Morton's Island Ch. 01

the 'arm training' that Jane preferred. They did this now on the floor, with her rump raised on soft cushions, Morton in the 'press-up' position, taking his full weight on hands and feet. Only at the groin were they joined. Morton drove her into the cushions with a regularity that would have been monotonous if it were not that the stimulation as his groin pressed on hers was just what she needed to come. Once, twice, thrice..... OhMiGod! The fourth was mutual, and a beauty.

By now, Morton's muscles had hardened and 'training' filled the entire period between lunch and their before-dinner drink.

After dinner they retired to complete the day 'relaxing', but the session did not run its customary course. Morton just could not maintain his erection through the slow fuck. Jane sucked him hard a few times so 'normal service' could resume, but the problem became acute to the point where Morton was moved to say,

"If you don't mind, my dear."

"Not at all," she said, comfortingly, and she stroked the hair on his chest.

They slept well, nevertheless, and together, as they had done from the beginning. The bed was massive, and there was more than enough room for two. Morton had offered her the second bedroom 'If you prefer', but it would have seemed churlish to sleep elsewhere, Jane thought. Besides, she'd more than once drifted off with Morton's penis still embedded in her. What happened then, whether he continued, or ceased, she did not know. Either way, her sleep was as if they remained joined throughout the night. And when she woke --- well there were far worse ways of entering the day than with a tongue lapping gently at her pussy lips.

At dinner on day 12, Morton came right out with it.

"You know, Jane," he sighed, "I think you were right. 12 hours a day is hard to maintain on an ongoing basis."

"Morton," Jane replied. "Don't think of it negatively. I've had more sex with you in the past week than I've had in my whole life --- well, more orgasms. By miles. Honestly, you're the first guy I ever met who can make me come, again, again and again. It's almost superhuman."

"Thank you for saying that, Jane," Morton replied. "I appreciate it."

"It's not just words. I mean it. Your stamina is incredible. And it's not just that. You're very good at sex. A natural talent. Sometimes I think you enjoy my orgasms as much as I do."

Morton thought for a moment, then he said,

"Have you ever been 'in love'?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by that, Morton," Jane replied.

"It's what I read about, on the web, men and women falling in love with each other."

"If you mean 'Have I had the hots for a guy' then the answer is 'Yes'."

"So how was sex with him, with this .. er ... with such a guy?"

"Brilliant, at first. You go nuts. Hormones flying about everywhere. You want to do nothing but fuck. Lasts, like, about a week. Then other things get in the way."

"Hah! So that's not my problem!"

"Problem?"

"Well you've surely noticed that it's tapering off. I just don't seem able to maintain the 12 hours. But it's not because we were 'in love' with each other and 'things' are getting in the way."

"Certainly not! I hope there was no misunderstanding about that?"

"No! No! Not at all. It's just, well, you know, I'm learning these things. Blank sheet. I do find you very attractive and you do excite me sexually. But since I don't know what 'in love' is, I couldn't be sure -- about myself, I mean."

He looked glum. Jane said,

"If you were 'in love', Morton, you would know it for sure. You just go crazy. It's hard to describe, but one thing's for sure. If it happens to you, you know it. Guaranteed! You're no more in love with me than I am with you."

"Does that mean we do not make love?"

"Well, that term's used very widely. More often than not it just means 'have sex'. You shouldn't be surprised, you know. I did warn you, and if you want to know the truth, I'm really amazed at your performance. I've never experienced a level of sexual intensity even vaguely close. Not ever."

"Not even with the guys you were 'in love' with?"

"Not even those. I mean, it is different --- when you're in love. There's an emotional component that's impossible to put into words. It's more than 'just sex'. But, as I say, it doesn't last long. And even then, none of those guys --- not even in the earliest days when the hormones are raging --- could get me off like you do. That's absolutely honest."

Again, Morton paused for thought.

"I'm sure it is, Jane. You're a wonderfully honest person and I accept that you are not merely dishing out compliments."

"Indeed not!"

"But this does not solve my problem."

"Problem?"

"You must not forget. 12 hours a day, every day. That is the goal."

Jane was silent.

"Now I've had time to think these past few days, you know, when my libido failed me..."

"Morton, you must not think of it as failure. You are...."

"Yes, Yes!" Morton interrupted, with impatience. "But there is a goal. I have never failed yet to meet a goal I set for myself and I do not wish this to be the first time."

