Gretchen Lovewell

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

Milf German athlete forced into a sexual marathon and bred.

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This is a Jack Grierson story. It follows from the chapters of Her Fiancé's Father and several of my other stories.

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Illustration by Calzas

Jack ran up the trail as hard as he could. It was late afternoon in December and an early dusk was falling. While it was a bit chilly, it was warmer than usual for December. Running four miles up the steep trail from the lower parking lot, he had generated a lot of heat. His running jacket was now tied around his waist and he ran in his Lycra Boston Marathon T-shirt and tights. He came pounding up to the top of climb and into Dorran Meadow, a wide flat expanse of low scrub on the ridgeline. The upper parking lot abutted the meadow and he could see a couple on the far side.

Jack ran on the trail toward them. At first, he thought they were having a picnic, for they had a blanket spread out on the hard ground. From the far side of the meadow, the first thing Jack saw was the woman's dark red hair, so bright that it shone in the gathering dusk. But as he came closer, he saw that there was an expensive camera set on a tripod. The man was fussing with it and woman was on her knees on the blanket, with a small baby propped up on her thighs, swathed in blankets.

The woman was young and very attractive in the way that Jack liked women -- lithe and athletic with little fat except for a pleasing, rounded-but-tight rump and firm, rounded breasts. She had the lean musculature of a committed runner with perfectly sculpted abs. She wore a Boston Marathon sports bra with the Boston Athletic Association logo above one breast, colorful tights and running shoes. The man was of medium height, a bit chubby and wore a T-shirt emblazoned front and back with "Turkey Trot 5-K".

"Hold still, Gretchen," the man was saying. "I'm almost done setting up the timer and light filters. We'll get a great shot for our family Christmas card."

"Richard, I'm freezing my butt off here," she complained. Her accent had a foreign touch, not very strong. It sounded German. "You said this would take five minutes. We've already been out for fifteen minutes and you haven't even set up the camera yet. Thank God I decided to dress Junior warmly."

"Just a little while longer, darling," the man she called Richard said. "You can't tell the temperature in the photos, and it will look so good to have you in your Boston running gear!"

"Then we should have taken the photos indoors!" she said, her tone belligerent.

Jack came up behind Richard on trail and stopped as he continued to fuss over the camera. He looked into Gretchen's big blue eyes and saw a spark of interest as she took in his hard, firmly muscled body. His Lycra T-shirt clung to him, revealing his well-defined abs, chest and biceps. The brief spark was enough for Jack and he dropped his eyes to stare at her breasts. Her nipples had stiffened to their full length in the cold and poked very clearly through her sports bra. They were long and disproportionately thick. Given her athletic frame, her breasts seemed a bit more rounded than Jack's expertise would have expected, suggesting that she was lactating and breast-feeding the baby.

He was staring at her breasts so obviously that Gretchen flushed. Jack pulled out his phone and tapped the special locator-identifier app that he got from his friends in Black Ops. It brought up details of all phones within a hundred-yard radius. Gretchen's picture popped up next to the details of her phone, dressed in a dark business suit with an expensive scarf knotted around her neck. "Gretchen Elise Lovewell, Associate, Brewster Bailey Hamilton LLP, Counselors-at-Law" he read. She was a new associate with one of the biggest law firms in town. It listed that she was German by birth. It also listed the year of her college and law degrees, indicating that she was twenty-five. Richard's phone details had a picture of him in a business suit; it said "Richard Pappo, Principal, Pappo Consulting".

Jack was getting cold now, so he put on his running jacket and zipped it up. Then he typed a quick text with an identifier picture of himself.

Jack: Hi Gretchen, I'm Jack. When did you run Boston?

She was hugging herself against the cold, but when her phone buzzed, she reached into her Fendi handbag and tapped it open. When she saw the text, she looked at Jack in surprise, growing even more embarrassed as his eyes ranged over her even more suggestively, lingering on her crotch and belly. Her phone buzzed again.

Jack: You've got beautiful breasts.

She colored more deeply, but her expression turned angry. She rapidly typed into her phone with both thumbs.

Gretchen: F off.

Jack: I can't. The view is too good.

Gretchen: You're bad.

Jack: That I am.

She hesitated.

"Richard, hurry up now," she said.

"I'm almost ready, dear," Richard said.

