19 comments/ 39862 views/ 10 favorites When Love Comes Back To Haunt You By: CharlieB4 G'day Here is another story but be warned the theme of this one is a departure from my most recent efforts. No cute and cuddly Aussies here. I apologize in advance if I got some geographical references wrong. I have got to give a special thanks to Yoni Noni for her help editing. Her suggestions and changes made a big difference to the finished product. Warning: Wives have sex with a man other than their husbands. If that is offensive to you then perhaps you should bypass this story. Otherwise who knows you may enjoy it! Cheers CharlieB4 * I walked into the restaurant and the head waiter rushed over to greet me. "Good evening sir! So nice to have you here again. We have our usual table ready. Please, follow me!" "That's it boy, grovel." I thought to myself. "Your know what you have to do to get a big tip." I followed him through the busy dining room. People turned and followed our progress, no doubt wondering who this was that had the snotty prick head waiter in such a panic. I waited for him to pull out my chair, then sat down. Holding my hand out, I didn't utter a word. He placed the menu in my hand, then retreated. "I'll just get your usual, sir," he said, before winding his way back through the other tables. My position was important. A corner table in a slightly raised area that gave me a view of the entire dining room. There were five other tables in this area, but they didn't interest me. The occupants of these tables had enough money to make my offer inconsequential. Nor did the harbor view; stretching out through the large glass wall behind my back, hold my gaze. My focus was on the other diners in the "cheaper" seats. This restaurant had always been a fine dining mecca. Three chef's hats in the local food guide and an international reputation, thanks to the chef, who had become a celebrity; writing cookbooks, judging on TV cooking shows and being seen with a bevy of models. He basked in his over-rated reputation. It was a place for the wanna-be's. First dates, anniversaries, corporate tables, and people seduced by the name and the image of its star chef made up for much of the clientele. It offered fine food and charged a fortune for it. It was perfect for me, because it was a smorgasbord for a man with my particular kink. I liked fucking married women. I liked it a lot. I especially liked it if a reluctant husband watched as his wife was reduced to a wanton slut, willing to do anything to get her desires met. While I pretended to look at the menu, I scanned the tables, looking for likely marks. Dismissing larger groups, I was scanning the tables for two, dismissing the younger ones. They would probably be first-date or engaged couples. I wanted the ones who had been married for a while, one or two kids, but the wife still had looks. Once I had reduced the field, I cherry-picked further; looking at the clothes they were wearing and trying to deduce their economic status. I was looking for a man in a dodgy suit, or with an expensive shirt that had fresh-out-of-the-box creases. He was a fish out of water in this place. The wife, or partner, had to fit different parameters. Obviously, as I have said previously, she had to be attractive and have a decent figure. I was a sucker for big tits, so a little extra flesh around the middle and bottom was sometimes the price I had to pay. Her dress had to be sexy, but conservative. There were always some with micro skirts that paused when they picked up there handbag beside the table, to give other diners a flash. Or, low cut tops with acres of flesh exposed to titillate the males eating nearby. I preferred mine to be better covered, with subtle hints to the treasures that lay beneath. I did make exceptions: if she seemed uncomfortable in her skimpy clothing; if she stood up carefully, holding her skirt down or tugging at the hem in the hope that it would somehow grow longer. She was obviously a modest woman who had made a choice that she now regretted. She might regret it even more eventually, if she accepted my offer. I also took careful notice of the body language when they were looking at the menu. Seeing the man stiffen as he checked the price column was also a give away that he might be open to my inducements. I hadn't always done this. I had been married myself for twenty years. I was born into a wealthy family. That is, my mother was from a wealthy family. My father got his money the easy way. He seduced my mother and got her pregnant, then married her. He then set about doing everything he could to spend that wealth. I was raised by nannies and then sent to boarding school. I rarely saw my parents as they tripped around the globe. In those early days there were no fast jet airplanes so they mostly traveled by ocean liner. There were two times my father took time out to be some sort of a dad. The first was the day after my eighteenth birthday. It was during Summer break from school, and I was at home. My parents were going on another trip to which I wasn't invited. My father had engaged a woman to look after me while they were away. She was different from the others who had done this job in the past. Younger, better looking; and she wore different, skimpier clothes. My mother left the room whenever she entered. The night before they left, my father came to my room. "Son, the next four weeks are going to be crucial in your life." He said earnestly. "Yes sir," I replied formally. "We are giving you the best education money can buy, but your next lesson can't be learned in school, or at university. It's a life lesson, and Betsy is the most qualified person to teach you." Betsy was my new nanny. "Son, there are three ways to get a lot of money: inherit it, marry it, or work for it." He counted off on three fingers to emphasis his point. "I'm sorry son, but this gravy train will be exhausted before you can get your hands on it, so the first option is out. Number three is a possibility, but it is a path that many have trod and few succeed at. Which leaves you with