Charmingly Ruthless

The night Jake died Pearson phoned and business rival in New York, who'd once made him an offer for his business. Forty-eight hours later the New Yorker was in Wellington and a week later everything had been settled, with Pearson agreeing to stay on for two months. When that commitment was completed Pearson knew it was time to take over from his manager and be a farmer.

Cleaning out his father's things, Pearson found his father's buckskin outfit he'd imported to wear to costume parties that were in vogue. The suit wouldn't fit, but he liked the feel so decided when he settled in he'd send off for one which he did, and these days wore it into the city as a bit of a joke, only to find that people there now expect this eccentric from the backcountry to wear buckskin.

In the few years Pearson had been back on the farm he'd never invited a woman on to the property, though local single and married women tended to find themselves welcome which suited him. He'd not gone looking because he didn't think he'd find the woman like he'd envisaged when drawing her. That thought jolted Pearson.

When the last transporter left he hurried indoors and in the storeroom sorted through old cartons until finding one marked: Portraits. He picked up the folder marked 'Non Family'. He hands were shaking slightly for he knew what he might find, and there it was, a pencil sketch dated October 1984. A doodle reworked into a proper practice drawing: it was Chase, unmistakably.

He didn't have to be told, his own mind was screaming at him: You idiot, this is a sketch of an adult drawn when Chase was only about 10 years old. Then again another part of his mind was telling him it was Chase as she looked today.

So which part of your mind do you believe?"

"It's Chase," said the unsmiling Pearson with apparent total conviction.

At the sale two inland farmers purchased Pearson's entire offering between them, but did not have it easy as competition was keen. Pearson Richard's XX-X yearlings were carefully selected by Pearson working with veterinary assistance and his trusted stock agent and reared into calf through artificial insemination and grazed on gently rolling hill-country of great heart, as they say.

Two hours after arriving home he took off in his light aircraft and flew to Wellington, catching a late flight to Sydney. He was back home just before dark next evening, mission completed. He'd fancied buying a present for Saturday night and the present that jumped to mind was something he'd noticed in a shop in Sydney almost two months ago. He hoped Chase would accept it -- perhaps she'd not be aware how valuable it was?

CHAPTER 5

On the day Pearson fly to Sydney, lawyer Harold Younger caught the early flight to Wellington as guest for the day of Lighthouse Insurance Pty Ltd. He was only required to be at the boardroom for a couple of hours -- what he did with the rest of the day was his choice.

Harold sat with a heavy heart thinking of the worst scenario -- Lighthouse wanting to pull out of its investment in the newspaper company. It would be an uphill battle to get a major cornerstone investor as a replacement because evening newspapers were a dying institution.

Ha! thought Harold. Here he was in a two-way stretch -- Lighthouse giving him big problems while the company struggled to make a profit while in the other direction their new hotshot editor was busily figuring out ways how to spend a fortune. Rumour was she wanted to fully computerise editorial. Damn the woman, the company was still paying down the loans of computerising production.

"Where's Eric?" Harold asked Fran, the PR woman escorting him to the guest chair in the boardroom.

"He's no longer with us, Mr Younger," she said softly, a useful piece of information. This was beginning to make sense: either there had been a palace coup or a partial takeover of Lighthouse with the parent company buying an even greater percentage of shares. With insurance companies these days it was difficult knowing who was who and who owned what.

"Mr Chairman -- your distinguished guest Mr Harold Younger."

"Hi, old chap," beamed Freddie Mills -- he and Harold had attended boarding school and then law school together.

"Greetings, Freddo. Your horses are doing well and Bragger looks good for the Cup."

"So you noticed, Squirmy. I thought you only noticed women's...er, sorry ladies. Well, let's resume. We'll get this little piece of house-keeping out of the way and then retire for refreshment and then lunch. Fran, would you kindly host Mr Younger for the remainder of the day and deliver him to the airport. Oh, someone of his status is entitled to use the amenities of our executive suite at the airport hotel."

After introducing Harold, Chairman Mills explained to the outside and executive directors and Harold what changes had been made to Lighthouse's investment policies and what the effects were.

Everything made sense to Harold. Obviously Lighthouse had gone through an exhaustive review process and the new policies appeared more robust and more appropriate to today's conditions.

