Gretchen Lovewell

Her arousal was already so extreme that she could not last long, and neither could he. She began to cum again, as hard as before, her pussy a silken clamp. He exploded, and she felt the first copious gush of his musky ejaculate deep inside her. He kept pounding her, and pumped three more spurts into her before he was done, grunting as he did so.

He leaned on her, one hand on the glass, the other still holding her up by her bunched-up skirt that was now no more than a waistband. They were both spent, covered with sweat, clothes sodden, but still high from the intensity of their sexual climax.

"I'm going to pass out!" she whispered into his shoulder.

"I'm a little faint too," confessed Jack, as his cock began to slowly deflate in her pussy. "Let's take a moment."

"I'm not cold now," she whispered. "In fact, I'm still sweating. How can you fuck like that? You're a satyr!"

"I've got a lot of testosterone," said Jack.

* * * * *

They adjusted their clothes to regain some semblance of normalcy. Gretchen set her black bra straps on her shoulders, pulled up her blue silk bra cups and plumped her breasts under them to snug them on. She ran her fingers through her damp hair, using her reflection in the glass as she tried to comb it. Then she buttoned up her blouse, now so damp that it was see-through. As she smoothed her skirt down, she realized that Jack's viscous semen was oozing out of her. It was slowly seeping down her inner thighs.

"My God, Jack, you must have forced a liter of your semen into me," she complained. "I have to go to the ladies' and clean up."

Illustration by Calzas

"Good idea," he said.

"Give me back my panties."

"No," said Jack, smiling. "I'll keep them. To remember you by."

"You want me to prance around with no panties in public," she muttered, but Jack did not respond.

They walked back around and re-entered the restaurant. As they passed the hostess, Jack said they were returning to their table. Gretchen went into the ladies', locked herself in a stall, and used half a roll of toilet paper in an attempt to clean Jack out of her. But there was so much of him so deep in her, that each time she thought she was done, more milky semen oozed out of her. Finally, she gave up and walked back to their table, feeling the gooey fluid slowly leaking out of her pussy and trickling on to her inner thighs.

Richard was very drunk. Jack had managed to get him to stand up with an arm draped around his neck. Holding Richard with one hand, he was signing the waitress's iPad with the other to pay the bill.

Gretchen walked up quickly and picked up her purse, but Jack waved her away saying, "I told you it's on me."

He turned to the waitress and slipped her a twenty.

"Thank you, dear," he said. "Your service was great."

The waitress looked from Jack to Gretchen and back again, coloring.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "Merry Christmas."

"Call me if you want more service during the holidays," said Jack, pulling a card out of his jacket pocket and giving it to the waitress. Then he put his other arm around Gretchen's waist and went on, "A Merry Christmas to us all."

With that, he steered husband and wife out of the restaurant. He settled Richard in the passenger seat of their Mercedes and clipped on his seatbelt before coming around to Gretchen's window on the driver's side.

"You raped me," she said.

"Did I?" Jack cocked an eyebrow.

"Will you do it again?"

"If you want," he said.

"I've had periods since the baby was born," she said. "But my OB/GYN said I'm unlikely to get pregnant again while I'm breastfeeding."

"Do a pregnancy test in a few weeks and call me," said Jack.

"Monster!" she exclaimed. Then she went on a soft voice. "Mein Monster." (My monster.)

* * * * *

Gretchen's phone rang as she drove home. When she answered it, their babysitter's voice came through the speakers.

"The baby is up, Mrs. Lovewell and won't stop crying," she said. "I've tried holding him and rocking him, but nothing seems to help. I think he's hungry."

"We're on our way home," said Gretchen. "Just keep holding him till we get there."

The call woke Richard, who stared ahead vacuously.

"The couple fucking on the patio outside the restaurant," he slurred, his head lolling on the headrest. "Wasn't it disgusting?"

"You mentioned it to me at the time," said Gretchen cautiously. "But I couldn't see exactly what they were doing. Anyway, it's not our business."

"They were fucking," repeated Richard with drunken certitude. "I thought the woman had dark red hair like yours. I told you, didn't I?"

"Yes, yes, you told me," said Gretchen. "I was right there with you in the restaurant, wasn't I?"

"Yes, I think you were," mumbled Richard, and fell back asleep.

Gretchen felt Jack's gooey semen continue to ooze out of her. Her skirt was already wet, but now it leached through the fabric to the leather driver's seat of the Mercedes. Its musky smell was strong and brought her wild orgasms back to mind. Her pussy clenched reflexively as she looked over at her cuckolded husband. She wondered if he smelled it, but he continued to sleep fitfully.

