Gretchen Lovewell - 2 free porn video

Jack fucked me at Cinque, an upscale Italian restaurant on Friday night. It was hard sex beyond my wildest dreams – something primeval, savage, elemental. He was pure male, pure aggression, no sophistication, seeking only to penetrate me, to invade my most intimate recesses, to spray his copious outpouring of seed deep inside me. He made it clear that he wanted to impregnate me, to make me bear his child. And while the guilt of cuckolding my loving husband Richard was intense, I could not deny the excitement of this perverted passion. 

The weekend with my husband, Richard and our baby, passed slowly. Richard had sex with me on Saturday night, carefully using a condom. It only served as a tame and boring counterpoint to my ferocious coupling with Jack. When Richard asked me how it was, as he always did, I told him that he was a great lover. I had always known that it was lie, for he very rarely made me cum, and I faked orgasms to please him. But now I knew just how much of a lie it was.

On Monday, I went to work at the law offices of Brewster Bailey Hamilton LLP where I was a junior associate. It was a usual hectic Monday and I did not have a moment to call my own till the late afternoon. But as soon as I got a free moment, I called Jack’s office.

“This is Gretchen Elise Lovewell.”

“Well, you certainly love well, Gretchen Elise,” said Jack. His gravelly voice brought his hard, athletic physique to mind.  

“You’re the CEO of the Foncault Group, a conglomerate with sales of over twenty billion,” I said. “Your father-in-law Reginald St. James is the Chairman.”

“Yes,” he said.

“You’re married to Carmen St. James Grierson, you have two children, Martin and Kelly.”

“Yes,” he repeated.

“You married well, Grierson,” I said. “No college degree, just three years in army special forces.”

“All of this is public knowledge, Gretchen.” He paused before going on. “Look, I’ve had a stressful day full of high-pressure meetings, with a lot of very smart people. I’ve been defending the interests of the Foncault Group, that’s my job. Now I’m mentally exhausted. I was thinking of going to my gym for a hard boxing workout with the heavy bag when my desk phone rang. I only picked it up because I saw the caller ID was from Brewster Bailey Hamilton LLP.”

“I looked you up in the ExecuComp database,” I persisted. “It says your salary and stock options are both zero and you have no stock in your name. I looked up the Foncault Group. Your father-in-law owns forty percent of the outstanding stock, your wife Carmen owns eleven percent. You own nothing, your net worth is zero.”

I paused, but Jack did not respond. But I could hear his heavy breathing down the line, so I knew he was there.

“Yet you were named one of the ten most effective CEOs by Fortune magazine four times! I mentioned your name to the junior partners here at Brewster Bailey Hamilton. One of them said you are a business genius. He said that as Foncault CEO, you took the group from five billion to twenty billion.”

Jack still did not respond, but his breathing was definitely getting heavier.

“Then I asked one of our senior partners, Chip Bailey. He has a strong opinion about you, Grierson. He called you a low-life from the gutter. The SEC filings for the Foncault Group list your father as Sergeant Henry Grierson of the US Army. But – and this is interesting, I’ve never seen this before in an SEC filing – it lists your mother as ‘unknown’.”

“Chip Bailey is right,” said Jack. His voice was rough, but he sounded like he was forcing out the words between pants. “I am a low-life from the gutter. You seem to have spent a lot of time researching me. Why do you care?”

“Is it surprising that I should want to know everything about the man that fucked my brains out?”

“Well, you’ve got it all now,” he said.

“Where’s your father now?”

“He’s dead,” he huffed. “He was killed in action.”

“Who was your mother? Where is she?”

“Just some whore my father slept with,” Jack wheezed. His anger boiled over as he tried to shout over his panting. “My father raised me. I grew up on army bases. That’s all there is to it.”

“OOHHMFFF!! OOMMFFFF!!” A woman’s choked expostulations down the line.

“Are you fucking a woman now, Grierson?” I asked, incredulous.

“No,” huffed Jack, giving up on trying to keep his voice normal. “Not real sex.”

“Not real sex?”

“I’ve got my cock in her mouth, Gretchen,” Jack panted.

“She sounds like she’s drowning,” I said.

“It’s not her first time with me.”

“You’re a pig, Jack Grierson.”

“MMFFGGHH!! MMMFFFGGGHHH!!” The woman’s stifled gasping grew louder. I could picture Jack’s enormous member stretching this woman’s lips, distending her throat. I was sure I could discern a note of panic in her smothered puffing.

“Don’t hang up, Grierson,” I said. “I want to hear you cum, schweinehund.” (Pig dog.)

I heard Jack groan deeply, and knew he was letting himself go. Then I heard gurgling, that I assumed was the woman attempting to swallow his massive flow.

“Du bist ekelhaft, Grierson,” I said in a low voice. (You’re disgusting, Grierson.)

“Damn you, Jack,” I heard the woman say. “You came so hard, your semen is dribbling out of my nose, it’s all over my blouse and bra, it’s on my breasts. I can’t go home like this.”

“Take a shower in my private bathroom suite.” Jack sounded a bit tired in the immediate aftermath of blowing his load. “You’ve got a change of clothes in the office, right?”

“Okay,” I heard her say. “I better hurry and get cleaned up. I need to be home soon.”

“Don’t let your husband give you any more grief about your pregnancy,” I heard Jack say.

“He’s getting used to it,” I heard her say. “By the time I give birth, he’ll love this baby. Even though it’s yours.”

“You’ve got to stop saying that, Farah,” said Jack. “You’ve got to keep saying that your husband is the father.”

“I love being pregnant because it’s your baby, Jack.” Her voice grew fainter and I assumed she was walking away.