"That's all very well, Morton. But you set your goal in the absence of information. You told me at the outset. You had no experience. How can you set a realistic goal in the absence of experience?"

Morton looked pensive, but not for the reason Jane assumed. Every goal he had ever set himself had been in the absence of experience.

"Every man has limitations, Morton," Jane continued, soothingly. "Every woman too," she added as an afterthought.

"Jane," Morton said, in a tone of sudden mortification, "I hope I have not been imposing on you?"

"No! I'm surprised myself that I was able to keep up with you. Believe me, I've enjoyed every single day. I would not have believed it possible, but it is so. I surprised myself. I've never thought of myself as a nympho, and I'm quite sure I'm not one. But the female, you know, is usually the responder. She responds to the male's desire. That's been where I'm at. Responding to you, and enjoying it. But if you were to lose interest, then so would I. Immediately. Women do not have much testosterone, you know."

"Yes, I do know that. And I recognize that my problem is maintaining appropriate testosterone levels. For a while it was fine, but then it seemed to taper off a bit --- my desire, I mean."

"Well, all I can say is that it's natural, Morton. No man can perpetuate what you achieved in our first week. I honestly think there was a desire stored up in you --- your many years of abstinence. Once this wears off...."

"Yes," Morton replied, absently. "You made some remark about 'catching up'. Perhaps you were right. But I'm not ready to give up on my goal. There is something missing."

"What? In me, perhaps?"

"No, No! You are wonderful. You are gorgeous, you excite me tremendously and you are amazingly responsive. I am sure I could not have chosen a better trainer. There probably isn't one, anywhere."

Jane was silent. Something was not figuring.

"I think I have the answer," Morton said, at length. "But it would not work here. The hotel is, of course, well known for its discretion. But there are limits. We are in England, after all. Bit stuffy about some things, the English, don't you think?"

Jane wondered what the hell he meant by this. Eventually, she found out.

Chapter 5

Jane tapped her heels anxiously. She did not feel comfortable. But she worked hard at appearance. Eventually, the receptionist who'd been gabbling into her phone in a tongue Jane did not understand, put down the receiver and said, in heavily accented English, but a polished tone,

"Mr Esterhazy is in a meeting, Ms Emily. Perhaps you would care to wait?"

Jane's first inclination was to do so. She was intimidated by the opulence of the premises. 'Import/Export': what the hell did they import and export? But Morton's words gave her fortitude.

"Don't take any nonsense. If you get any hassle.....'.

Gulping inwardly, but finding she was beginning to enjoy herself, Jane said,

"Do you have a pad on which I may write something?"

"Certainly."

The receptionist slid across a monogrammed notelet pad. Jane wrote one word on the top sheet.

'Morton.'

Then she raised her head and gave the receptionist the most imperial look she could command.

"I shall be in the coffee shop on the corner for exactly 30 minutes. See to it that Mr Esterhazy receives this message immediately. I shall expect him there. He will not thank you if you delay."

No-one had ever spoken to the receptionist thus, but there was no time for a riposte. Jane had turned on her heel and walked regally away towards the door.

'Why can one not get coffee like this in England?' she thought, as she sat on a stool in the coffee shop.

The elegantly dressed server was young and exceedingly handsome -- in that mysterious Eastern European way. He tried to flirt with her -- in that not so mysterious Eastern European way. Jane froze him with a glance. The server shrugged lightly, smiled pleasantly, and retreated to reconsider his pitch.

Fifteen minutes later, the door opened. A man hastened through and looked about. He was middle-aged, with hair that was beginning to grey around the edges, and had a bearing that one might describe as vaguely aristocratic; at least it would have done if the man had not also appeared flustered. Spotting Jane, he approached warily.

"Ms Emily?"

Jane turned her head.

"And you would be?"

"Esterhazy."

He held out a hand, which Jane took in her own, limply.

"You have a message from Morton, Ms Emily?" Esterhazy said, impatient, but with a slight touch of servility that Jane did not fail to notice.

"Please, do call me Pat," Jane said, smiling coyly. "And I shall call you 'Count'. Would that be correct?"

Esterhazy looked about him.

"What d'you want?"

"Oh please. Do join me, Count. The coffee here is so delicious, isn't it."

By now, Jane was thoroughly enjoying herself. And not about to forgo a further coffee, or two, prepared the proper way.

