The Wrong Thing To Do Ch. 03byloquere©
I would like to thank Overlord & VampGirl1991. They were really great editors. There's a lot of detail and it takes time to get to the sex. There will be mistakes so feel free to help me improve, by telling me what can be fixed. However, please be kind while doing so.
Tensions seemed high and the mood appeared grim from Mark Bryce's elevated perspective. His father, John Bryce, sat silently and perfectly still across from him inside the slick helicopter. John Bryce's stern, stoic face kept the truth at bay. This was the same unreadable face that had looked on as competitor after competitor overreached and self-destructed, eventually succumbing to his machinations.
Captains of industry and giants of capitalism would grovel at his feet as their life works were aggressively acquired and melted into the Bryce Empire. Unmoved, John Bryce would simply stare dispassionately into the shuttering eyes of his former peers and sip un-weakened single malts, aged for God himself.
The helicopter buzzed as the propeller blades spun, slicing through the late morning sky. Inside the helicopter's cabin all was quiet.
In the movies we are made to believe that it's so loud inside a helicopter that you can't even hear the fellow sitting next to you. That really isn't true, at least not with helicopters built by the Bryce Corporation. This was the fact with all their choppers, defense, commercial and private, especially the series that John and Mark Bryce now flew in on as they made their way to the Bryce estate in Poughkeepsie, New York.
Just out of rigorous flight testing and fresh off the line, the tilt rotor Bryce 270 was both a helicopter and a plane in one compact unit, something John Bryce, the boys at R&D and over eight hundred pre-ordered customers were quite proud of.
The passenger cabin was like that of an airplane. To top it off, its advanced features made it virtually sound-proof whenever you wanted it to be. For Mark, this made the silence even harder to bear.
Inside the cabin of the brand-new piece of engineering excellence, Mark Bryce had just finished spilling his guts out to his father. Now it was eerily quiet, like the calm before the storm.
"I am... I'm so sorry," Mark said pleadingly, looking as if he was seconds away from tears.
The few minutes it took to fly from the airport to the estate felt like hours. The elder Bryce's eyes looked out the window as he said, "When this helicopter lands, get out. Don't say another word... enjoy your birthday." John Bryce stated this in the calmest, steadiest voice. Had you not known the events prior, you would have suspected no malice at all.
What hurt Mark more than anything was that his father was purposely avoiding looking at him. It was as if his dad was disgusted by his presence.
The helicopter began to make its descent, one that felt hellish from Mark Bryce's point of view. He felt like he needed to vomit, but not from the flight. Mark played it over and over in his head; seconds turned into minutes and minutes into hours.
He remembered how it had gone down, how he'd confessed to having had sex with his stepmother.
Mark looked out the window in distress, trying to forget the last four minutes and the guilt spurring his stomach's discontent. As the estate came into view, Mark's eyes mapped out the thousands of acres of the sprawling historic compound. To the west of the mansion, Mark saw a glimpse of a stage tent and a group of spectators.
As the helicopter landed, John Bryce kept his eyes firmly toward the window. Nothing was said as Mark exited the chopper.
'What more could he say?' Mark thought.
A black man stood outside, preparing the exit. Of the two passengers, only one emerged. Mark lowered his head, scared that his six foot three height might just get him killed.
His son now off the chopper, John Bryce lifted a single finger, directing the pilots beyond the separating glass yards away to launch back up into the uncertain sky. With that, the chopper was up and out.
Mark walked with the man that had opened the helicopter door for him and pulled out the stairs. He had seen him before but had never actually met him; he had a wire of some sort in his ear, dark sunglasses, and a Bryce Corp security lapel pin.
"Young Mr. Bryce, I'm Tyler Casper. I'm your father's head of personal security. Oh, and before I forget, happy birthday," stated the dark-skinned man. His hair was black except for some peppered gray spots. Mark visually placed him in his forties.
Clearly distracted, Mark shook the man's hand, throwing out a less than joyous, "Thanks. Nice to meet you."
"Must have been some important conversation you and your pa had, young Mr. Bryce. He left his entire detail at the airport to be alone with you, and my boys are a trustworthy bunch," Casper said with his southern twang.
"That's really none of your business," Mark spat bitterly as the man walked with him toward the awe-inspiring century-old manor.
