. Can I help you?" she said, grinding her teeth.

"You don't need to be like this. So, I forgot to make our breakup official before moving on."

"It's all okay, sir, enjoy your stay"

"Whatever, Jenny, you were always a crappy lay."

Marco left and Jenny was fuming. "You handled that a lot better than I would," Kim stated as Marco's elevator door closed.

"Did I?"

"You should be pissed. I sure would be."

"Go back to concierge, Kim."

"Your shift's over in ten minutes at 11:00, like me, right?"

"Yes, so?"

"So you and I should change and go up to the club and have some fun."

"I don't know."

"Your ex didn't go up there."

"It has nothing to do with him."

"I saw his elevator. It stopped at the sixteenth floor and then it came back down. So, he's in a hotel room getting some. You need to get out there too. Go after that cute guy you like."

"Okay, why not."

"Good," Kim said, leaving Jenny to deal with her next world traveler.

Back on the sixteenth floor, Mark was shooting back glasses of gin. He stood up and unzipped his leather jacket, letting it fall to the bed and then left his room ready to let loose. 

Looking at the wall-sized windows, he viewed his reflection: the white-patterned Burberry shirt and coifed dark-brown hair. His confidence in himself was building for tonight. Still, he wished Jenny had stayed. 

Exiting his room he looked at his Hublot watch. It was eight minutes to eleven. He looked down the hall, seeing the obvious presence of men in suits with white-streamed earpieces. 'Casper could at least have masked it better,' Mark thought. 

Mark marched down to the opposite end from where he would enter the elevators. "What are you guys doing here?" he asked, approaching one of the four men with their Bryce security lapel pins.

The guard closest to Mark looked up and seemed to be thinking, then responded. "Sir, we're not here for you; we're here for Miss Porter."

"Yeah?" 

"Yes, sir."

"Sure," Mark said, "she's in this room then?" Mark asked, not believing it. 'Why would she be here?' he thought, forgetting that she too was human, punching hard on the hotel room's door.

"Not lying to you, sir," the bodyguard said as the door opened. Catherine answered it with ruffled clothing and disheveled hair. She hadn't looked through the peephole. 

"Mark?" 

"Catherine, I'm surprised to see you here."

"Me, as well," she said, as Mark took notice of the caramel-skinned figure behind her.

"Oh...okay then...I should leave you two!" he said. 

Catherine's eyes followed his, embarrassment washing over her. "You've received my updates about George and the other changes?" she asked, shifting the focus.

"Yeah, yes. I have complete confidence...I was actually headed upstairs to the club."

"See you later then," she said as Mark walked off.

Before Catherine closed the door she saw Allen standing across from her doorway with a cold, partial stare that made her uneasy." 'I should go,' she thought, deciding that seeing Mark was cause enough to leave the hotel.

Mark smiled awkwardly to himself all the way to the elevator. He thought about the age difference between Catherine and her guest and then his mind began to focus on Catherine's attractive figure. 

He arrived on the top floor of the Standard to the sight of a large entryway that led to a long lit-up hallway lined with mirrors. The stunningly dressed line of girls and guys was long, but it whittled down with every continual rejection. Nines and tens that weren't on the list were sent packing like they had the plague. 

Mark was in line standing behind three beauties, two of whom were so striking that they should have long been fast tracked inside. Both girls looked to be in their early twenties. One was an extremely tall blonde stunner who spoke with a European accent and the other was a tall busty brunette who appeared an inch or two shorter than the European. The third woman, a blonde, was average height.

When they made it to the front of the line where the two bouncers stood like unmoving giants, the short blonde took charge and to Mark's shock, the bouncer began to send the threesome away. The short blonde was not taking the rejection well at all. Mark didn't know that he could do anything, but he decided to step in. "Hey, I don't know if I'm on the list..." 

The first bouncer spoke. "My man...hold your spot...push back." 

The second bouncer chimed in. "What's your name, guy?" he asked, guiding the girls to the side.

"Mark Bryce."

The second bouncer thumbed through his ledger and stopped. "Can I see some ID, guy?" Mark went through his pockets and then realized that his wallet was in his jacket, which was in his room.

"I forgot my wallet. Can I go get it and keep my spot?" Mark asked, increasingly embarrassed in front of the girls he just displaced. 

"Sorry, guy," said the second bouncer.

"Wait," Mark said, before they began to push him aside like the three beauties to his left. "I have this," he said, pulling out his limitless black card.

"No," said the first bouncer.

The second bouncer gave the first bouncer a look and proceeded to help Mark. "Full name Marcus Benjamin Bryce?"

"Yes," Mark said with a hidden blush. 

"You're in," the second bouncer said, returning Mark's card to him. Then he turned his attention to the three girls.

"Wait. Can I bring in these girls as my guests?" The beauties began to brighten up as they heard Mark coming to their rescue.

