7 Sins: Greed

Cyanlot's Forward

The stories in the 7 Sins collection of stories are not to be taken as morality tales, underscoring the seriousness of these alleged sins--well, not all of them, anyway. Pride, envy, gluttony, lust, greed, sloth, and wrath might all be character flaws, or even "sins", I suppose. But they're not the worst by far. How about selfishness, indifference to the suffering of others, cruelty?

The traditional seven deadly sins are just an organizing device for a set of stories. I wasn't the first author on Literotica to think of this vehicle. If you search "Seven Deadly" and '7 Deadly" on Literotica, you'll find lots of other stories using this device. If I'd known this before writing my own stories, I might have abandoned the project, but I didn't find this out until I'd written six of my own stories. So, giving due credit to the others who thought of this, too, I've chosen to publish my own "7 Sins" series.

Each story is independent of the others. There are no recurrent characters in them and there's no recommended order in which they should be read. They vary in length and in the themes explored.

Comments are always appreciated, even negative ones if they are thoughtful. But there's no need to leave comments of the following sort:

• "This story describes instances of unsafe sex--of people having casual oral, anal, or vaginal intercourse without protection." True, so true. It's a fantasy, numbskull, not a script to be followed.
• "I would behave very differently than the character in this story." Good for you! This story isn't about you.
• "Cyanlot is a sick puppy!" Well, no ... I'm fine, thank you. My stories don't convey some deep, dark yearnings. They're just stories.

One final note. I'm trying to place all of these in the "Gay Male" category even though several contain no gay male activity. Many do and, so, that seems the best category for the collection. I'll tag them as appropriate.

Enjoy the series ... or not.

-Cyanlot

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7 Sins: Greed

["Greed (Latin: avaritia), also known as avarice, cupidity, or covetousness, is, like lust and gluttony, a sin of desire. However, greed (as seen by the Church) is applied to an artificial, rapacious desire and pursuit of material possessions. -Wikipedia]

Part I: The Deal I Couldn't Refuse

"You want me to what?!"

I was probably about as stunned by what I was proposing to Kim as she was. Even though I'd thought about it a lot before proposing it, I still couldn't believe that I was saying what I was.

Kim's mouth was agape. Ah, that beautiful mouth. Kim is a stunner--trophy wife quality but she can't really be a trophy wife because I'm hardly a guy who has earned a trophy. At 25 with an entry-level administrative position, I'm barely in the game. But I had lofty aspirations. Maybe someday I'd deserve a trophy wife like Kim.

For now, though, it was something of a mystery to everyone how I'd managed to land such a catch. Kim was "model gorgeous"--5'7", slender, with long legs, a tight round ass, tiny waist, nice, round, high-hung breasts with nipples that popped at the slightest stimulation. She had long, light brown hair that glistened in the sunlight, hazel, almost golden, eyes, high cheekbones, an adorable little cleft in her chin, and lips that made you want to press yours to them and your cock between them.

I was a lucky guy; I knew it: gorgeous wife, good job with a promising future. But I was impatient. I wanted a lot more and I wanted it now!

So, here I was, sitting with Kim on our marital bed, watching her look of shock and amazement as I laid out the terrifying plan.

"I can't believe you even said what you did, much less that you really want me to do it!"

It might have seemed to anyone watching that she was adamantly opposed to what I was proposing and would never agree to it. But I'm a very good persuader. You don't get a job, even an entry-level job, at Betson Industries unless you are very good at selling yourself. And I prided myself on my ability to persuade.

"You want me to fuck Warren Betson?!"

Well... yes, I thought, I guess that was one way to put it but I wouldn't have said it that way. What I said, though, was, "Honey, it's not like that."

"No, Mark, it's exactly like that. And don't 'honey' me when you're suggesting that I fuck another man."

"Look, let me explain," I began. "This is the booster rocket for our life. This money--it's more than twice as much as I make in a year--it's money we don't have to use to pay bills. I can invest it and double or triple it in six months. Before long, I'll turn it into millions with the smart day trading I can do."

"It's money you get from selling your wife! I can't believe you're even considering it, much less pitching it to me." Kim was really incensed. "You should have hit Betson in the face when he proposed it to you. That's what any decent husband would do."