Esterhazy signaled the waiter, with impatience and not the faintest trace of servility. Orders were barked. The waiter retreated, bowing. 'O-kay,' he said to himself, understanding now the frosty glance with which his chat-up line had been interrupted. Definitely out of his league!

"Perhaps, Ms Emily," Esterhazy began.

"Please, Count," Jane interrupted. "Do call me Pat. I dislike formality, as Morton does."

"Indeed.. er.. Pat. Perhaps you have a communication from Morton?"

"I do."

Esterhazy looked puzzled.

"Er.. A letter, perhaps?"

"Oh No! Strictly confidential. Verbal only."

Jane had smiled and Esterhazy suddenly became aware how beautiful she was. 'Morton?' he said to himself in wonderment.

"Are you .. er .. an Associate of Morton's, a Partner, perhaps?"

"You could say that, Yes."

"Is Morton ..er .. perhaps .. in town?"

"Ah, now that would be telling, Count, wouldn't it. You know how Morton detests publicity. I'm not sure even I know where he is right now."

Which was strictly a statement of fact, if interpreted to mean which room Morton happened to be occupying at that moment in the 'Hohenzollern Suite', more opulent even than the 'Marlborough Suite' in London.

The waiter arrived, placed coffee before them, then retreated deferentially.

"The coffee here is so wonderful," Jane said, sipping appreciatively.

"Indeed," Esterhazy replied. "Now, perhaps we could get to the .. er .. verbal message."

"Yes. Well, to begin, you will know that Morton is aware of the state of your companies' finances."

"I didn't, but it does not surprise me. Is he prepared to be of assistance?"

"Indeed he is. As he put it to me, Count, a relatively modest investment on his part could be of considerable benefit...."

"Indeed..."

"And especially, it would be of considerable personal benefit to yourself, if you were to build up your own holding, in anticipation of such an investment... If you get my drift."

"I believe I do," Esterhazy said, warily.

There was a brief pause. Coffee was sipped.

"Truly exquisite," Jane said, sighing contentedly.

"Now would I be right in thinking, Ms Emily ... er... of course, sorry, Pat.. Would I be right in thinking that in return for this favor, Morton may have a request to make of me?"

"Well, now that you mention it....."

"And that would be?"

Jane told him.

He almost fell off his chair.

"But I can't do that!" he said, in a tone of incredulity.

"Oh! What a shame," Jane said, moving her hand to her purse as though about to take her leave. "Morton will be disappointed. Still....."

"What?"

"Well of course there are other ways for him to achieve his objective. A very resourceful man, Morton. I believe you know that. But he did think first of you. 'Count Esterhazy', he said to me, 'The Count can do anything over here'. But, as it would seem, apparently he was mistaken."

She held out her hand.

"It was a great pleasure meeting you, Count."

"Now... Now wait! Wait a minute."

"But why? You said..."

"I know, I know. But perhaps.... Perhaps something can be arranged."

"Count!" Jane said, admiringly, withdrawing her hand and relaxing back on her stool. "I knew you weren't called that for nothing. I mean, if one can't count on a Count!"

Esterhazy sighed. He indicated imperiously to the waiter. While the coffee was being prepared he thought, furiously.

"You do understand that this will involve an investment .. er .. upfront, if you see what I mean."

"Of course. I'm sure this will be no problem for you."

"But Yes! It will."

"You know, I think I would have trouble persuading Morton of that," Jane said, thoughtfully. "He seems to think you have, shall we say, resources that no-one, not even the tax authority is aware of."

Again, Esterhazy paused for thought. Goddamn the man!

"How do I know," he asked, cautiously, "that Morton will actually make the investment you mention, or that it will be enough?"

"Why Count Esterhazy! ....."

Jane paused while fresh coffee was brought, then continued,

"Like yourself, Morton is a gentleman. It would seem, he told me, that stock in your company is at the moment pennies on the dollar. As compared to when he sold, that is. Investors everywhere are waiting, watching for signs of movement in the market. A truly modest investment on his part would surely be accompanied by a remarkably rapid appreciation. Perhaps you do not agree?"

"How big an investment?" Esterhazy said, suspiciously.

"Oh substantial," Jane replied, waving a hand absently. "Substantial enough."

"How do I know that once I fulfill my side of the deal, and the stock appreciates, Morton will not sell and leave me high and dry, like last time!"

