A Fucking Investment Ch. 01

Welcome to the Fantasy world where money and sexuality do not make everyone crazy and orgasms are common and wonderful. This is a fantasy of seduction and sex, intended to amuse and arouse. This is the setup for 'A Fucking Investment'. Good reading!

Chapter 1

Setting the Stage

My sister always had her nose in the air. Born, like me, to money she always thought that it made her better than everyone else. I felt I had to work harder to show I deserved it. But her real weakness was not her vanity but her pride. Oh, she was vain but no more than any other woman with great tits and a killer ass. She cursed me when I told her that but with a sort of pride in her voice as she put her nose in the air and stalked away. She insisted that she could make her own way in the world, that she wanted nothing to do with the world of finance and business where my father saw us both fitting in so nicely. He had the empire well divided up to accommodate us both but she spurned it and left it all to me. Since she was older, it made little different since my father was fully capable of carrying on without her till I reached my majority.

The plane crash that took our parents changed nothing for dear Sharon but it changed everything for me. College graduation was a wake and a funeral and then intense indoctrination into the world my father left in my capable hands. Then came the crash of 2008 which I did not anticipate any more than anyone else. Unlike most everyone else, we were not heavily leveraged nor had we invested heavily in public companies or China. Our businesses were sound but boring and out of debt and being out of debt was the best asset going into 2010. Things stabilized and we, like everyone else waited to see if Europe could pull together to avoid a complete meltdown. I had worked hard for 10 years and was about ready to turn to some much needed down time which for me meant prowling for willing women who did not know I was rich. I always worked hard but my hobby and pastime was seduction. I loved nothing more than seducing a willing woman with the truth about her own sexual passion. I was looking forward to some time off. Then my sister called and my vacation plans changed.

There is something about the sound of a woman in distress. She was not hysterical but her voice was higher than normal and she talked really fast. By the time my proud sister called me, everything was a shambles. On her instructions, I purchased a 2002 Buick with 140,000 miles on it and went and picked her up. She wanted me to validate her 'friends' impression that she came from nothing. I feared to find her broken and demanding. Instead she opened the garage so I could drive in, closed the door. She pointed to 2 suitcases and got into the car. She did not even invite me inside.

"Isn't there any more?" I asked?

"Not that I want." She said, closing the door. I loaded the bags into the trunk and got into the driver's seat. She handed me a clicker for the garage and we drove away. No one had seen my face. That was her only demand. Come get me but do not let anyone see you, she had instructed. Her imperious demands amused me but I was able to follow big sister's instructions without damage to my self-perception.

The only thing she said when I got into the driver's seat was: "That was perfect. No one saw your face." Then, she turned her face to the window. We drove in silence for a couple hundred miles. My big sister was fierce and stubborn, not really a good combination. Finally, as we neared our land, our home, she said softly. "I want my chance now."

I was tired from the drive so did not respond. Nor did I see much point in asking for an explanation. There would be time enough for that, when she was ready.

She did not say anything more till we stopped in front of the house. The front door of the house opened and the downstairs staff looked out at us in the fading afternoon light. They knew not to come out till I opened the door and gestured for them. I did not need staff but employed them for various reasons not the least was to impress associates and to intimidate competitors who visited the mansion. It often worked.

"I made a mistake. I should have taken daddy up on his offer to be part of the Livingston legacy and worked with you instead of . . . instead of doing what I did. I legally changed my name. I was a nobody to those people and I made them let me into that circle. I wooed Marq and he married me even though I had nothing. We loved each other and then they all turned against me. I want revenge." Then she smiled. "I have a proposition for you. You let me back into the company and I'll let you help me get revenge." When she smiled, I shivered.

I said cautiously, "Revenge? Why would I want to engage in your plots of revenge?" I ignored the fact that she talked like she was offering something in trade when she had nothing. It was not till much later that I began to understand what she had in mind.

"Never mind. I will not ask something for nothing. If you are not going to let me back into the family business, I am not getting out here. I cannot take it."