I remembered very well when Mr. Betson made his indecent proposal. It was about a month after the company holiday party where Betson had first laid eyes on Kim. I could tell that he fancied her. What man wouldn't? I saw him eying her from time to time through the party and I watched him find an excuse to chat her up a bit.

Was I jealous? Sheeze! If I got jealous every time a guy showed an interest in Kim, I'd be a raging green-eyed monster all the time. I'd learned to deal with the fact that just about every men found Kim desirable.

What stunned me was the clearly-not-chance meeting with Mr. Betson in the hallway outside my office.

"Mark," he said. "How are you?"

"Fine, Mr. Betson. And you?"

"I'm great. Do you have a minute? Can we talk in your office?"

Can we talk in your office? Shit yes! When the billionaire founder and CEO of your company suggests a one-on-one meeting, you don't pass that up--especially if you're a very ambitious young employee. This looked like a great opportunity.

It was an opportunity, alright, but not of the sort that I'd imagined, or, for that matter, could have imagined.

"It was really nice to see you at the holiday party and to meet your lovely wife..." Betson paused, as if he didn't remember Kim's name. For some reason, though, I thought he was faking a memory lapse.

"'Kim'" I offered. "It was a terrific party. Thanks for putting it on. And I know Kim enjoyed meeting you." I figured it couldn't hurt for the big boss to think that he was charming to a beautiful woman.

"Yes... Kim. She's a beautiful woman, but I guess you know that."

"I sure do."

"Well, what I want to talk with you about has to do with Kim."

What? I thought. What could he possibly have to talk with me about that concerned Kim?

Betson could see that I was confused. "Look, Mark... I'll get right to the point. I want to sleep with your wife and I want your blessing to do so."

Now I said, 'what' outloud. "What?!... I mean..." shaking my head as if to clear it, which wasn't working, "what are you talking about?"

I think this is the point where, when I told her about it, Kim thought I should have punched Betson in the face. But I didn't. I was stunned and sputtering.

"Look, Mark... I didn't get to where I am in life by pussyfooting around. I know what I want and I'm willing to do what I must to get it."

Now my risk calculator began working. Was he going to threaten to fire me if I didn't give him my blessing? Shit, what was at stake here?

"Mr. Betson," I managed to get out, "Kim is her own person. It's not like she's my property that I could loan out, even if I were interested in doing so." I thought this was a great response. It was true, of course, and it shifted the issue from what I might approve of to Kim's choice.

"Oh, I know that, Mark. I'm not asking for you to give her to me. That's ridiculous. She makes her own choices. What I'm asking from you is for you to not stand in the way." He paused. "Well, truth be told, I'm asking for more than that. I want you to buy into the plan and to sell her on the idea."

"And why would I do that?" I asked, assuming that this is when I'd hear that my job depended on it. But Betson's reply took things in another direction.

"You'd do that because you want more than to just work hard and do reasonably well. I've watched you. I know that you have ambitions. You'd like to be rich, right?"

"Well, yeah. Who wouldn't?"

"I don't mean that you'd like more money. You're right that everyone would like more money. I mean you're driven by the desire to be wealthy."

"Perhaps."

"There's no perhaps about it, Mark. I can tell what drives you."

Well, he had me pegged, for sure. There was no denying that the love of money--which some say is the root of all evil--flourished in my psyche. I wanted wealth on the scale that Betson had it. I wanted a yacht--hell, maybe two, one in the Caribbean and one in the Mediterranean. I wanted a private jet, a mansion and a summer house--or two.

"So?"

"So, how would a quarter of a million in cash do to launch you on that trajectory?"

"What?!" My jaw dropped. Was he really offering me a quarter of a million dollars to give my blessing to him fucking my wife?

Betson saw me mulling over his indecent proposal and, I think, knew before I did that he had me--not at 'hello' but at 'a quarter of a million dollars'.

That's a huge amount of money--to me, to almost everyone. But later I did a little calculation and decided that it wasn't that big a deal to a billionaire several times over like Betson. If he wanted something, money was no object.

So, I didn't punch him in the face. I didn't turn him down. I told him I'd think about it, talk it over with Kim, and get back to him.

"Do that, Mark. And, when you talk with Kim, be your most persuasive self. Think about what you could do with a quarter of a million dollars."

Oh, I was... I was already thinking about that.