number two; marry it. This path is also not easy, as there is a lot of competition for the best prospects. That's where Betsy comes in. She is a professional lady of pleasure, and if you follow her directions, you should become a master of the art. It will be a tool that many of your contemporaries won't have. So, cherish it and use it well." He patted me on the head, and then left. They were gone early the next morning, and they were no sooner out the door than Betsy was walking into my room with a dressing gown on. She paused at my bedside, loosening the sash of the gown. She opened it, and smiled as my eyes widened, taking in all the delights of her feminine form. Opening her gown further, and shrugging her shoulders caused the gown to puddle at her feet, letting the early morning sunlight from the window illuminate her body. Grasping the covers on my bed, she pulled them back, exposing the tent that had formed in my pajamas. "Ohhh, yes." She said, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching with one of her small hands to grasp my still growing erection. "This will do nicely." So began a pivotal four weeks in my life. I guess the cliche would be, 'a boy became a man'. My regular schooling continued, but Betsy stayed with the family. I'm fairly certain that my father was also a recipient of her charms. Once, as I slipped my dick into her after Christmas dinner, she gasped, "So much bigger than daddy!" The second time that he took an interest in me was just after I'd graduated from university with a degree in business. He presented me with my graduation present; a bundle of files tied with a red ribbon. "Here's a leg up on marrying well." he said with a smug look on his face, "Three girls from wealthy families, for you to marry." I untied the ribbon and opened the first folder, and read its contents. The only daughter of a wealthy businessman, it gave a complete rundown on her life: Her likes, her dislikes, interests, hobbies; a list of places she frequented, friends, acquaintances and rivals for her affection. The two remaining files were the same type of exposé for two other girls. I tossed the folders across the room, vowing to make it on my own. After nine months of hard slog; long, boring hours of doing menial tasks at the bottom of the corporate ladder, I began studying those folders every night. Some quick scanning of the social pages told me that candidate number one was engaged to her university sweetheart. Candidate number two was overseas, working in the slums of South America, so she was out. That left candidate number three, Jasmine Victor. The only daughter of Alison and Bernard Victor, and heiress to an estimated two hundred million dollar estate. Dad had been an entrepreneur: Started in mining, progressing into telecommunications; jumping just before that peaked, into biotech, and now ran a venture capital business. Mum was a matron of high society, and was on many fundraising committees for worthy charities. Jasmine was only an average student, and had gotten a bachelor's degree in marine biology. Currently, she was between jobs and was spotted often at university. Speculation was that she was thinking of getting her doctorate, which the university was encouraging, as when she was last there her father donated a big chunk of cash to the medical research center. She was thirty-two, and the least attractive of my original three candidates: probably best described as bookish, slim and cute in appearance; pleasant face with curly brown hair and glasses. I looked for a common interest; something that I could become involved in to enable an initial meeting. I really couldn't find anything. About the only commonality was that it appeared as if neither of us enjoyed working. She was eight years my senior, so there was a real generation gap to bridge. I did some more background work on her, and began moving in her circles, getting to know her friends. Eventually, one of them introduced me, and I was admitted into her inner circle. We all hung out together as friends. I went to a couple of parties at her house and met her parents. One night, I got my chance. A guy was hitting on her at a concert and she told him to go away. He was persistent and must have followed her when she went to the toilet. I was coming out of a men's room stall when I saw him trying to drag her into the disabled person's stall. I saved her and beat him up, so I was her hero. We went back to the rest of her friends, and she was gushing about me. She actually proposed to me that night. I refused, thinking she was joking, and she left in a bad mood. I thought I had blown it when the next day I got a visit from her Dad. "I heard about what happened." he said, flatly. "I'm sorry, it's just that...." He held up his hand to silence me. "It appears I've underestimated you." he went on. "I thought you were a gold digger like your father, but it seems you take after your dear mother, instead. I appreciate your refusing Jasmine's impulsive offer, and now I have a question for you. Why did you leave your job in the city?" "I didn't leave it." I answered. "I took some time off to consider my future. I did four years at university and graduated near the top of my class. I didn't appreciate the corporate structure, where I was a glorified mail boy." He considered me for a moment, rubbing his chin. "Okay," he said, still mulling over my answer. Then, he seemed to make up his mind. "How would you like a job with my company? We have a different structure based on a team, so everyone gets input into decisions. However, you would still be the junior, so your views won't carry as much weight." "Where do I sign?" was my reply. Jasmine calmed down after a couple of days, and she rang me to apologize. I started a new job, and began officially dating Jasmine the next week. Six months later, we were engaged. Twelve months later, we married. Two years later, Jasmine had our first and only child; a bouncing boy named after her paternal grandfather, John. In some ways, that was the beginning of the end. Jasmine fell into a deep funk