The Nymphet - A Summer Obsession

"Father and Mother will take care of it," she said. "I'm going to name her Jennifer."

"That's a pretty name," I said. "I like it."

There was a pause on the line, and I thought she had hung up. But then she went on. "I knew you were becoming my sugar daddy. But I didn't expect you to become my daughter's daddy as well."

* * * * *

18. Megan came up the following year, lean and trim with no evidence of having recently given birth. I got her a position at the bond trading desk of our bank. It was a commission-based position, and as I expected, she got the hang of trading very quickly. She got licensed within weeks, and was soon racking up large bonuses. The Vice President of Fixed Income loved her work, and she got her own desk in less than two months. She was on the fast track.

"Where did you find this nymphet, Jim?" the VP of Fixed Income said to me a month after Megan started trading. "She's leaving all my Harvard and Stanford MBA boys in the dust!"

"Alabama," I said.

"And she's only twenty, you say? Those boys at the trading desks have filthy mouths, but she's got them acting like choirboys around her. How does she do it?"

"Southern charm," I said. "And double digit margins."

He walked away, shaking his head.

Having her in the same building was very difficult. I resisted for several months, but eventually, I asked her out to dinner. One thing led to another and we wound up in bed in her downtown apartment.

"You're still frustrated, Mr. Hardcock," she teased me, as we cuddled after sex. Then in her habitual manner, she grew more serious. "But there is no future in this. I enjoy having sex with you, but I'm an old-fashioned Southern girl. I want to get married, settle down, and have a traditional family."

"What if I divorced Millicent?" I asked, keeping my tone light, trying to sound only half-serious, even though I was in deadly earnest. I waited for her response with bated breath.

"I'm still younger than your daughter, Mr. Hardcock," she said, returning to her teasing tone. "That hasn't changed."

"I know there's a big age difference between us, Megan," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "But many couples make such relationships work."

"You're forty-nine, I'm twenty. You're in good shape, but you have at most twenty good years left, if you're lucky. When you're sixty-nine, I'll be forty and still wanting a real man in my bed -- I'd have to trade you in!"

I put my arms around her and held her tighter, feeling her firm young breasts and hard nipples against my chest.

"So what should we do?" I asked.

"You'll always be Mr. Hardwicke to me, my father's friend. I can't think of you as James, much less Jim. I appreciate what you're doing for me at work, I know it's important to have a godfather looking out for my interests. The sex with you is good, but I realize that this is also payment for what you're doing for me."

"Don't make it sound sordid, Megan," I whispered, disappointed. "I'll help you in any way that I can, whether you have sex with me or not.

She kissed me and my tongue sparred with hers. I savored her saliva, for I knew she was telling me that my time with her was limited.

"You should definitely divorce frigid Millicent," she said. "And find a sexy babe closer to your own age. Someone who can appreciate that hot bod of yours. And isn't such a bitch."

"Yes, I should," I agreed.

But I knew that I never would.

Over the next week I managed to spend several nights at Megan's apartment. She gave me furtive blowjobs in my office. I was in a constant state of arousal. Every moment I was away from Megan, I lusted for the moment when my cock would be in her again. In her bed I just wanted to keep her nymphet body tightly against mine, skin to skin. I had sex with her as many times as I was able, to the point that my member was sore with use. In her apartment, I often tied her down and I fucked her in the ass. She grew more comfortable with anal sex -- she came even harder when I reamed her tight anus with my cock than when I pounded her pussy.

She had the hormones and sex drive of youth, and reciprocated my physicality in full measure. We were both bleary-eyed at work. Traders are always tired, so no one noticed her. I said that I was spending time on the Asian markets with a lot of overnight work.

Millicent did not seem to care -- in fact, she seemed to prefer having our house to herself. At the end of the week, Megan did what I dreaded -- she kissed me and gently told me that it was over, that she needed to move on. Even though I was expecting it, I was crushed. She asked me if I wanted the video of our first day of sex on the marriage bed I shared with Millicent, but I refused it. She did not comprehend how painful it would be for me to watch it, knowing that she was gone from my life. For she would never understand how much I loved her.