Gradually Harold became more aware of the lovely woman sitting beside him. She looked straight out of a fashion magazine, though a little too plump to really be considered for that role. His attention was drawn because each time Freddo would forget where he was or struggle with a figure or hesitate on a phrase she would whisper assistance, and on Freddo would charge. The girl did this without any notes or computer in front of her. Amazing, where did corporates get these women?

The demise of Eric was noted and his replacement as deputy-chairman was a hard-eyed woman in her early 40s with the unglamorous name for a high-flyer of Ellen Smith who Harold was informed would be Eric's replacement on the Evening News board. As Lighthouse was entitled to change its representative at will, Harold gave Ellen sitting opposite a half bow and said, "Your presence in Walton on our board will be greeted with approval; your distinguished career has been noted by us."

Harold lied about that, he'd not even been aware that this woman was on the Lighthouse Board. He thought he heard Fran breath, "Good boy." How extraordinary!

Fran eased away from the table, almost gliding, opened and disappeared through the far door and reappeared less than thirty seconds later with a dark pin-stripe suited man at her side. Harold knew this was pure initiative, undoubtedly rehearsed, as he'd not heard Freddo pass an instruction or even offer a signalling cough. Or had he lightly ankle-tapped his cute PR lady?

Cute? Not for you, old boy. She'd no more than mid-twenties. Harold then focused on Mr Pin-Stripe; this had to be something to do with him.

"Harvey, please step forward so Mr Younger can take a good look at you. Thank you."

"Well, Harold. This is a bit bothersome to bring up but we have decided to stay with our investment in the Evening News but we wish to better protect our interests. So this board is asking that you accept a second director from us and documents between us be changed accordingly. That is the only change we seek."

Harold was deeply relieved that the investment of $7,800,000 was staying put. But why? He'd accept it without referral and engender goodwill in this boardroom.

"May I speak, Mr Chairman?"

"Of course, we didn't bring you down all this way just to listen Harold."

"Actually, Mr Chairman, what's I've heard today is very impressive and from my view has armed your directors with a more robust range of investment policies. I am indeed impressed to be invited to be privy to this confidential disclosure. Harvey -- you are welcomed to join our board. I shall sign the amended agreement papers for this entitlement before leaving today, providing the papers are ready."

"They are," he heard the whisper from Fran.

"Thank you, Harold, very nice sentiments and thank you for your readiness to cooperate. Everyone, let's imbibe."

After lunch Harold was in the lift with Fran.

"What should it be -- shopping or perhaps touring around or would you rather drop you off at a lady friend's or even a lady you don't yet know?"

That surprised Harold -- the woman speaking to him like that. Geeze, it was indelicate to say the least. He ought to chastise her, perhaps also make a complaint to management.

Fran had her back to him, putting on lipstick, so he took the opportunity to scan her butt and backs of her legs. Very nice, and she wore seamed pantyhose or perhaps they were stockings.

He looked up straight into the mirror she was holding and saw she was looking at him, and not doubt watched him make the inspection.

"Er..."

"Yes Mr Younger?"

"Could we go somewhere to sit?"

"Certainly Mr Younger. I trust you will allow me flexibility?"

"By all means."

They left the lift at the first level of the basement and got into a back sedan with darkened windows.

"To the airport hotel where our facilities are please Rex."

"Yes ma'am," said the driver while Fran turned to Harold and said that he'd be more comfortable in the company's suite at he had another four hours before his flight left.

"There are two earlier flights, I could catch one of those."

"Yes you could."

It suddenly occurred to Harold that his old friend Freddo was giving him the top VIP treatment. Freddo would be very disappointed if he did not test the water.

"Perhaps I'll stay."

"Good boy."

There -- he heard that whisper, only just.

They entered the suite and Harold headed to one of the sofas, looking around at the opulence.

"Go take a shower, Harold and freshen up. That must have been a worrisome time for you in that boardroom, not knowing what was coming up to bite you."

"Quite, do you know why Lighthouse has retained its investment?"

