Get Away Ch. 01

This story starts out a little slow, but it is, hopefully, the beginning of a series that will pick up a bit in the next chapters. Let me know what you think.

As in all of my stories, all of the women in this series will be based on real women that I've known . . . SOME quite intimately, others just as friends, but still fantasized about. Some of the stories will also be based on true events.

*****

I was in my late thirties and newly divorced when I found out that an uncle of mine was dying of cancer. My Uncle Charles was, much like me, the "black sheep" of the family. He and his late wife, Margaret, never had children, so they looked at me as their son.

When Aunt Margaret had just passed away, I knew that it hit my uncle hard, having been with her for more than 50 years.

After her burial, Uncle Charles and I sat down, alone, and started working on a bottle of his favorite Irish Whiskey. As we drank, he told me about a piece of property that he owned in the Carribean.

Everyone in the family had heard rumors of this place, but no one knew for sure that it existed, for Uncle Charles felt that no one deserved to see it, being the way that he was treated by them all.

"I'm dying, boyo," he told me. "I've been fighting the cancer for a year now, and without my Maggie, I just don't care. I miss her already, and I want to be with her."

At that point, my uncle was in his early nineties, but still as tough, stubborn, and feisty as could be. As much as I could not believe that he was giving up, I understood his reasoning.

Before I could say anything, he continued. "I want you to have my land," he told me. "You deserve it, and you'll love it."

He went on to describe it, and then told me, "I want you to have it, but I'm not going to leave it to you in my will. There's no reason you should pay a tax on something that I worked for, so I'm going to sell it to you."

At that, he pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and slid it across to me.

"I had my solicitor draw this up," he told me as I started to read it.

I was reading a sales contract for his property, in Jamaica. According to the contract, he owned thirty acres of oceanfront property, that he was selling me for the sum of $1.

"Are you sure this is legal?" I asked in disbelief. "ONE dollar?"

"As I said," my uncle informed me, "my solicitor drew it up. I assure you that it's quite legal. Because I owned it back when the Brits controlled the place, I'm grand-fathered in on owning property, and so is any family member I sell it to."

"Either you buy it from me, or you pay Uncle Sam, and the Jamaicans, an immense amount of taxes, along with legal fees. I do believe that this is the wiser choice, isn't it?" he continued.

"Yes, I have to agree, it is the much wiser choice," I said.

"So, give me a dollar, lad, and it's yours."

Being no fool, I did as was told, we shook hands on the deal, and drained our glasses.

"What is this stipulation about the caretakers?" I asked, as I reread the contract. "And the other one about not selling the place to developers?"

"Ahh, the Livingstons have been with me since I bought the place, right after the war," he said. "They're good people, hard working, and I don't want them without a home, especially after all they've done for me and my Maggie."

"I also don't want the place to become one of those damn 'super-resorts' that have overtaken the islands. For fuck sake! Enough of that over-development nonsense! My getaway has charm to it, and I want it to stay like that!"

"If that's a problem, lad, you can have your dollar back and the deal's off," he said simply, pouring us another round.

"It's not a problem at all," I replied, smiling at my uncle. "I just wanted to know."

"Good. I knew you were a smart lad, and fair," he responded.

"Now, you should know that you won't have to worry about the upkeep of the property. I know you're comfortable, but there's a wee fund stashed away for taxes and maintenance, along with another for the Livingstons to live on."

"That's not a problem," I assured my uncle, and we drank the night away.

A little over a month later, we were burying my uncle. I was the only family member with him when he passed.

After the funeral, the family was shocked, and a bit outraged, not only to hear that my uncle's property did indeed exist, but that he had already sold it to me.

Before I decided what to do with the property, I knew that I had to go see it, so I booked a flight and packed my bags. At the time, I was on a seasonal lay off from my construction job, so getting the time off wasn't a problem.

I spent the next few weeks in Jamaica, enjoying the warmth and sunshine, and getting to know my new piece of property.

I was quite pleased to find that it was in very good condition, despite my uncle not being there for a few years, and having very few paying guests at all.