The first bouncer once again was the bringer of death and taxes. "Dude, you're pushing your luck. They aren't on the list, so no. Right, Christopher?" the first bouncer said to the second.

"Phil, dude, chill," said Christopher to the first bouncer, Phil, before turning to Mark. "Look, the girls can come in. They're all over the TV and shit, so they should be on the list so no big deal. Usually, I'd force you to buy bottle service or give me a tip, but since you seem to be a buddy of Richie's, it's cool. You all can head in," Christopher said, pointing inside to the club. 

"I'll make it up to you. I swear," Mark declared with a blank promise.

"Nah, don't worry about it."

The girls moved to the club's door, the tall blonde turning back to give Mark a whispered thank you as he needlessly chatted with the bouncer that had long given him free passage. "I could either come back with cash later..."

"Guy, don't worry. Go inside and make sure to put lots of drinks on your card."

"Are you a Jets or Giants fan?"

"Actually, I'm a Bears fan," Christopher said, causing Mark's face to break into a giddy smile. 

"What did I say? Just head inside, or move, so I can check these other people," Phil muttered.

"That's great. I can get you visiting owner's Box tickets for any Bears game. Just call this number," Mark said, writing a phone number down on his ledger.

"How are you gonna manage all that? You know the owner or something?"

"You're looking at him," Mark said, before taking his place in the celeb-packed socialite club. 

Not much in Christopher's four years at the Standard Hotel had surprised him. He'd been able to tell the fakes from those who were genuine, but now he wasn't so sure. "There's no way that kid's legit," Phil added.

"Who knows," Christopher said, brushing it off and calling up the next impatiently waiting club goers.

Inside the club Mark sat at the bar sipping away at his iced Jack Daniels when he felt a change in the force. "Holly fuck, you actually made it!"

"Shit, Edward. I owe you a hundred bucks," said another voice.

Mark turned around to see his three friends. "Well! The trust fund society," he declared.

"Look who's talking," stated Richie. 

"It's good to see you, Mark. It's good to be around another sound mind," said blonde-haired Edward. 

"Shut the fuck up, Edward," said the dark black-haired Enrique. 

Richie pointed over to a table with a semi-circle couch, a clear marker of the club's 70's theme. The four of them walked, chatting and drinking, as they passed by the rare sight of celebs like Scarlett Johansson and Mila Kunis. 

The four comrades finally reached the booth-like table.

"Tomorrow...where are we headed?" Mark asked. 

"No shit, you're up for some traveling?" Enrique questioned. 

"Why the hell not, it's time to have a little fun," Mark said in response, previous statements cracking his steadfast armor. 

"We're going to need to use one of your planes, Mark, or should I say Marcus. The Brazilian piece of crap Embraer jet we were using is in for repairs," Richie said, looking at Enrique. Enrique stuck his middle finger at Richie in reply. 

"That wasn't funny using my full name. I thought he got it off of my card at first," Mark fired back.

"Well, you know me; I've never been funny or cool," spoke Richie.

"I can agree with that, but I get to pick where we go."

"Fuck that!" Enrique interjected.

"Why the fuck not, if we're going to use one of my airplanes?" Mark snapped back.

"Because you're going to pick some boring educational piece of shit," Enrique said in objection. 

"I'd actually be fine with a more slow-paced vacation, querido," Edward added.

"No one asked you. God, the two of you!" Richie said.

"I get a say too, Richie, so why don't you shut up," Edward said, throwing a verbal punch for once.

"Whatever, let's get some drinks over here," Richie said, getting up.

Enrique was visibly distracted as he shifted on the couch towards Mark. "You see those girls over there?"

Mark looked over at the girls that he had provided entry to. "Yeah." 

"The tall short-haired blonde is a Swedish super model, Elsa, and the other tall girl, the brunette, is Caroline, also a super model. She's from somewhere here in America. God, I wouldn't mind putting my head in between those puppies. G cups, you think?"

"The shorter blonde, who is she?"

"Never was into midgets, but you can have her," Enrique stated with firm rude confidence, ignoring Mark's name question.

Richie returned with a waiter carrying bottles of Krug Champaign and multiple bottles of Louis XIII Cognac. "What are you two talking about? Where are you thinking of flying to tomorrow?"

Enrique nodded toward the table of three girls. "We should go over there after we have a good drink," Richie declared. 

"Why don't we go now?" Mark asked, surprising his friends before taking a long sip of his Jack Daniels. He asked the waiter for another and then looked at his friends.

"You want to come with me? You suddenly think you have game?" Enrique asked.

"Edward, come over there with me," Mark stated.

"With no plan, I'm not going over there like that. Just to go blank mid-sentence? Those girls are like twelve's, not happening."

"So, that's a no?"

"Yes, but you aren't actually serious?"

With no reply Mark got up after pouring his glass of Jack, encouraging Edward with a waving hand, but Edward didn't budge. 