* * * * *

18. I knew that sooner or later she would find a boyfriend and I could not bear to see her with anyone else. So I got her transferred to the London. I kept tabs on her, and made sure it was known that she had a powerful protector in the rough and tumble world of fast paced, high pressure finance. Once she found her feet, she did very well, and rapidly became one of the bank's best performing Eurobond traders, and her success was reflected in her bonuses.

I sent as many trades as I could to her desk -- even though I knew that she did not need them. However, she was still the well brought up Southern girl that she had always been. I received an old-fashioned note in the mail after each trade I sent her way, with a few lines expressing her gratitude. I enjoyed receiving these missives in her neat, rounded handwriting, and perhaps that was why I sent the trades to her.

Two years went by and then I heard through the office grapevine that she was engaged to a German equity trader that she met in London. A few months later, I got an invitation to her wedding down in Mobile. I showed it to Millicent, but she said, "Alabama in June! I'm not going down there in that heat. We barely know the girl."

* * * * *

19. Another year went by, and it was three years since her summer with us. Just after the New Year, I got the invitation to the bank's annual trading performance awards banquet in Hong Kong. As Vice President of Foreign Operations, I presided over the event and handed out the awards. I quickly scanned the list of awardees and felt some unease. The top performing trader for the year, over all the global operations of the bank was -- Megan Kelly.

I had lunch Sheridan Logan Baldwin III, the bank president, and suggested that someone else should go to Hong Kong this year.

"Nonsense, Jim!" said the bank president, who went by 'Logan'. "She's your discovery, that little Southern nymphet, who's the toast of the trading floor this year. Go and bask in the glory."

"Well, I really don't think it will look good," I said. "Won't there be rumors of nepotism, if I hand out the award to my own protégé?"

"Of course not!" he replied. "The awards are based on objective data -- hard numbers, Jim. And numbers don't lie. She just put up better numbers than anyone else. No way you could have helped her with that."

And that was that. I asked Millicent to go with me, but school was in session and she said she couldn't take time off. A week later I checked into the Mandarin Oriental, the best hotel in Hong Kong, that the bank used for the awards function.

There was a cocktail reception before the awards dinner. I saw Megan at the center of the reception, flanked by a tall, blond man that I assumed was her husband. She was wearing a cobalt blue shoulder-less, backless evening gown that went extremely well with her pale complexion. She wore a white gold choker necklace that was fashioned like a snake biting its tail, and a matching armlet on her right bicep. She had on very high platform heel slippers that added at least five inches to her diminutive height. The slippers had ankle straps fashioned like snakes that matched her choker necklace and armlet. Her dark brown hair was piled on top of her head in a stylish coiffure. Her gown had a very high slit and every time she walked, it split open and revealed that she was not wearing pantyhose or stockings.

She was the center of attention, and was carrying on an animated conversation with the circle of people around her. I tried not to make eye contact, but she inevitably saw me. When she waved me over, it was impossible to avoid meeting her.

"This is my husband, Gunter von Hakenberg," Megan said, introducing me. "And this is one of my senior colleagues, James Hardwicke."

I shook hands. Von Hakenberg had a thin aristocratic nose, a long face, and very pale blue eyes. I am tall, but he was even taller, and he towered over Megan, even on her platform heels. Unbidden, the unwelcome image of the two of them in bed together arose in my mind, and it persisted, even though I tried very hard to dismiss it.

"Gunter trades equities," said Megan. "For Deutsche."

"A competitor," I said dryly.

"We try, Mr. Hardwicke," he said. "You know what they say, equities is all sentiment, fixed income is all mathematics."

"Indeed," I said. "That's why Megan is so good at it. She can solve differential equations in her head." Von Hakenberg looked surprised at this, so I went on, "You didn't tell him?"

"It's nothing," said Megan, but some color rose to her face. "I'm just a simple Southern girl from Alabama."

I didn't want to make her more uncomfortable, so I let her change the subject. We talked about the Hong Kong market for little while and then dinner was announced.

I was seated at the head table since I was handing out the awards. Megan and Gunter were also seated there and she contrived to sit next to me, with Gunter on her far side. All of us at the table chatted amiably through the soup, salad, and main courses, after which the keynote speaker was announced. He was a senior Chinese government official and he was slated to speak for half an hour, but he had the reputation of speaking for much longer than he was allowed.

He was five minutes into his speech, when Megan leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"So have you divorced frigid Millicent, Mr. Hardcock?"