“Are we done, Gretchen?” Jack asked. “I’d like to get going to my gym.”

“How do you manage it?” I asked, returning to my line of questioning. “You drive a fancy Jaguar, you have credit cards, you live well.”

“You won’t let it go, will you, Gretchen,” Jack said. “You’re so German.” It sounded like he was smiling. “It’s a company car. I have a company expense account. It’s quite generous. I live with my wife and children in her mansion.”

“Why no salary, no stock, no possessions in your name?”

“It was my father-in-law’s condition for the marriage.”

 “Does your wife know about all your women? You’re very often in the gossip sheets.”

“Carmen and I have always had an understanding.”

“Do you want to see me again?” I asked.

“Do you want me to fuck you again?”

“No, I don’t,” I said.

“Why not?”

“I’m 26, Grierson. You’re in your forties. You’re almost old enough to be my father.”

“I don’t want to marry you, Gretchen. I just want to fuck you.”

“Du bist so grob!” (You’re so crude!)

“You’re a cave woman, Gretchen, we both know that now. Für dich ist ein roher Fick ein guter Fick.” (For you, a crude fuck is a good fuck.)

“Ich bin nicht grob, ich bin eine anspruchsvoll Frau!” I protested. (I’m not crude, I’m a sophisticated woman!)

“Then why did you call me?”

“I just wanted to tell you all that I found out about you. And to tell you that I don’t want to see you again.” I paused and waited for his response. I wanted him to say that he wanted me, that he needed me, that sex with me was the best he’d ever had. But the line remained silent, and I grew anxious.

“Well?” I prompted him.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye, then,” he said.

“I really don’t want to see you,” I said hastily, before he could hang up. “But don’t let that stop you.”

*

I still had a stack of briefs to go over, but I couldn’t concentrate. My conversation with Jack kept running through my head. He was fucking the mouth of this woman, Farah, while he was talking to me! I told myself I was furious about being treated like this, to make me listen to another woman choking on his massive cock. I’d told him I never wanted to see him again, and I was relieved that he had just said, “Well, I guess this is goodbye, then.”

But as I got to the middle of the first page of the brief, I realized that I could not remember anything about it. I read the words, but my brain refused to make any sense of them. I felt Jack’s hands on my buttocks, holding me up, my back against the glass of the French windows at Cinque, his thick cock in me, so deep in me. He was pounding me against the glass, and I heard my inarticulate cries in my head all over again. My pussy spasmed and I realized my panties were wet. Not damp, but wet, soaking.

Without truly thinking, I raised myself off my chair, and slid my black silk panties off. I hiked up my skirt around my waist and ran a long fingernail over my clitoris. I gasped at the intimate touch. I pushed a forefinger into my pussy, while continuing to stimulate my clitoris with my middle fingernail. Talking to Jack had conjured up images of our sex together. Without even realizing it, I’d gotten myself very excited. I was breathing hard and just on the verge of cumming, when there was a knock on my office door. I cursed, but knew I had no option. I pulled my skirt down, shoved my wet panties into my Fendi handbag, and said, “Come in!” The door opened.

It was Wayne Hilliard, cool and confident as usual. He was a senior associate, the top grad out of a top law school, good looking, popular with the clients and the senior partners. He was only 30, four years senior to me, but everyone said that he would make partner within in a year. He was always hitting on me, and I could see that this visit would be no different.

“Hi, beautiful,” he said. “Want to go out and get a coffee before we start the night shift? I like your black silk choker ribbon, matches your black bra outlined through your translucent white blouse. Very sexy, you’ve got my cock hard already. I’ll let you sit on my lap, feel it through your short skirt.”

We law associates usually worked very late, sometimes even past midnight. It was part of the standard drill at all major law firms and I knew what I had signed up for when I took the job. But now I was so tense with my near orgasm, that I just could not face an evening fighting off Wayne Hilliard’s sneaky hands. If he wasn’t so well connected in the firm, I would have smacked his face, for I am taller than him in my high heels.

“Not tonight, Wayne,” I said. “I’m going to head home, make it an early night for a change.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“We’ve got four briefs to prepare before lunch tomorrow,” he said. “Are you going to take a free ride on my work again?”

This was bullshit and he knew it. I was the one who almost always did the lion’s share of the work on the briefs, while he just read my work and made the odd edit.

“Do some work, Wayne,” I said. “For a change.”

“Touchy, touchy,” he said, his voice mocking. “What’s got your panties all wet, gorgeous? Thinking of the two of us together under the sheets?”

His mention of wet panties had hit the mark completely by chance, and I fought to keep color from rushing to my face. I smiled to brazen it out.

“Thinking of you makes me sick, not wet, Wayne,” I said. “I’m going home to my baby. I’ve outlined all four briefs, I’ll email them to you. If you can’t finish them, I’ll get everything done when I come in tomorrow morning. I guarantee we’ll have them ready by lunch.”

“I’ll walk you to the elevators,” he said.

I knew this was just an excuse to put his hands on my ass, so I said, “No need, Wayne. I know my way there.”

He turned and headed back to the door but leaned on the jamb, his expression turning serious.

“I’m always here for you, Gretchen,” he said.

“I know, Wayne, and I really appreciate it.” But I thought, Slimy asshole, all you want is to get me in bed.

At the elevators, I ran into Bryn Belladonna. There were over 500 associates at Brewster Bailey Hamilton, but Bryn and I were the only two women under 30. She was 27, just a year older than me, a petite, pretty blonde. She was just over shoulder high to my willowy height, especially with my heels on. She looked guilty when she saw me.

“You going out to get coffee, Gretchen?” she asked.

“No, I’m going home.”