Mark took a deep breath and sauntered over just as the short blonde-haired woman was getting up. She headed in the opposite direction and shot him an unpleased look as he approached the table.

"Hey, my name is Mark," he said, arriving at the supermodel table.

"Hello to you too," the large-breasted, brown-haired beauty said with a glowing smile. "I'm Caroline and this is Elsa," Caroline said, pointing to the blonde sitting next to her. 

"I thought your name was Marcus," Elsa asked.

"Ha, it's Mark. May I sit down?" Mark asked.

"No," Caroline said. Mark raised his eyebrows as he slowly began to back up, confused.

"Jokes right?" he asked, feeling like he was on the other side of a joke. 

Mark's facial expression brought laughter from the table across the way.

"We were just fucking with you. It sure took you a long time to come over."

"You wanted me to come over?"

Caroline and Elsa were all smiles, not replying.

Mark slid into the seat opposite the supermodels. "Your friend, she won't mind? She didn't look too happy."

"We're models and she's our agent. She's mad at you because you did her job better than she has, so forget her," Elsa added, with her smooth, gleaming face shining as she spoke. 

"You're in Manhattan for work?" 

"Yes, but Vivian hasn't really done the job we expected. Thanks for getting us in, by the way," said Caroline.

"No problem."

"Still, thank you. I appreciate it. We've had the crappiest day," Caroline confirmed.

"Thanks again," Elsa said, chiming in, adding, "You saved Vivian. She should suck your cock."

"He should get to fuck her up the ass," Caroline said, one upping Elsa's statement, making things increasingly uncomfortable.

Mark spat up his whiskey as Caroline laughed. "You two love jokes, don't you?" he asked.

"I had three older brothers growing up in my small Illinois farming town so I grew up around a lot of sick humor," Caroline said with a laugh that caused her large round mounds to bounce.

"Lucky you. I was an only child. I actually grew up in Illinois too, born here in Manhattan though."

"You're from Illinois, too? I should have gathered that from your crack about the Bears. I can't believe you lied to that bouncer so blatantly."

Mark didn't have time to correct Caroline before Elsa, who felt ignored, began to pull him away from her busty competition. Mark felt her foot rubbing against his leg from under the table. He gave her an approving smile but then Vivian returned to the table at which point he shifted over in his seat.




The Wrong Thing To Do Ch. 04



Vivian gave Mark a critical once-over ignoring his part in gaining entry for her clients, saying, "Elsa and Caroline, I just got a call back from Victoria's Secret. They love you! They want you in Miami tomorrow to start shooting for a campaign. They're flying you in and I'll text you the info in the morning." She looked at her silver Rolex and then said, "On Monday I have a meeting with the local offices of L'Oreal and Louis Vuitton to discuss you both."

With that, Vivian was off.

"She's not bad. She got you pretty good jobs."

"Yes, but she's pretty inconsistent. We actually hired another agent; she just doesn't know it yet," Caroline stated.

"Well, that's kind of—"

"Bitchy?" Elsa asked.

"Well, yeah," Mark confirmed.

"Vivian is taking thirty percent more than every other agent, and she's crap in comparison. When she says fly us in, believe it or not, she means economy class. I'm not trying to act all conceited, but Elsa and I have appeared in Vogue and most major magazines. Models that are far less successful at least fly business class."

"Hah, hah, that sucks."

"So, now you understand?" Elsa asked.

"I'm always afraid my luggage won't make it. I love airplanes, but I hate flying any type of commercial."

"That's because you own your own jet, right?" Caroline asked sarcastically.

"You're making jokes."

"Whatever. Let's have some fun," Elsa said, getting up and pulling Mark up off his seat onto the dance floor as Caroline followed, holding his other hand.

Back at the table Richie sipped his champagne perplexed and confused about what just went down. "What the fuck just happened?"

"The fuck if I know. Why was he so confident?" Enrique asked. 

"You know what? If he can just go over there, I can too," Edward declared while rising to his feet. He spotted a dark-haired girl at the bar and moved toward her. A moment of queasiness nearly turned him around but still he stayed the course. 

"Hey," he said, sitting next to a gorgeous babe dressed in a white mini that drew attention to her black hair. 

"Hi," she said, smiling back. 

"I'm Edward," he said, offering his sweating hand.

"Jenny. Nice to meet you, Edward," she said in reply. 

"Call me Ed," he offered. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Sorry, Edward, but I was actually looking for someone."

"Here you are, Jenny. It's on the house," the cute Japanese barmaid with jet-black hair said, handing Jenny her drink.

Edward sat there contemplating possible options. Enrique and Richie came up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulders. "Call me, Ed," Enrique mocked. 

"Fuck off, Enriqueeee!" 

Richie held up a hand to Enrique. "Yeah, give him a break. You just have to keep trying."