and was diagnosed with post natal depression. I was busy at work, having risen to become Bernard's right hand man. I took my eye off the ball, thinking that the pills Jasmine took would fix things. They didn't, and Jasmine got worse and had to be hospitalized. It was then that her mother told me she had been diagnosed as having bi-polar disorder in her teens. It explained the intense highs and lows that were a feature of her personality, and probably the reason for the sudden proposal she had offered at the concert.. She had been on medication before, but once the stress of school and university was past, she stopped taking it. I did get my Jasmine back, but the rest of our lives together was punctuated with depression episodes. John grew up a strapping young lad; tall, handsome and smart. We don't really know when it started, but in his high school years he started hanging with the wrong crowd. I was running Bernard's company by now, and once again missed the signs. He got into drugs. I guess we indulged him with a large allowance that he didn't have to work for. I don't know whether it was the drugs or the family history, but he had a mental breakdown and was diagnosed as manic depressive. We kept him home instead of letting him go to college, but we couldn't save him. He died of a heroin overdose at twenty-one. Six months after that, Jasmine took her own life. I was distraught. I gave up work, sold my half of the business, and locked myself away for two years. I drank heavily and became a physical wreck. I missed my parents' funeral. They died in a plane crash. I called it even, since they missed my wedding when they got snowed in, skiing in the Swiss alps. An old university friend saved me. He moved in, threw out all the booze and made me go swimming every day. He got me back into the business world when we started our own investment firm. I hadn't slept with a woman in three years when I was putting the deal together in Chicago. One of the guys who had come to us to back his idea, invited me to his home for dinner. He was in his late twenties, and had a hot wife. She had the "look"; conservative but sultry, and had been flirting with me, calling me daddy. It appeared that her husband had been trying to talk her into swinging, so I put the hard word to her. She was a little tipsy and agreed, and her husband was all for it, at first. I fucked her on the sofa. She was squealing and grunting and begging me not to stop. I had no intention of stopping. She was moaning about how good it felt when I felt my balls boiling. I tried to pull out, but she pulled me close and wrapped her long legs around me. "Cum with me!" she demanded, and I blasted like a teenager. Hubby was standing there stroking his pecker, waiting for his chance, but she wasn't letting go. Grabbing my head, she put her tongue down my throat. After she had finished inspecting my tonsils, she pushed me onto the floor. I thought it was her husband's turn, and I was done for the night. So did he, as he walked towards her, still fisting his prick. "Not tonight, baby!" she sneered as she sat up. "I've got a real man, tonight! I'm not wasting my time with you!" She twisted on the sofa, then dived head first for my dick, taking it into her mouth as she tried to revive it. I was about to tell her that I needed a bit more recovery time, when I looked up at her husband. He was shocked, confused and probably angry, but above all, beaten. My cock started to rise. I grabbed her hair and started jamming my cock into the back of her throat, making her gag, but she didn't stop. In fact, she seemed to be trying harder. Pulling her head off my dick, I turned her head towards me and shouted, "Hey slut! Where's your bedroom? I want to fuck you in your own bed!" She jumped up, grabbed my hand and began leading me up the stairs. Hubby was following, whining about it not being a good idea. She ignored him. When we got to the room, I turned to him before he made it inside. "Not tonight, junior!" I told him. "You're on the sofa!" "But, honey!" He pleaded with his wife. "Real men don't share!" she exclaimed, and slammed the door in his face and locked it. I fucked her twice more that night. Next day, I told her to go and fix me breakfast. She reached for a night gown, but I grabbed it and told her, 'no, she had to be naked'. She left without protest. Her husband was asleep against the door. She stepped over him as he woke up. I got up, showered and dressed before going to the kitchen. Breakfast smelled good, but she looked better. When her husband came downstairs, I had her bent over the island bench, fucking her up the arse. He stood in the doorway as he took in the scene: His wife sprawled over the bench, one leg on the floor, the other propped up on the bench, opening up her private areas for my pleasure. Her hands gripped the edge of the breakfast bar, knuckles white. An open tub of butter was beside her, my greasy hand holding her shoulder for leverage as I worked my dick into her bowel. No moans this time, just little sighs as I let the pressure off and eased out a little. Followed by a squeak as I pushed forward forcing more of my dick inside. I could see her face reflected in the glass of the dormant flat screen TV on the opposite wall; eyes closed, a grimace, then relief, back to a grimace. He sagged against the door frame, his hand gripping the architrave for support. I pulled out, and her head dropped, landing on the granite top. I dipped into the butter, re-greased my pole, then lined it up for her back door again. Looking her husband in the eye, I winked as I eased forward into his wife. The squeak was replaced with a low groan as I slid in more easily. I was concentrating on the task at hand when there was another moan; this time of anguish from her husband. I looked at him again and saw his utter humiliation as he tried to hide the tent in his pants. His wife was glaring at him with contempt. I got even more aroused and began thrusting savagely, as my balls prepared to unload. Once I had reached the point of no return, I backed off and hauled