“I am too,” she dropped her voice to a whisper as the elevator doors opened. There was no one in the car, we both got in and I hit the lobby button. Bryn waited for the elevator doors to shut before continuing. “Liam just called and I was giving him phone sex. I got him so revved up, he really needs me! He’s waiting for me at home, says he can’t wait to fuck me.”

Liam was Bryn’s boyfriend, and they’d been together since before I joined the firm a year earlier. He was a history professor, small, balding, and owlish, with heavy glasses. He was bookishly arrogant in the way that professors have of looking down their noses at everyone. He dominated every conversation, treating everyone else’s views as “trivial” or “uninformed”. Richard and I had double dated them a few times, and we found him to be insufferable.

“What’s it like, Bryn?” I asked. “Fucking Liam, I mean.”

“He’s …,” she hesitated. “He always cums quite quickly.”

“Does he make you cum?”

“No,” she said in a low voice. “But I pretend. How about Richard?”

“The same,” I said, laughing. “I fake orgasms too, I’m pretty good at it. Richard really thinks he’s the world’s best lover. But he often does go down on me and sometimes he can actually make me cum that way. He seems to enjoy it.”

“Of course, he does,” Bryn exclaimed. “You’re very sweet down there.”

Bryn and I had had a quick little lesbian fling in her office when I first joined the firm. But we agreed it was unwise for the only two young female associates in the firm to become lovers. It would simply confirm the stereotypes that the senior partners had about attractive young female lawyers. So we stopped. However, the tight skirts and thin blouses she always wore highlighted her cute ass and her pert little breasts. She always caught my eye, and she knew it.

“You have a sweet pussy too, Bryn,” I said. “Doesn’t Liam go down on you?”

“He won’t,” she said, her eyes clouding. “Though he makes me give him blowjobs. He often blows his load in my mouth and then can’t get it up again to fuck me. He always complains when that happens, says it’s my fault.”

“It’s not my business, Bryn, but you’re a very intelligent woman. You make a lot of money, much more than him. Doesn’t he live in your fancy apartment? Don’t you pay all the bills? He doesn’t seem right for you.”

“What about you and Richard?” she asked, a touch defensively.

“Richard makes more money than me,” I said. “He has a net worth of a couple million.”

“But you’re taller than him.”

“Only when I wear heels,” I said, as the elevator doors opened in the lobby.

*

I went by the daycare center, picked up our baby, and drove home in our Mercedes. I parked in the below ground garage of our upscale rowhouse, carried the baby, baby bag, and my briefcase through the comfortable finished rec room that we maintained on the below ground level, then up the stairs. I dropped off the baby bag and my briefcase on the thick carpet, and sat down on the sofa.

I unbuttoned my blouse all the way, pulled down one of my black silk bra cups and offered the baby a thick, red, meaty nipple. It perked up and leaked a tiny globule of milk on exposure to air. The baby suckled on it greedily, and I felt relief as the pressure of my milk buildup eased. He was a big for his age and quickly emptied my breast. I pulled down the other bra cup and the baby made short work of it. Then he yawned, I burped him, and he fell asleep. He was a good, well-behaved baby – I credited it to the German genes he had inherited from me.

I heard the key in the front door and Richard came in almost on cue. He saw me on the sofa in my business suit with my naked breasts and immediately came over to kiss me. Then he suckled my erect nipples one after the other. He sighed with disappointment when he found he could only get a few drops from each.

“Junior’s always hungry when I bring him home from daycare,” I said.

“I know, I know,” said Richard, not completely mollified. “I’ll suckle you later tonight, when you’ve had some time to lactate.”

“You’re such a baby, Richard,” I said, ruffling his thinning hair before I took the baby upstairs to put him down in his room.

I pulled my bra cups up as I came down the stairs.

“Don’t button up your blouse,” said Richard, as I came into the kitchen. “You look so sexy in your suit and black stockings, with your blouse unbuttoned all the way. Black bra, black silk choker ribbon ...”

“Like something out of a porn movie,” I said, with a sniff.

But I complied with his request. I took out the steak I had transferred to the fridge from the freezer in the morning and cooked it in olive oil on a cast iron skillet with garlic, rosemary and butter, adding in russet potatoes and green beans from the microwave. Richard sat at the kitchen island and opened a bottle of Asti spumante. He gave me a small glass of the light sparkling wine as I was cooking and cupped my breasts through my bra as I sipped it.

“Mmmhh,” I said, looking at him over my shoulder. He closed his eyes and kissed me. I kissed him back gingerly, aware of the extremely hot cast iron skillet in front of me, my bare front protected by nothing but my bra.

Richard had another glass of Asti with dinner. I was pleased with my culinary efforts, and rather disappointed that he did not compliment me. However, he did eat heartily, even cleaning his plate with bread. I had to be content with that.

We went up to the bedroom and Richard grew amorous on the stairs, kissing me, hands ranging over my body. When he found I was not wearing panties, he whispered, “I guess you’re impatient to have me in you, eh, babe?”

“I wet my panties, thinking about you, Richard,” I whispered back. The response came so readily that the lie sounded like the truth, even to me.

He let out a pleased giggle that sounded a bit effeminate. He hurried me to our big king bed, managing to strip off his clothes on the way. After carefully donning a condom, he lay me on my side, his favorite position. He hiked my short skirt up around my waist and entered me from behind. It was a familiar routine – I twisted my body around to kiss him as he began to push into me. His erection was of modest dimensions, his motion was jerky, and his cries of passion heartfelt. Even though I stimulated my clitoris with my fingernail, I felt very little excitement, for we had gone through exactly the same routine hundreds of times, beginning on our honeymoon. As always, Richard came on his fourth thrust into me. I remembered my role at the last minute and let out a deep sigh of feigned satisfaction as he ejaculated, all in one thrust.