Richie took his own words to heart as he looked on at the Japanese barmaid with her tight, petite body. He said confidently to himself, before slightly leaning over the bar to make his move, 'I'm gonna destroy that Asian pussy tonight.' He read her nametag, 'Azumi', and his lips began to part and his magical tongue bullshitting got to work.

While Richie perfected his game, Jenny went in search of the guy she had clicked with earlier. She spotted Mark alternately kissing two tall bombshells. In that moment she unfairly measured herself, her eyes looking at the height and bust that she lacked. 

Mark's hand combed over Caroline's ass, his tongue deep in Elsa's mouth. Caroline's bust looked like it would burst out of her strapless top at any moment, much like the pressure in Mark's boxers. The alcohol and the women were fortifying his confidence to new levels that his great-great-great-great-grandpa's money never could. Mark positioned his lips brushing at Elsa's ear, "Let's go somewhere quieter."

Elsa moved her plump lips to his ear, responding boldly, "I want you now." His lips and cock responded to her statement. The house music was mellower than Mark had thought. Preparing to speak into Caroline's ear, she beat him to it. "I heard let's go," she said hintingly. 

Right in front of Jenny's eyes Mark was leaving the club with the two supermodels. Mark hadn't noticed the stealth bodyguards all night; they appeared to be average young adults who were following him at a respectful distance, wearing unnoticed white-streaming earpieces. 

Jenny looked on disappointedly. Still choosing to enjoy her night, she walked back to her now occupied seat where Enrique sat flashing her a seductively intentful look. 

She turned toward Edward, completely blocking out Enrique's clear advance. "Ed, you did say I could call you that?" Jenny asked.

"Yes," Edward replied.

"Let's get out of here," she said, followed by her taking his arm and pulling him away from his two disappointed friends.

Richie gave Enrique a what-the-fuck look.

Enrique shook his head and redoubled his efforts to get some of his own after the added pressure of the recently inconceivable events. 

Jenny held Edward's hand pulling him beyond the club's exit. The elevator music and the TV screens provided much ice-breaking distraction as they arrived on the sixteenth floor. They walked alongside one another with her guiding him toward the intended destination. Edward peered over at Jenny's face saying, "I'm glad you came back."

She walked on, directing Edward past Mark's hotel room. The hallway no longer had bodyguards lining it as Catherine had decided it was best to take her lover and leave after the embarrassment of being caught by her twenty-two year old boss. That exodus left an unoccupied room for Jenny to access.

"Really?" Jenny asked as they reached the door, her hand pulling out the room card.

"I am," he declared. The door snapped back and they walked in. 

"I'm sure you would have spoken to another girl," she said as she shut the door.

"You were it," he said, then made an about-turn at which point he witnessed her undressing.

Her hip-hugging white dress soon fell to a pile followed by her bra. Her perky symmetrical breasts triggered fantasies in Edward instead of movement, his hands near his belt buckle.

"What are you doing?" asked Jenny.

"Did I do something?" 

"That's the problem," she said, taking off her cream stilettos and walking toward him barefooted. Pulling him by the belt toward the bed and pushing his body back, Jenny ordered Edward to take off his clothing and fell back into a chair across the room where she sat naked, watching the show. 

She tied her hair up, her fingers drifting towards her mouth where she sucked on them. Edward kicked his shoes away, launching them towards the wall with lightening speed. She smiled at his mesmerized state, finding it endearing.

Moving her saliva-covered fingers to her breasts, she rubbed her fingers over her areolas, lowered her head towards her breasts, and swirled her tongue around her nipples. Her fingers moved to her smooth stomach and further down, slowly rolling down her panties. 

Her fingers moved toward her groomed vagina, her index finger slowly entering while she stared at Edward, who finally pushed his boxer shorts down to reveal a semi-hard penis.

"Get your cock hard," Jenny directed, followed by his compliance.

Jenny fingered her tight, youthful flower faster and faster adding more fingers. "Hmmm," she moaned. Edward's hands moved furiously along his shaft, his eyes never leaving the pot his cock grew impatient for.

Her legs spread wide, giving Edward a view of her alluring thighs leading to her pink leaky lips that were stretched by her juice-coated fingers. 

Jenny's middle and index fingers drove down to the knuckles as her thumb rubbed her clitoral hood. Her knuckle-deep strides and the forceful nature of her fingers were more about directing Edward than achieving the shuddering warmth running through her. 

"Yess...yes...yes," she whimpered.

Edwards's hands continued to run along his over-hardened shaft with breath-taking speed. "Slow down!" Jenny said too late as he shot his seed all over his stomach. 

She lifted herself up from her chair, moving to collect a condom from her round silver purse after which she sauntered over to Edward. "Do you want me to go down on you?" he asked.

"No, I brought you here to fuck," she said, now straddling his waist and running her hand along his cock, causing it to stir. Pushing him onto his back, Jenny gave him soft kisses while rubbing her nakedness against his.