So, that's how I came to be sitting on the bed with my beautiful wife, conveying Betson's indecent proposal.

As I pitched Kim by pointing out what the money would mean in our lives--all the things we could do with it, I could see a change in her attitude.

"But Betson's old--like 50 or something!" My 24-year-old wife thought that 50 was old. And Betson was much older than Kim; I think he was actually like 55 or so. The important point from my perspective about Kim's comment about Betson's age was that it showed that she'd moved from "I won't even think about this" to "I'm thinking about this."

"He's attractive, though. You said so yourself after the holiday party. He's handsome and fit and has a distinguished look about him. Isn't that pretty much how you described him."

"Sure, but I wasn't thinking about..." She let this trail off. She wasn't; but she was now.

We talked about this off and on for several days and, finally, Kim was on board.

Part II: The Deal Becomes Real

I thought that letting Betson know that Kim and I were accepting his offer would be straightforward. Alas, he threw me a curve ball I really wasn't expecting.

Just telling Mr. Betson was harder than I'd expected. How do you tell another man that you're okay with him fucking your wife--at least, you're okay given the trade involved? That was difficult. But it wasn't the curve ball.

The curve ball was when Mr. Betson said, "Great! The two of you come by my house this Friday evening at 6:00."

I was surprised and tried to interpret it in a way I preferred. "You want me to drop her off at 6:00?" I said.

"No," he said emphatically. "You're both to come."

He could see that I wasn't too comfortable with this. Obviously, though, my comfort wasn't relevant.

"Mark," he went on, "this isn't going to be some tawdry tryst. Kim doesn't deserve to be treated like that. We're all adults--sophisticated adults, I hope. You and Kim will come to dinner. We'll talk... get to know each other."

"Okay." It wasn't okay, but what could I say? I certainly wasn't going to back out now, not with a quarter of a million dollars in the balance. But then Betson upped the ante again.

"And, you and Kim should pack a bag. We'll make a weekend of it."

I started to protest but he just waved me off. "I'll see the two of you at 6:00 sharp. Looking forward to it.

I'll bet the bastard was looking forward to it! Asking us both to pack a bag for the weekend? What was that about? Did he expect me to twiddle my thumbs in a guest room while he diddled my wife in his bedroom?

When I explained Mr. Betson's expectations to Kim, it led to a bit of a tiff. Surprisingly, she didn't flinch at the idea that this wasn't going to be a one-evening date but, instead, a whole weekend. That didn't seem to bother her. What bothered Kim was that I was bothered by my having to be there.

"Oh, I see," she said frostily. "It's fine for you to whore out your wife for some cash, but God forbid that it makes you feel uncomfortable!"

"It's not like that," I pleaded. "Believe me, I'm plenty uncomfortable with this whole thing. But I thought we decided that it was worth it. I'm just not sure that I can take being right there in Betson's house while you and he are..." And my voice dribbled off.

"Well, you're going to take it. This wasn't my idea, Mark. But, you're right. It is worth it, even if both of us are going to be very uncomfortable. Just keep focused on what we're getting out of this."

* * *

Friday finally rolled around. It was indescribably strange to be packing a bag for the weekend knowing that the weekend would consist of my wife fucking my boss. (Well, he was my boss's boss's boss, or something like that. I didn't really know how many layers there were between me and Mr. Betson.)

It was especially difficult for me when I saw Kim packing lingerie--not flannel pajamas--lacey, sexy, teddies and such.

"I don't think you have to..." I started, but Kim shut me down with a glare as she stuffed the lingerie into our bag. I don't know what was going on in her head but, when I thought about it--and believe me I had a lot of time to think about it over the coming weekend--I thought she felt as if her being able to dress in sexy outfits gave her some agency over this whole thing. She wasn't an object or a victim. This was her choice, too, and she was going to do it how she wanted to. In any case, I knew better than to argue with her about this.

We drove up to Mr. Betson's house--really a compound--at 6:00 sharp and Kim started walking toward the door as I got the bag out of the trunk.

We rang the bell and the door was answered, not by Mr. Betson, but by a woman wearing a maid's outfit. Sheeze, I thought, it must be nice!

"Good evening," she said in a cheery voice. "Mr. Betson will be with you shortly. You can leave your bag there by the door. I'll show you to the parlor."

