tagNovels and NovellasThe Seehofer Chronicles Vol. 01

The Seehofer Chronicles Vol. 01


This is the second edition, revised August 2016.




Monday 8th February 1968.

Belgravia, London.

Rebecca Seehofer felt distinctly nervous. The flat in London's chic Belgravia was cloyingly warm, totally at odds with the sulphurous fog that billowed spectrally in the cold February air. The night mist imbued a sense of claustrophobia and worse still, a feeling of isolation. They were in the heart of the capital and yet they may as well have been on a Pacific atoll. We'll, perhaps a desolate island in the Outer Hebrides would have been a more apt comparison.

Becca sat demurely on the beige couch next to her fellow secretary, Sally. Both girls balanced cut glass ashtrays on their clenched thighs and smoked, Sally noticing the way that Becca nervously toyed with the cigarette ash. They knew each other reasonably well, both being secretaries for departmental heads at the ministry. However, this was the first time they had worked together. The two Japanese businessmen had left them alone, one to visit the bathroom, the other to prepare drinks in the kitchen.

"So you're going to do it then?" whispered Sally louder than she had intended, an effect of the alcohol she had consumed in the expensive French restaurant. She had no idea what she had been drinking; imbibing only what the sommelier had suggested to the senior businessman. All she knew was that it was intoxicating and delightfully expensive. Becca glanced anxiously at her friend.

Sally was the sort of girl transformed by make-up. At work she appeared as a young twenty-four year old, rather plain with an oval face that was on the cusp of being podgy, as was the rest of her body. Yet sat beside Becca was an all together different animal, a prime example of the predatory female of the species.

Becca conceded Sally looked very pretty, her heavy make-up offering the impression of a Hollywood starlet. The ruby red lipstick lacked subtly and projected only one message- availability. The cocktail dress refined Sally's profile and her huge bust was haltered and shackled within the garment, manufacturing twin peaks that either intimidated or enthralled. Becca guessed that the Japanese senior partner inclined towards the latter.

Sally took Becca's silence as affirmation and smiled gently at the blonde who was one year her junior.

"Good for you, it makes it better for both of us," again whispered Sally in her broad Yorkshire accent. "Why don't you go to the loo when he comes out and take your tights and knickers off. It sends out the right message. Oh, and your bra whilst you're at it. That should get your bloke going."

"Where do I put them?" Becca's modulated accent was pitched higher than normal, a result of the nervous trepidation that unsurprisingly assailed her.

"In your bloody handbag!" snapped Sally. Becca looked questioningly at her small silver clutch bag. "Christ!" gushed Sally, "you're not wearing your mother's undies are you?"

Becca blushed, as she was prone to do. "Of course not, but the bag is very small..."

"Oh, just leave them in the bathroom and pick them up in the morning."

Becca blanched at Sally's words- 'in the morning'. She had been on many dates on behalf of the department but this was the first time she had agreed to spend the night with anyone. Her concerned musings were broken by the reappearance of the man who had visited the toilet. He was Becca's date for the evening and the junior of the two men. He may have been the junior but Becca guessed him to be well into his forties. He was, at about five feet five, the same height as Becca without her heels, and slimly built except for a paunch. Becca had deliberately abstained from taking any note of his facial features; she preferred the experience to remain as anonymous as possible.

After drinks, the senior partner whispered into Sally's ear and she giggled coyly. He led her towards one of the bedrooms and Becca caught Sally's wink aimed exclusively for her benefit. If it was supposed to reassure the novice then sadly it had the opposite effect. Becca was left alone on the couch, the remaining man sitting in one of the seats opposite her.

Reassuringly for Becca, the businessman who she simply knew as Ken appeared equally as nervous as she did. The senior man, it appeared, was the more experienced in more ways than one.

"Would you like to relax for a while?" suggested Ken. His English, or perhaps more precisely American, was faultless but heavily accented. Becca smiled, hoping it didn't emerge as a grimace.

"I'd like that," replied Becca decorously. Ken smiled his appreciation, stood up, and began to walk towards the second bedroom. Becca extinguished her cigarette and followed.

The bedroom was the smaller of the two. Although pleasantly furnished, she was instantly struck by its austerity and lack of homeliness. The room had nothing to suggest occupation. Ken hovered by the double bed, which was covered by a plump red eiderdown quilt.