Edward began to sit up but she pushed him back down. "Just stay where you are, okay?" she said, taking hold of his painful rigidity, covering his tip with the condom, and rolling it to a tight fit. Turning her body around, her back to him, she planted her feet on the bed near his waist, moving her pussy down to connect with his cock. 

She had a fleeting thought of teasing him, but for now she needed immediate penetration. She took the plunge slowly at first, adapting to him, and quickly found her comfort level due to her previous fingering and the lubrication it had inspired. 

Like a winding mechanism, Jenny's legs moved up and down, slamming her weight down, taking all of him in comfortably. "Uuumhhh," he groaned, his cock feeling the tight, tantalizing pressure of her hungry wet pussy. With every move she made he felt like he could pop. Her hips moved circularly around his cock all the while grinding into him, inducing a loud throaty "Ohhhh!" from Edward. She looked back and winked, causing him to blush, giving him the encouragement in that look to be more daring.

Moving beyond his shyness, Edward stretched both hands along her back. Slowly moving his hands down along her hot body, inhaling and heaving due to the sensual combination of what he felt and her pussy's grip, he placed them on her firm curved ass. His eyes were no longer the only things following her movements. His finger clutched her ass, pulling her down to his root.

Jenny's black hair that she had tied up became loose in the heat of their fucking and flowed down to her ass, covering Edward's hands. Her fingers moved back to re-tie it, but Edward voiced his objection by grabbing her hand. "Leave it. It's so hot!" 

"Really?"

"Of course! Your hair's beautiful. You're beautiful!" 

Edward couldn't see, but her face was beaming.

"You are so incredibly beautiful."

Her hands were on his knees as her fingers gripped his calves tighter and tighter as she neared orgasm, spurred on by Edward's compliments. "Yeeees," she hummed softly.

Her hair bouncing wildly back and forth gave him sudden inspiration. His hips slammed vigorously upward, causing her to turn around and offer him a pleased smile. His cock rocketed into her hot tight hole, the two now moving into each other like clockwork. 

Jenny's pussy muscles tightened around Edward's hard pistoning cock. "Yes," she moaned, spinning her body around to ride him, facing him, and lowering to her knees as he drove upward with rapid thrusts. She lowered her head to his, her tongue dominantly entering his mouth. 

She began a frenzied moan deep in his mouth as their two sweaty bodies slammed together relentlessly. "Ohhhh...Ohhhh!" he let out, as his entire body shuddered. 

Jenny rolled off Edward and lay next to him, giving him one last kiss before jumping off the bed. "Are you seriously leaving already? God, I feel cheap."

"That was great, way better...it was good, really." Jenny moved closer, giving him another kiss. "But I don't want to give you the wrong impression, Ed. This was only sex. You have the room until ten in the morning," she said while putting on her bra.

"I don't have the wrong impression. You can sleep here without leading me on. We don't even have to cuddle," he said.

She gave him a smile, brushing back her hair as she climbed onto the bed, and gave him a kiss on the cheek that moved closer and closer to his lips until it became a full out open-mouthed deep French kiss. A good hour had now passed and all Richie had scored was Azumi's phone number. He had long forgotten her and had a pretty blonde socialite grinding into him. Over his shoulder, Enrique, after having charmed his way into the name brand table, was punching above his weight chatting up Rihanna of all people. 

Five minutes later the pretty blonde socialite's girlfriend forcibly removed her girl's ass from Richie's grinding groin, giving her an open kiss in front of Richie. "Lesbian, huh!" mumbled Richie; about the same time, Rihanna left the table and the club with Drake. 

Unfazed, Enrique simply moved on to another girl. The new girl seemed to be quite responsive. Richie neared him, hearing that he had pulled out his trump card. He was speaking Portuguese, throwing in some French for good measure.

Richie's iPhone soon buzzed with an incoming message.

"It's Azumi R U stil ^ 2 hang?" A smile came over Richie's face as he read.

"problE whr R u?" he replied.

"I'm off wrk earlE i'm n d lobey R U ^ 2 git together?" 

"I'm dwn!" Richie finally declared.

She responded with a smiley face. Richie moved to exit the club when she sent another message.

"iz yor Italian l%kin frNd dwn 2 hang az well? If he's not that's kewl." Richie, assuming she had a friend for Enrique, responded automatically. He turned and looked at Enrique. The girl he was talking to looked like she'd need another hour of priming. 

"YS he's down, c U in a min," Richie said, knowing that Enrique now owed him one.

"gr8!" she responded, adding in another smile face.

Richie waved Enrique over. "Is it working out with the redhead over there?"

"Why?"

"Just tell me. Is it?"

"No, it's going to take an unreal minute to hook her."

"Okay, I have a girl for you."

"Who?"

"Remember Azumi?"

"The Asian girl?"

