Sugar Daddy

"Anyone ever tell you how good you taste?"

"Not until now."

"Well, you do," she said and returned to her task, looking up at me as she did.

"Wouldn't you enjoy having me inside you more?"

"Would you enjoy that more?" she asked.

"I really think I would. I want to admire that beautiful body while you ride me."

She lifted herself up, straddled me and lowered her pussy onto my erect dick. As she moved up and down on me I was treated to both visual and physical stimulation. Her tight pussy stroked my cock as it moved up and down, and her lovely breasts bounced about in front of my eyes. I reached out and put my hands on her hips. I moved my hands slowly up her sides and brought them round under her breasts then slowly down to her hips again. Her movements slowly increased in speed and her head went back, making her hair hang down straight. I brought my hands up once more and, supporting her breasts with my hands, I started rubbing her nipples with my thumbs. She gasped for breath and her pelvis rocked as she moved down on me. I could feel the mouth of her cervix closing over the head of my cock.

"Oghh—Oghh—Oghh—A-a-argh—" she let out a moan that was almost a scream, and I blasted another load of semen into her. She was shaking, and I pulled her down onto my chest and held her tight until she recovered.

After a shower I had to go back to my own room for a change of clothes before going down to breakfast. We left the hotel with my arm around her shoulder and hers around my waist. We had arrived looking like father and daughter, and we left looking like lovers.

On Monday morning I called the enquiry agent and asked for a verbal report. He told me what I hoped to hear. Everything was just as she'd said, and as far as he could tell she had no love interest at university. In fact the lads had found her so hard to crack that there were some rumours that she and Abby were lesbians. I thanked him for his efforts, told him the case was now closed and asked him to send his account direct to me.

I asked Sally if she had details of the gym that gave the company employees a discount and told her to book me an appointment with the personal trainer. She gave me a peculiar look.

"What's with the sudden desire for fitness?"

"Well, Sally, I thought this old body was somewhat out of shape."

"It's not that bad and it's not that old," she hesitated, then gave me a knowing smile. "You've found someone, haven't you? Oh my god, you have, you've really found someone. Oh, Kevin, I'm so pleased." She rushed over and kissed me full on the lips then pulled back looking embarrassed. "I'm so sorry—I shouldn't have done that. I'm just so happy for you. I can't wait to tell everybody."

"I'd rather you said nothing, Sally. Who knows how long these things last? I'd rather people found out in the fullness of time."

"Any girl that lets you go has got to be mad or stupid. That's all I've got to say."

"Well, thank you, Sally, and I promise not to tell your husband you said that."

"Oh, he knows, he heard me and Aunt Helen talking about you. If I didn't love him so much I'd have made a play for you myself."

"Well, I just hope he knows what a lucky man he is. Now can we get some work done around here?"

She left my office in a state of excitement, and I wondered just how long she could keep a lid on things.

Things had moved on at Danvers. We were into chip design, specialising in digital signal processing. Our manufacturing side was still working, but the biggest money spinner was from licences to use our designs. This was mainly my doing. Design and Development had expanded fast and we were employing two new graduates every year. Meanwhile Bob, now in his sixties, was looking to take more of a back seat. I'd just got back from seeing the personal trainer when he came into my office. He looked at my red face and sweaty forehead.

"My god, you look like you've just run a mile," he said.

"Three actually, Bob. What can I do for you?"

"It's your mileage expenses—you're costing me a fortune."

"They're all legitimate expenses, Bob. I don't count the short hops."

"I know that—if I thought you were cheating me you wouldn't be sitting there. No, I think the company would be better off if you had a company car, so you'd better choose one—and no, it's not going to be a bloody Skoda."

"There's nothing wrong with Skoda—you get a lot more car for your money."

"Alright, alright, I know the arguments, but the fact of the matter is, it doesn't give the impression of a successful company if the acting CEO rolls up in a Skoda. Make it a Merc, Jag or Beemer, something with a bit of prestige attached to it."

"Hold on, Bob, just back up a bit. What did you say about acting CEO?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you about that? Wendy and I are going on a world cruise after Christmas. We'll be gone a couple of months. I'm putting you in charge while I'm away. We'll talk about what happens after that, when I get back. Wendy wants to see more of me, so I'll be looking to take more of a back seat. Now get on that computer of yours and find yourself a car. You can spend up to eighty grand."