He removed his grey suit jacket and placed it over the solitary armchair by the teak writing bureau. Becca hovered, clutching her handbag to her stomach whilst she waited with uncertainty. She was unsure of what she was supposed to do, the advice given to her by Sally forgotten as she was assailed by shame and the gravity of the situation. She empathised with the singer who forgot the lyrics of a song or the dancer who overlooked the choreographed moves.

Becca was no stranger to sex. The reason she had been offered her job was because she was a highly sexed young woman. However, intercourse had always been with partners of her choosing. She had never had sex with a man as part of a business association. Ken perceived Becca's hesitancy.

"Are you okay, Becca?" asked Ken. Were his words spoken sympathetically or was he concerned that his promise of carnal indulgence was slipping away?

"Yes," replied Becca without conviction, still not moving.

"Well?" asked Ken.

Unlike Sally, Becca had dressed far more casually for the evening. She wore a cream blouse with a trendy round neck collar and a deep blue skirt that fell to her knees. She had been wearing tights, but along with her cotton panties and bra, they were discreetly hidden in the bathroom.

Becca turned her attention to the window. The curtains were open and the fog eddied before the glass like a canvas screen. The effort required to raise her hands to her top blouse button felt akin to the courage demanded when she had first committed herself to diving into a swimming pool.

Becca allowed her clutch bag to drop clumsily to the floor. Her fingers and thumb fumbled awkwardly with the top button before securing its release. Her slim fingers trembled as she reached the third button where the blouse climbed over the contours of her breasts, which fretfully heaved beneath the fabric. Her focus remained upon the window whilst she worked her way down the blouse. The garment remained closed offering Ken only a tantalising glimpse of creamy, pale flesh beneath and a suggestion of her boobs where the garment swelled and billowed temptingly.

Becca hugged the two halves of the blouse tightly to her flat belly and immersed her mind in the eddying mist beyond the window, hoping to lose herself in the blanketing veil. Ken waited for a few seconds before hastily removing his trousers and underpants, hoping his disrobing would cajole Becca into similar action. Ken frustratedly realised that Becca showed little inclination of stirring herself from the protective trance and began talking animatedly in Japanese.

The oriental tongue jerked Becca back to the present and, almost in surprise, stared at the gesticulating man. He was pointing with a jabbing motion towards her skirt, clearly intimating that she should remove it. With the voluble tirade showing little sign of relenting, Becca chewed her bottom lip in consternation. She hugged the material of the unbuttoned blouse ever tighter around her midriff.

The confused sounds of the berating man suddenly morphed into the dialect of Sally's northern accent in Becca's bewildered mind. "You said you'd do it! No one forced you! You stupid mare, you can't back out now, you've come too far! You'll make me look a right twonk! Just get the fuck on with it, you prissy little tart!"

Becca stared at the comical figure of Ken. His shirttails were flapping as he made his incoherent protestations. His hairy balls were displayed intermittently beneath the fluttering material. Perhaps it was his grey socks looking isolated and ridiculous at the end of his pale hairless legs that most amused her. It was the most un-erotic sight she had ever seen.

With Sally's imagined words still ringing in her head, Becca took a deep breath and quickly unzipped her skirt, letting it slump dispassionately to the floor. In one flowing movement, she wrenched the cream top apart and cast it disparagingly upon the foot of the bed.

The coolness of the room embraced her. She stood naked before him, unadorned save for the necklace of artificial pearls around her neck. She allowed her gaze to return to Ken's face, observing how his eyes were fixated upon her breasts. It was that very instant that Becca encountered the empowerment that had thus far eluded her. The consequences of her presence and subsequent actions suddenly became an irrelevance.

Rebecca Seehofer allowed her head to drop. She took in the sight that engrossed Ken. Becca possessed comparatively broad shoulders from her hours of swimming and her small, plump breasts jutted independently proud of her chest with a familiar haughty aloofness. The pink areolae sat high on the mounds giving them an impish aspect that invited attention.

Ken finally smiled approvingly and Becca's doubts were cast aside when Sally's final words of advice and instruction resonated in her mind. "Take control" was the overriding message and thus Becca strode the few paces towards Ken and dropped submissively to her knees before him.