Jack: I can't see a panty line under your tights. Are you wearing panties? Or are you commando?

Gretchen: You're a prick.

Jack: I love it when you talk dirty. Your nipples are incredible, standing up so stiff.

Her eyes went wide when she read the text and she crossed her arms over her breasts. Just then Rich completed his camera set up and came over to her side.

"Uncross your arms, darling," Richard said. "The camera will start shooting in ten seconds. You need to hold Junior."

Gretchen obeyed Richard and he kneeled next to her and looked into the camera. As the camera began to shoot, Richard noticed Jack who was unhurriedly undressing Gretchen with his eyes. She hoped Richard would make Jack go away and when the camera finished its first round of shots, she was gratified when he rose angrily.

"Look here, sir, you have to business staring at us like this. Please keep going down the trail."

"I wasn't staring at you," said Jack, smiling. "I'm not into men."

"Well, move along, now."

"It's a public park," said Jack. "I have every right to be here."

Jack locked eyes with Richard, who looked away quickly.

"Suit yourself," said Richard. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper and said, "Bastard."

"What did you say?" asked Jack.

"Nothing," said Richard. He went back to setting up the camera for the second set of shots.

Seeing Richard so dominated, Gretchen felt her heart beat faster. She did not know if it was fear, anger or something else. She picked up her phone.

Gretchen: You're a bully!

Jack: I'm not a bully. I like looking at you -- you're a sexy. Why should I leave?

Gretchen: Because I'm someone else's wife!

Jack: I ran Boston -- we have that in common.

Gretchen: So did thousands of others!

Jack: What do you have in common with your husband? He's not a serious runner like you.

Gretchen: He just wants to love me and make me happy! And he does, all the time.

Jack: I doubt it.

Gretchen: Go fuck yourself.

Jack: I just want to fuck you and make you cum. And I will, many times.

Gretchen could not believe she was carrying on like this. But somehow, she could not stop. It was so naughty, texting with Jack like this in full view of her husband.

Gretchen: Well, you can keep hoping, you'll just be frustrated.

Jack: Will I? Then why is there a spot on the crotch of your tights?

Gretchen's immediate reaction was to look down. She knew that this banter and Jack's bold stares had made her feel a bit warm down there. And her tights were pale blue with white splotches, so she was worried.

Gretchen: There's no spot!
Jack: I can see it from here. Feel it with your hand.

Gretchen hesitated and then touched the crotch of her tights. Sure enough, there was a tiny spot of wetness. She colored again.

Jack: See? I told you.

"OK, dear, we're ready for the second and last set," said Richard.

He came and kneeled by his wife again and the camera when through its shooting routine. Jack stared at Gretchen and she looked away from the camera at him from time to time.

Jack waited while Richard packed his camera and Gretchen picked up the baby. They headed back to their car in the upper parking lot. Jack enjoyed watching Gretchen's back and her perfect sculpted shoulder blades separated by the Lycra strip of her sports bra. Her perfect round buttocks rolled pleasingly under her tights. Jack wondered again whether she was wearing panties.

They settled the baby in the car and Jack saw her get into the back, wrap herself in a robe and begin to change out of her running clothes.

Jack: Don't put on panties when you change out of your running clothes.

Gretchen: Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. But you'll never know.

Jack: Nach Hause gehen? (Going home?)

Gretchen: How do you know I speak German?

Jack: I'm interested in you. Sag mir. (Tell me)

Gretchen: No, out for dinner to celebrate our Christmas photos.

Jack: Where?

Gretchen: Get lost, you prick!

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Jack ran the downhill trail to his car as fast as he could. He toweled down, changed into dry clothes and turned on the locator app to Gretchen's phone. He patched it into the Jaguar's GPS and started the car. Then he drove off, squealing tires and working through the gears as he followed the route to the blinking dot of Gretchen's phone. The GPS led him surely and steadily toward his goal and he saw her unmistakable dark red head in traffic a few cars ahead in a Mercedes. He followed them as they drove and was surprised to see them turn into a residential side street. Maybe they're just going home, he thought.

They parked in front of a line of row houses. Jack parked at the end of the street behind a line of cars on the other side of the street. He had a good view of them, and slid down behind the steering wheel in case they turned around.