"Yeah, she has a friend for you. She's in the lobby waiting for us."

"Let's go then," Enrique said impatiently.

They walked past the entryway into the hall of mirrors that led to the elevators. "Can I use your iPhone? My battery died hours ago." 

Richie handed Enrique his phone when his bouncer friend, Christopher, called at him, "Yo." 

"Hey, Chris, what's up?

"Your boy, Mark. He legit?"

"Without a doubt."

"True?" Christopher said, rubbing his chin.

"Before I forget...what's the dirt on this new Japanese girl?"

"Not much. Don't feel bad though; she never goes home with any customers. She has a dime ass I have to say."

Leaving Christopher, Richie walked toward Enrique who was near the elevators.

They stepped into the elevator when Enrique burst out with, "You know this Asian slut is expecting us both to fuck her, right?"

"Fuck off...you're bullshitting!"

"I'm dead serious."

"Seriously, I had no fucking clue. I thought she meant she had a roommate or girl for you."

"Read between the lines," Enrique said, handing Richie his iPhone back.

"We should just go back upstairs and leave her down there."

"Why? I mean, I'm down to double-team this slut," Enrique declared. 

Richie's eyes widened and his pupils trained on his friend. "You're fucking around, right? I'm not doing any gay shit."

"And I do? Don't be stupid. She just wants two cocks in her, I'm sure."

"You're speaking like you've done this before."

Enrique lifted his shoulder, evoking doubt. 

"God, Mark was right. You are a Spanish man-slut!

"So, are you doing it?...Because I would rather fuck her by myself. I actually haven't double-teamed yet; but I won't pussy out of it, that's for sure," Enrique made clear.

"I'll do it, but I get first crack at her," Richie said, setting his terms. They argued over this until the elevator arrived in the lobby with them playing rock-paper-scissors.

"Fuck you...whatever...I won either way!" Enrique yelled while exiting the elevator first. Richie ignored him, heading toward the petite tight-bodied Azumi. Both men looking down on the five-foot-two girl that they both surpassed by nearly a foot. She now wore jean shorts that showed off her bubbly ass and a white shirt that revealed her pushup-enhanced medium bust.

"Hey, I'm Enrique," he said, extending his hand to Azumi. 

"Hi...I don't know if I made myself clear in the text."

"We figured it out."

"You two are okay with it? I don't expect you two to do anything together." Then a mischievous grin appeared on her cute Asian face. "Unless you two want to."

"Not fucking happening," Richie said while they walked to the front doors.

"Oh, never say never, honey," Enrique said, placing his hands on Richie's shoulders, motioning a mock massage.

"You're fucking suspect," Richie said to Enrique, shaking off his mock advances as Azumi and Enrique laughed hysterically.

Arriving outside, Richie gave his ticket to the valet and soon enough his white Porsche Cayenne was pulling around the corner.

He then looked at Enrique. "As per our agreement, Spanish lover boy, you're driving," referring to the rock-paper-scissors game.

The Porsche SUV arrived. Richie handed over a tip and soon the group was off. Richie's plan was his early access to Azumi's tight little body.

"We're going to my loft in Tribeca," he stated.

"How long until we arrive?" she asked with her sweet voice.

Richie looked out and saw that Enrique was driving on West Street. "Ten, twelve minutes." 

Taking note of the time Azumi shifted over to Richie, giving him a saliva-filled kiss. "Hmmm!" she moaned, her fingers snapping back his belt buckle and fishing for his cock. When it was open to the freeing air she wasted no time dropping her head down. In one swoop Azumi had half of Richie's cock in her warm liquid mouth. 

Her downward eyes did not see Richie's extended hand that Enrique high-fived.

Azumi's lips tightened around Richie's base, diving up and down repeatedly and sucking with hot precision. 

She soon applied her small hands to multiply her efforts along his shaft as her mouth sucked around his cock head, licking it like ice cream and gliding her tongue on the underside, her large eyes opening up at his bliss-ridden face.

Azumi felt a tremor run through Richie. His imminent orgasm was confirmed when his hands began to cradle her head. She removed her hands from his cock's length, going deeper like before and swallowing him whole.

For a second Azumi pulled back and he then relented. "Hu...uhg...uggh," she coughed.

"Are you alright?" Richie asked as Enrique peered back from the rear-view mirror. 

She smiled up at Richie and promptly went about applying her lips to his cock again, diving down deeper without Richie's hand forcing her to the root depth that she now achieved on her own. Her head bobbing, Azumi quickly worked her mouth around his cock, the speed and swirling rhythm of her tongue causing him to yell out "Fuck!" Azumi knew Richie was close to coming.

To Richie's disappointment Azumi pulled her head back, her hands now taking over pumping his shaft. Under her hands' strong and sensual motions, he erupted all over his waist, her hand, and his leather seats. He tilted his head back victoriously, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a salivating dog. Seeing the mess he had made, Richie uttered "crap." 