For the first time in my life I saw a crack in my sister's character, the merest hint of desperation. Through the haze of her shining pride, I realized how desperate she was, how horrible things must be for her to take such a huge risk. She had no right to ask and I had every right to refuse, except she was my sister. I leaned over and pulled her into my arms and hugged her tight, after a minute or two, she actually responded, relaxing the tension in her shoulders and contributing to the hug more than a stiff acceptance. "Sis, I will make you CEO tonight if that is what you want. Things are good now but there is a lot of work ahead to keep us growing. Livingston Industries are on sound footing despite the current economy. I can step back and leave things in your hands. I will, if you give me something to do instead."

"How do you feel about prime real estate?" Sharon asked.

"We own some." I liked understatement.

Sharon smiled. "Would you like to own more?"

I smiled and nodded. Whatever she had in mind could wait for later.

We got out of the car, I waved and the door to the house opened. Three beautiful women emerged with the other help. They got the bags and soon we were settled in the dining room, partaking of an exceptional meal.

"Do you fuck the house help?" Sharon asked when the meal was done and cleared and we were sipping brandy from warm snifters. She nodded towards Ingrid, the raven haired woman who was presently leaning between us, wiping up the crumbs. I am a messy eater, mostly because of my blond beard.

I nodded. I could not help it. I smirked a little. When women know you are wealthy it is easy to have all the sex of any variety you wanted. I liked to work for it so I rarely fucked the help any more. But I had. It was part of the interview process.

"Fuck her. I have not watched anyone fuck in a long time. I sort of miss it." Sharon said, sweeping at her long blond hair. Despite the stresses of her recent life, she retained her regal beauty. "What is her name?"

"Ingrid." I said softly.

"Ingrid, could you come here, please?" Sharon called.

Ingrid was a tallish woman with the finest ass, frizzy black hair and the great legs but not much in the way of breasts. Not even muffins, rather like the bras you see on many fashion model these days; anorexic and slight as a golf club as though men were frightened of women their own size. She wore a classic maid's outfit. Oh, and black, shiny heels, high heels that clacked on the floor as she walked back to where we sat at the dining room table. Our place was a mansion but home was the guest quarters where we were raised, where mother and dad stayed when they were not putting on appearances. Neither of them had liked the mansion but they knew it was expected for people who moved in the circles that we moved in. They kept the place staffed but raised Sharon and I in the guest house with strict orders to stay out of the 'big house'. The only time we saw the inside of the Livingston Mansion was at the Christmas celebration the Livingston's threw for those of the community they liked. It was a treasured invitation. Everyone locally who had any dealings with my parents were invited and the tradition was to receive a typical Livingston gift in appreciation for their support, hard work or for many people, just for being good people. We got on the bus at the back of the property with a lot of other kids and for the first few years of our lives, I think most people figured we belonged to people on the staff. We wore clothes off the shelf and did what people in our community did. This all gave Dad a touch with the common man, my uncle who did not have it, used to say with some disdain and admiration, evenly mixed. What my uncle admired was the loyalty even love that my father's leadership inspired. Sharon was about to test to see if any of that had rubbed off on me.

Ingrid stood at the table between. "Yes ma'am?" She asked.

"Has my brother fucked you, Ingrid?" Sharon asked.

Ingrid's eyes flicked to me and then back to straight ahead. Bosworth trained and disciplined all the girls and I presumed spanked them as needed and fucked them when he could. I expect he fucked the men too if they got out of line. Bosworth was an equal opportunity employer which is why I kept his rough trade around, to do what needed doing when it exceeded my abilities or as it often did, my tastes in the matters of employee relations. He was often harsh and slightly unjust but with perfect aplomb, insuring that when and as he stepped over the line I became aware so I could rectify the situation and thus burnish my developing reputation of Soloman-like wisdom and justice, consistently at his expense. His propinquity to the household affairs and his rigid, almost dictatorial style made him feared but not quite loathed. When I was away, he seemed quite easy going, so, I understood most of those working under him presumed that he feared me so much he overcompensated when I was about. Bosworth was a good man who partook of the benefits of his position with my blessing but never envy.

"Ingrid, this is my sister, Sharon. She left the household before you arrived." I said. This was not the time to make Ingrid squirm so I gave her the information she needed to know how to answer.

She nodded once. "Yes, ma'am, Mr. Livingston has fucked me." she said delicately.

"And did you like it?" Sharon pressed.