The man said nothing in return, but Mark did. "I'm sorry, that was... I'm just not feeling too well right now."
"No need for apologies, young Mr. Bryce; good people are allowed to have bad days from time to time. Try to have some fun, though. It's your birthday and they're pretty rare. Plus, the staff has a great night planned for you."
"How do you know I'm good?" Mark asked, speaking his feelings.
"You don't know me well, but it's been my job to know you. I've also known some evil sons-a-bitches in my time on God's green earth. What I've learned is that we can't fight our nature; you're always going to be the core of what you've always been. I tell ya what, young Mr. Bryce, you're a good kid, but we all make mistakes. What matters is that we rectify them and keep to the good Lord's path."
'Could he know what I did?' Mark wondered to himself as it began to rain. It was slow at first, then seconds later it began to beat down like something out of the Amazon. A young kid from the grounds crew came with a golf cart. Seconds later they were sloshing through pathways, passing great oaks and trees from all over the world, planted by Bryce's of generations past.
Arriving at the grand stone structure, the teenage driver with his blue Bryce uniformed top pulled out a uniformed umbrella, preparing to walk Mark the few yards to one of the side entrances of the stone structure.
Mark sped on ahead, purposely leaving the umbrella standing under the beating rain. Casper, right beside him, started to say, "Getting sick today will be a waste of a birthday."
Casper took the umbrella from the young driver, trying to cover up Mark who seemed to be stuck in a daze and begging to catch his death.
Eventually Mark was inside the Mansion, dragging mud and dripping water until he noticed what he was doing and went to wash up. About half an hour afterwards, he found the main kitchen. Upon his entry, an explosion of birthday greetings hit him all at once from at least thirty kitchen staff.
After dispensing with pleasantries, something else caught his attention. Mark noticed Casper eating what looked to be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
"Is that peanut butter?" Mark asked with preserved urgency.
"Don't worry, young Mr. Bryce, it's artificial," stated Casper, smiling.
"How'd you know I was allergic?"
"It's my job to know."
"Do you need to be so mysterious?" Mark asked.
"No, but I tell ya what, it sure makes life more interesting."
One of the chefs in the kitchen laughed before she spoke. She was a short Puerto Rican woman. "Mister, I need you out of here. We will bring you food in other room, birthday meal for you and guests. Is surprise," she said with a slight Spanish accent and broken English. She pushed Mark out of what she considered her kitchen.
Casper sat there chuckling until she rushed him out as well. Minutes after his admonishment, Mark sat waiting for his snack in the library, thumbing through dusty old books.
Instead of a butler, for some reason, a petite girl with a Monroe piercing, bleached blonde hair, and red streaks appeared. She was dressed in a kitchen uniform that Mark had just become acquainted with.
She was all smiles, her teeth perfect pearls. She brought Mark a steak sandwich and a root beer.
"Happy birthday," she said in her soft voice.
"Thanks, and thanks for the sandwich."
"I hope you enjoy it, I made it myself."
"Root beer is my favorite, too, thanks."
She began to walk out, but stopped to reply. "No problem! I'm sure I'll see you later!" she ended knowingly.
Mark, going for a bite, stopped. "What's your name?"
"Jade," she said, smiling as she left.
Mark picked up his sandwich and made his way to his bedroom, eating it on the way. Finishing the sandwich en route, he noticed something written on the napkin that was previously wrapped around the sandwich.
'Call me! 347-969-8355.' Mark's surprise caused him to break out in laughter.
Mark was stunned. This was every guy's dream, a cute girl who was down to fuck. But for some reason all he could think about was Abbey. Thoughts of Abbey from early this morning ran through his mind like wildfire. He had gone from barely any experience to a foursome.
"How the fuck did that happen?" he asked himself, once again literally laughing out loud.
At the end of it all, Abbey had assured him she didn't want anything long-term. She was just looking to have fun. But Mark couldn't escape the fact that she had been a virgin before he'd penetrated her. He also couldn't escape the fact they kind of clicked when they were alone.
Thoughts of the early morning ran through his young head as he entered his bedroom. His mind was far from being occupied with helicopter issues now. With his head down, he giggled and mumbled to himself as he headed toward the nearest window.
They were erecting rows of large tents outside, but he didn't feel much like celebrating.