Enrique broke out in laughter over Richie's discomfort. A minute later Enrique was pulling into the garage and soon they were on an elevator journey to a new experience. 

Azumi's nimble legs easily wrapped around Richie's waist as the elevator zipped upward. Her tongue entered his mouth, liberally tongue fucking him.

Easing her feet to the floor, she then tried to kiss Enrique to his played-down protest while Enrique thought but didn't say that she'd need to brush Richie's cum from her tongue first.

Richie directed Azumi to a bathroom giving her a fresh toothbrush. He and Enrique now went to the redbrick styled man's lounge that was equipped with a hazard-inducing bar. Before taking a seat Richie grabbed a bottle of Gray Goose, which he and Enrique now took shots of. 




The Wrong Thing To Do



Realizing that he had discovered her clit, Mark licked away and around it for minutes he then brought his fingers in to assist, and to provide some relief to his tiring tongue. 

Mark kept up the licking, and the finger fucking, as Tiffany moved her hips to connect to his forceful but purposeful fingers. 

After giving his tongue a needed rest, Mark slowly moved inward once more running it across her now slick mound focusing on her clit. "Oh yeah right there!" Tiffany cooed with a whispery tone, repeatedly, which minutes later, was joined by the uncontrolled arching of her back.

Her long legs, responding to the lustful moment, wrapped around Mark, forcing his head down further. Her hips gyrated to the movements of his tongue and his purposeful fingers.

Suddenly Tiffany lost control of herself, dangerously forcing Mark's head down even further. Panicking searching for oxygen Mark's hand went free, accidentally catapulting his nearby play station three, across the room. The sounds of wreckage were sidelined by the build up to the orgasmic moment, as Tiffany reached her peak, erupting indiscriminately. 

"Oh oh-god umhhhhh yessss fuuckk yeeeess," she screamed while her hands entangled in Mark's short brown hair loosening her grip hesitantly as she released him.

Tiffany huffed and puffed, not to blow anything down, but just to request something. Her wish was fulfilled, as Mark pounced on her, positioning his quickly wrapped cock at her entrance.

The impishly experienced Tiffany had an idea, showcased by her mischievous grin. Moving herself to the oak floor, she stuffed two pillows under her back after which she pulled Mark in byway of one beckoning finger. 

With the absence of clarity Mark positioned himself over Tiffany, missionary style, as she spread her legs pleading with him to hurry. "Fuck me please fuck me." she begged.

Losing all his inhibitions, Mark kissed Tiffany's neck slowly entering her soaking pussy, teasing her the way he felt she had to him, that year he lived at home with her.

As his cock continued to tease her slick opening, he moved his mouth to hers, as they mutually tasted each other's juices. Their mouths attacked each others as if starvation was a possibility, while their tongues lapped up the other's juices. "God holy fuck," Mark said, muttering under his breath, while biting his lips as his penis slowly broke through the tight warmth of Tiffany's beautiful, puffy pussy.

Mark moved slowly and carefully with deep strokes, with eventually his entire length. Shortly after, bursts of pleasure escaped both mouths. Opening his mouth, a truthful thought fell out. "I can't believe I'm fucking my stepmom right now." 

Tiffany simply smiled as she encouraged him with, "yeah just like that, fuck your step mom." This was followed by Tiffany's French tip nails digging into Mark's back, as she pulled him into her, and for the second time of the night, if it was still indeed night and not early morning, Tiffany went orgasmic. 

Mark got up, thinking it was all done now but was surprised as Tiffany, with a devilish wink, looking at his cock asked, "You didn't cum; you're good to go again right?"

With a nod from Mark, she got on all fours on top of the bed. Mark took a second to look her over, taking in the fiery dragon lower back tattoo, set against her toned, sexy body. It almost made him cum where he stood.

Quickly putting on a new condom, Mark slowly made his way behind Tiffany, slowly positioning his cock at his stepmom's vagina once again, this time preparing to enter her from behind.

As Mark began to think of Tiffany as the stepmother that had made his life a fucking nightmare, any romantic emotions were quickly blocked from developing further.

With this thought behind him and the impatient Tiffany looking back over her shoulder Mark began to thrust forward, entering Tiffany's warm, tight embrace that had been made dripping wet by his recent diligent effort 

Mark did this with enough force that Tiffany was rocketed toward the king size bed's headboard. Mark pumped away, pulling out, leaving her empty and begging to be filled once more. Ending his torturous teasing, he pushed his full length back in with full stride.

Mark, keeping a calculated pace, pushed all his cock into her depths, pulling out halfway, then feeding it all in with his abdomen hitting against her tight little heart shaped ass. Moving his hands along her ass, Mark slapped her left cheek lightly, as she rocked it back to meet his thrusts. This was made redundant, as Mark took a handful of her hair and started pulling with his pushes

"Oh...fuck...God...umhg" escaped Tiffany's mouth, as her cheeks became rosy red and her pussy wetter than ever. Mark slapped her ass again, harder this time, keeping his hand there, running it against her ass. Accepting the fact that this was a unique unrepeatable event with a woman in a league he would probably never crack again, he decided to just take it all in and enjoy.

