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Evidently, he enjoyed this latter type of conquest the most. He was almost addicted to the thrill of slowly winning a reluctant woman who, though very aroused, was loath to capitulate her honor. In the end, he knew she would succumb, they always did. The joy of loosing her breasts, of dragging her panties offand spreading her legs, of shoving his cock deep inside her as she turned her face away, forcing an involuntary groan from her tightly clamped jaws. The thrill as first her arms and then her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, moaning as she realized how much better he was than her husband. He'd laugh as she abandoned herself while he thought ahead of all the ways he would fuck her until he finally tired of her months later. Often by then she would be hooked on the excitement he brought into her life and would still be available for a periodic fling if he felt like it.
The end wouldn't change if children were present, just the route. He would implore her tojoin him for dinner, at a nice restaurant in a romantic setting, consuming lots of wine over adinner far more expensive than she was used to with her husband. Of course, they would have to stop by his room, in the hotel or close by, to pick up some papers he wanted to leave for her husband. Once in his room, the same game would play out. It would always end with his cock inside her, mouth or pussy, typically both. Strange as it seems, he usually found the women to be wilder in their own homes.
Eventually, one of these plays went dreadfully wrong. I'm sure that others had misfired before but he was probably able to keep those situations quiet because it would be mutually embarrassing but also because the offended wife would leave things alone if her husband's business wouldn't suffer. But this time, Dad moved on the wife of a major client, and it was his business that was in danger of a major blow. He just couldn't help himself, she was so attractive, and he misread the signs that showed her complete lack of interest in him.
I was called in to manage the disaster. I was dispatched right away with the authority to do whatever it took to placate my father's most recent target to ensure that her husband never found out. Dad told me this woman had misunderstood his social nature as an advance. He just couldn't understand it and was unable to persuade her that she was mistaken in the short time before he was given the bum's rush out the door.
Given my father's unconvincing story, I was pretty sure about what had happened. This was an embarrassing task but one I had to do if ourfamily was to retain a viable business, for the word would certainly spread. I also knew that ifI was successful, and let Dad know that the truth had come out, I would forever have an advantage over him. So I went and, though reluctant at first, my enthusiasm for the task grew as I drove.
She was a very attractive woman. In her mid to late thirties, just a few years younger than Mom, a second wife married for several years but still no children—I had done my homework—yet her husband's attention had turned back to the business and then to other distractions, like my father.
I approached Greta with honesty. I turned up ather door because I was certain she wouldn't meet me otherwise. There, I told her about what my father had said, and my instructions, and how utterly convinced I was that it was total bullshit. I added that my father had done this before and that he was an extreme embarrassment to my mother and myself.
Mentioning my mother was a godsend; Greta invited me in. I following her, admiring the fall of her long black hair cascading over her pale yellow sweater, falling just short of the black stretch pants clinging to her long legs. The movement of her finely shaped behind rhymed with the sway of her hips. She was naturally seductive and I could see why my father thought she was worth the risk. It was an effort to tear my eyes away from the perfectly timed pair of animated half-pears and but I forced myself to concentrate on what needed to be done.
Greta led me through the house and outside down a stone path that led over a small bridge between a pair of ponds to a garden-surrounded gazebo. She motioned for me to sit on one of the cushioned lounges and poured us each a glass of orange-pinkish looking juice from a large pitcher that was almost full. The ice cubes clinked as they tumbled into the shortstubby glasses. I was surprised by the taste of alcohol.
Over the next hour or so, I explained my suspicions about my father's transgression and made my pitch to assure her that it would neverhappen again and that in future I would handleher husband's account. There would be no uncomfortable chance meetings with my father. I talked about how messy the situation could become and acknowledged the emotionaldamage Dad may have caused. In compensation, I described how, soon after I took over the account, I would negotiate a more amenable business arrangement for her husband which he would assume was achieved because of my youth and naivete.
She smiled when I finished. "I don't think you're a very naive young man," she said.
"Nevertheless," I replied, "he will assume so, ifhe's anything like my father."
Her smile widened, "I believe they are cut fromthe same cloth, your father and my husband."
I was disconcerted by this remark and wondered if she knew just how much like my father her husband really was. What a shame towaste a woman like this, and my mother, on men like them. I tried to continue outlining plan but Greta turned the conversation around to focus on me and my mother. She needed to know what we were like, she said, before she could make up her mind about whether to go along with my plan.