Mark jumped suddenly as he turned around. On his bed was his ex-ex-ex-girlfriend in a red matching bra, panties, garter and stockings, lying sexily under the covers of his large bed.
He'd just gotten over her last night after nearly four years and there she was naked in his bed. "Courtney, what the hell are you doing here? Are you here to kill me after what happened with your sister, because I swear I didn't know?"
"Oh, I know that, and I don't care. This morning made me look at you differently." Courtney beckoned him forward with a single finger in the most seductive way possible. Her long brown hair brought out the flawless white of the quilts and her skin.
"What do you mean differently?" Mark asked as her fingers seductively encouraged him to come closer to the bed.
"I never thought you were capable of something so dirty, so... bad. When we were going out you were the silent, shy, passive guy afraid of risks. I hated that."
As Mark began to speak she sprung up and put a finger to his mouth. "No more talking!"
Mark stood at post as Courtney dropped to her knees. To Mark this was a distant memory, now it was a long-awaited dream coming into day.
She gripped his pants and pulled him closer by the buttocks. She assertively brought his left hand to her mouth and licked his fingers, her other hand swiftly taking out his already hardened cock.
Her eyes took in his chest. Seeing him naked early this morning she was surprised how he had changed. His wrestling and rowing endeavors at Dartmouth had crafted quite the muscular physique.
"Did you miss this, baby?" Courtney cooed as her mouth slowly engulfed his cockhead. She moaned, staring into Mark's eyes.
For some reason all Mark could think of were blue eyes and long, blond hair. In his mind it was clearly Abbey.
Then he thought, 'She has a twin!'
'Not even,' he thought to himself.
Mark had dreamed of getting Courtney back for four years now, but once more Abbey lingered on his mind. Not even her own twin could compare. He was now sure that he no longer had a desire to pursue Courtney. This gave him the willpower he needed to dislodge his cockhead from the inducing mouth of the stunned brunette. Mark dodged from his room, leaving behind loud yells and heavy baggage.
With his hardened cock back in his pants, Mark went straight to the east wing of the mansion. It took a minute to get through the sprawling 150,000 square foot building.
Striping completely bare, he jumped into the Olympic-sized pool. Its heat encouraged him to dive deeper and deeper.
The water calmed his thoughts as he swam around. His naked body eased through the warm water. He felt looser as he forgot about the plaguing paradoxes of women and helicopters. Mark thought the heated pool mimicked the feeling of a hot days jump in a neighborhood lake as he kicked his way to the bottom.
He swam for a good half an hour, at which point he disembarked the pool to find none other than napkin girl, Jade.
Jade made her way to the edge of the pool where she began to strip, walking ever closer to Mark.
"Sorry, I don't want to shoot you down but..." Mark began to say before he was cut off.
"One of the maids said she spotted a naked girl in your bedroom. I don't care if you have a girlfriend, we can do this any way you want," Jade said as she striped down to her undergarments.
"I am sorry, I really am!" Mark retorted firmly as he rushed to dress his naked body, seeing that more of a priority than drying off. Mark's apologies weren't only meant for Jade, but also for his cock, which had been set abuzz by the tight, compact body that now revealed itself. A nice, firm ass, perky breasts and glowing skin, ready and waiting.
"Well, I'm here all summer and you have my number," she said, before Mark disappointed her.
John Bryce's pilots pleaded with him, "The 270's double rotor span is too big to land on the renovated rooftop helipad." John Bryce wasn't in the mood to hear no's and cant's. He'd spent millions adding the helipad to the Upper West Side penthouse.
"Mr. Bryce, the helipad at your Bryce Towers office in Midtown is big enough; you can take a ca—" one of the pilots said as he was cut down by the thunderous John Bryce.
"Gentlemen, your careers depend on you landing right there and right now," the crazed white-haired billionaire stated, his wrinkled finger pointing the way.
"If I was asking you to land at my condo on the Upper East, I'd understand. That building has no helipad, but there's a helipad right in front of us on this penthouse and you're going to land or you're both finished here and everywhere else, and I mean globally. I am the world, gentlemen."
Seconds later, through the most complicated maneuvering they had ever done in the fresh-off-the-line piece of aerospace technology, the pilots managed a landing. John Bryce was trying to open the chopper doors, surprised to find three of his bodyguards on the pad after they opened the door.
"What are you guys doing here?"