Richard’s erection dissipated very rapidly and he slid out of me. He slipped of the condom, knotted it and dropped it on the bedside table.

“I’m so glad you came with me, Gretchen,” he whispered, sounding very sleepy. “We’re so sexually compatible, I think that’s a big part of our successful marriage.”

“Mmmhh,” I murmured.

A moment later, I heard his deep breathing give way to gentle snores. He was naked, his arms still around me, but I was still fully dressed except that my panties were in my handbag. I tried to disengage his arms, but each time I did so, he clinched me tighter in his sleep. After three or four tries, I caught his drowsiness, and stopped trying. I adjusted my position to become more comfortable, and fell into a fitful sleep myself.

*

I was woken by a gentle hissing sound. I tried to turn away from it, and found that I could, for Richard’s hold on me had slackened. He’d rolled over, and was lying a couple feet from me on the expanse of the king size bed, facing away from me. I tried to get back to sleep, when I felt a breath blowing in my ear. I couldn’t ignore it, so I turned back to my side of the bed and opened my eyes.

My mouth dropped open and I had to cover it with my hand to stifle my cry of surprise. Jack was on his knees at our bedside, his face now barely a foot from mine.

“Grierson!” I whispered. “Wie zum Teufel bist du hier reingekommen?” (How the hell did you get in here?)

“A loose slat in one of your lower level windows,” he whispered back. “I need to kiss you.”

I had wanted him to ignore my rebuffs, to seek me, to chase me. But in my marital bedroom, lying beside my husband! This was too much!

“Go away, Grierson,” I hissed. “Richard is right here. And he’s not drunk.”

“Just a kiss, Gretchen,” he whispered. “In your guestroom, it’s at the other end of the corridor.”

“No!” I said, trying to force anger into my voice, while keeping it to whisper.

“You want me, Gretchen,” he murmured.

My skirt was still rucked up around my waist from sex with Richard, and Jack’s hand found my sensitive vulva. His fingers grazed my pubic fur, tracing my fat vaginal lips. He buried his face in my tight cleavage, between my bra cups.

“Gretchen?” Richard’s sleepy voice drifted over to me. I froze, and Jack immediately pushed two fingers into me, his thumb expertly manipulating my clitoris.

“I was sleeping, sweetheart,” I mumbled. I tried to sound sleepy, but there was an edge of, panic, excitement, maybe a tinge of thrill, in my voice.

“That’s alright, then,” he muttered. A moment later both Jack and I heard a soft snore.

“Just a kiss,” whispered Jack, again.

“Okay,” I whispered back.

I carefully and quietly slid off the edge of the bed and tiptoed to our bedroom door on my high heels. It was ajar. Jack was right behind me, and he put his arms around my waist at the door, drawing me into a tight clinch. I felt his massive cock on my buttocks, the warmth unmistakable. He was naked.

As soon as we were out of our bedroom with the door softly shut behind us, Jack unerringly steered me to our guestroom. As soon as we were in it, he picked me up, carried me to the guest room queen bed and deposited me in it on my back. A moment later, he was on me, his face between my knees, his tongue tracing lines of fire up my inner thighs.

“Omigod!” I breathed as I anticipated his mouth approaching my pussy.

It was already moist from his ministrations in our bedroom. He put his face directly into my pussy, his tongue invading me intimately, his fingers helping with adept movements. His hands found erogenous zones on my inner thighs, on my lower belly, on my breasts and nipples. I was panting now, arching my back under his nurturing mouth and hands.

“Don’t do this to me, Jack! MEIN GOTT IN HIMMEL! Oooh!!”

There was no pretense here, everything was real. He drew wildness from inside me that I didn’t know I had. I kept fighting him with my words, but my body now urged him on in every way. I wanted nothing more than to show him my independence, that he could not control me, that I was my own mistress.

“No, no, no, Jack! I DON’T WANT IT! I DON’T!! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! I’m cumming!!”

I laced my fingers in his hair, pulled his face deeper into my pussy, and rotated my hips, grinding my clitoris on his nose. It was enough. I began to cum, biting into a small square pillow to muffle my loud cries.

“UMMMPHPHFF!! UUUMMPHFF!!”

My body spasmed in his tight grip. And then I was still, covered with sweat, my bra and blouse soaked, my skirt just a narrow waistband that covered nothing.

Jack slid up on me, even as I luxuriated in my afterglow. I knew what was he was going to do, and I was not sure I wanted it so soon. But he gave me no choice. I felt his steel hard cock at my warm and ready pussy, and a moment later his cockhead had invaded me.

“Du Biest,” I whispered. (You beast.)

“Dein Biest. Wen du ficken willst.” (Your beast. Who you want to fuck you.)

“Ja, du Schweinehund! Gott hilf mir, ja!” (Yes, you pig dog! God help me, yes!)

He pushed into me steadily, a millimeter at a time. His very slow, deliberate penetration reversed our roles. He was unhurried, while I was in a fever of ferment. He was finally fully in me, his weight on me from shoulder to crotch, my legs parted around him, my thighs threshing and urging him. His cock was deep inside me, still, unmoving, encased in my warmth. I could feel the steady, heavy rhythm of his heartbeat deep in my womb. I had the sensation that his cockhead was a that base of my throat.

“Fick mich bitte,” I whispered plaintively. “Lass mich nicht betteln.” (Fuck me, please. Don’t make me beg.)

“I love being in you, Gretchen,” he whispered. There was wonder in his voice, and it made me irrationally happy. “Your pussy is made for hard fuck.”