"Yes, ma'am." Ingrid said, more quietly still.

"Would you mind fucking my brother while I watched?"

Now Ingrid looked directly at me, her eyes full of questions. I gave her nothing to read, no indication of what or how she should answer. From now on, it was just fun.

Ingrid shifted her weight from foot to foot, bumping her fine hips back and forth in the little black maid's dress she wore making the white lace hem shimmy and shake. The black hose shimmered and she licked her lips giving them a temporary, pink shine. Then she nodded.

Sharon glanced at me and smiled. "I meant now, dear. Here. On the table, from behind. While I watch." Her words were brittle, her tone staccato and distinct.

Till that moment, Ingrid had held her hands carefully folded in front of her, lying along the slight bulge of her tummy and dangling before the crotch hidden beneath her black skirt. Suddenly she was sweating and her translucent white blouse clung to her skin so that her black bra was clearly visible. She began to wring her hands, twisting her fingers together. Then in the merest voice you can imagine, she said "Oh." It was rather like an exhaled breath with a syllable attached. She looked down.

"Well?" Sharon said her voice a jagged interrogative. "No matter. Do you have panties on?"

Now Ingrid nodded and her face began to flush. Her hips stopped moving and her hands smoothed the crinoline of her skirt in front.

"Let me see." Sharon said. "I mean, now."

Behind me I heard Bosworth at the double doors. When Ingrid stooped a bit and took the hem of her skirt between her finger and thumb and lifted it up past her waist, Bosworth reached toward the doors, as though to close them.

"No need, Bosworth." Sharon said loudly to him. "Maintain your routine. Ingrid and my brother are going to entertain me. You all can watch if you wish."

"Very well, Ms. Sharon. I will let everyone know." Bosworth stopped closing the doors, a bit abashed and opened them, pressing the catch into each door stop then bowed a bit stiffly and left the room. Our servants were people picked we could and did trust. Each of them would be multi-millionaires if they left us in good standing. We only asked absolute loyalty, discretion and for many of them, access to their sexual pleasure. Many served the Livingston's and left our service quite rich and everyone knew it. We made no promises and some were dismissed for cause with nothing but a satchel of underwear and a bus ticket to Cleveland. Several of the upstairs women were the daughters of women my mother had watched my father fuck and had fucked me in my rambunctious youth. And those mothers, our Nanny's had retired quite comfortably. You had to like housework to work for us and have the will to keep our aristocratic appearance up in the essentially classless environment of the USA where we lived. Fairness to our friends and God help our enemies, that was our parent's creed and everyone knew it. I lived by it. We Livingston's did not become friends with people we intended to cripple. When it was time to crush someone, we crushed them without asking that they acknowledge the justice or virtue of the pain we caused them. So, clearly, not everyone loved us and no few hated us. We protected our friends fiercely, even and often in the face of their own betrayal of us which could be forgiven and often was with sufficient compensation. Such things Bosworth usually dealt with. Woe to our enemies, though. Should forgiveness not be forthcoming, then virtue be damned and hell's fury took second place.

Bosworth was long gone when Sharon finally spoke again. "You seem to be getting wet, Ingrid my dear. Are you excited by the prospect of getting porked right here and now by my handsome brother?"

"Don't be crude, Sharon." I said. The glance she shot me was fierce till she saw my mischievous smile, then she smiled as well. Ingrid had garters on. Love garters, I do. Bosworth paid good attention to the details, gathering such knowledge in unobtrusive but sometimes indelicate ways. Once as a youngster I caught him watching me with a girl I invited home. I caught him several times and was contemplating addressing it with him when he suddenly switched the staff around me to women of various ages who all looked like the girls I had been bringing to my room. That taught me to give him considerable latitude when it came to his household management and rarely did he fumble that faith. His harsh treatment which provided me many opportunities for kindness to the household staff simply validated this faith though I was 25 before I realized the unsought service he provided me.

Sharon sat forward and hooked a finger into the front of Ingrid's string bikini style panties. They were black, like the skirt but a soft, dull fabric that did not shine. Cotton, perhaps. "Bosworth." Sharon hollered. "Bring me scissors, please." She kept her finger hooked the front of Ingrid's panties while she waited. In the front, a distinct damp spot appeared and spread on Ingrid's panties.