It took me two weeks to sort out the car. I didn't say a word to Jane about it. We were seeing each other about four nights a week, and most nights she'd stay over at the house and I would drive her in to college in the mornings before going to work. The night I pulled up in the new Jag XK she didn't even realise it was me. I had to get out of the car before she realised.

"Well?" I said. "Does this tell you that I can afford to support you?"

"You silly man, you didn't buy this just to impress me?"

"No, it's a company car, my boss made me have it."

Jane looked around the interior of the car. "Your boss must think a hell of a lot of you."

"You know, I think he does. Now, where would you like to go tonight?"

"I don't care where we go, as long as I'm with you. Can't we just go to your place and sit and watch TV or something?"

That was when I really started to feel comfortable with the relationship. We didn't have to go out—she was content just to be with me. My own double bed hadn't seen so much action in years, and for the first time in ages I felt happy. Of course it couldn't last, and one evening I pulled up at the university in the usual place, but she wasn't there. I went to her room, but there was no answer. I tried the theatre bar to no avail. I didn't think I could feel any worse, and when I got back to my car and found Abby sitting on the front wing, my mood lifted a little.

"Abby, where is she? Has something happened? Is she alright?"

For such a slight girl she packed a hell of a slap. My cheek stung as she laid into me verbally. "Why couldn't you be straight with us? If you'd told us who you were in the first place she wouldn't be breaking her heart right now."

"I have been straight with you, I am Kevin Bryant. Look, it's on my driving licence."

"I know you're Kevin Bryant. You're THE Kevin Bryant—the man who got away with murder. Just where is your wife, Kevin?"

"I don't know. She left me—I told you that."

"Then how come nobody can find her. The reporter was right—if she was still alive someone would know where she is."

"Reporter? What reporter?"

"The man from The Post. He said he wanted to interview her, and then told her he was doing a piece on why some women were attracted to murderers. Jane defended you and told him that it couldn't be true, but then he showed her all the newspaper stories."

"I'll bet he did, stories he's written. I've had enough of this. Just because Lisa disappeared doesn't mean I'm not entitled to a life of my own, and I want Jane to be a part of that life." I got back in the car and started her up.

"Don't hold your breath," Abby called after me as I roared out of the car park.

When I got home I made several attempts to call Jane. Every time I was told that her phone was switched off. In the end I sent a text. It's not true. Lisa did leave me. Nobody killed her. Please talk to me.

I didn't sleep well that night and I was still angry when I got into work the next day. I barely said good morning to Sally.

"Sally, get me Guy Pearson, from the company lawyers, on the phone."

"Certainly, Kevin. Would you like your coffee now?"

"Not now, thanks. Maybe later."

A few minutes later my phone rang.

"I've got Guy Pearson for you."

"Guy Pearson. How can I help you?"

"It's Kevin Bryant, Mr Pearson, from Danvers Electronics. I'm still having problems with the police and the press, regarding my wife's disappearance." I told him what had happened and how things had affected my life since the story broke.

"What would you like me to do, Mr Bryant?"

"Take the bastards to the cleaners—the police, the press, and most especially The Post."

"It will be my pleasure, Mr Bryant. I have all the evidence—I've just been waiting for your instructions."

"Guy, if you can make sure it gets maximum news coverage I would be much obliged."

"Will do, Mr Bryant. Leave it with me."

The next day I knew that Pearson had made a start. As I opened my front door I had TV cameras thrust in my face and the questions started.

"Mr Bryant, is it true that you're suing the police, sir?"

"Yes, it's true."

"Don't you think they have a responsibility to investigate your wife's disappearance, sir?"

"Yes, they do, but they also have a responsibility to get their facts right. They had no right to label my house as a crime scene when no crime had been committed."

"What about The Post, sir? Is it true that you're claiming a million pounds?"

"I don't know—I left that in the hands of my solicitor."

"What have they done that could possibly be worth that much money, sir?"

"The press—and The Post in particular—have, without a shred of evidence, labelled me a murderer. If The Post has any evidence to suggest that my wife is dead, then I and the police would like to see it. Despite this lack of evidence, staff writers from the post have deliberately interfered in my private life, wrecking new relationships I might have formed. What price do you put on that, gentlemen? Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to work."