"Our jobs, sir. We're supposed to be with you all the time."
John shook his head. These guys were good. He had to hand it to Casper, he ran a great team. What else would you expect from a former secret service agent, though?
"Is Tiffany here?" John asked, thrusting his finger downward.
"Yes, sir, we believe your wife is in the master."
"Thank you, but I'm going to need you guys to wait outside now," John Bryce said as he and his detail walked inside the penthouse, their eyes busily scanning away.
"We have people on the front door already, sir," one of the bodyguards stated, unaware of his intent.
John Bryce didn't say another word. He gave them a look and they moved away.
"If you need us use your panic button," one of the guards said. John Bryce lightly nodded his head as he walked further into the penthouse.
They left, but they didn't completely heed the instructions. It was a huge penthouse so they simply set up next to the servant's quarters. The lead guard saw no need for them to leave.
As John Bryce arrived in the master bedroom, he loosened his double Windsor knot and took off his Patek Philippe watch, a never-ending symbol of excess and one's longstanding arrival at the world's highest stations.
"Oh, baby, I wasn't expecting you back here," John Bryce's twenty-six year old wife Tiffany said, attempting to lock her diamond-studded necklace around her neck, its large pear-shaped, pure diamond center weighing it down.
Her strapless white dress clung to her body, amplifying her natural beauty and sizable bust.
"I wasn't expecting to be here, but we need to talk," John Bryce said in a calm, steady voice.
"Ok, well, we're going to need to hurry up. I planned the party and there are some last minute touches, plus I haven't seen Mark in so long," she said, brushing her long, light blonde hair out of the way for her necklace.
"Do you miss him or his dick? Or is it both?" John Bryce asked, still in a steady, calm voice as he took off his blazer.
The diamond necklace dropped from Tiffany's neck, hitting the thick white carpet.
"God... John, I—"
"Baby, please," Tiffany pleaded, tears running down her face.
"Get on the bed now!" John Bryce yelled and she followed right away, her long legs spread. She began to take off the dress.
"Keep the dress on and get on all fours. That should be a natural pose for you."
Tiffany brushed her tears away as she stayed there, waiting for it to begin and be over.
"Baby, I'm sorry."
"Don't be, this was my fault. I shouldn't have married you, you were too young and I was a fool," he said as he pulled down her panties. Tiffany braced herself, but she couldn't have prepared herself for what was about to happen.
Her husband, more than two times her senior, grabbed her perfect bubble ass and pushed the tip of his cock toward her asshole. She wanted to beg him to stop but she didn't, she couldn't. He pushed his rod in with no lube and no compassion. Tiffany bit her lip as she tried to deal with the near unbearable pain of losing her anal cherry.
"What did you think? I was going to fuck you in your vagina when you had my son, a nigger, and whole world up there for all I know?" John said as he blatantly fucked her ass, slapping her ass as his cock tore through her flesh.
Tears of pain fell down her face. "All my life I've had to deal with everybody's bullshit. There was my father, then father-in-law, then Benjamin Bryce the fourth, Mark's grandfather. That asshole made sure I would never control his family's fortune.
"Can you believe he forced me to take his daughter's name when I married her? I felt so emasculated. So weak!" John said, berating his wife, pulling her hair as his cock ripped her flesh, causing her bottled-up pain.
Tiffany cried heavily as her husband took out his anger at the world on her. "Here is the best part. Every major decision I make now has to be approved by my son. You didn't know that, did you? His mom left everything to him when she died. Now that he's 22 he controls everything. The money? It's all his! You, you were supposed to be mine! Can't I have one thing in the world that's just mine!?" John yelled as his cock moved bracingly once more through the tight canal.
His cock rammed in, cumming deep in her depths, and his body collapsed on top of hers. He ran his hand across her back, pulling up the dress, revealing the fiery dragon back tattoo.
Tiffany waited there for her husband to roll off. After ten minutes he never did.
After a period of thought, shock and fright, a blood-curdling scream rang out in the penthouse and a panic button was pressed. Bodyguard after bodyguard poured into the bedroom.
Dressed in his tailored tux, Mark stood at the mirror in his room, failing to tie his bowtie. Someone knocked at the door.
Opening the door, Mark was stunned to see none other than Abbey, dressed in a curve-hugging blue gown. "You look amazing," was all Mark could muster to say.