Ingrid trembled. I did too and for the same reason, more than likely.

Bosworth appeared and Mimi, one of the other maids, peered into the room. Mimi was black and built. She ran the household business, smart and ambitious, she had volunteered to be a maid in advance of a presumed position with Livingston Financial Holdings but then chose to remain a maid because she liked it. She kept the household accounts for Bosworth and he had come to rely on her. Her net worth increased with her value but she was content to serve as a maid and cater to the occasional sexual peccadillos of various guests I brought to the mansion. She was dependably sexual. She stared at her Ingrid who stood with her skirt above her waist. Bosworth handed Sharon the scissors and then turned and spied Mimi. He made some a sort of noise in his throat, like a growl but not quite.

"No, Bosworth, it is fine. If anyone wants to watch our fine Ingrid here get fucked on the dining room table, that is fine. Unless you all have something more important to do, my brother sometimes likes an appreciative audience, if I recall correctly."

I did not correct my sister. It was awkward for the staff had knowledge of my predilection far surpassing my sister's, or at the very least, much more current. Sharon had been gone a long time and things had changed since our parents died. The household obeyed me now, when I managed to be home which was truly rare. I actually lived in the mansion but presumed if I found love and started a family, I would follow my father's example and care for them in the guest house at the back of the property.

Sharon took the scissors and snipped both strings from each side of the cloth covering Ingrid's pussy and let them drop. The fabric stuck to her crotch. Sharon pulled it loose from the garters, revealing the woman's shaved pussy. "Bend over the table," Sharon said softly. Ingrid obeyed. A trickle of liquid ran down the inside of her leg. "Are you ready to be fucked, Ingrid?" Sharon asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Ingrid said. The table was large and sturdy, a warm cherry. Ingrid removed her white blouse and lay down on the table with her head turned away from me.

"Alan, my dear brother, I believe the lady is waiting on you."

I rose, moved behind Ingrid and dropped my pants. I stripped the underwear down and let my hard cock free. It dipped forward, my proud lance, touching the bent ass before me. Ingrid flinched at the touch. I fingered the garters, running a finger down each one while my cock brushed against Ingrid's tight and perfect ass. I stroked her hose-clad legs and she shivered. I grasped her by the hips,+ crouched and caught the tip of my cock between her legs. I took it in hand, and felt around for her entrance. She gasped when I found it and then the little head was caught. I pressed forward and she arched her back, exhaling as I pressed deeper into her luscious body. Her body seemed to be electric. I took hold of her waist and pulled back. I felt her tense for she must have known what was coming and I did as she expected, slamming deeply into her body, all the way to her core and mine. She moaned as I bottomed out, a moan wrapped in the flimsy syllables of affirmation.

"Yessssss." She hissed, as though the air was escaping her without permission. I began to fuck her, not hard but steady, looking for the right angle, the correct force that would drive her to orgasm. Then I felt a hand on my ass.

"Brother, listen." While I fucked Ingrid, my sister explained her idea to me. She wanted us to buy up all the mortgages in Holdingsfield and then foreclose on all of them as brutally as possible. Once each family was displaced, in the chaos of the move, I was to sneak into the house or wherever they ended up and rape them, one at a time. I would, she said, become the avenging cock. I would fuck all of her former friends and then post the pictures on the internet so they would be humiliated. As I fucked, the germ of a better idea developed in my mind.

Ingrid was arching her back and pressing further and further back as I pounded steadily into her. Sharon fell silent and watched, her hand resting on my bare ass. I was able to give Ingrid my full attention. Several times I felt like coming and stopped, holding her body still while my cockhead lingered at the entrance to her pussy. She mewed a couple times while I regained control and then I returned to fucking her. She got her elbows under her and arched her body, gaining some leverage and began fucking back at me, our bodies slapped together gently. I stepped back and we almost fell, till she regained her balance on those black high heels. I ran my hand up her back and unhooked her bra and a moment later her back was nude. I unzipped the skirt bunched at her waist and let it fluttered down her long legs, shimmering in the black hose. But for the black heels, garter belt, garters and hose, her blouse lying discarded on the table, she was nude, which I guess is to say she was half dressed.