I got into the Jag and made my exit. At work things were normal. Just after lunch I got a call from Guy Pearson congratulating me on my doorstep interview. It wasn't really Guy I was trying to impress but he was the only person to call me about it. That night I saw the TV coverage, and generally it seemed quite positive. My interview was followed by an article about press intrusion and featured other people whose lives had been ruined. Within three days I got the offer of an out-of-court settlement, no apology and no admission of liability. No deal. The offer was encouraging, but what I found when I got home was the best thing.

It was a cold, dark evening, and she was huddled up against the cold. I left the car on the drive and walked over to her. As she got up I threw my arms around her to warm her. Without a word I opened the front door and ushered her in. I sat her down and went to the kitchen to make the coffee. When I returned with the tray, she looked warmer but very nervous. I poured the coffee and passed her a cup. She wrapped her hands around the cup. I just looked at her.

"I'm sorry, Kevin. I don't know what to say."

"How about I start at the beginning and tell you everything."

I did just that, from the beginning, and left nothing out. By the time I finished, my coffee was cold and Jane had tears in her eyes. I sat next to her and put my arm around her. She put her head on my chest and cried.

"I'm really sorry, Kevin. I should have talked to you about it but that horrible man frightened me so much."

"I've a feeling he's going to regret that."

"So he should—he said horrible things about you, and when he showed me all those stories in the papers, I couldn't believe they could write those things without any proof. When I saw you on the television, challenging them to provide the evidence, I knew I'd been a fool."

"Abby said you were broken-hearted."

"I was. You see, I really like you. The sex is great but it's more than that. I wanted to be with you but he frightened me so much."

I hugged her while she cried, and when she stopped crying I made us some dinner. She seemed to brighten up after dinner and we just sat together. Then, just before we went to bed, she spoke.

"Kevin, I know I've no right to ask, but would you come home with me for Christmas? I want you to meet my dad—and my mum, of course—but mainly my dad."

"I'd really like that," I said.

We went to bed and just held each other. We made love slowly and tenderly that night.

*****

"Well, I have to say the last six years have been kind to you, Kevin."

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said you're looking well. In fact, I think you look younger and fitter than you were when I left."

"Well, I decided I needed to get into better shape. Add to that the dancing and cycling I've been doing."

"You? Dancing and cycling? What brought that on?"

"I can't help being an old dad to any more children I have, but I don't have to be a fat old dad."

"You plan on having more children? At your age?"

"I'm forty-eight, Lisa, not eighty-four. Charlie Chaplin was still siring children at eighty-two."

"Yes, but he had a young wife."

"And what makes you think I couldn't get a young wife?"

"Oh my god, Kevin, you haven't bought yourself a Russian bride, have you?"

She still hadn't learned her lesson, it seemed. I'd have put her straight but at that moment the doorbell rang. I went to answer it, knowing it was likely to be my son, Elliott. I opened the door.

"Hi, Dad. Is she still here?" I showed him in.

"Elliott, how are you, darling?"

"Fat lot you care. You piss off for six years, then come back and think everything's going to be the same as it was. It doesn't work like that, Mum. People move on."

"But I always loved you. You're my darling boy. You know that."

"Just not enough to let me know you were still alive, though."

"I didn't want your father to find me."

"What makes you think I wanted to?" I added.

"So where have you been these last six years, Mother, dear?" There was more than a hint of irony in his voice—he must have inherited something from me.

"She's been running a Spanish bordello," I told him. "Madam Lisa." I really wasn't helping matters, so I left them to it.

******

We didn't go up to Doncaster straight away when term ended. Jane and I quickly got over our little upset, and she spent some time moving into the house. It had been her suggestion. Rather than me paying for her student accommodation, I could just provide the accommodation. It made sense to me—she was spending as many nights in my house as she was in her room. I insisted that she used Elliott's old room—after all, there would be nights when she'd need to work, and she might just need to get away from me. There was the small worry about transport, but Lisa's Mini was still in the garage so I let her use that.