the wife off the bench and down onto the floor in front of me. Stroking my cock while holding her hair, I fired my seed onto her face. After I had calmed down, I spread my cum using my cock on her face like an artist uses his brush. I went to the bathroom to clean up, leaving her on the floor and the husband leaning on the doorway with a wet patch on the front of his pants. Three weeks later, I was back in Chicago to sign up and finalize the deal. I got in Thursday afternoon and signed up, leaving instructions with the lawyers to keep the husband there for as long as possible on Friday. After a good night's sleep, I dressed and was on their doorstep at eight in the morning. I knocked and hubby answered with a look of surprise and shock on his face. Not bothering to wait for an invitation inside, I brushed past him and saw my quarry in the hallway putting the finishing touches to her hair and make up. She was wearing a navy wool skirt that finished just above the knee, a white silk blouse, black stockings and heels. I moved behind her, placing my hands on her hips and pulling her back against me. Sliding my hands up her sides, I reached around and cupped her breast. Feeling her nipples harden under my touch, I hooked my fingers in between the buttons of her blouse and ripped it open. Buttons flew in all directions. She gasped, but made no attempt to stop me as I continued to maul her bra-covered breasts while grinding my growing erection into her bottom. Her husband tried. "Darling, um...haven't you got an important presentation today at work?" When Love Comes Back To Haunt You We both ignored him. I took a step back and pulled her with me. Putting pressure on her shoulders, I got her to bend over the hall table. Reaching down I eased the skirt up over her arse. She was wearing thigh high stockings and black lacy knickers. I unzipped my fly and fished out my hard cock. Stepping forward again, I rubbed my erection against her lace covered pussy. She groaned and reached back between her legs, pulling her underwear to one side so that I was in contact with her flesh. Grabbing my pole with her other hand, she brought my cock head to her entrance and drew me inside. I let her have the head and a few inches, then stopped. She was pushing back in frustration, but I held her firm. "Ring your boss." I ordered, "Tell him you won't be at work today." "Honey! The presentation!" Hubby was still hanging around. "Are you still here?" I asked the husband sarcastically. "Not much point in going if you're not there to sign!" He blurted back. "I did all mine yesterday." I spouted. "So fuck off, and let me get back to satisfying your slut." It was there again; the humiliation, the impotent anger. I felt my cock raise up a notch. His wife was searching through her bag, looking for her phone. "Why do women have so much junk in their bags?" I thought. I decided to give her some incentive, and went a little deeper before retreating again. She found the phone, opened the screen, scrolled to her work number and hit call. I got a firm grip on her hips. "Hello Molly. Is Geooffff......there?" she sputtered. I had slammed into her as hard as I could, then slowly withdrew before going in hard, again. "I'm a...a biiittt off color. I caaan't make it iiinnn today." she tried her best to say. "Yeessss, I'm okay. Just a stomach buuuug. I've got to goooo!" She finished, and hung up. "Oh god, you're a bastard!" She gasped, grinding back against me. "And you love it, you cock-hungry whore!" I settled into a steady rhythm, pulling her hair with one hand and slapping her arse with the other. Her husband was still in the doorway, looking pathetic. I stopped thrusting and she looked over her shoulder at me. I nodded towards the door. Turning to look at him, she cursed. "Oh shit! Would you just piss off for fuck's sake? Take the hint!" He scurried out the door. I think he was crying. I stayed most of the day, fucking her in every room and on most of the furniture. The Viagra I had gotten was very handy. After each time I came inside her, I got her to sit in her husband's favorite chair in the lounge room, while she licked me clean. There was quite a wet patch by the time I left. I never went back to her, but I was hooked on this gig. I decided after the first time, to keep my desires away from business contacts. I came up with my scheme while flicking TV channels one night when I was bored. Indecent Proposal was on a classic movie channel. Robert Redford wasn't a bad guy to pattern my routine after, I felt. I modified it a bit. One million to fuck Demi Moore might be okay, well back then anyway. However, for the women I was chasing, I could aim lower. Wave the opportunity of one hundred thousand dollars in front of a guy with a mortgage and car payments, and you would be surprised how many of them will jump. Not that I did this every night. Once a month, I might find a candidate that ticked all the boxes. My success rate was about sixty five percent. More said 'yes,' but if they both looked too eager, I ditched them. I wasn't interested in experienced swingers. I wanted unsure first-timers that I could manipulate. The wives don't always turn into cock-hungry sluts. Some find the experience disgusting and degrading. I remember, I once picked up a couple in Cincinnati. They were from the corn belt; Indiana, Iowa, Illinois....one of those states, and from some little hick town where they had a farm that grew corn and raised hogs. With a drought hitting their returns, the farmer's eyes lit up at the thought of one hundred thousand dollars. His wife was interested at the start, but as her husband's enthusiasm increased, hers waned. I got them to my hotel room, and once they saw the cold hard cash they were sold. She disrobed, which I must admit was a bit of a disappointment. With the wrapping off, gravity took hold. You win some, you lose some. I got her on the bed and started warming her up, but to my dismay, hubby was more interested in counting the money than what I was doing to his wife. I mounted the good lady and found she wasn't enjoying it