Richard got out of the car with the baby bassinet. He entered a row house, but Gretchen remained in the car. A few minutes later, Richard emerged without the baby, started the car and they drove off. Jack waited till they turned at the end of the street and were out of sight before following them. The flashing dot of Gretchen's phone on his GPS led him unerringly to Cinque, a fashionable Italian restaurant. He parked at the other end of the parking lot from them and watched them walk up the steps into the restaurant. Then he followed them in.

Richard was talking to the hostess at the podium as Jack came in.

"I'm sorry, sir," she was saying. "Your reservation was for twenty minutes ago. We had to give your table away. We have no tables for two right now."

"I told you that you were taking too long over the damn photos!" snapped Gretchen. "Now you've lost our table!"

"How long is the wait?" Richard asked.

"About an hour, sir."

"But I did have a reservation!"

Gretchen mouthed, "Moron!"

"I'm sorry, sir," the hostess repeated. She looked to Jack as he approached. "Do you have a reservation, sir?"

"No," said Jack easily. "I'm with these folks here. Jack Grierson."

Richard looked at Jack, shocked.

"No, you're -- " he began.

"Do you have anything that would seat three?" asked Jack, cutting him off. As the hostess checked her list, Jack unobtrusively slipped her a sheaf of twenties. "A table for four would do just as well."

The hostess made a show of running her finger up and down her list, while she counted the sheaf of bills Jack had given her. When she realized how much he had given her, she could not keep her eyes from showing her disbelief.

"I have a table for four just opening up," she said. "Do you want to be seated?"

"No -- " began Richard.

"Yes, that would be great," said Gretchen, smiling at the hostess and cutting her husband off again.

"Follow me," said the hostess, picking up a set of menus.

Jack leaned forward and whispered to hostess, "A booth if you have one."

As the hostess began to walk away, Richard hissed at Gretchen, "What are you doing?"

"Hol uns einen Tisch," said Gretchen. (Getting us a table.)

From his expression, Jack was sure that Richard did not understand.

Gretchen wore a white chiffon semi-diaphanous blouse over a blue silk bra with black lace trim and straps, and a short, black, very tight skirt. She had changed into strappy black slippers with high spike heels and carried a Fendi handbag. Jack followed her, nimbly outmaneuvering Richard, who moved awkwardly. Jack could feel Richard glaring at his back, but he only had eyes for Gretchen's ass that swung provocatively as she walked on her high heels. The twin globes of her buttocks moved sensuously. Jack pulled out his phone as they walked down the restaurant corridor toward an interior room.

Illustration by Calzas

Jack: So, are you wearing panties?

She had her phone in her hand and texted right back.

Gretchen: Was denken sie? (What do you think?)

Jack: I think you are.

Gretchen: You're guessing.

Jack: Your ass looks delicious. I want to go down on my knees and bury my face between your butt cheeks.

Gretchen: Asshole.

Jack: That's where I want to put my tongue.

The hostess showed them to their table. Jack smiled when he saw that she had given them a booth with high backs by a window. Gretchen slid into the inside on one bench and Richard quickly sat down beside her. Jack sat facing Gretchen with Richard glowering by her side. The waitress came by and gave them their menus and recited the specials. The busboy filled their water glasses. Jack ordered a very expensive bottle of Pinot Noir saying, "Don't worry, it's all on me."

Jack eased off his shoe off his bare, sock-less foot and ran his toe up the inside of Gretchen's calf. She moved her leg, but confined between the window and Richard, she could not avoid him.

"So, do you run, Richard?"

Jack's toes ran further up Gretchen's leg, caressing the inside of her knee.

"No," said Richard, sipping his water. "Running is boring. I prefer more exciting pastimes."

Jack's toes went higher, even as Gretchen squirmed in her seat. She put her hand under the table to try and dislodge his foot, but his leg was far stronger than her hand and he kept pushing upward.

"Exciting, huh, Richard?" said Jack. "Like what?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," said Jack.

His toes were now high on the inside of Gretchen's thigh. She knew his object and squeezed her thighs together in an attempt to prevent his foot from moving higher. But all she succeeded in doing was in creating a warm snugness between her thighs for his foot.

"Skydiving," said Richard with a touch of bravado.

"Really!" said Jack, sounding impressed. "How many jumps have you done?"