I met the Livingstons, who consisted of the mom, Betsy, a slightly chubby but very cute, bright-eyed, dark-skinned woman who looked a couple of years older than me, her daughter Rita, who appeared to be in her late twenties, and her son Valentine, who was in his mid-twenties.

Rita was about 5'3", maybe 115 lbs, and had a skin tone that reminded me of coffee with a splash of Bailey's. She had a look of innocence that was almost disarming, and a beauty that definitely was.

Her brother, Valentine, was a foot taller than Rita, and rock solid. Like his sister, he had his mother's bright eyes, which I knew must drive the women crazy, along with his build and his sense of humor.

Betsy, along with running the family, ran the kitchen, Rita took care of the business end of the property, and Valentine was the handyman/driver/landscaper/etc.

The property included eight villas, four of them one bedroom and the other two were two bedroom, along with a house that Betsy and her family lived in and a main house which would be mine.

The main house was relatively small, at about 1000 sq. ft., and included a large patio that had a gate opening to a walkway down to the ocean and an outdoor shower. The house also had a small working kitchen and two bedrooms, along with one larger living/dining room. It was perfect for me.

I spent the first night having dinner with Betsy and her family, getting to know them. I also found out quite a bit about my uncle that I had never known, including the fact that he had been knighted by the Queen for his heroic actions in WW II.

That night, Betsy amazed me with her cooking, and she was just as pleased knowing that I liked the local cuisine, as well as knew quite a bit about it and the culture and history of the island.

The next few days were spent with Rita filling me in on the business aspects of the property, as well as how things really get done on the island, and she and Valentine showed me around the area, introducing me to people that I needed to know to keep things running smoothly.

The more time I spent with them, the more impressed I was. They were both highly intelligent, easy going, and had a great sense of humor, all things that carried a lot of weight with me.

On my third day there, I had a meeting with my uncle's local solicitor, a short, elderly man named Peter, who's ties with my uncle went back to when he first bought the property.

At that meting, I discovered that my uncle's "wee fund" that he had stashed away consisted of more than a two million dollars, money that he had made from business ventures back in Ireland, England, and the islands when he was younger.

He had deposited all of his earnings into various banks, letting the interest accrue, and he wanted all of it to go to the upkeep of his "get away." This was in addition to another half-million stashed away for the sole purpose of maintaining the Livingstons.

Peter also explained that while he was retired, he had a gentleman's agreement with my uncle to remain on as his local counsel, and that if I wished, he would be honored to remain so. I assured him that if my uncle trusted him, so did I, and we shook hands on our own agreement.

With all of this new-found information, I was faced with a question of either keeping the property as it was, basically a private escape, or turning it into an actual working resort.

After thinking about it for a couple of days, going over what my uncle had said to me, I decided that trying to turn this into a working resort was what he would have wanted.

I asked Betsy to put together another "family dinner" for the four of us, and that night, I laid out my plans as we ate pool side.

I told them that things would basically stay the way they were, but on a hopefully bigger scale. Betsy would run the kitchen, and hire some local chefs to help her, Rita would run the front end of the resort, and Valentine would be in charge of the physical property. All final decisions would, however, be mine.

I also told them that I had already contacted a couple of friends of mine back in Chicago who were influential travel agents and writers, as well as a P.R. firm that would be working up some advertising for me.

I wanted them to help me run the resort, to make it a success. I told them that I would give them a share of the profits annually, as an incentive.

Betsy, naturally, was unsure of the offer. Having always working for someone else, and being skeptical of outsiders, I talked to her some more.

When I explained what my plan was, basically to make my Uncle's getaway into a small "boutique" resort catering more to the working and middle classes, and that she would still have control over the kitchen, as long as she shared it with me on occasion, she accepted my proposal.

We finished off a bottle of Appleton Black label to celebrate, and I told Rita that I'd like to talk to her while I walked back to my place, to go over a few things I wanted done while I was gone.

As I excused myself from the table, Betsy asked to talk to me first.

"My baby girl like you," she told me in her island lilt, when we were alone in the kitchen. "Please don't do nothing to hurt her. She's a good girl, sweet and innocent, and she's been hurt enough by men."

I explained that I had no intention of hurting Rita, or any of them, and that while I liked Rita, I didn't like her in a romantic way. I also had no intention to mix work with pleasure.