The journey up to Doncaster was uneventful. The Jag just ate up the miles. We stopped a couple of times at the motorway services for overpriced, bad food and arrived in the centre of Doncaster in the early evening. The sat-nav took me straight to my hotel. When I pulled into the car park Jane's face had a curious expression.

"What are we doing here? We can't stay here, my parents will be very upset if we don't stay with them."

"I've taken a room here as insurance. I'm sure your mum and dad will be thrilled to see you, but maybe less thrilled to see me."

"I'm sure they'll love you, but I suppose some insurance isn't a bad idea."

We checked in and I took some luggage up to my room. Jane came up with me to help unpack and to see what the room was like.

"Hmm, so this is what an executive double room looks like. I love the bed. We'll have to make an excuse to come back and try it out."

We made our way to a nice little semi-detached on the outskirts of town. I parked the car in the drive, and as we reached the front door it was opened by a man in his sixties. His grey hair was thinning, he was a little overweight and had the look of a man who was once a lady killer. Jane threw her arms around him.

"Dad, how are you?"

"I'm fine, darling. How are you? You're certainly looking well. This must be Kevin—come into the light, my boy, let me get a look at you."

I stepped forward and took his hand to shake it. He brought his other hand round and placed it on top of mine as we shook hands.

"You're very welcome, my boy. Our Jane's told me a lot about you. Now come in and meet the wife."

I followed him in, with Jane's suitcase and my overnight bag. I put the bags down in the hall and followed Jane and her dad into the kitchen. The greeting between Jane and her mum was somewhat cooler. Her mother was about the same age as me. She was about five foot four inches, slim build with shoulder length blonde hair. In her day she would have been quite a looker—still could be if she tried a bit harder. As they hugged, Jane's mother looked straight past her to me.

"And who's this?" she asked.

"Mum, this is Kevin. He's a friend, and we're going to be sharing a house."

"Sharing a house or sharing a bed?"

"Jane has her own room, Mrs Draper," I said and offered her my hand.

My offer was ignored. Jane gripped my arm and put her head on my shoulder.

"Can we offer you two a drink, and maybe some food?" asked Jane's father.

"I'd love a coffee please, Mr Draper," I said.

"Oh, please, call me Derek, and this is Linda."

"I'll have a coffee as well, please, Dad, especially if it's the good stuff."

Derek Draper laughed. "She takes after her father, Kevin. She appreciates a good cup of coffee."

"Oh, I know that, Derek, that's how we met. There's only one place on campus that serves good coffee, so we both ended up there, sat at the same table."

I really liked Derek, and he obviously had a good relationship with Jane. Linda was a different matter. I'm not without a certain amount of charm, but it didn't seem to work on Jane's mother. She was always cool towards me, and I frequently found her staring at me. Christmas passed very amiably, but the day before New Year's Eve the TV showed a review of the year. When it got to November everything changed.

"This was the month when businessman Kevin Bryant took his fight for justice to the courts, having, he claimed, been persecuted by the police and the press," the reporter said.

Linda Draper brought her hand up to her mouth. "Oh my god, you're him aren't you?" she said, looking at me. "You're Kevin Bryant, the man who got away with murder."

"No, Linda, I'm Kevin Bryant, the man whose wife left him."

"The Post says you murdered her. There's no smoke without fire. Oh my god, my daughter's going out with a murderer."

"Linda, Kevin's our guest, and I'm proud to live in a country where a man is innocent until proven guilty. Now, he asked them to provide evidence that his wife's dead but they can't."

"You knew. You knew and you didn't tell me. I've had a murderer under my roof and you knew."

"Technically, Linda, it's my roof, and I'm happy to have Kevin here."

I stood up and looked at them both. "Derek, I'm sorry, but my presence here's causing you a problem. I think the best thing I can do is leave. I'll go up and get my stuff."

Jane had a pained look on her face as I left the room. Derek and Linda were still arguing. When I came down with my bag I popped in to say my goodbyes, just in time to hear Jane.

"I'm sorry, Mum, but if Kevin isn't welcome here, then neither am I. Wait there, Kevin—I'm coming with you."

Derek came out and apologised for his wife. I told him where we'd be and to give us a call if he managed to talk her round. I saw Jane at the top of the stairs and dashed up to bring down her case. She followed me down and, as I went out with the bags, she gave her dad a kiss.