"I done five--" Richard began, but then he looked over at Gretchen and paused.

"Richard hasn't been up in a plane yet," said Gretchen, her tone sharp.

"I've done all five classes," said Richard, sounding petulant at his wife's interruption. "I'm scheduled to go up any day now."

"Tandem, with an instructor," said Gretchen.

"Really, Gretchen!" said Richard angrily. "You really don't have to keep butting into the conversation. All you do is run, you're too chicken to even try something filled with risk like skydiving."

"What do you think of skydiving, Mr. Grierson?" asked Gretchen, her tone syrupy sweet. "Have you tried it?"

"No," said Jack, and a smirk came to Richard's face.

"Is it something you want to do?"

"No," repeated Jack. "I did my share of jumps when I was in the army. Many were under enemy fire. I have no desire to do any more."

"You served in combat?" she asked.

"Yes," said Jack.

There was a brief silence, but Jack did not elaborate. Richard's expression went pale. A look of grudging respect came to Gretchen's face.

"You speak German?" Gretchen asked to fill the silence.

"Yes, I was based in Germany," said Jack. "Ich habe nie einen Deutschen mit einem Nachnamen wie Lovewell getroffen." (I never met a German with a last name like Lovewell.)

"What did you say?" asked Richard, interrupting loudly. "What does it mean?"

"My German name was Liebegut," said Gretchen, ignoring her husband's outburst. "I changed it to the English translation when I enrolled in law school here."

The waitress arrived with the wine. She poured a small portion and offered it, saying, "Who's going to taste it?"

"The lady will do the honors," said Jack, indicating Gretchen.

"No, no," said Gretchen. "I'm breast-feeding, I can't let the baby have alcohol."

"That's OK," said Jack. "You don't have to drink, just approve the wine."

The waitress handed her the wineglass before she could say anything.

Just as she sipped the wine, Jack pushed his foot hard and he felt the warmth of her pussy with his big toe. He felt the silk of her panties, a bit disappointed that he had been right. But the thin silk was no protection against his incursion. She gasped and coughed as she felt his big toe touch her intimately. She coughed again as he ran his toenail over her vulva and then her clitoris through the silk. His ministrations drew more moisture from her, and he felt her panties grow damp along her slit.

"Are you OK, hear?" asked Richard.

"Fine, fine," she gasped. "Just swallowed the wine the wrong way."

"Here, drink some water," Richard said.

She set down the wineglass and took the water glass that he offered her.

"Is the wine OK?" asked the waitress.

"Fine, fine," said Gretchen.

The waitress looked doubtful, but she set the wine bottle down and left. Jack used his big toe dexterously to slide the crotch of her panties aside. The skin of his big toe touched the flesh of her crotch, and he felt her smooth pubic down, trimmed to a narrow line along her slit. It was soft and furry, not crinkly like most women.

She involuntarily squeezed her thighs even tighter together. Paradoxically, she achieved the opposite of what she wanted, making it easier for him to push his foot into the tight space. He felt her clit without its silk panty shield, and it was slippery wet. Then, just as Gretchen drank the water, he pushed his big toe into her. Her tight warmth encased his toe and he felt wetness in her pussy.

She spluttered and spewed out water through her mouth and nose, making a puddle on to the table cloth.

"What's the matter, dear?" asked Richard, clearly worried.

"Just ... just ... coughing ...," she stammered.

"What can I do, darling?" he said, rubbing her back.

"Nothing, nothing, I'll be .... fine ...."

She tried to keep from gasping, but Jack was twisting his big toe in her tight pussy. Each time his toenail ran over her clit, she felt a spasm and her hands held the table edge tighter. She grew wetter with each turn of Jack's toe.

"I think Gretchen might have caught a bit of a sore throat from being so cold out there on Dorran Meadow," said Jack. "There's a drugstore on the next block, why don't you get her some throat lozenges?"

"Shall I do that, dear?" Richard asked Gretchen.

"No, no, ..., I'll be fine ..." Gretchen protested. She tried to keep her voice normal, but could not avoid sounding breathy.

But then Jack pushed his toe harder, embedding its full length in her. She coughed again and put her hand over her mouth to disguise the small scream that rose up her throat.

"I'm going to get some lozenges," said Richard firmly. "I'll be right back."

He rose and quickly walked out.

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