I began to rotate my hips, grinding my clitoris on his mount. My motion began to massage his cock, and I got a charge of fierce satisfaction as he groaned. He was losing control, I was doing this to him! I moved faster bucking and threshing, my strong back straining against his weight.

“You bitch,” he muttered. “Du wirst mich zwingen zu tun, was du willst.” (You will force me to do what you want.)

“Ja, mein Monster,” I cried triumphantly. (Yes, my monster.)

He began to fuck me hard, quickly finding a synchrony with my own frenetic movements. I gloried in my violent coupling with him, gloried in cuckolding my husband who was peacefully asleep just down the corridor. 

I knew I had him this time, that he could not deny me, that I could force him to yield to me. Just as the first waves of my orgasm clenched his cockhead deep inside me, I felt the warmth of his first gush of semen. He kept pounding me, spewing the essence of his maleness in me, as I squeezed him with my orgasmic contractions, demanding to receive it.

We were both spent. We lay in each other’s arms, unknowing, uncaring. I was still fully dressed, the top sheet was sodden, my husband could wake, but for the moment, none of this mattered.

I woke a few hours later, and saw from the bedside clock it was just past midnight. I tried to move, but found that my wrists were tied to the headboard of the bed with one of my silk scarves. Jack was awake, on his side and he smiled.

“You bastard,” I ground out. “You couldn’t stand me making you do what I wanted.”

“Do you want me to untie you?”

I searched his eyes. There was no subterfuge there. I was sure that he would untie me if I asked him to.

“Not right now,” I said. “If you are in charge, you also have to do most of the work. Like at Cinque.”

“Like at Cinque,” he agreed.

He fucked me again, and this time he made me cum several times. Then he woke me at dawn and fucked me a third time. By the time he was done this time, I lost count of how many times I came. I was exhausted and fell asleep almost immediately after he came – even Jack was human, for this time he did not have much semen left.

He’d left an alarm on the bedside clock and it went off an hour later. He was gone, but I was still tied down to the headboard by my silk scarf. I worked at it with my fingers, and it took me twenty minutes, but I managed to get free before Richard woke.

*

I had a terrible Tuesday. Thanks to my sexual marathon with Jack, I went to work with almost no sleep. I worked desperately on the four briefs that Wayne did not complete, just managing to get them to the senior partner Charles “Chip” Bailey before lunch. Of course, Bailey showered Wayne with all the praise, giving me a brief word of thanks “for helping”. I managed to keep a civil expression as Wayne looked modest.

I texted Jack in the afternoon when I got a free moment. When he had not responded by the evening, I called his cell from my car on my way to pick up the baby at daycare. It went straight to voicemail. I texted and called him every day that week, with no response. On the second week, I persisted, still sending texts and making calls, but every other day now.

By the third week, I was ready to give up. However, I was a bit late with my period, so I picked up a home pregnancy kit on my way home from work. The next day, I called Jack, this time at his official work number.

“Jack Grierson.” His unmistakable voice came down the line.

“It’s Gretchen Elise Lovewell.”

“Ah, meine Liebe gut,” said Jack. (My love well.)

“Ich bin schwanger. Und es gehört dir.” (I’m pregnant. And it’s yours.)

“How do you know?”

“Richard always uses a condom, he doesn’t want another baby right now. And each time you fucked me, you forced an enormous load into me. You’re like a wild animal.”

“I know I’m a horrible person,” said Jack. “But, keep our baby. Please ….”

“Of course, I will,” I said. “It’s mine.”

“I’ll pay for all expenses, don’t worry.”

“I don’t need your money,” I said.

*

The next day, I called another number at Jack’s office. It was picked up immediately and I heard a clipped, upper class British accent.

“Farah Hojjat,” she said.

“Gretchen Elise Lovewell,” I said. “Can we meet, Ms. Hojjat?”

“Of course,” she said. “But please call me Farah. May I call you Gretchen?”

“If you wish,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said. “There’s no need for formality between us, for I feel like your sister. Do you want to have lunch tomorrow?”

“That sounds good.”

“I’ll come by your office and pick you up at noon,” she said.

*

Seven weeks after Jack fucked me at Cinque, there was a knock on my door at work. I called out “Yes”, the door opened and Jack entered and shut it behind him.

“Your office is small,” he said. “But well appointed.”

I wore a white chiffon blouse with a high professional collar and a colorful Hermes scarf tied loosely but stylishly around my neck. I had a crimson silk ribbon in my dark red hair and a pearl choker necklace around my throat. My business suit was dark gray with a tight knee length skirt, though my suit jacket was hanging on a peg behind the door. I could see Jack staring at the tantalizing contours of my blue silk bra with black lace trim through the translucence of my blouse. It was the same bra I had worn when he fucked me the first time.

“What are you doing here, Grierson?” I asked sharply. “I’m at work!”

“I know,” said Jack. “Aren’t you excited to see me?”

“No, of course not!” I snapped. “You fuck me right under my husband's nose, at Cinque and in my own house, and then ignore me for weeks! I’ve called you, left you messages, texted you, risked my marriage for you. I had to call your office to tell you that you impregnated me. Then you offer to pay me, like I’m some whore. You presumptuous bastard!”

“I’ve been busy,” said Jack, pulling a chair and sitting down in front of my desk. “How are you feeling, Gretchen?”

“Sick,” I said. “Nauseous most of the day. It’s been seven weeks since you fucked me at Cinque. I think you got me pregnant right there, the very first time we had sex.”

“Probably,” said Jack, smiling. “That was good sex. And your husband was just through the window. That made it more exciting.”

“Du bist ein Schweinehund, Grierson,” I said, relapsing into my native German. (You are a pig-dog, Grierson.) “You make me do the vilest things. The very next week after fucking me at Cinque, you come into my house in the middle of the night. You take me out of my husband’s arms and fuck me in the guest room.”