Mark began to let loose slapping her ass, completely filling her pussy by way of long tilted strides. Just as Mark put his hands under his cock to rub the top of Tiffany's pussy she said "Oooogh Awwh yess!" She moaned with Mark gracelessly grunting alongside her. "I'm almost there, fuck me harder!" He did and she replied once more with "harder, fuck me like I'm your bitch".

I'm almost there too, Mark thought deciding to finish big. Mark redoubled his efforts by pounding away with fierce intensity, as Tiffany's legs buckled and Mark exploded into the condom.

Mark collapsed onto Tiffany with Tiffany cuddling under Mark's warm protective embrace, until they fell asleep.

----------------------------

It was now hours later, as Tiffany got up with the budding day light shining through on their naked cuddling bodies. Tiffany carefully rolled from under Mark's body, dislodging herself. She fumbled around the room, as she looked for what she had come for.

Minutes later Mark got up clapping the lights on. Tiffany looked back at him, dropping his trousers that she had been rummaging through. "I'm just......" Tiffany said, as Mark got up and went to the sitting room attached to his bedroom.

He came back with a digital camera memory card. "Looking for this?" Mark asked.

"Give it to me! I won't loose this life." She said with forceful anger, and a twitching eye. She then charged Mark, followed by a quick retreat as he easily and delicately repelled her.

"And here I thought there was a slight chance, the fucked up mess that was last night, was genuine." Mark said with calm temperance.

"What do you plan on doing with it?" Tiffany said, realizing it might be all over for her.

"I wasn't going to do anything with it." Mark gave a reflecting pause before he spoke. "I guess I'm still not going to do anything with it, don't worry it's the only one." Mark said humbly as he recalled his Mom, his real Mom telling him that those with any sort of power must embrace compassion, because "karma's a bitch."

"What really" Tiffany said with hope and caution entwined. Hope reigned eternal as Mark handed her the memory card.

"Just stop seeing those guys okay? Be faithful to my dad." Mark stated with Tiffany dutifully nodding her head then finally saying, "Sure I can do that." 

Mark was fully expectant that everything would go back to the status quo as he walked back to bed. That's when Tiffany armed with a golden smile jumped up onto Mark, wrapping her legs around his waist, giving him a deep kiss, instantly arousing Mark. Mark went hard instantly with Tiffany's opening inches away.

"It seems you're ready for round two, I'll do anything you want." Tiffany said with a radiant smile as she kissed Mark. He responded with a less than cold reaction.

"I'm one of those guys." Mark stated letting Tiffany down, and putting her gently on the ground gently.

"One of the guy's what?" Tiffany asked flustered.

"I'm one of all the guys you can't fuck. I never thought I'd be in a place where I would have to make such a hard decision, because god you're beautiful." Mark said regrettably. Tiffany was a supermodel personified, plus it seems that she found her soul, but he made a moral judgment call that he would have to live with.

Right then they heard a noise from the intercom. "Your Dad must be home from Shanghai." Tiffany said surprising herself with the anger she felt, over Mark's rejection seconds ago. Believe it or not, she'd never been rejected by man or woman before. 

"I was Miss fucking USA, who the fuck is he?" She thought inside her head. While thinking that she realized that Mark had changed, a lot. He was fit confident and bolder, but she tried to reject these thoughts, after all he was just a nerd she used, right?

"You have to leave and get dressed." Mark said urgently as Tiffany walked away confused, and briefly alone with her thoughts.

As Tiffany walked downstairs, after changing into tight jeans and a strapless bubble top, she saw Mark dressed and talking to his father. His medium length white hair, and tall statuesque build, made him look like an elder statesman; More so than the Chairman CEO and owner, of the Brice Corporation. 

His leadership ability allowed the private company, to keep making record profits during the recession. This meant their two hundred thousand employees were safe.

His voice was that deep voice of god news anchor voice. It made anything he said project strength, and confidence even when he said the simplest of things. "Tiff did you hear how my boy is a boxing champion. He's one of the best boxer's on the Dartmouth boxing team." 

The old man said, proudly patting Mark's head, while Mark smiled at Tiffany. Tiffany looked on smiling back, trying to hide her growing anger as she went to them, and welcomed the husband she once loved, home.

After Mark's visit, Tiffany went back to a moderate, vow abiding form of her regular self. It could have been the fact that she suspected Mark had copies or might do something else, but since then she always afforded a hint of respect, caution, and uncontrolled, secret lust or whatever it was, toward him.

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I Would like to thank Drenkara & Wiseowl1955 for your editing help.