So we spent another hour chatting, very pleasantly, about myself and Mom, with a few anecdotes about Greta thrown in that were relevant to the discussion at the time. When Greta refilled our glasses, I was surprised to see that the pitcher was empty. I was feeling quite pleasant. Eventually, there was a pregnant pause in the conversation.
"Well, I'd better be going," I said, pushing myself to my feet. "I shouldn't have stayed so long. I hope I didn't overstay my welcome."
"Not at all, Nathan." Greta stood with me. "I'm very glad to have met you and I'm glad you came. This was the best afternoon I've had for some time. You're welcome anytime."
"So you'll think about my proposal, then?"
"Perhaps over dinner," she smiled.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I have stayed too long. Is your husband coming?" I had thought he was away for a couple more nights and was a bit flustered that he might arrive at any minute.
"No," she laughed. "Don't panic. He'll be gone for a few days yet."
I couldn't help looking relieved.
"I was just about to make some supper, that's all."
"Oh." I felt awkward. "I'm sorry, I should have invited you to dinner. It's the least I could do."
"No, but thank you." She stepped through the glass doors into the house, carrying the pitcher and two glasses. I hadn't even thought to bring my glass inside. "Isn't that one of your father'stricks?"
"Yes, I guess it wouldn't look good for you to be out with someone when your husband's out of town." I realized as soon as I said it how silly it sounded. After all, I was just a kid barelyout of high school. I actually shuffled my feet. Good grief. She was teasing me.
Greta smiled, but it was a smile that didn't make fun of me.
"Actually," she said, "I wouldn't say no to some pizza, but we've both had too much punch to drive, don't you think?"
I nodded.
"Right," she said. "You order some pizza -- there's a number on the fridge -- and I'll make some more punch."
I didn't think I should have any more punch, in case I lost my head. It would be easy to think she wasn't just being nice.
She handed me a full glass when I got off the phone and turned to walk into the living room. Ifollowed, unable to keep my attention from herseductive assets. When the pizza arrived half an hour later, Greta let me pay for it without any argument. She was in the kitchen refilling our glasses while I was at the door and waited there until I brought the pizza in.
"Let's eat it right out of the box," she said, enthusiastically. "I haven't done that for years. Come on, bring it along" she said in a sparkly voice, leading me back to the living room.
As soon as I sat down, Greta handed me another glass of punch.
"I shouldn't," I said.
"Nonsense. You have to keep me company. It's part of the deal."
That was a good sign. It sounded like she was going to go along with my plan. I took a sip.
"That's better," she said. "Dig in."
The time passed quickly while we gorged ourselves on pizza. Greta talked more about herself, especially her college days. It made merethink my own future, that maybe I should go to college instead of learning Dad's business. College hadn't appealed to me but as Greta recounted the joys of her past I began to reconsider my choice.
My glass was empty and, though I shouldn't have had any more, I was in the mood for it. The pitcher more than half gone. Greta saw me glance at the pitcher, grabbed it, and refilled my glass.
"No, I shouldn't," I protested.
"Have you booked yourself into a hotel?"
"Uh, no. Not yet."
"Then go out to your car and bring your bag in."
"Bring my bag in?" I was stupefied.
"Yes. You're staying here tonight."
"I can't do that. I can't impose like that. You don't even know me."
"I know you better than you think. Enough to trust you more than some men I've known for years."
I was pleased that I'd earned her trust but even more please that she'd referred to me as a man.
"Still, I can get a cab. It wouldn't look right."
"You can't go riding about in a cab trying to find a room. Go out and get your bag while it's still light outside. Go on, don't argue." Greta stood and stepped toward the front door.
"While it's still light?" I asked, not comprehending.
"Of course. You're my second cousin's son," sheexplained, cooking up a story for curious neighbors. "Why wouldn't you stay?"
As I walked to the door, Greta said, "We're having so much fun and you can't drive now so you may as well stay here. You can leave in the morning, and I'll give you my answer then.
I didn't see anyone outside. Greta's words sunk in as I pulled my case out of the trunk. She wasn't going to tell me until tomorrow morning,not at dinner like she said. Then I remembered,she said she'd think about it at dinner. She hadn't said she'd tell me. Just relax, I thought. Don't push, and be yourself. There's no need to treat her like a client. She's really nice and fun to be ...

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