“You didn’t wake him,” said Jack, grinning.

“He wouldn’t have known what to do, poor liebling,” I retorted. “I really hate you.”

“But you like me to fuck you.”

“Mein Gott, Grierson!” I exclaimed. (My God, Grierson!) “I know you’re bad for me, but you’re like a drug, like heroin, like crack. You’ve got me addicted. Each time you fucked me, I told myself, never again, never again. I promise myself, I make resolutions, but then the cave woman in my takes over and I throw my responsibilities and my pride to the winds. I call or text begging to see you. You humiliate me.”

“The cave woman is the real you, Gretchen,” said Jack. “Strong, exciting, quintessentially female. Don’t deny her, don’t be ashamed of her. She’s you.”

“You make me do sordid things! That’s not the real me, I’ll never accept that.”

“How can having orgasms be sordid? Just thinking about that time in your guest room, I’m getting hard again.”

“You’re disgusting!”

“Give me your panties,” said Jack, leaning forward.

“What?”

“I said, give me your panties.”

“I can’t do that! I’m at work! I have a meeting with one of the senior partners, Chip Bailey, in less than an hour.”

“I can take them off you if you want, Gretchen.”

“I’ll scream!”

“Just give them to me. There are getting wet anyway.”

“No, they’re not!”

“You’re lying, Gretchen.”

“How dare you talk to me like that!”

“I can make your blue silk bra through your chiffon blouse,’ said Jack. “It’s the one you wore when I fucked you at Cinque the first time, isn’t it? The panties you’re wearing match it, don’t they?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice very low. “Why do you want them?”

“To smell you, Gretchen, that’s all.”

“I don’t believe you, Grierson. You always want more. When you came into our house, into our bedroom, you whispered in my ear that you just wanted a kiss. Come to the guest room and give me one kiss, you said!” Jack had the grace to look a bit abashed, and I went on. “Then on the guest room bed, you forced your face into my pussy.”

“Kissing your nether lips,” said Jack. I could see he was trying keep a serious face.

“Putting your tongue in my pussy is not kissing, Grierson!”

“Depends on how you define kissing, doesn’t it?”

“Then you didn’t stop, did you?” I demanded.

“Well, you were the one who was crying out, don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m cumming!”

“I did cum. So hard! You can make me act like a wild woman with just your tongue and your fingers!”

“See?” Jack smiled. “It’s all good.”

“Mein Gott! Then you used my scarf to tie my wrists to the headboard of the guest room bed. I spent all night with your tongue was in my mouth, your gigantic cock in my pussy.”

“You were very wet, Gretchen.”

“You fucked me like a jackhammer. You made me cum so many times, I can hardly remember. You kept me tied up all night. And woke me twice more during the night to fuck me again.”

I clenched my pussy lips unconsciously at the memory and the tension showed on my face. I’d felt heat in my belly as soon as he walked in the door, and it had slowly descended into my loins. Now I could feel it acutely.

“Only once more in the night, Gretchen. The third time was at dawn.”

“And it all started with asking for ‘just one kiss’! You left me tied in the guest room. Your semen was in my pussy and all over me, even in my hair! You wanted my husband Richard to find me like that! Thoroughly fucked with your jizz all over me.”

“But you got out, didn’t you? I didn’t use a particularly difficult knot to tie you down.”

“It wasn’t that easy!”

“I had confidence in you,” he said, his tone mollifying.

I could see he was undressing me with his eyes. And I could no longer deny the wetness in my pussy. He was right, my panties had been damp. Talking about our nightlong sexual marathon made it worse. My sexual fluids leaked out of me, making my panties truly wet.

I met Jack’s eyes for a long moment, but finally looked away out of the big picture window. Then I slowly raised my buttocks off my chair and hiked up my skirt. I pulled my panties down my long legs and took them off, careful to avoid snagging them on my stocking garters and tall high heels.

He took the wet panties, put them to his nose and inhaled deeply. When they were not on my body, my panties were such a small scrap of silk and lace! But they contained so much of my sexual essence. As he sat there with my panties on his nose, I began to hope … but I was not sure what I was hoping. Did I want him to leave? Or did I want him to fuck me?

“You’ve got my panties, Grierson,” I said. “That’s what you came for. Now leave. I’ve got to get back to work.”

“I can’t, Gretchen. I want you. I need you. And you want me.”

“No, I don’t.”

He took out his phone, cued up voicemail and hit the speaker button.

“Pick up the damn phone, Grierson,” I heard my own voice. “Richard’s at a client meeting and I’m home. I’m waiting for you.”

“You want me, Gretchen. And you want to cuckold your husband.”

“No, no, no,” I whispered.

Jack stood up, took off his jacket, and hung it on the back of his chair. Then he came around my desk. I stood up as he did so. He hiked my tight skirt up around my waist, revealing my black stockings with their snap-on garters. He put his hand on my bare pussy, fingers tracing my soft pubic down along my vulva. I gasped. He pushed me and I raised myself on my tiptoes, settling my buttocks on my desk. I heard his zipper and the rustle of his trousers sliding down his legs. I put my arms around his neck.

His hands settled on my hips, holding me steady. He positioned his engorged cock at my sopping entrance, the outer folds of my pussy sheathed his tip, already hinting at the wetness and warmth that lay within. His lips found mine and I opened my mouth to receive his thick tongue, a prelude to what I knew would be a much deeper invasion below.