either, I was obviously a little bigger than her husband, and it was uncomfortable for her. I plowed on, regardless, determined to get my dollar's worth, and she started sobbing. Then I had an idea. I got off of her, and turned her onto her hands and knees, facing her husband. Pushing back in again brought a fresh round of sobbing, as she watched her disinterested husband counting the cash. I wet my thumb and pushed it into her arse, which caused her to squeal. "For fuck's sake, Mary," Hubby barked, "Can you keep it down? I'm losing count here." "Fuck you!" She hissed at her husband, as I replaced my thumb with my cock. She did keep it down after that, but I could feel the hate growing in her, and it got me off. I pulled out, leaving her to slump on the bed. Hubby finished counting, and was looking at me in a weird way. Then he spoke, and it got really freaky! "We've got two daughters at home, and I'm sure one of them's a virgin!" he said, and I saw his wheels turning, deciding what offer he would accept for their charms. Hearing this, his wife jumped off the bed with a lot more energy than she had shown earlier, and began beating the shit out of the guy. She was kicking and stomping. He was bleeding when she finally stopped. She was standing over him, gasping for breath when I cleared my throat. She turned towards me, and I pointed to my revived dick. Her shoulders slumped, and she got back on the bed to continue with her side of the bargain, albeit with a little more enthusiasm this time. In the past three years, I've fucked the lot; every race, creed and color. Black is really a favorite. For so long, I believed that all black men were big and dominant. It was a huge turn-on to be slipping into a wet black pussy while she told her husband how much better I was, as a lover. So, that brings you up to date, and explains why I am in this restaurant alone, scanning the crowd. I've picked out two likely candidates. Before I work out which one is my choice for tonight, I go for a stroll, ostensibly to go to the bathroom. The first one I picked out are an Asian couple in their early thirties, that look a little out of place. The husband certainly did a double-take when he saw the menu. So, money could be an issue. His wife is a little on the small side up top, but she is trim and has a beautiful face. Getting closer to their table, I realize that I can rule them out. She has on an engagement ring that looks expensive, and no wedding band. So, they are highly unlikely to be bored with each other. After going to the bathroom, I detour past the table of my second choice. They look like the winners. They have been here for a while, and there is no entree. So, it seems they are trying to save money. She is wearing a tight fitting blouse, but she hunched her shoulders to hide what I think could be magnificent D cups. They both have scruffy shoes, again pointing to a shortage of money. His shirt still has the creases from being taken out of its box, so I think it might be a birthday, or anniversary. She has a simple engagement and wedding ring. So now, I must make contact. The table next to them has one of those baby strollers that more resembles a Hummer than a means of transport for a baby. I deliberately try and squeeze between it and my target's table, rather than go on the other side where there is more room. Clumsily trying to move the monstrosity, so I can pass I knock the lady's drink over. "Oh god! How clumsy of me. I'm so sorry." I right the glass, and make an attempt to mop up some of the spill with a napkin. I signal to the head waiter, who rushes over. "Is there a problem?" he asks. "Only me. I'm afraid I knocked this lady's drink over and messed up their table. Do you like champagne?" I ask the lady innocently. "Yes, but it's no problem. It was nearly empty." she assures me, but hubby doesn't look as happy. "No. I must replace it, I insist!" I said, and turned to the waiter. "Do you have any Krug Clos d'Ambonnay? I ask, already knowing the answer. "Yes, I think there are two bottles left." the waiter replied. "Bring it to this table and put their meal on my bill." I instruct him. "Oh no! We couldn't accept that." the lady said, apparently horrified. "Well, he did make a mess, dear." Hubby chimed in. Now, it looks to me like I have made a good choice. "There will be no arguments. It will be done, Mrs...?" "Jackson, Laura Jackson. And this is my husband, Peter." I ignored him and put all my attention on her, taking her hand. "I do apologize for spoiling your night, and I hope you have a great meal." I respectfully remark. She got all coy and smiled, then dropped her head. I left them to talk among themselves. Back at my table, I noticed the menus were back. It appeared there may be a change of meal plans, now that money was no object. Mr and Mrs Jackson seemed to be the perfect targets. He was money hungry, and she hid what I think is a smoking body. I ate my meal, which was better than the last time. The chef may actually be cooking tonight, instead of doing a TV show. I glanced regularly at the Jackson's to see how they were progressing. The champagne was hitting the spot, and Mrs. Jackson was sitting back, giving me a much better look at her assets. Mr Jackson appeared to be hitting the top shelf, with a brown liquid in a tumbler over ice in his hand. Their dessert arrived, and it was time to see if the Jackson's could be tempted. The restaurant had emptied out, so I left my table and headed their way. Grabbing a chair from nearby, I placed it beside their table and sat down. "How was your meal?" I asked, jovially. "It was wonderful." Laura replied with a sigh. "I'm sorry, I don't even know your name." "Dan," I said, offering my hand to both of them. "Thank you, Dan. At least let us pay for the wine." Laura offered. "No, No, No." I insisted. "There is no need. I just hope you had a great night." At five thousand dollars a bottle, I doubt they would have had any hope of paying for it. "Were you celebrating anything special, tonight?" "It's our eighteenth wedding anniversary." Laura said, smiling. "Get