"No," I whispered back. "But you got married, as you said you would. You said you wanted a traditional family. When will you start?"

"Gunter wants to wait," she whispered. "He thinks I'm too young to be a mother. But I want to have a baby right away." Her brown eyes twinkled. "I think our birth control is going to fail soon."

"Does he know about Jennifer?"

"Of course not!" her whisper was heated.

We listed to the keynote for a few more minutes. Then Megan leaned back toward me.

"Gunter is built like a porn star," she said. "He makes love like a jackhammer. He goes on and on."

"I'd rather not know," I said in a low tone.

Visions of the massive, muscle bound von Hakenberg on top of petite Megan, pounding her with his enormous cock flooded in and made me physically sick.

"But that's just it, Mr. Hardcock. You are not very good in bed, and you've got a terrible case of premature ejaculation -- you cum far too soon. But that first day, when you tied me down on your marriage bed and raped me -- that was the best sex of my life. I still fantasize about it."

"Why?" I asked, incredulous.

"You'd already cum -- too soon, as always. But even though you were so bent on getting yourself off, you still sensed that I hadn't cum yet. You worked so hard to get me to cum too! It was sweet, the way you kept pushing into me -- I could feel your cock softening, but you kept right at it. I think that's what I fantasize about, how you kept trying. I came just as you totally lost your erection, the timing worked out, so it was perfect. It's different with Gunter, he's like a machine, he stays hard forever."

I really didn't want to hear about von Hakenberg, so I said, "Why didn't you tell me at the time?"

"I was really mad at you then," she said. "Because you came inside me. And then again when you sneaked up behind me in the kitchen. You got me pregnant."

"You came that time in the kitchen," I said. "I know, I felt your contractions."

"Yes, I did," she agreed. "I enjoyed the way you fucked me, Mr. Hardcock, it was satisfying, you did make me cum. But not like Gunter. He pounds me senseless."

Her lowcut gown revealed the tops of her creamy breasts. They were highlighted by her snake choker necklace that glittered in the lights. I now saw that it had very small red rubies for eyes. She couldn't wear a bra with her gown's low back, but its décolletage was firm, giving her a tight cleavage. There was a very thin white gold chain dangling from the snake's mouth, just where it bit its tail at her throat. There was another small ruby at the end of the chain nestled in the warmth of her cleavage. The ruby drew attention to her bodice, where her nipples made clear indentations. My organ responded, hardening quickly.

"That's an impressive necklace," I whispered.

"Gunter's mother, Silke, gave me this jewelry at the wedding. She's descended from the Elector of Hanover, and one of her ancestors had this set made sometime in the 19th century."

"Snakes are phallic symbols," I whispered. "Dating back into antiquity."

"I'm sure Silke had sex in mind when she gave these to me," Megan whispered back. "She likes sex and goes through men like I go through shoes."

"What about Gunter's father?" I murmured, shocked.

"He seems rather broadminded about it, for she doesn't try very hard to hide it. I was walking by the pool cabana at Gunter's parents' estate a few weeks ago and heard Silke having raucous sex with her current lover. 'If you want to keep my Gunter,' she said to me at the wedding. 'You'll have to give him plenty of sex.'"

"Charming woman, your mother-in-law," I said, sardonically.

"On the contrary, I think you'd like Silke," said Megan. "She's tall, blonde, and hot to trot! She likes athletic, serious men like you, for she's a competitive swimmer and very fit. She might be just the thing for your sexual frustration!"

"What was that, Megan?" asked von Hakenberg, hearing his mother's name.

"I was just telling Mr. Hardwicke that Silke gave me this jewelry," said Megan.

Shortly thereafter, she excused herself to go to the ladies. She was gone for the rest of the keynote address and returned just as dessert was being served. She seated herself, smoothed her gown, and spread out her napkin on her lap.

"You were gone a long time," said von Hakenberg, irritably.

"Did I miss anything important?" she asked, her tone arch.

"It is awkward," he said. "To have you disappear for most of the keynote, when we are seated at the head table."

She did not reply. But a few minutes later, she leaned over to me again.

"Just thinking about that first day with you got me all excited again," she whispered excitedly. "I had to go and masturbate in the ladies' room. I came twice! My panties are soaked!"