"Why Count," Jane said calmly, "if you are referring to the elimination of Morton's holding, then I'm sure as a prudent businessman you yourself will recognize this was based solely on his assessment of your business prospects. In fact, I have to tell you that Morton does not see your business prospects in a different light even today. What we are talking about, Count Esterhazy, is not a business decision of Morton's. It is two personal favors, one in each direction. And I must say, I'm most surprised that you appear to think it conceivable that Morton would ever cheat on a deal."

"Yes! Quite. Indeed, Yes," Esterhazy said. "However...."

"However?"

"There are ... er ... difficulties to overcome."

He appeared to lose himself again in thought. Jane drained her cup.

"Oh dear," she said. "The coffee is strong. And addictive. I'd better be on my way before I get high. So if you haven't found a solution to your 'difficulties', then, well ..."

Again, she made as if to slide off her stool. Esterhazy's arm closed over her's.

"Ok!" he said. "We have a deal. Now where should I deliver .. er .. the package?"

"I knew you could do it, Count," Jane said, with a delightful lilt in her voice. Esterhazy felt certain body parts stirring. This delectable young woman and the ascetic Morton? They just did not match.

"Morton was quite sure," she continued, smiling. "He's rarely wrong."

Jane told Esterhazy where to deliver the package and when.

"And the investment?"

"Cash on delivery, Count. As I'm sure you would wish it yourself. Just make sure you are yourself fully invested. I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss the boat."

When the door closed on Jane's lithe back, Esterhazy took out his cell and called the hotel Morton was accustomed to using.

"I'm afraid there is no party of this name in residence," he was told, though of course in a tongue other than English.

As Jane walked away she was very happy. With herself, with the world. The sun shone and the city was so beautiful -- well, if you disregarded the traffic. She felt almost as good as when she lay back sighing gratefully after a massive orgasm. Their trip to Eastern Europe had had little influence on this aspect of her life with Morton, and far from becoming bored with it, she found the opposite to be true. The more they fucked, the more she wanted to fuck again. Strange. She would not have expected this of herself. It just was so.

But her meeting with the roguish Count was an utterly new experience. Not a man accustomed to receiving orders, that was sure. Especially from a young woman. He gave the orders, they jumped to attention. Ah, how sweet that the boot was on the other foot.

Two days later, Jane was sitting in a plush armchair in the foyer of the Imperial Hotel. She was pretending to read the International Herald Tribune, and not pretending to sip delicious coffee from a dainty cup. She was strategically seated to observe the entrance to the lobby, and took the opportunity to size up 'the package' when it arrived, in the form of two young women and an older one with a haughty appearance. The older woman wore a black dress with a high neck, stockings and high heels. The younger ones wore jeans, sweaters and training shoes. The only thing that distinguished them from college students was their short, neatly trimmed hair and the cut of their sweaters, which were too high-necked to fall loose, affording the surreptitious observer a tantalizing glimpse of their bare tits.

Jane signaled, indicating that the package was to join her. The girls sat on a sofa next to her, the older woman in an armchair directly across.

"You would be Ms Emily?" said the older woman in accented English and with a strong hint of disapproval.

"Please call me Pat," Jane said. "I do dislike formality."

The woman did not respond.

"How may I call you?" Jane said, pleasantly.

"Sharapova," the woman said, with an ill grace. "Madam Sharapova."

Then she continued,

"I hope you understand that this is extremely irregular. If it were to become known...."

"Yes, I do believe we have a mutual interest in the highest level of discretion," Jane replied.

"I am obliged to explain the situation nevertheless," Madam continued.

"Please do."

"This may take a while."

"We have time."

"Very well. You will probably know that at one time, long ago, the European aristocracy enjoyed a lifestyle that you are possibly unfamiliar with."

The woman raised an eyebrow. Jane's expression betrayed nothing. Continue, please, is all it said.

"There were no borders, no passports, men and women traveled freely, to Biarritz, Spa, Baden-Baden, Karlsbad. What happened in places such as these was known only to the participants, who were naturally persons of the utmost discretion. Wives and husbands never traveled together, or on the same route. Marriage was strictly for the purpose of breeding and the observation of social proprieties and business convenience, not for, shall we say, enjoyment of the finer pleasures of life. This occurred far from home, and the prying eye. On their travels, both parties enjoyed themselves to the fullest extent, the very fullest extent."