The babysitter had to help Gretchen manhandle Richard upstairs into bed. After she left, Gretchen fed the baby with her depleted breasts and managed to rock him to sleep on her belly.

Richard woke in the late morning with a fearful hangover, grateful that it was a Saturday. He came down to find Gretchen in the kitchen with the baby in her arms.

"I feel like hell," he said.

"Zu viel trinken hat nur ein Ende," Gretchen said tartly.

"I hate it when you talk German," he said, voice rising.

"Drinking too much has only one end," she translated. "We've been married two years, you could have learned."

He went to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. He gulped some black coffee and belched.

"I thought I saw a couple fucking outside the restaurant yesterday," he said, remembering. "The woman had dark red hair like yours."

"You told me to look," said Gretchen, her voice a bit tense. "But I couldn't see much. You were so drunk, you probably imagined more than you saw."

"Maybe," said Richard. "It was a miserable evening. After I had everything planned so well! That creep, Jack ruined it for us."

"Maybe he did," said Gretchen. "But you couldn't even get us to the restaurant on time."

Jack Grierson speaks German, she thought. He has a nice accent.

* * * * *

Gretchen called Jack's office the next Monday, late in the afternoon. He had had a stressful day full of high-pressure meetings, and he was mentally exhausted. He was thinking of going to his gym for a hard boxing workout with the heavy bag when his desk phone rang. He saw the caller ID was from Brewster Bailey Hamilton LLC. He picked it up.

"This is Gretchen Elise Lovewell."

"Well, you certainly love well, Gretchen Elise," said Jack, sitting back down in his swivel chair.

"You're the CEO of the Foncault Group, a conglomerate with sales of over twenty billion," she said. "Your father-in-law Reginald St. James is the Chairman." (See my story, The Jack Grierson Chronicles -- Casey on Literotica.com).

"Yes," he said.

"You're married to Carmen St. James Grierson, you have two children, Martin and Kelly." (See my series, Her Fiancé's Father on Literotica.com.)

"Yes," he repeated.

"You married well, Jack Grierson," she said. "No college degree, just three years in army special forces."

"All of this is public knowledge, Gretchen."

"I looked you up in the ExecuComp database. It your salary and stock options are both zero and you have no stock in your name. I looked up the Foncault Group. Your father-in-law owns forty percent of the outstanding stock, your wife Carmen owns eleven percent. You own nothing, your net worth is zero."

She paused, but Jack did not respond.

"Yet you were named one of the ten most effective CEOs by Fortune magazine four times! I mentioned your name to the junior partners here at Brewster Bailey Hamilton. One of them said you are a business genius. He said that as Foncault CEO, you took the group from five billion to twenty billion."

Jack still did not respond.

"Then I asked one of our senior partners, Chip Bailey. He has a strong opinion about you, Grierson. He called you a low-life from the gutter. The SEC filings for the Foncault Group list your father as Sergeant Henry Grierson of the US Army. But -- and this is interesting, I've never seen this before in an SEC filing -- it lists your mother as 'unknown'."

"Chip Bailey is right," said Jack, his voice rough. "I am a low-life from the gutter. You seem to have spent a lot of time researching me. Why do you care?"

"Is it surprising that I should want to know everything about the man that fucked my brains out?"

"Well, you've got it all now," he said.

"Where's your father now?"

"He's dead. He was killed in action."

"Who was your mother? Where is she?"

"Just some whore my father slept with," Jack shouted, his anger boiling through. "My father raised me. I grew up on army bases. That's all there is to it."

"How do you manage it? You drive a fancy Jaguar, you have credit cards, you live well."

"It's a company car. I have a company expense account. It's quite generous. I live with my wife and children in her mansion."

"Why no salary, no stock, no possessions in your name?"

"It was my father-in-law's condition for the marriage." (See my story Miranda Kim, on Literotica.com.)

"Does your wife know about all your women? You're very often in the gossip sheets."

"Carmen and I have always had an understanding."

"When will we meet again?" she asked.

"Do you want me to fuck you again?"

"No, I don't," she said. "But don't let that stop you."

* * * * *

Three weeks later, Jack's phone rang early in the morning before his first meeting, and he cursed. He was in his office with his massive erection stuffed in the mouth of his lovely executive assistant, Farah Hojjat. He held her steady with a hand in her silky raven hair and his cockhead at the base of her throat. Her lips formed a tight seal around his shaft that was coated with her lipstick.

