A Fucking Investment Ch. 12

Okay. I fell off the tread mill. I was talking on the phone to Crowley and misstepped. The thing dumped me on my ass. I was trying to keep the phone to my ear and wrenched my back something awful. I went to a back doctor and he put me in two days of traction. Shit. Visions of Bethlynn danced in my head and a new clock ticked in my brain. I was laid up for a week before I could reliably stand straight for an extended amount of time. Fucking or even tensing up the way a hardon tends to require was completely out. I stowed the cock. Jennifer shifted smoothly from sex object to nurse, tending me assiduously and with a quiet delight. She even got a nurse's uniform. The first time I ran a hand up between her legs my back spasmed. I treated her very professionally after that and frankly, I could not tell if she approved or it disappointed her. She maintained her professional calm, hiding her real-life reactions to the shift in our circumstances.

John came to see me and we played chess and watched football and avoided the subject of pussy. It was awfully nice of him to do that. Not that I get lonely, I have been on my own most of my life, surrounded by people beholden to me or my parents pretty much from birth. Everyone always had a buttered side to their toast and not usually the side I was on. I got buttered up but people usually did it for reasons that had little to do with friendship.

John did not come across that way.

I thought Eve was up to something but the longer I was around John, the less I suspected him of knowing what it was. Naive I know, but still. He was a guy and we both lusted after the same woman. He actually seemed unconcerned that woman happened to be his wife. That impressed me. I'd ask how she was and he'd look at me with those blue eyes, somber and searching. Then his lips would smile a vague, off-hand smile. "Still beautiful. Still sexy. Still mine." He'd say, not snidely but as a gentle reminder that the matter was not settled, still in negotiation, and unyielding. I usually changed the subject.

After a week in bed, with Jennifer fussing over me—she proved to be an incredibly competent nurse, I paid her cash for her help, for allowing me to keep another strange person out of my house. She used it to buy the nurse's uniform so it turned out to be more of an investment than an expense to me. After a week in bed, I finally started to get around and just as the back cracker said, I was good as new. He told me my injury needed time to relax and staying in bed off my feet was crucial if I wanted to get back to normal soon. He hinted that fucking was a bad idea, or any activity that involved tightening those muscles. Shit. He was right in every respect.

It was during this time that my girl Jennifer got the password to the one email account I left present on my computer. I don't know how and I don't care but it started us down a very strange road. Me, her, Eve, everyone.

I finally left the house, just walking. Everyone had left me alone but the truth was I was isolated. Aurora, according to John, was marshaling the pussy patrol and railing at the dick chasing ways of the four women I had acquired. For all this activity, I still had just four women and was not much closer to the board than when I began. After a full two weeks had passed, I was feeling up to snuff. That night, I took Jennifer to bed. What started out as a nervous therapy session turned into a more extended exam; the nurse passed very well. The next morning, she pronounced me healed and resumed her normal role as a sex object. It was then that I noticed John's attention whenever she came into the room.

While I remained guarded with John, it was Eve I suspected. It seemed curious to me that he would let me see his interest in my sex object. Surely he did not think me oblivious, that I would not notice his lingering glance and the longing in it as he stared after the shifting ass of my blond sex object. I did notice. I think Jennifer did as well and she liked it. She had a thing for him, or at least, a jealousy of Eve. They were distinctly two different blonds, but still blonds.

John called me on a Thursday and came over. He sat down and Jennifer came into the room, dressed as a sex object; her tits waving at us behind a diaphanous white blouse.

"You back to normal?" John asked.

"Yes, I can say with some certainty that he is." Jennifer tittered.

John looked at her and I saw the lust gleaming in his eyes. Jennifer noticed it too, I could tell. She fussed over him and when she left the room, John's eyes remained fixed on her.

"Care for a bj?" I asked.

John's head whipped back around, his eyes big as saucers.

"Not from me, motherfucker." I growled. I jerked a thumb out of the room. "From her. I, I bet she'd get off on doing you a solid. She likes to be used."

The whole time John had been coming around, that last week, Jennifer had been doing the nurse thing. Today was the first time she appeared in her normal state of sex object and John noticed.

"I, fuck me, Josh, of course I'd love to have a go at that but I have Eve." There was no regret in his voice. He was genuinely turning me down. I was glad Jennifer was not in the room, she'd have been bitterly disappointed. "What about, uh, Bethlynn? Have you signed her yet?"

I shook my head. The door bell rang.

"Mr. Gale. Someone to see you." Jennifer called from the foyer. I got up, still stiff but feeling no pain and almost to the point where that no longer surprised me. Occasional twinges gave me pause, cautioning me to be slow and deliberate in my movements.

I walked out to the foyer from my office.

A tall woman, angular in every respect except for her bulbous breasts stood just inside the door. She smiled a wispy smile. "Mr. Gale?"

She wore a maid's uniform, of a sort. She had the white cap in her honey colored, straight hair. A black, form-fitting, mid-calf skirt that hugged that form, with the lace imprint of black images, and a black and white blouse that hugged her torso as the skirt hugged her hips and legs. The blouse came to her elbows and had white epaulets on the shoulders, a black bodice that showed plainly the dainty white bra. She was a vision.

"I am Joshua Gale." I returned her politeness.