Betsy seemed pleased by my response, and told me that she could see a lot of my uncle in me, something I took as a compliment.

After I left Betsy and the kitchen, I met Rita, who was still sitting pool side, and started talking with her as we walked towards my house.

When we got there, she said that she wanted to talk to me also, so I walked her through the house and out onto my patio so we could talk.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" I asked.

"Well, first I would like to know what my mother really wanted to talk to you about," she replied.

I stood there for a second, looking at her.

"Ok," I said. "She wants to make sure that you don't get hurt. She doesn't appear to have a very high opinion of men, and she seems to think that I'm going to do something that will hurt you."

Rita laughed and hung her head. "I love my mother," she told me, "but sometimes she just doesn't want to let me grow up."

"Yeah," I laughed, "mothers can be like that, sometimes."

"But, I AM a grown woman," she said softly, stepping toward me. "And I make my own decisions."

"I would imagine so," I told her.

"So, what else did you want to talk to me about?" I asked, getting a little nervous.

"Actually," she replied, taking another step toward me, "I didn't want to do much talking at all. I want to give you a proper send-off, and leave you with something to think about while you're gone."

I didn't say anything as Rita stood less than an arm's length away and slowly began to unbutton her blouse.

"I'm warm," she said, looking in my eyes. "Do you mind if I take this off?"

"Hold on a second," I told her, reaching up and taking a hold of her wrists.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her beautiful brown eyes wide. "You don't think I'm attractive?"

"No, you're beautiful," I told her.

"What then? You don't want me?"

"Umm, no, that's not it. Not at all," I replied.

"Well, then? What is it?" she pressed, moving her wrists in my grip.

"I don't know," I told her, shocked at her assertiveness. "This is kind of surprising. I don't know what to think."

"Then don't think," she said in her island lilt, smiling. "Just follow your instincts, and do what your body tell you to do."

"But, you work for me," I replied. "I'm also closer to your mother's age than yours. In the U.S., this is kind of frowned on. It could lead to all sorts of problems."

"Well, right now, we're not working," she said. "I don't care about your age, and this isn't the U.S. Even in the U.S., you can't get in trouble if I come to you, can you?"

"That depends," I told her, "but right now, I'm more worried about your mother...and your brother."

"I'll deal with my mother," she told me, as she gently shook off my hands and resumed opening her blouse. "As for Valentine, he's off fucking his girlfriend right now, so he don't care."

"But, he may care in the morning," I said, trying to muster up some kind of argument as I stared at her small, firm breasts.

While they were a little small, they fit her body perfectly, with Hershey Kiss nipples standing out in the center.

"Trust me, he don't care," she told me softly, sliding her blouse off of her shoulders and dropping it to the floor of the patio. "He knew I was coming here. He would have told me not to if he cared."

"I just want to fuck, too," she continued. "I don't want to marry you. I don't want your money. I just want you. I haven't had a man in over a year. You're a good man, I can tell. I need it, and now!"

I didn't say anything, still shocked at the aggressiveness of this woman that I thought was so innocent, as I watched her reach behind her back and undo the zipper to her skirt.

Wordlessly, she let it drop, and stepped out of it, kicking it over to join her blouse.

She quickly kicked off her shoes, and stood in front of me wearing nothing but a pair of black lace boy-shorts and a smile.

"Do you see anything you like?" she asked, turning around for me.

My eyes gazed on her tight, firm ass, and I shook my head.

"Yes," I replied. "Everything."

"That's good, then," she said, stepping toward me again. "But now, one of us is overdressed."

Before I could say, or do, anything, Rita reached up and started unbuttoning my shirt.

She soon tossed it on the cushion of the oversized lounge that was out there and closed the gap between us.

I could feel her nipples pressing into my chest as she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around her and firmly gripped her ass cheeks, gently squeezing them.

As we separated, she looked up at me. "That was a beautiful kiss," she said. "I hope you can do other things with your mouth just as well."

"Meanwhile, I'll show you what I can do," she said softly, as she knelt in front of me and started opening my pants.

Seconds later, I was standing there in my boxers, with my shorts around my ankles.