He waited, his huge erection poised, while he took his time tasting my lipstick, inhaling my minty breath, smelling the roses in my cheeks. He took his time unbuttoning my blouse, to expose my blue silk and black lace bra that he knew so well. He pushed up my bra cups, and ran his thumbnail over my nipples causing them to pucker, harden, and leak milk.

When he finally finished the kiss and traced his tongue down my sensitive throat, I whispered, “Mein Gott, Grierson, don’t do this to me!”

He pushed into me all at once, and I put a hand on my mouth to stifle my cry. It still came out, muffled, “MMMFFFFGGHH!!”

He gave me no time to reorient myself, but began to fuck me hard, his mount making sharp slapping sounds each time he rammed me.

“Gott im Himmel! Scheisse! Du bist eine Maschine! OOGHL!!” (God in heaven! Shit! You’re a machine!)

I was already on a short fuse, and felt myself ascending very quickly. It was such a rapid boost that stars danced before my eyes.

“Don’t make me! OOOHH!! Please! Oh, please! Oh, please!! Oh, please!!!”

I began to cum hard, twisting and writhing in his arms. My pussy was warm, tight and clenched him forcefully and spasmodically. My bucking hips and sobbing pants of “FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!” tore away the last vestiges of his control. Jack let himself go, and began to spurt inside me. He kept pounding me and spewing into me, with a series of coughing grunts. The warmth of his ejaculate was deep within me, but as he kept squirting, I felt my insides beginning to bulge.

“Mein Gott!” I said, an edge of panic in my voice. “You’re gushing inside me like a firehose!”

My legs were scissored around his waist, and we held each other, both savoring the afterglow of our powerful orgasms. As I wound down from my high with my arms around his neck, I looked at my watch.

“Omigod, Grierson!” I cried. “Your cock is still in me, and I have a meeting with one of our senior partners, Chip Bailey, in less than ten minutes!”

“It’s OK,” said Jack. “I called the meeting. I asked for you to work on a brief for us, for the Foncault Group. We’ll go and see Bailey together.”

He pulled his shrinking cock out of me with a plop, used his handkerchief to clean himself and zipped himself up. I slid off my desk, but wobbled on my heels. He steadied me with hands on the straps of my bra.

“You have the tits of a love goddess,” he said.

“A goddess who doesn’t have time to go to the ladies’ to clean up!” I wailed. “You flooded my insides with so much semen, it’s leaking out of me! It’s run down my thighs and gotten into my garters and stockings!”

“Take them off,” said Jack, helpfully.

“No panties, bare legs,” I muttered. “You don’t care how I feel.”

“I want you to be bold, fearless. A cave woman.”

I pulled down the cups of my bra and settled them on my breasts. Then I rapidly buttoned up my blouse and pulled my skirt down. I went to the mirror on my office door and ran my fingers through my hair to straighten it. Jack took my jacket on the peg on the door and held it for me to put on. Settling the tie of my scarf in place and touching my pearl choker, I turned to him.

“How do I look?”

“Like a woman who’s just been fucked,” said Jack, with a grin.

“Monster!” I cried.

“Dein Monster,” he said with a smile. (Your monster.)

We walked down the corridor together to Charles (Chip) Bailey’s corner office suite. I tried to tighten my pussy lips and walked in mincing steps. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not stop Jack’s copious outpouring from slowly leaking out of me.

“Grierson,” I whispered, as we approached Bailey’s secretary outside his office. “Give me your handkerchief. Your semen is still oozing out of me.”

He complied and I took it as the secretary opened the door to corner office and announced us.

“Good to see you, Mr. Grierson,” said Bailey coming out from his desk to shake his hand. “And you too, Gretchen. Let’s sit down.”

He led us to a comfortable sofa by a large picture window.

“Now what brings you to us, Mr. Grierson?” he asked.

Jack quickly and succinctly described the details of a complex merger he was undertaking. I wrote rapidly on my iPad trying to keep up with the details. I could not believe how many detailed figures and ratios Jack quoted from memory with no aids whatsoever. Whenever I had a moment, I checked what he mentioned with public data on the internet and found it all to be exactly as he said, to the last decimal place.

“We can certainly help you set up all the legal safeguards,” said Bailey when Jack had finished. “And we will, of course, also advise you on all the compliance issues to make sure you don’t raise any red flags with the SEC.”

“Thank you,” said Jack. “I assume we can depend on your discretion. We wouldn’t want any leaks before we make the formal announcement.”

“Of course,” said Bailey. “And I understand that you wish Ms. Lovewell to work on the deal. Is there any particular reason? We could assign a more senior associate for the same fee.”

“Ms. Lovewell fits me very well,” said Jack, with a sidelong glance at me.

I was trying desperately to look professional and interested, but failing abysmally. I had a pained expression on my face for Jack’s discharge was seeping out of me steadily. It had wet my skirt and bled through the fabric to create a damp spot on the sofa cushion where I was sitting.

“Ah, she fits you well, does she?” said Bailey, giving me an arch look. “She certainly seems to have internalized your, ah, affairs.”

I could smell the pungent aroma of Jack’s semen, and was now sure that Bailey could too. My face slowly turned as red as my hair.

“She’s has taken my affairs deep inside her, Mr. Bailey. Very deep inside her creative processes. I am sure she will nurture them and bring forth new life.”

“I am pleased that the two of you already have such a … productive … relationship, Mr. Grierson. Ms. Lovewell, I applaud you for your service. You will find that the firm is not ungrateful.”

“Mr. Grierson,” I said. “There’s a copy of the Wall Street Journal on the on the side table by you. Would you be so good as to hand it to me? There is an article that I believe is very relevant to your case.”