less time for murder." Peter chimed in. Laura fixed on him with a stare. It was getting better all the time. "I would have been celebrating my twenty seventh last month." I said wistfully. "The bitch left you, eh?" Peter slurred. I hesitated, then quietly and humbly answered, "No, she died actually, six years ago." Laura was mortified. "Peter! What is wrong with you? I'm so sorry, Dan. I can't believe my husband could be so insensitive." I was growing cold on the idea. Laura was certainly a hot enough woman, but a drunk husband was unpredictable. "Sorry, Dan....sorry. (burp) So, how did you make all your money?" Peter asked with a smirk, he obviously enjoyed stirring the pot. "Peter!" Laura gasped, "Don't answer, Dan. He is just drunk and jealous." "It's alright, Laura." I comfortingly answered. "Indeed, it is I who is jealous of him." "Oh, right! Moneybags is jealous of me!" Drunken sarcasm dripped from Peter's mouth. "Of course," I said, ignoring his slurs. "You will be going home with Laura, while I will be alone, tonight." Laura blushed, and looked away. "Swap you!" Peter blurted. "Well, that would be an interesting proposition." I replied, seizing upon his unsolicited remark. 'What an idiot,' I thought to myself. He was supposed to be celebrating his wedding anniversary. Peter and I stared at each other for a moment. 'Fuck it.' I thought further, 'I'd like to teach him a lesson.' "One hundred and fifty thousand dollars for one night with your wife." I said softly, studying his face. He was thinking about it; seriously thinking about it. Then, Laura intervened. "Hey! I'm sitting right here. I'm not a car that can be loaned out." she responded indignantly. Peter's eyes never left mine. "Two hundred thousand," he bargained, "and you can have her for as long as you can keep it up." A counteroffer. He suddenly appeared more sober. It was my turn to think. It was a lot more than I normally paid, but it might be worth it. He was assuming that, at over 50, I might not last very long. Silly boy. "Done." I agreed, and held out my hand to shake on the deal. Peter hesitated. "Peter! Don't!" was Laura's sharp rebuke, but it had no effect. Peter gripped my hand and said, "Deal. Will it be C.O.D.?" "Certainly," I quickly replied. "I'll just go and settle the bill here, then we can leave." I got up and went back to my table where the bill was. Looking back towards the couple, they were in deep conversation, and she didn't look pleased. They were still at it when I returned to their table. "...And, we won't have to worry about a mortgage or the car loan." Peter was reasoning with his wife as I came within earshot. He was still trying to sell it. "I'm not going to sell my body!" Laura's mind appeared to be made up. I placed my hands lightly on her shoulders and leaned down, taking in her intoxicating scent, and then I whispered in her ear, "I'm not buying you, Laura. You are priceless. I'm merely buying your husband's permission. Nothing will happen tonight if you don't want it too." I noticed she was biting her lip. She appeared flushed. Her breathing had quickened at my touch. I think she wanted this as much as I did. I just needed to get her away from Peter. Then, she could relax and not feel his scrutiny. At least, not until she was hooked. I had a plan to separate them, later. Outside, my limousine was pulled up, both of the front doors opened and my driver and his brother got out. "You have both had too much to drink. I can't allow either of you to drive, so I called and told Tony to go and get his brother." I pointed to the smaller of the black men. "This is Alex, he will drive your car. Peter. Laura, you come with me and Tony." The tension rose a notch. Peter wasn't sure he wanted to be split up from his wife, and asked, "Why don't I ride with you and Laura?" "Because, Alex doesn't know where your car is." I answered forcefully, opening the back door of my car and motioning for Laura to get in. She stepped inside, and Peter grabbed my arm. "Don't start too soon, old man!" He hissed. "Wouldn't dream of it." I reassured him. I want you to see it all." I got in and closed the door. My driver pulled away, leaving Alex and Peter outside the restaurant. Laura seemed intent on keeping some distance between us, but there weren't too many places for her to hide. I asked her if she wanted some more champagne. She said 'yes,' so I did the honors. The bar was on her side, so I squeezed in next to her, to get access to the bubbly. Once I had poured two glasses, I moved back a little, but made sure our legs were still touching. She gulped her glass and held it up, indicating she wanted a refill. I poured again, leaning into her and brushing against her breasts. I sat back slowly, and placed my hand on her knee. She made no attempt to remove it, but clamped her legs together. "May I ask you something?" I inquired. She nodded, 'yes.' "Why do you wear your shirt buttoned all the way up?" I queried. "You have a gorgeous figure. Why not show it off?" "I don't like to flaunt my body in public." She replied loftily. "Well, your not in public now. It's just me. Let's just open the top two buttons." I urged quietly. "You don't want to see my saggy old breasts." She giggled. "I won't be seeing your breasts, just opening your collar a bit." I persuaded. Laura didn't say anything, so I took that as permission. I reached across, undid the buttons, then opened her blouse. The tops of her breasts heaved, bulging out of her bra. I ran my fingers lightly across the exposed skin, causing Laura to take a sharp breath. "They look fantastic." I marveled, running my fingers over them again, adoringly. Her nipples began to poke through her bra and blouse. "I think you should stop that." She whispered, with her head laid back. Not very convincing. "Are you sure you want me to?" I replied, letting my hand slip a little lower, brushing against her nipple. Laura closed her eyes, and I cupped her breast, causing her to gasp again. I leaned in and nuzzled into her neck. She tilted her head away, allowing me to plant little kisses along her