"My God, Megan," was all I could whisper back.

Her hand disappeared beneath her napkin. I managed a furtive glance and saw her hand disappear into the high slit of her gown. She sat up and wiggled her bottom on the chair.

"Anything the matter, Megan?" asked von Hakenberg, turning to her from his conversation with the wife of the Vice President of Fixed Income.

"No, no," said Megan. "Just trying to get comfortable on this uncomfortable chair."

Megan wiggled her bottom some more, but more subtly now. I caught a glimpse of her cobalt blue panties as she slid them down her thighs, and over her knees.

"They're just like the ones you stole from me," she whispered to me. "That's what got me so excited when I saw you."

"Where are your panties now?" I murmured.

"Around my ankles," she murmured back.

"Over your sorority tattoo," I said, barely audible.

"They're caught on one of the ankle snakes of my sandals," she hissed, in an appropriately serpentine hiss.

"A phallic bottleneck," I whispered. "A snake in your panties."

"Don't say things like that. You'll make me wet my gown."

Her charming Alabama accent made it sound particularly erotic, and my organ perked up.

Then she leaned down, bunched her napkin, and handed it to me.

"My panties are in the napkin," she whispered.

"What do you expect me to do?"

"Put them on your nose when you get to your room!" she whispered. "I'll be thinking about you masturbating with my panties when Gunter is having sex with me tonight -- and it'll really get me off!"

"I won't do that!" I whispered, angrily.

"You won't?" she asked. Her hand darted under the tablecloth between my legs, where she found my very prominent hardon. She caressed it through my trousers. My hardon grew under her ministrations. I knew I was beat.

"I'll promise to do it," I said. "But you'll never really know for certain whether I did."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you will," she said, looking like a cat that got the cream jug, continuing to massage my hard on under the table.

I felt the pressure of my jism building and holding it made me feel like I was strangling.

"My God, Megan!" I whispered in her ear. "You're driving me crazy!"

"That's the idea," she whispered back.

I held her wrist, but her fingers were quick and nimble. She undid my pants and pulled my zipper down, releasing my cock.

"Don't," I murmured, trying to keep my voice down.

She did not listen, but kept stroking my hardon, causing it to rear up, fully erect. Then she dropped a fork on the floor.

"Clumsy me," she said to von Hakenberg, before disappearing under the tablecloth

to retrieve it.

A moment later, I felt her lips fasten around my organ and form a tight seal. She swallowed my erection whole, sucking so hard that I came almost immediately. Her head was in my lap and I could hear her gulping as she swallowed my load. She resurfaced wiping her lips with my napkin and with the fork in her hand.

"It was dark down there," she said.

"It usually is, under the table," replied von Hakenberg, turning briefly to her from his conversation with the wife of the Vice President of Fixed Income.

I was in a post orgasmic high and it was several minutes before I could make sense of the conversation at the table.

Later, she came up to the stage when her award was announced. Gunter came up to the stage with her. I handed her the award, shook her hand for the cameras and then we posed for the award photographs. I had my hand on her bare back, while we both had a hand on the award. Her panties were in my pocket. I tried not to think about her bare crotch under her cobalt blue evening gown, for if I did, I knew nothing would keep my hardon from returning with full force.

In my room that night, I stripped and tried for a while to resist the temptation of her cum soaked panties. It was a vain fight, and my resistance crumbled after barely twenty minutes. Lying in bed with the crotch of the panties on my nose, the overwhelming pungent smell of her pussy hit me like a drug. With her intense aroma inundating my senses through my nose, my brain used Megan's description to conjure up an apparition of the huge German fucking her with his porn star cock.

As I stroked my erect member, the apparition would not go away, but got worse, as it coalesced with pornographic films I had watched. Megan screamed as the German forcefully rammed into her, making her cum again and again. He drove her to heights of animal sensuality that I could never give her. His sexual assault was ferocious and vicious, designed to subdue, rather than delight her. He was a stallion taking his violent pleasure from a mare by establishing his dominance, not a man trying to pleasure a woman. But even as I felt nauseated by the apparition, I came so hard that I felt stars pop in front of my eyes and a fountain of ejaculate spurted out of my member, making a mess of the coverlet. In a perverse way, I felt like a cuckold.