When we'd sat down in the luxurious parlor, she offered us drinks. Kim got a glass of Malbec and I got a Maker's Mark, neat. It was just a few minutes before Mr. Betson came into the room, looking relaxed and very much in command. (Of course, he was very much in command!)

"How are you both tonight? Hungry I hope? André has whipped up a very special meal for us."

André?! The guy has a personal chef?! Well, of course he did. It's not like a billionaire does GrubHub, much less cooks his own meals.

I wasn't up to engaging in small talk but Kim rose to the occasion. She even blushed when Mr. Betson told her she looked "ravishing".

"You're flattering me, Mr. Betson."

"Not at all. If anything, I'm understating your beauty. And, please, Kim, it's 'Warren'."

That invitation to informality was clearly directed at Kim; it wasn't extended to me.

Dinner was terrible! Not the food. That was, as Mr. Betson advertised and you would expect, really fabulous. Better than any I'd had at even the best restaurants I'd been to.

But the conversation made me want to throw up. Don't get me wrong. There was nothing off-key about it. Mr. Betson had said that this wouldn't be a "tawdry tryst" and it wasn't. Betson was witty and urbane, and Kim played along like a pro. Anyone watching the dinner without knowing the background would assume that Betson and Kim were having a torrid romance that was kept below the boiling point for the time being only because there was this odd third wheel at the table.

I felt awkward and, on those few occasions when Mr. Betson tried to draw me into the conversation, I was never up to it. In my defense, those attempts to draw me in seemed more like barbs intended to remind me of what was going to happen and what my role in all of this was.

After dinner, Mr. Betson proposed that we all have an after dinner drink in his Jacuzzi. It was posed as a suggestion but it was obvious that declining wasn't an option.

"Oh," I quickly said, "we didn't pack swimsuits."

"I'm sorry," Betson replied. "I should have told you to. But that's okay, we have plenty to choose from in the cabana."

I'm not sure what options there were for Kim in her side of the cabana but what she came out in was a more revealing bikini than any I'd ever seen her in. It wouldn't have gotten her arrested at a public beach, I don't suppose, but it sure would have gotten her a lot of admiring stares.

"You look marvelous, Kim," Betson said as we all got in the Jacuzzi, which was at one end of an enormous infinity swimming pool.

If dinner was awkward, this was twice as bad. I was completely ignored as Mr. Betson flirted with Kim. Kim was responding like a schoolgirl with a crush, showing great interest in everything Betson said and laughing at his witticisms. For God's sake, at one point, she ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass and, then, put it in her mouth to lick off the trace of wine on it.

For my part, I was signaling the maid to refill my whiskey glass often. Getting plastered seemed like the only way I would get through this. I wondered whether I could stay drunk all weekend.

Finally, Mr. Betson suggested that we dry off and head upstairs. The maid brought heated towels for us to wrap around us and we headed inside, with me trailing Betson and Kim.

Betson put his hand on Kim's hip, gently directing her toward the staircase and I peeled off to go back to the parlor. I had no idea where the guest bedroom I would be staying in was, but I didn't plan to "go upstairs" with Kim and Betson.

Mr. Betson, though, had other plans.

"No," he said. "You, too, Mark. We'll all go up. It will be fun."

I thought. But the answer was pretty clearly "not for me!"

Mr. Betson led us to his bedroom suite. It was enormous, with a spectacular bathroom attached and a large window that overlooked the pool and one side of his estate. The room was dimly lit and candles were lit on the nightstands beside the bed. Soft jazz was emanating from hidden speakers. The place was like a seducer's fantasy.

Mr. Betson instructed me to sit in a large chair that faced toward the bed. I had been concerned about where this was all going to go from the time he had insisted that both Kim and I come. When he instructed me to join them upstairs, I was pretty certain what his plan was. Still, I hesitated when he directed me to sit in the chair.

I--we--had crossed a lot of lines already. But being forced to watch my wife give herself to another man was on a different level than what I'd imagined when I agreed to this.

I glanced at Kim, I think I was looking pathetic, pleading with her to somehow change the scene. There was no help to be found in Kim's eyes. When she returned my gaze, her eyes were hard and cold. She might as well have barked at me to sit. Her look communicated the same thought.