"Your region was originally the home territorial of the Rural & Urban insurance company, now absorbed into Lighthouse. But even today there is a greater amount of money in Lighthouse from residents of your district than any other in the whole country, including cities. The investment analysts advised don't rock the boat -- that if we pulled out of the region's long-standing newspaper, causing it to fail, its residents would probably pull out of Lighthouse in great numbers and perhaps ignite of run of sympathisers throughout the country."

"Good God."

"Go have your shower Mr Chairman."

Harold had just got himself soaped up when Fran called, "May I join you?"

"Er..."

"Thank you Mr Chairman, allow me to do your back."

Harold knew without doubt that he was going to be pounded his way towards ecstasy within a little while unless he more to stop it. Did he want to stop it?

"Hell no!"

"Does that mean you wish me to stop, or to proceed Mr Chairman?"

"Just be tender with me, Fran," he leered, making her giggle.

He turned and looked at her sweet tits -- not big, but delightfully formed and sitting firmly against her body, nipples not yet erect.

In turn he saw her look down below his bulging belly and bite her bottom lip.

Soaping her breasts Harold soon had her nipples up and the breasts looked markedly larger. She grasped one on both sides and offered her nipple to him. He sucked, giving her a grateful smile.

"You're sweet Mr Chairman", she said, causing his rod to go from half-mast to stiff and it twanged into her midriff.

"Ooooh. What do we have here? Look, I've got a new toy to play with."

Harold groaned: "The bed."

"Yes, come." She giggled. "I mean come -- oh, you know what I mean. I've already turned the bed linen down."

Harold lay on his side, propped up on an elbow, waiting for her to turn on some soft music. She came on to the bed athletically and before he realised it, with surprising strength she'd flipped him on to his back and had pounced into a sixty-nine position.

Yet again, probably for the hundredth time, Harold wished he were lean like in his younger days, instead of carrying blubber around his midriff. This girl didn't seem to have a scrap of fat on her -- or yes she did, he grinned, looking at her very plump mons. She shaved, completely and looked in very good nick.

Harold was aware that as she came on to the bed she scattered a handful of condoms over the bed and him. Either she was expecting four hours of solid stuff or was just making sure one would be readily on hand when the moment came.

Right now he could feel she had his dick pushed to the side and was licking his hairy balls. Why didn't Helen let him shave! These modern girls would prefer straight skin, wrinkles and all.

"I love hairy balls," Fran called, and Harold felt one of his testicles sucked into her mouth.

Ah, the enthusiasm of youth, he gloated. Helen was still a good fuck, a very good one actually, but she now found uncomfortable positions almost intolerable and no longer really approved of him trying to be athletic to generate a big more of heated friction. When he shot it over her she now grimaced, and he knew that one day, perhaps soon, would come the instruction, 'Please don't do that; I don't like it any more'.

What the devil; this was awful -- being screwed by a young woman while he was thinking of Helen. Where are you manners old chap?

His tongue pushed further into the slit and he was rewarded with a long moan. He thought's he'd go for this G-spot thing, and obviously Fran thought he should so because she pulled her head off his cock and gave him some instructions -- but without success.

"I'll go on my back and you'll get to it easier," she called. Harold rolled on to his side (a bit ponderously he thought) and felt her hand attempting to pull him back. He worked his finger around but seemed to be getting nowhere so he twisted his hand around and his finger sank in at a slightly different angle.

Fran squirmed and shouted "Yes", and they were in business, she taking his full length down her throat.

Harold looked down, noticing she had quite a sizeable clit and the nub was proud of the hood, so he bent down and began licking that, ignoring her mid vagina altogether.

Soon she was bucking and calling "Yes, yes" and she began perspiring, far more than Harold, so he knew she was close as his cock only had fingers around it -- being practically abandoned.

He left the so-called G-spot with fingers almost cramped but ignored the possibility of cramping and put three fingers straight into her cunt and wiggled them about.

She screamed and his fingers were now sloshing about.

"Leave off Mr Chairman," she gasped.

Harold rolled off and stroked his tool to ensure it stayed interested.

"Well, Harold," she said. "Take a bow; that was a beauty."

After catching her breath Fran asked, "How do you want it Mr Chairman?"

"Long and slow, you on top."

"Oh Christ, you clever bugger," she laughed. "No wonder they call us women in business working women."

