Gretchen Lovewell

She clenched her pussy lips unconsciously at the memory and the tension showed on her face. She'd felt heat in her belly as soon as he walked in the door, and it had slowly descended into her loins. Now she could feel it acutely.

"Only twice more in the night, Gretchen. The third time was at dawn."

"And it all started with asking for 'just one kiss'! You left me tied in the guest room. Your semen was in my pussy and all over me, even in my hair! You wanted my husband Richard to find me like that! Thoroughly fucked with your jizz all over me."

"But you got out, didn't you? I didn't use a particularly difficult knot to tie you down."

"It wasn't that easy!"

"I had confidence in you," he said, his tone mollifying.

She could see he was undressing her with his eyes. And she could no longer deny the wetness in her pussy. He was right, her panties had been damp. Talking about their nightlong sexual marathon made it worse. Her sexual fluids leaked out of her, making her panties truly wet.

She met Jack's eyes for a long moment, but finally looked away out of the big picture window. Then she slowly raised her buttocks off her chair and hiked up her skirt. She pulled her panties down her long legs and took them off, careful to avoid snagging them on her stocking garters and tall high heels.

He took the wet panties, put them to his nose and inhaled deeply. When they were not on her body, her panties were such a small scrap of silk and lace! But they contained so much of her sexual essence. As he sat there with the panties on his nose, she began to hope ... but she was not sure what she was hoping. Did she want him to leave? Or did she want him to fuck her?

"You've got my panties, Grierson," she said. "That's what you came for. Now leave. I've got to get back to work."

"I can't, Gretchen. I want you. I need you. And you want me."

"No, I don't."

He took out his phone, cued up voicemail and hit the speaker button.

"Pick up the damn phone, Grierson," she heard her own voice. "Richard's at a client meeting and I'm home. I'm waiting for you."

He stood up and came around her desk.

"You want me, Gretchen. And you want to cuckold your husband."

"No, no, no," she whispered.

Jack stood up, took off his jacket, and hung it on the back of his chair. Then he came around her desk. Gretchen stood up as he did so. He hiked her tight skirt up around her waist, revealing her black stockings with their snap-on garters. He put his hand on her bare pussy, fingers tracing her soft pubic down along her vulva. She gasped. He pushed her and she raised herself on her tiptoes, settling her buttocks on her desk. She heard his zipper and the rustle of his trousers sliding down his legs. She put her arms around his neck.

His hands settled on her hips, holding her steady. He positioned his engorged cock at her sopping entrance, the outer folds of her pussy sheathed his tip, already hinting at the wetness and warmth that lay within. His lips found hers and she opened her mouth to receive his thick tongue, a prelude to what she knew would be a much deeper invasion below.

He waited, his huge erection poised, while he took his time tasting her lipstick, inhaling her minty breath, smelling the roses in her cheeks. He knew she was impatient, and so was he, but he knew that control was the secret to great sex. That the longer he made her wait, the harder she would cum. He took his time unbuttoning her blouse, to expose her blue silk and black lace bra that he knew so well. He pushed up her bra cups ran his thumbnail over her nipples to cause them to pucker, harden, and leak milk.

When he finally finished the kiss and traced his tongue down her sensitive throat, she whispered, "Mein Gott, Grierson, don't do this to me!"

He pushed into her all at once, and she put a hand on her mouth to stifle her cry. It still came out, muffled, "MMMFFFFGGHH!!"

He gave her no time to reorient herself, but began to fuck her hard, his mount making sharp slapping sounds each time he rammed her.

"Gott im Himmel! Scheisse! Du bist eine Maschine! OOGHL!!" (God in heaven! Shit! You're a machine!)

She was already on a short fuse, and felt herself ascending very quickly. It was such a rapid boost that stars danced before her eyes.

"Don't make me! OOOHH!! Please! Oh, please! Oh, please!! Oh, please!!!"

She began to cum hard, twisting and writhing in his arms. Her pussy was warm, tight and clenched him forcefully and spasmodically. Her bucking hips and sobbing pants of "FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!" tore away the last vestiges of his control. Jack let himself go, and began to spurt inside her. He hadn't had sex in two days and his sacs were full, painfully so. He kept pounding her and spewing into her, with a series of coughing grunts. The warmth of his ejaculate was deep within her, but as he kept squirting, she felt her insides beginning to bulge.