"Keeping sucking, Farah," he said.

Her nose was running and her eyes were watering, but he read "OK" in her expression.

"Jack Grierson," he said, picking up the phone.

"It's Gretchen Elise Lovewell."

"Ah, meine Liebe gut," said Jack. (My love well.)

He switched the phone on speaker and put both his hands in Farah's hair, beginning to fuck her mouth.

"Ich bin schwanger. Und es gehört dir." (I'm pregnant. And it's yours.)

"How do you know?"

The sound of Farah's sucking and breathing rose as Jack quickened his pace.

"Richard always uses a condom, he doesn't want another baby right now. And you've fucked me many times in the last three weeks. And each time you've forced an enormous load into me. You're like a wild animal."

Jack was rocking back and forth hard now, choking Farah with each thrust. Her hands were on his wrists, her nails biting into his skin.

"OOHHMFFF!! OOMMFFFF!!" Farah's labored breathing was too loud to conceal now, and Gretchen heard it clearly.

"Are you fucking a woman now, Jack?" she asked, her voice incredulous.

"No," huffed Jack, giving up on trying to keep his voice normal. "Not real sex."

"Not real sex?"

"I've got my cock in her mouth, Gretchen," Jack wheezed.

"She sounds like she's choking," said Gretchen.

"It's not her first time with me."

"You're a pig, Jack Grierson," said Gretchen.

"I know I'm a horrible person," Jack panted. "But, keep our baby. Please ...."

"Of course, I will," she said. "It's mine."

"I'll pay for all expenses, don't worry."

"UUHHMFFGG!! UUMMFFFFGGG!!" Farah's choked gasps were getting louder and louder.

"The woman sucking your cock sounds like she is drowning," said Gretchen. "I don't need your money."

"She's ... she's used to it," gasped Jack. "Does that mean you don't want to see me again?"

"I don't," she said. "But will that stop you?"

"No!" he cried.

"MMFFGGHH!! MMMFFFGGGHHH!!" Farah's face was turning a bright shade of red, purple dots were showing in her cheeks and her eyes showed the beginning of panic.

"Don't hang up, Jack Grierson," said Gretchen. "I want to hear you cum, schweinehund." (Pig dog.)

Jack groaned and let himself go. He forced the first spurt down Farah's throat. She gurgled as she swallowed the massive flow. Then he withdrew and sprayed the next two on her face and breasts.

Farah sat back on her haunches, his semen dribbling out of the corner of her mouth, slowly sliding down from the tops of her breasts into her cleavage and soaking her bra, shiny globules sparkling in her hair like pearls. The force of his first ejaculation had been so strong that there was semen leaking out of her nose.

"Are you going to fuck her now, Grierson?" Gretchen's voice drifted out of the speakerphone.

"Damn you, Jack," said Farah, unfastening her wet bra. Then she raised her voice so that it would be picked up clearly by the speakerphone. "Jack's going to fuck you this evening, Gretchen. Not me."

"How do you know?" asked Gretchen.

"I know Jack," said Farah. (See my story Miranda Kim, on Literotica.com)

"I'll always fight you, Grierson," said Gretchen.

"Why?" he asked.

"You like women who fight you. That's why you want me. And when you force me, you make me crazy."

* * * * *

Seven weeks after Jack fucked Gretchen at Cinque, he arrived at reception of her law firm Brewster Bailey Hamilton LLP. It occupied several of the high floors of one of the downtown towers and its premises were lavishly appointed as befitted one of largest law firms in town. The receptionist was a perfectly made up and turned out platinum blonde who looked at Jack with a bored expression as he walked up. When he identified himself at the front desk, she consulting the computer screen in front of her.

"Your appointment with Mr. Bailey is at four o'clock, Mr. Grierson," she said. "It's only three now. Would you like to wait an hour or come back?"

"I came early in purpose, A," replied Jack. "I'd like to have a chat with one of your associates, Ms. Gretchen Lovewell."

"I'll see if she's in," said the receptionist, picking up her desk phone.

"Don't bother," said Jack. "I'll just go and knock on her door. If she's not in, I'll come back at four."

"It's not our policy ..." began the receptionist doubtfully, but Jack turned on a winning smile. He was dressed in a very expensive suit with an Italian designer tie, and he was sure the receptionist had an eye for these things. "Well, I guess there's no harm. Her office is on the outer ring, number 5764."

"Thank you," said Jack.