"It looks like at least part of you isn't frowning on this, or cares that I'm younger than you," she said, looking at the bulge in my boxers.

Grabbing the sides of my underwear, she slowly pulled them down, until they were piled on top of my shorts, still around my ankles.

"Oh, my, Mr. Kurt," she said softly, as my hard cock sprung free. "That's quite an impressive buddy you have there."

"I'm glad you like," I said, as she helped me step out of my clothes.

"Oh, I think I'm going to like very much," she replied, wrapping her fingers around my rigid shaft.

I watched as she slowly leaned in and placed a soft kiss at the tip of my cock, and she moaned softly.

"Oh, yah," she said. "Nice and thick."

I could feel her hot breath on the head of my rod as she slowly wrapped her lips around me.

"Holy shit," I gasped, as Rita slowly took me deeper and deeper into her mouth.

When she stopped, I only had about an inch, at most, showing. She was definitely not as innocent as she looked!

She placed her hands on the back of my legs and pulled me forward, trying to take me deeper, and then slowly started sliding her head back.

She kept the head of my cock in her mouth, licking around it, and then slid her lips back down my shaft.

She did this a couple more times, and then pulled all the way back, letting my cock, wet with her saliva, swing in the cool breeze.

She lifted the shaft, pushing it back against my body, and slowly slid her tongue from my balls all the way up to the rim underneath the head, and then back down.

On her third trip up to the head, she wrapped her lips around it again, and quickly engulfed the length of my pole, taking me deep in her mouth.

She held me tight and started sucking hard on my shaft, sliding the length of her tongue along the bottom of my cock.

"Oh my god," I gasped, holding on to her head. "That is incredible!"

She kept me like that, and I had to lean back and start to sit on the lounge chair behind me.

Rita slid her face back and looked up at me, her small hand wrapped around my rod.

"What's the matter?" she asked, "You don't like what I'm doing?"

"Oh, I like," I told her. "I like a lot. You were making my knees weak, though. I had to sit down before my legs gave out."

Rita laughed a sexy chuckle, and said, "Well, I'll take that as a complement!"

"Oh yeah!" I replied, as she licked along the head again.

I sat back and enjoyed Rita's oral talents, watching her long black hair flow over my legs as her head bobbed up and down.

Soon, I felt the cool night air flowing across my wet cock when Rita released it from her warm mouth.

"That's a nice, thick root you've got here," she said, stroking it. "I can't wait to see how well it fills me up!"

"Well, you're going to have to wait a little longer," I told her, standing her up.

I stood up and turned us both so that her back was against the lounge, and I laid her back.

She got comfortable on the cushion and spread her legs as I lay between them, my face at her belly.

Placing my hands at the back of her smooth, firm thighs, I pushed her legs back.

Rita sighed and moaned loudly as I leaned in and blew softly across her wet slit. She started moving her hips up and down, and I lightly and slowly slid my tongue from her wet pussy up to her stiff clit.

"Ohhoohhh yeah!" she moaned, as I traced the edges of her clit with my tongue.

I slid my hands from the backs of her legs around to the front, just above her mound. I reached down with my fingers and pulled her pussy lips up and apart.

With the skin around her clit stretched tight, I slowly and softly flicked my tongue all across her stiff little bud.

"Ohh shit, yeah!" she exclaimed when I wrapped my lips around her clit and softly sucked on it. I looked up and saw that she was pinching her nipples and pulling on them while I worked on her clit.

I sucked on her clit for a couple of minutes, as she continued to moan loudly and push her hips up against my face.

I took one last long, harder suck, and then released her stiff little bud from my lips. Rita groaned and let her hips settle back down on the cushion, and I leaned in and started flicking my tongue across her blood-engorged clit.

"Oh yeahh!" she gasped, as my tongue reached the tip. "Ohh damn!!"

I started shaking my head back and forth, letting my tongue dance all across the covered part of her shaft, as I slid a hand down between her legs and placed the tip of a finger at the opening to her wet hole.

I began moving my finger up and down, playing in the wetness and teasing her pussy, as my tongue found her sweet spot to her clit, just to the top right side of the hooded shaft.