"Mein Gott!" she said, an edge of panic in her voice. "You're gushing inside me like a firehose!"

Her legs scissored around his waist, and they held each other, both savoring the afterglow of their powerful orgasms. As she wound down from her high with her arms around his neck, she looked at her watch.

"Omigod, Grierson!" she cried. "Your cock is still in me, and I have a meeting with one of our senior partners, Chip Bailey, in less than ten minutes!"

"It's OK," said Jack. "I called the meeting. I asked for you to work on a brief for us, for the Foncault Group. We'll go and see Bailey together."

He pulled his shrinking cock out of her with a plop, used his handkerchief to clean himself and zipped himself up. She slid off her desk, but wobbled on her heels. He steadied her with hands on the straps of her bra.

"You have the tits of a love goddess," he said.

"A goddess who doesn't have time to go to the ladies' to clean up!" she wailed. "You flooded my insides with so much semen, it's leaking out of me! It's run down my thighs and gotten into my garters and stockings!"

"Take them off," said Jack, helpfully.

"No panties, bare legs," she muttered. "You don't care how I feel."

"I want you to be bold, fearless. A cavewoman."

She pulled down the cups of her bra and settled them on her breasts. Then she rapidly buttoned up her blouse and pulled her skirt down. She went to the mirror on her office door and ran her fingers through her hair to straighten it. Jack took her jacket on the peg on the door and held it for her to put on. Settling the tie of her scarf in place and touching her pearl choker, she turned to him.

"How do I look?"

"Like a woman who's just been fucked," said Jack, with a grin.

"Monster!" she cried.

"Dein Monster," he said with a smile. (Your monster.)

They walked down the corridor together to Charles (Chip) Bailey's corner office suite. Gretchen tried to tighten her pussy lips and walked in mincing steps. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop Jack's copious outpouring from slowly leaking out of her.

"Grierson," she whispered, as they approached Bailey's secretary outside his office. "Give me your handkerchief. Your semen is still oozing out of me."

He complied and she took it as the secretary opened the door to corner office and announced them.

"Good to see you, Mr. Grierson," said Bailey coming out from his desk to shake his hand. "And you too, Gretchen. Let's sit down."

He led them to a comfortable sofa set by a large picture window.

"Now what brings you to us, Mr. Grierson?" he asked.

Jack quickly and succinctly described the details of a complex merger he was undertaking. Gretchen wrote rapidly on her iPad trying to keep up with the details. She could not believe how many detailed figures and ratios Jack quoted from memory with no aids whatsoever. Whenever she had a moment, she checked what he mentioned with public data on the internet and found it all to be exactly as he said, to the last decimal place.

"We can certainly help you set up all the legal safeguards," said Bailey when Jack had finished. "And we will, of course, also advise you on all the compliance issues to make sure you don't raise any red flags with the SEC."

"Thank you," said Jack. "I assume we can depend on your discretion. We wouldn't want any leaks before we make the formal announcement."

"Of course," said Bailey. "And I understand that you wish Ms. Lovewell to work on deal. Is there any particular reason? We could assign a more senior associate for the same fee."

"Ms. Lovewell fits me very well," said Jack, with a sidelong glance at Gretchen.

She was trying desperately to look professional and interested, but failing abysmally. She had a pained expression on her face for Jack's discharge was seeping out of her steadily. It had wet her skirt and bled through the fabric to create a damp spot on the sofa cushion where she was sitting.

"Ah, she fits you well, does she?" said Bailey, giving Gretchen an arch look. "She certainly seems to have internalized your, ah, affairs."

She could smell the pungent aroma of Jack's semen, and was now sure that Bailey could too. Her face slowly turned as red as her hair.

"She's has taken my affairs deep inside her, Mr. Bailey. Very deep inside her creative processes. I am sure she will nurture them and bring forth new life."

"I am pleased that the two of you already have such a ... productive ... relationship, Mr. Grierson. Ms. Lovewell, I applaud you for your service. You will find that the firm will not be ungrateful."

"Mr. Grierson," said Gretchen. "There's a copy of the Wall Street Journal on the on the side table by you. Would you be so good as to hand it to me? There is an article that I believe is very relevant to your case."

Jack reached over and handed her the paper. Gretchen made a show of looking inside it, while Jack and Bailey discussed the law firm's fees. Then they rose and shook hands again. As Gretchen rose, she dropped a section of the paper on the sofa where she had been sitting, covering the damp spot. Then she followed Jack out, repeating her mincing steps as she tried to tighten her pussy lips again.