shoulder and up to her ear. I lowered my hand to her knee, rubbing it over her stocking, and moving steadily higher, until Laura clamped her legs together, again. I moved back up to her breasts, caressing them through her clothes while I continued my delicate kisses on her neck. She turned her head back to say something, but I smothered her words, bringing my lips to hers and kissing her deeply. She didn't kiss back at first, but I persisted. Her tongue eventually came to the party. Laura broke away, panting. I dropped my hand, but onto her knee this time, and began moving higher. There was no closing her legs this time. Instead, she held them as wide as her skirt would allow. My fingers touched her panties. I lightly brushed against her snatch as we continued to kiss. It was time to push the envelope. I withdrew my hand and broke our kiss again. I began unbuttoning the rest of her blouse. As soon as I could, I started sucking her nipple through her bra. Laura groaned and cradled my head. Pulling me away momentarily, she pulled her breasts out of their bra cups, then pulled me back to suck on the real thing. I started hitching up her skirt to give me better access to her pussy. She likewise was getting more frisky, and slipped her hand down to grope my groin. "Let's get organized." I said, sitting back and unbuckling my belt. "Get your bra and panties off" I ordered. By the time I had my shoes, socks and pants off, Laura was sitting back with her magnificent breasts unencumbered, and peeking out through her open shirt. Her skirt now resembled a belt, as it was hitched up to her hips. She reached over and grabbed my shaft, sliding down to take it in her mouth. The intercom crackled to life. "Dan, are you ready to go home, or do you want me to take a detour?" Tony asked. Laura stopped sucking and was looking up at me. I pressed the button, and said, "Give us another ten minutes." I lifted Laura and laid her back on the seat. "My turn." I growled softly. I lifted one of her legs over my shoulder, and kissed my way down her inner thigh to her clean shaven pussy. I ran my tongue over her labia, then slipped away. Sliding back, I gave it another quick flick of my tongue before slipping away again. Laura's legs moved together, her hands grabbing at my hair as she tried to get me to lick her clitoris. I gave in finally, and slid my tongue between her outer folds to the hidden treasure within. "Oh shit! I'm going to cum!" she barked all of a sudden. Her hips began humping my face. I straightened my tongue and let her grind against it as she climaxed. When she calmed down, I sat back on my haunches. "Roll over and get on your knees." I commanded her. She was putty in my hands now, waiting to be molded as I pleased. She scooted over and I lined myself up for her pussy. Sliding in slowly, I enjoyed the sensation of a new love box. I stroked her gently as she recovered, and she began to respond when the car came to a halt. When Love Comes Back To Haunt You "We're home, sir." Tony announced. I thrust into Laura twice more before pulling out. "No, don't stop!" She pleaded. "Time to go inside." I said, getting out of the door. As I had gotten out without my pants on, Laura must have assumed that we were alone. When she climbed out and saw her husband leaning on their car, she pulled her blouse closed and held it with one hand, while trying to pull her skirt back down. I grabbed her hand and put it on my cock. "Come on, Laura." again, I commanded. "Let's go inside so I can get back into that sweet pussy." I watched unaffected, as mixed emotions played across her husband's face. Putting my arm behind her, I propelled her towards the front door while holding her hand on my dick. Once inside, I backed her up against the wall and lifted her leg. I slipped my cock back inside, where it belonged. Thrusting fiercely into her, I explored her throat with my tongue at the same time. Peter had to walk past us to get inside, with his wife groaning and kissing me. Her legs wrapped around me, and my hands were under her arse, supporting her weight as I pushed her to another climax. She squealed this time, as another orgasm tore through her. I let go of her, and withdrew as she stood on unsteady legs. "Okay, where's our money?" Peter asked impatiently. "You said C.O.D., didn't you?" I asked, turning towards him and showing off my still hard cock. "Laura hasn't got me off yet, but we are just about to fix that." I pointed to a door that led away from the foyer. "In there will do, for now." Peter opened the door into my spacious office. I led Laura over to the desk, and laid her on it. Putting her legs over my shoulders, I pushed my stiff member back into her twat. "Grab a drink if you like, this could take a while." I boasted to Peter, pointing to a cabinet that held a wide variety of booze. Peter's shoulders dropped further. He poured himself a scotch, and sat in a chair facing away from us. I loved it; another man who had made a very wrong choice. He may not have been watching, but he couldn't help hearing. The sounds of sex filled the room; the slap of our sweaty bodies as we came together, Laura's gasps and moans, her luscious breasts bouncing and shaking on her chest as I increased the tempo. I grabbed a handful of her left tit and squeezed. Her eyes, which had been closed, flew open. "Move your arse, baby! I want to cum inside you!" I grunted loudly. Laura increased her efforts, gripping the edge of the desk near her butt and pulling herself down as I drove up. Her pussy wasn't the tightest I've fucked, but she knew how to work a cock with her internal muscles. My balls were tingling and I was very close. "Are you safe, Laura?" I stopped and asked. "I'm going to blow!" "Yes! Yes! Give me your cum!" she shouted. She went ballistic, thrashing her legs on my shoulders like a bronco rider trying to earn extra points. I felt my seed rush up my shaft and pour into her. She continued grinding against me, wanting to peak again. Laura was mine, now, I was sure. I would give Peter his money, then tell him to fuck off. I was looking