Fran rolled a condom on to him, and sat facing him and jiggled on to his cock until she got it all in.

"You must be proud of it," she said, smiling at him.

"What a sweet thing to say," he smiled, and to his surprise she blushed.

"Such a comment in these circumstances is very rare."

"Technically, are you a prostitute?"

"No, I never accept tips and I give my services voluntarily. I work very long hours so a girl needs some time off and needs to get filled occasionally, so this is how I do it.

"I never offer myself to VIPs of certain nationalities known for their disrespect of women."

"Good for you," advised Harold. "Look after your body as it's the only one you've got."

Harold was a little disappointed with the black of friction, suspecting that Fran was rather wide in the vagina. He chose not to say anything, instead concentrating on rolling her nipples and occasionally bending forward to lick her breasts. This activity seemed to be doing something for him.

"Changing at Waterloo Station," she called, and Harold wondered what that was about.

Fran simply spun herself around, now with her back to him, re-inserted and began rocking and jiggling again -- this time the friction had improved.

"Like a little bit more friction?"

"Yes," replied Harold. "Give it to me, Fran."

She leaned right forward and for a second Harold though he was going to lose the head of his cock. It was mighty and the juices were now flowing from her.

"Hands on my tits, Harold."

He obliged and they felt as tight as a drum and the nipples really at attention. She appeared to be getting herself away with this one. Frank's body shook and she moaned.

Harold clamped his hands into her tits, feeling the flesh give way to her pressure. That seemed to make Fran bend over further and her could hear the squelching and so probably could the entire hotel.

Really hotting up Harold ran a finger around just below her vulva and Fran screamed and clamped a hand hard on to his nuts.

Harold yelled something unintelligible and began filling the condom head.

Fran jumped up and fell back on to him. Ripping off the condom she then began spraying cum over her tits, urging him to pump more and more until he emptied himself.

"Empty," he called, panting heavily.

"Really darling?"

It was the first time she'd used an endearment, as obviously this was a business fuck.

She squeezed his balls and then scraped a fingernail along his penis. He yelled; stream of cum went all over Fran's face, followed by two small ones that went nowhere.

"Now that's what I call empty Harold."

They cuddled and talked until it was time to shower and for Harold to go.

Inside the terminal as he turned to kiss and thank Fran, she reached up, pulled his head down and gave him a long, very long kiss -- almost a lover's kiss.

"I bet you don't give that to everyone," Harold choked.

"Good-bye, Mr Chairman," was all he said.

She looked every so small and lonely standing there, but Harold walked away feeling very happy.

On the homeward flight Harold hit by remorse, as he knew he would. Here he was returning to his wife -- presumably a faithful wife preparing his meal they'd eat late. Helen would be almost excited to have him arrive and would want to be hugged and kissed.

Well, what did he really think about his infidelity?

You're a creep, Harold Younger. You ought to have your dick chopped off and hung out to dry.

Yes, quite.

The frustrating thing about all this is that he enjoyed having the occasional break-out; always they were with younger women.

Darling, how would you like it if I played around like that? The replication of that probable question he anticipated Helen would ask always cut through to the heart.

Harold put himself on the line: "I do it because I'm a heartless, selfish bastard with a deep sense of mortality who wants to just get one more off, preferably with a younger woman, before I die or even earlier, before I lose the interest for ever more."

That last thought scared Harold and although he wanted it to never happen, he grieved because it would come as an inevitably as an executioner's axe.

Executioner's axe? Christ man, don't put the boot in any further than necessary. And tell the truth -- you take the occasional younger women because it not only activates your nuts but it caresses your ego, knowing you've found someone who likes or respects you enough to present her innermost treasure for you to enjoy; the greatest gift she can give you apart from a body part for a transplant.

Harold bowed his head.

"A sweet sir? We are beginning out descent," smiled the cabin attendant.

Harold caught a whiff of her perfume and noticed the swell under her tunic. She was young, and ripe for the plucking with her consent perhaps.

His mind switched back to the hotel, with Fran resting in his arms and talking.

She'd warned him to watch out for Ellen Smith, a boardroom tiger shark. She'd be after his position as chairman and already had one vote in her bra -- that of Harvey 'Yes ma'am' Ross, the new director.