They made their way back to Gretchen's office again. She opened the door and told him to wait while she went to the ladies' room. She locked herself in a stall and tried to clean herself out as best she could, before returning to her office. She found Jack standing by her picture window, looking out at the surrounding skyscrapers.

"Nice view you have here," he said when he saw her.

She sat down at her desk and opened her laptop.

"Thank you for including me in your deal, Grierson," she said. "It's a huge advancement for my career to work on such a big deal."

"You'll get a big bonus too, I'll make sure of it."

"Why do you always make money for others?" she asked. "Even when you make nothing for yourself?"

"I fucked you, Gretchen. You deserve to get something out of it."

"So that's all I am to you? Your whore? You fuck me, you pay me? I don't need your money. I do well here at law firm, and my husband Richard's business is very successful."

"You can make anything sound sleazy, Gretchen. Even marriage."

"You're the one who's making it sound sleazy. Why can't you just accept that you're being nice?"

"Because I'm not nice, Gretchen. What Chip Bailey told you the other day is true. I'm a low-life from the gutter."

"Really? A low-life? An army officer's son?"

"Not an officer. A sergeant. Just a grunt. Who got himself killed in a meaningless war."

"Your father died fighting for his country. So men like Chip Bailey can live like kings in safety and security. You served too, Grierson. You were wounded in action. A hero."

"I was just a footslogger who stopped a bullet."

"I've been doing research on you, John Henry Beaumont Grierson."

"Where did you find that name?" Jack's tone was sharp. "I never use it. It's not on any corporate documents."

"It's on your passport, isn't it? And on your Swiss birth certificate."

"How do you know all this?"

"I had lunch with Farah Hojjat a few times."

"You met Farah?" Jack sounded incredulous. He was so shocked that he put his hand on the picture window to steady himself and Gretchen was pleased with the effect of her statement. "You mustn't believe what she says about me. She's a bit of a romantic."

"She didn't sound romantic to me. I think she's a hardheaded, professional businesswoman, really intelligent, and totally grounded. She loves you, but she's not a fool about it."

Jack went to one of the chairs in front of her desk and sat down heavily. He covered his face with his hands. His voice came through his hands.

"What did Farah tell you?"

"She told me your name. And she told me where it comes from -- who your mother is."

"I have no mother," said Jack, his voice flat.

"Lady Amanda de Waynflete-Beaumont, the daughter of Lord de Waynflete, the 12^th Earl of Beaumont. She's now married to the Duke of Airor. Your mother is a duchess, your grandfather is an earl. You were born to her in Swiss clinic."

"She never wanted me. She gave me to my father as a newborn and I've never met her since then. I've never met any of her fucking family either and have no desire to ever do so. The Beaumonts pretend I don't exist. I often wish she'd had an abortion, it would have been better for everyone."

"Don't talk like that, Jack." He looked up at her use of his first name. "Farah says you have this deep sadness in you. She says you sometimes get into depressions that last for days and drink yourself into oblivion."

"You mustn't believe everything that Farah tells you."

"She showed me some emails from your father-in-law, Reginald St. James. He really hates you. He sounds like a mean sonofabitch, and he wants you dead. And she told me about all your enemies -- the Arab terrorists, the South American drug cartels. You must be more careful, Jack. Farah is so worried about you." Gretchen paused for a moment before going on, softly. "So am I."

"Sooner or later, someone will kill me," said Jack. "No point in worrying about it."

Gretchen got up, came around her desk, and put her arms around his shoulders. She kissed the top of his head.

"Poor Jack," she whispered. "You've been hurt so deeply. A mother's love is one of nature's certainties, but she denied you. How could she do that to her own child?"

"Don't kid yourself, Gretchen," he said. "I don't care about anyone but myself. To me, you're just a good fuck."

She straddled his lap, unbuttoned her blouse, and pulled down the cups of her blue silk bra. She offered him one of her bright red nipples that puckered up on exposure to the air. He hesitated, but then took it into his mouth, his tongue teasing her small aureole. She let out a small gasp as he suckled and her rich mother's milk began to flow into his mouth.

"Come to mama, Jack," Gretchen murmured, kissing the top of his head again. "Keep trying to convince me that you're nasty and repulsive. The next time you fuck me, Farah wants to join us."

Illustration by Calzas