Becca raised the white shirt to reveal his genitalia. His cock was now erect and danced before Becca's enquiring inspection. His helmet stood plump and engorged, topping a thick but short shaft that abutted his torso amid a thick mat of unruly, curly pubes. Becca grasped the root of his cock and halted its twitching dissention. She eyed the precum that already wept from the vertical slit. Bobbing her head forward, she slowly licked the sweet and sticky nectar from the bulb, eliciting a gasp from her suitor.

Ken's cock was suddenly within the moist softness of her mouth. Becca easily accommodated the four and a bit inches of meat and absorbed it until her chin rubbed against his hairy ball sack, her lips tickled by his wiry hair. She began to work upon his cock, sucking and nibbling the length of his shaft compelling Ken to grip her head, rendered immobile by the teasing ecstasy of the young English woman's nurturing.

"No, no, no, mustn't cum!" shouted Ken at the onset of orgasm. "Must fuck!" he shouted insistently. He appeared to have lost his mastery of English.

Becca stood up, her cheeks flushed by her oral labours, and smiled shyly at Ken. She pounced upon the bed and immediately knelt on all fours as suggested by Sally. Ken may have had his own ideas of how he planned to fuck the young woman but Becca knew that few men could resist the allure of taking a woman doggie style. Sally had suggested this was the best way of avoiding intimate contact.

She assumed a traditional submissive posture; her head almost touching the quilt and her back arched, allowing her to thrust her gorgeous arse enticingly into the air. She knew she had a great ass and was aware from his side-on view that her breasts would hang udder-like, full, and tempting. Ken shuffled behind her and she felt the bed bounce when he knelt behind her.

She twisted, allowing her right hand to move down between her legs where she parted her labia, allowing Ken to scrutinise her pink softness amid the honey blonde thatch of dense pubic hair. Ken was delighted with the proffered honey pot and eagerly nudged his cock towards her proffered cunt.

Becca guided his impatient phallus towards her hole and was satisfied that she was sufficiently wet to allow a painless ingress. She purposely clenched her vaginal muscles to increase the resistance against the head of his penis whilst it probed into her depths.

Again, following her script, Becca gasped when Ken plunged his short shaft as far as he could. Becca considered her rasping breaths were perhaps too loud and theatrical but Ken seemed gratified and proceeded to hump her vigorously, encouraging Becca to become ever more vocal.

"Oh my God, that's so good...!" she panted, as if struggling for breath. "Oh, please, don't stop...!" groaned Becca.

Ken watched his cock ploughing into the tight pussy and allowed his focus to shift to the tantalising prospect of her puckered asshole, so wantonly flaunted. He fantasised about sticking his cock in her forbidden hole and shifted his left hand from gripping her gyrating hip. He placed his hand so that his thumb rested in the cleft of her ass, adjacent to her taunting anus. Becca sensed his intent.

"Oh God, please...! Fuck, fuck...! I'm going to cum!" Becca began to wail and pant as though beset by the approach of an intense orgasm.

It was too much for poor Ken. His inexperience told when his cock exploded inside Becca's velvety cunt. The quantity of his discharge was speculative at best but there was no doubting the probity of his climax. Becca would have preferred him not to have spunked inside her but she favoured the option rather than his intended probing of her butt. She wailed in mutual accord with Ken's guttural climatic outburst and sank her head into the quilt to signify the cessation of their endeavours.

Becca was hovering over the toilet peeing when she heard a sharp tap on the bathroom door and Sally's loud whisper.

"Can I come in?" asked Sally.

"Quickly!" whispered Becca, loud enough for Sally to hear. Sally insistently burst into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Like Becca, she was naked but neither girl had a problem with nudity following their exploits with the Japanese partners.

"How did it go?" asked Sally with genuine concern.

"Just peeing his offering away now," smiled Becca as she squeezed out the last dribbles of urine.

"You didn't take very long...," commented Sally.

"No, I did like you said; it was all over in five minutes."

"Where is he now?"

"Dozing... Too much excitement, and booze."

"Mine too. Don't be too long though. They can get annoyed if they find you gone. He'll probably want a lazy one during the night. Just do as I said. Hurry up I'm bursting!"

Becca finished wiping and made way for her friend. Sally sat heavily upon the bowl and leant forward to pee, her unfettered breasts wobbling indiscriminately. Becca could at once see their attraction despite being so unlike her own comparatively small pair. Becca dabbed a piece of tissue to her pussy where the last remnants of Ken's spunk still creamed from her vagina.