forward to exploring her further in my bed. I wanted to try that arse tonight, and tomorrow, I would call my driver to take her home. Tony would join me for one last fuck, I planned. He would take the front door, his black cock stretching her pussy further, while I had her mouth and then finished in her butt. * * * * * * * Peter is now the narrator/speaker. "I heard Dan groan, and knew he had cum. I had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, the old fart could fuck. Laura was an old hand at taking cock, but she wasn't in his league. Glancing over my shoulder at the two of them, he was standing still with his cock inside her. She was rubbing up and down, side to side with her hips, trying to cum again. One of her hands was on her nipple, and the other was rubbing her clit. Her legs were interlocked behind his head. I stood and turned to face them. "You got your delivery. Now, give us the money and we will leave!" I insisted. Dan looked at me with a smirk on his face. "You can have the money, but I think Laura will be staying with me. Won't you, dear?" Laura looked at me and then at him. He stepped back, his cock falling out of Laura's stretched pussy, followed by a gush of white fluid. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet. His cum snaked down her leg. Laura didn't say anything. Dan stepped forward and kissed her, hungrily. She reciprocated, which he took as her acceptance of his invitation to stay. "Go and give your husband a kiss goodnight, then come back to me." Dan told Laura. "You can suck my cock while I count out his money." An evil grin was plastered across the old fuck's face. She walked towards me with her head bowed. "You don't want to stay here, do you?" I pleaded pathetically. She kissed my cheek and held my hand, then turned to walk back to Dan. He was over by a wall of cupboards. Opening one, it revealed the front of a safe. "Peter, you must turn around." he said. "I don't want your prying eyes getting my combination. Laura, over here on your knees, dear. The quicker you get me up again, the quicker you get your next orgasm." I turned around, and heard Laura's footsteps on the tiles. She stopped, and then I heard a sigh, and a slurp as she took his wet cock in her mouth. Next, I heard the little clicks as the tumblers were turned, followed by the 'clunk,' as the door opened. Then, a loud scream. "Arrrrgh!...What are you doing, you stupid bitch?!" Dan whined, as he pulled Laura's hair and punched the side of her head. Blood was dribbling from the sides of her mouth, and from her clenched teeth. Not part of the plan but I had to admire her lateral thinking, she was crazier than I thought. His frantic actions got her mouth open and he pushed her away. Blood now streamed from his lacerated cock. He gripped it at the base and slowed the flow. "You whore! You filthy fucking whore!" He screamed, lashing out with his foot at the prone woman. "You're not getting any money, now!" "I think we will." I said with a laugh. While he was distracted, I had gotten behind him to hold the safe door open. Next, I stuck a syringe in his exposed thigh, and pressed the plunger down. He whirled around and tried to push me away, but I kneed him in his damaged privates, and he went down. "In fact, Dan, I think we will be very well-compensated." I said. "There looks to be about five hundred thousand in here." He tried to get up, but the anesthesia I had injected into his leg wouldn't let him. I placed my foot on his shoulder and kicked him over onto his side. He looked up at me, his eyes pleading, "Why? How...?" I reached up and pulled the blond wig off my head, revealing my short-cropped red hair. Next I started peeling off the prosthetic nose. "Remember, eighteen months ago, New Hampshire." I explained. "You were there backing some republican presidential hopeful." He looked at me, not understanding. "My wife worked for one of the local committees. We went to lunch with you." The recognition flashed in his eyes, and he gave me a contemptuous look and said, "I gave her back to you. It was only one night." I could see that he needed more enlightening, so I gave it to him, "You gave her back, but she was never the same. Six months ago, I was on my way home and my car broke down. I decided to walk across a field, rather than go all the way around, on the road. Coming into my backyard, I could see into the living room. My wife was on her hands and knees, on the rug, while my neighbor fucked her. His brother was sitting on the lounge chair, stroking his dick, waiting his turn. For all I know, it was to be his second go-round." Dan rolled onto his back. The drug was making him drowsy. I knelt down beside him, getting close, to be sure he heard me. "I walked in, and my neighbor's brother grabbed for his pants. Do you know what my wife said? Huh!" I grabbed Dan and shook him. "She said, Don't worry about him. He won't stop you! Then she laughed." Tears came to my eyes, as I recounted this terror to Dan. "You see what you did? My wife went to her grave, having no respect for me!" I hissed at him. "Her..grave?" Dan quizzed. "Yes," I continued, "You see, I walked through that lounge room to my bedroom, hearing the laughter behind me, and I got my dad's old Smith and Wesson, model 13. I shot my neighbor's brother first, in the back of his head. My neighbor jumped up raising his hands but I shot him as well. I looked down at my wife, and she was still laughing; laughing like a maniac. So, I put the pistol in her mouth, and pulled the trigger." "Holy God." was Dan's reaction, his jaw hanging open. "The police?" I didn't know if it was a request but I took it as a question on consequences. "Do you remember I was a fireman? We learn a lot about fires, not only about putting them out. If you keep your eyes and ears open you can learn a lot about setting them too. All they found was a few bones in the ashes!" "Wh....wh.....what about me? I have mo....I have more money." At that point, I stopped, and told Laura to load up the cash. Then, I turned back to Dan, grinned, and said, "You're a dead man."