Jack reached over and handed me the paper. I made a show of looking inside it, while Jack and Bailey discussed the law firm’s fees. Then they rose and shook hands again. As I rose, I dropped a section of the paper on the sofa where I had been sitting, covering the damp spot. Then I followed Jack out, repeating my mincing steps as I tried to tighten my pussy lips again. I held the remainder of the paper behind me to hide the damp spot on my skirt from Bailey.

We made our way back to my office again. I opened the door and told him to wait while I went to the ladies’ room. I locked myself in a stall and tried to clean myself out as best I could, before returning to my office. I found Jack standing by my picture window, looking out at the surrounding skyscrapers.

“Nice view you have here,” he said when he saw me.

I sat down at my desk and opened my laptop.

“Thank you for including me in your deal, Grierson,” I said. “It’s a huge advancement for my career to work on such a big deal.”

“You’ll get a big bonus too, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Why do you always make money for others?” I asked. “Even when you make nothing for yourself?”

“I fucked you, Gretchen. You deserve to get something out of it.”

“So that’s all I am to you? Your whore? You fuck me, you pay me? I don’t need your money. I do well here at the law firm, and my husband Richard’s business is very successful.”

“You can make anything sound sleazy, Gretchen. Even marriage.”

“You’re the one who’s making it sound sleazy. Why can’t you just accept that you’re being nice?”

“Because I’m not nice, Gretchen. What Chip Bailey told you the other day is true. I’m a low-life from the gutter.”

“Really? A low-life? An army officer’s son?”

“Not an officer. A sergeant. Just a grunt. Who got himself killed in a meaningless war.”

“Your father died fighting for his country. So men like Chip Bailey can live like kings in safety and security. You served too, Grierson. You were wounded in action. A hero. I’ve seen the scars on your body.”

“I was just a foot slogger who stopped a bullet. A fool, not a hero.”

“I’ve been doing research on you, John Henry Beaumont Grierson.”

“Where did you find that name?” Jack’s tone was sharp. “I never use it. It’s not on any corporate documents.”

“It’s on your passport, isn’t it? And on your Swiss birth certificate.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I had lunch with Farah Hojjat a few times. We’ve become friends, almost sisters.”

“You’re friends with Farah?” Jack sounded incredulous. He was so shocked that he put his hand on the picture window to steady himself and I was pleased with the effect of my statement. “Farah tends to say silly things about me, she’s a bit of a romantic.”

“She didn’t sound romantic to me. I think she’s a hardheaded, professional businesswoman, really intelligent, and totally grounded. She loves you, but she’s not a fool about it.”

Jack went to one of the chairs in front of my desk and sat down heavily. He covered his face with his hands. His voice came through his hands.

“What did Farah tell you?”

“She told me your name. And she told me where it comes from – who your mother is.”

“I have no mother,” said Jack, his voice flat.

“Lady Amanda de Waynflete-Beaumont, the daughter of Lord de Waynflete, the 12th Earl of Beaumont. She’s now married to the Duke of Airor. Your mother is a duchess, your grandfather is an earl. You were born to her in a Swiss clinic.”

“She never wanted me. She gave me to my father as a newborn and I’ve never met her since then. I’ve never met any of her fucking family either and have no desire to ever do so. The Beaumonts pretend I don’t exist. I often wish she’d had an abortion, it would have been better for everyone.”

“Don’t talk like that, Jack.” He looked up at my use of his first name. “Farah says you have this deep sadness in you. She says you sometimes get into depressions that last for days and drink yourself into oblivion.”

“You mustn’t believe everything that Farah tells you.”

“She showed me some emails from your father-in-law, Reginald St. James. He really hates you. He sounds like a mean sonofabitch, and he wants you dead. And she told me about all your enemies – the Arab terrorists, the Russian mafia, the South American drug cartels. You must be more careful, Jack. Farah is so worried about you.” I paused for a moment before going on, softly. “So am I.”

“Sooner or later, someone will kill me,” said Jack. “No point in worrying about it.”

I got up, came around my desk, and put my arms around his shoulders. I kissed the top of his head.

“Poor Jack,” I whispered. “You’ve been hurt so deeply. A mother’s love is one of nature’s certainties, but she denied you. How could she do that to her own child?”

“Don’t kid yourself, Gretchen,” he said. “I don’t care about anyone but myself. To me, you’re just a good fuck.”

I straddled his lap, unbuttoned my blouse, and pulled down the cups of my blue silk bra. I offered him one of my bright red nipples that puckered up on exposure to the air. He hesitated, but then took it into his mouth, his tongue teasing my small aureole. I let out a small gasp as he suckled and my rich mother’s milk began to flow into his mouth.

“Come to mama, Jack,” I murmured, kissing the top of his head again. “Keep trying to convince me that you’re nasty and repulsive. The next time you fuck me, Farah wants to join us.”

*

I worked late that day as usual and got home after ten. Richard had picked up the baby from daycare and waited up for me.

“Have you eaten?” he asked, when I walked up the stairs from the lower level after parking the car.

“Yes, all of us at the office ordered in,” I said. “I hope you didn’t wait.”

“I microwaved something. Do you want a nightcap?”

“Nothing alcoholic,” I said. “But I’ll have some sparkling water to give you company.”

We sat in the living room, Richard with his brandy, me with my Perrier with a slice of lime.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Busy,” I said. “I got named the principal on a big new merger deal. There’s also a big bonus attached to it.”

“Congratulations, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

“And I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Richard set down his brandy on a side table with a crash. “How can you be? I’m always so careful.”

“You’re probably extremely virile,” I said, smiling. “And condoms leak, you know.”

He sat back and thought about it for a moment. We shared a long moment of silence.

“Pregnant,” he said, finally. “And still lactating. You’re quite a woman, Gretchen.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m quite a woman.”