"You let him come inside you then?" asked Sally when in full flow. "My bloke came all over these." Sally supported her huge right boob on her left palm and offered it for Becca's scrutiny. Becca finally identified the residue of the milky semen coagulating upon her friend's teat and laughed. "You seem very relaxed; I thought I heard a raised voice?"

"He was just excited, and who can blame him!" replied Becca immodestly, declining to mention the moment that she wavered and baulked at the idea of fucking the stranger. She had to admit, she did feel elated.

Sally appraised the pretty blonde as she wiped and smiled with relief. She could now gratefully forget the rehearsed script she had prepared for their boss, Mary Weaver, should Becca have failed to make the grade.

Sally was once again correct. Ken did want to grope and finally fuck Becca at some unknown hour during the night. Again, Becca allowed him to ejaculate inside her as he shafted her whilst she spooned in his lap. They both fell asleep with Ken's cock slowly deflating inside her and with his cum leaking over her thigh onto the bed sheet. When Becca finally awoke at just after six o'clock the following morning, Ken was nowhere to be seen. On the bedside unit stood a small rectangular jewellery box. Becca eagerly looked inside. It was a gold bracelet. She smiled like a spoilt child at Christmas and had already quite forgotten what she had to do to earn the costly trinket.


Friday, 22nd June 2012.

Mount Pleasant Cottage.

The noon sun rode high in the clear azure sky of late June, radiating it's warmth against the thick stone walls of Mount Pleasant cottage. The scent of the roses wafted ethereally around the elderly woman as she clutched her pruning shears with poised intent whilst studying the rambling bush that climbed haphazardly up the weathered sandstone wall.

She hated deadheading flowers; it felt somehow callous to terminate the life of the swelling seed head simply because it had performed its duty and ceased to be of aesthetic value, unlike its surrounding siblings. She knew very well that by deadheading the spent flowers it would stimulate further buds to develop and prolong the visual and perfumed delights of the plant for weeks to come. Yet the process still induced a feeling of betrayal.

She went to grasp a stem, her secateurs primed to deliver the coup de grace. She dropped the tool and issued a sharp cry when an unseen thorn pierced her finger. Instinctively, she raised her left hand for inspection. Blood oozed from the puncture wound and she drew the injured finger to her mouth where she sucked it clean. Her blood tasted sweet and pleasantly stimulating.

"Granny Rebecca, are you okay?" enquired a voice. Rebecca turned to face the interloper and peered over the top of her spectacles perched on the tip of her small nose. She removed her glasses and let them fall, knowing their drop would be arrested by the gold chain secured to both arms, her derisively christened "menopausal chain."

Rebecca recognised the confident figure of her granddaughter striding up the lichen daubed stone path. Vibrant green moss defined the staggered grid of worn stone pavers at the feet of the soon to be twenty year old. Oddly, from Rebecca's aged perspective, the youngster's feet were clad in furry Ugg boots.

"Are you okay, Gran?" repeated Sybil Torricelli. She approached Rebecca and placed a concerned hand on her grandmother's shoulder.

"Of course I'm bloody well alright, it's just that damned rose bush attacking me again," declared Rebecca. She shrugged off the concerned hand and immediately regretted her hasty rebuff.

Sybil was tall, like her mother, and appeared to loom over Rebecca as the grandmother appraised the youngsters face. Without the benefit of her glasses, Rebecca simply perceived the youngster's soft, fragrant tones, which prompted an irrational, albeit fleeting, envy and dare she say, dislike for her granddaughter. Facially, Sybil took after her indolent father, dark glossy hair and Latin features that were prone to exude sulkiness, especially when she pouted her full lips. The antipathy soon dissipated but Rebecca knew she had lost her joie de vie and would remain obtuse throughout the duration of the youngster's visit.

"Shall I put the kettle on, Gran?" enquired Sybil, her experience telling her not to dwell on the formalities of her greeting but to immediately adopt the illusion of familiarity, as if she had been at the cottage for hours. Sybil did not wait for the answer but entered the kitchen via the two-piece stable door. The kitchen faced west and remained comparatively cool at this time of day, the thick walls of the old cottage insulating it from the escalating heat of the late morning.

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