He walked around the outer ring, following the numbers till he found her office door. It was made of dark wood and there was a metal plate screwed on it with her name on it -- 'Gretchen Elise Lovewell'. He knocked and heard her voice from inside calling, "Come in." He opened the door, entered and shut it behind him. The office was small, but well appointed.

She wore a white chiffon blouse with a high professional collar with a colorful Hermes scarf tied loosely but stylishly around her neck. There was a crimson silk ribbon in her dark red hair and a pearl choker necklace around her throat. Her business suit was dark gray with a tight knee length skirt, though her suit jacket was hanging on a peg behind her door. Jack could see tantalizing contours of her blue silk bra with black lace trim through the translucence of her blouse. He guessed it was the same bra she had worn when he fucked her the first time.

"What are you doing here, Grierson?" she asked sharply. "I'm at work!"

"I know," said Jack. "Aren't you excited to see me?"

"No, of course not!" she snapped. "You force me to fuck not once, but twice, and then ignore me for weeks! I've called you, left you messages, texted you, risked my marriage for you. You presumptuous bastard!"

"I've been busy," said Jack, pulling a chair and sitting down in front of her desk. "How are you feeling, Gretchen?"

"Sick," she said. "Nauseous most of the day. It's been seven weeks since you fucked me at Cinque. I think you got me pregnant right there, the very first time we had sex."

"Probably," said Jack, smiling. "That was good sex. And your husband was just through the window. That made it more exciting."

"Du bist ein Schweinehund, Grierson," said Gretchen, relapsing into her native German. (You are a pig-dog, Grierson.) "You make me do the vilest things. The very next week after fucking me at Cinque, you came into my house in the middle of the night. You took me out of my husband's arms and fucked me in the guest room."

"You didn't wake him," said Jack, grinning.

"He wouldn't have known what to do, poor liebling," retorted Gretchen. "I really hate you."

"But you like me to fuck you."

"Mein Gott, Grierson!" she exclaimed. (My God, Grierson!) "I know you're bad for me, but you're like a drug, like heroin, like crack. You've got me addicted. Each time you fucked me, I told myself, never again, never again. I promise myself, I make resolutions, but then the cavewoman in my takes over and throw my responsibilities and my pride to the winds. I call or text begging to see you. You humiliate me."

"The cavewoman is the real you, Gretchen," said Jack. "Strong, exciting, quintessentially female. Don't deny her, don't be ashamed of her. She's you."

"You make me do sordid things! That's not the real me, I'll never accept that."

"How can having orgasms be sordid? Just thinking about that time in your guest room, I'm getting hard again."

"You're disgusting!"

"Give me your panties," said Jack, leaning forward.

"What?"

"I said, give me your panties."

"I can't do that! I'm at work! I have a meeting with one of the senior partners, Chip Bailey, in less than an hour."

"I can take them off you if you want, Gretchen."

"I'll scream!"

"Just give them to me. There are getting wet anyway."

"No, they're not!"

"You're lying, Gretchen."

"How dare you talk to me like that!"

"I can make your blue silk bra through your chiffon blouse,' said Jack. "It's the one you wore when I fucked you at Cinque the first time, isn't it? The panties you're wearing match it, don't they?"

"Yes," she said, her voice very low. "Why do you want them?"

"To smell you, Gretchen, that's all."

"I don't believe you, Grierson. You always want more. When you broke into our house and came into our bedroom, you whispered in my ear that you just wanted a kiss. Come to guest room and give me one kiss, you said!" Jack had the grace to look a bit abashed, and she went on. "Then on the guest room bed, you forced your face into my pussy."

"Kissing your nether lips," said Jack, trying keep a serious face.

"Putting your tongue in my pussy is not kissing, Grierson!"

"Depends on how you define kissing, doesn't it?"

"Then you didn't stop, did you?" she demanded.

"Well, you were the one who was crying out, don't stop, don't stop, I'm cumming!"

"I did cum. So hard! You can make me act like a wild woman with just your tongue and your fingers!"

"See?" Jack smiled. "It's all good."

"Mein Gott! The next thing I knew, you used my scarf to tie my wrists to the headboard of the guest room bed. And just as I asked you what the hell you were doing, you were on me! Your tongue was in my mouth and you pushed your gigantic cock into my pussy."

"You were very wet, Gretchen."

"You fucked me like a jackhammer. You made me cum so many times, I can hardly remember. You kept me tied up all night. And woke me three more times during the night to fuck me again."