She nodded. "I have something from Mrs. Aurora Hines." She held it out. A flat panel, an open envelop. I took it. She turned to go.

"Wait." I said and slid the very expensive, very formal card from the glossy golden interior of the envelop. I glanced at it. I was invited to tea at 3 that afternoon. Tea? Is that what she called it? My skepticism would prove out. "Tell Mrs. Hines I will be there." I said.

"She prefers RSVPs in person or writing."

I shrugged. "Don't tell her then." I smiled a thin smile similar to hers. "Its your ass. Not mine." Her eyes were undressing me. If ever I had met a man-eater, it was this woman. She had that look and her dossier suggested it. It insisted that she was lesbian but she had a cock or twenty in her past so pussy was an acquired taste. I hoped. She had a live-in girl friend who certainly liked cock. When there was cock to be had, she had it but it tended to precipitate jealous rages in her servile friend.

The woman turned back to the door but then turned back to face me. "I will tell her. She will think you rude."

"I am rude but I only greet rudeness with rudeness. I'll let her know that as well."

"Rude? How have I been rude, Monsieur?"

I gestured generally at her belly. "Your name. You did not bother to introduce yourself."

She bowed her head then. "I am but Madame Hines maid." She swallowed the "H" so it came out "Ines"

"But a trusted member of her entourage or she would not have entrusted this to you. Your name?"

"Surely you know...?"

"Sure I don't. Rude." I shook my head. Sure I did know her name but I wanted to hear her French accent say it. I wanted to be able to copy it. I gestured to Jennifer. Mrs. Simpson had been standing to the side, watching this new little play unfold. "This is my sex object, Jennifer."

"Hi. My name is Jennifer Simpson. Mr. Gale owns me. Would you like something?"

I could see the woman clicking through possibilities. She certainly knew Jennifer Simpson but to remain in character, she could not admit it. John had told me a number of things about the game Mrs. Hines played with Yvette Moreau. Part of it was punishment if either Aurora or Yvette broke character. The nature of the punishment must have been severe because both women regarded such breeches with profound distaste and avoided them at nearly every cost. All this was throbbing in the woman when I spoke next.

"Smear her lipstick, Jennifer."

Jennifer choosing to be a dolt, walked to the woman and with her right pinky, smeared the woman's cherry lipstick up under her nose.

"No, idiot." I said, letting real chagrin into my tone. "Kiss her."

"Oh, right." Jennifer leaned in and smooched her on the cheek.

"Jennifer, kiss her on the mouth or pussy till she tells me her name."

Jennifer leaned in and kissed Yvette soundly on the mouth. Yvette, for her part did not lean away but her arms, coated with long gloves that covered hands and arms up to just below the sleeves, clutched Jennifer by the shoulders. Jennifer groaned and sidled closer. Yvette stepped away, touching two gloved fingers to her lips. Her eyes, with the dark mascara outlines often associated with Euro-fans, fixed on me.

"Milord, my name is Yvette Moreau, if it please you. I should return to milady?"

I waved her away, in response to her half-question. She departed, her shiny black high heels clicking on the foyer tiles. I liked that sound. "Jennifer, I think you need to wear high heels all the time, don't you? You have the legs for them. You should benefit from them. Barefoot all the time, that is entirely too casual for you, don't you think?"

She squeaked and fled upstairs.

John was standing at the door to my office where we had been talking. I flicked through what was available in my office and decided unless he hacked into my computer, I was not exposed. I had nothing of Alan Livingston's world there but the lone email I used to communicate with Crowley. Except of course my phone. I checked and it was on my hip. John was grinning.

"You sort of gave her the once over."

"The what?"

John shrugged. "She, that's Yvette Moreau and she is an intimidating bitch."

"Is that 'bitch' in the literal sense or the more generic synonym for female?"

He grinned. "The latter I think. She, shit she never smiles. She always looks you in the eyes."

"She is the one you were telling me about?"

He nodded. We adjourned back to the office. "Listen, be careful when you go over there. You'll get your knob shined so be sure to shower, clean up I mean. Nothing is worse than having a maid spit your cock and run for mouth wash."

"Experience?"

He grinned. "We thought Aurora had access to cash at one time. She doesn't."

"No more than Eve does, right? Why don't you go back to her..."

John held up his hand. "Listen, I know what you are thinking, that she could trade on the Covington name. But this is a matter of...of...shit, what is the equivalent of taking a man's balls with a woman? Ovaries? Not really the same, pretty tough to take them without leaving her dead, unless you're a surgeon. Balls, a bully with a rusty pocket knife can unman you."

"Hair." I said.

"Hair?"

"Take a woman's hair. When the Nazi's pulled out of the western European towns, the women who boffed the Krauts got shaved."

John nodded. "Right. Take a woman's hair. Eve going back to her family would be exactly like that, cutting off her hair." He shook his head. "Fuck, I never thought about it but that is exactly right. I never asked or even suggested that. I get it. Her, her family, they're nothing special but they have ways of getting your balls—or your hair—without laying a hand on you." He shook his head. "Anyway, I came over to tell you, I think I have our girl, Jeri figured."

My ears pricked up. Despite our best efforts, we had not been able to figure out how she was making her payments, often enough to stay out of default. Shows the limits of forensic accounting. She was coming up with cash somewhere and using it to pay just enough to keep afloat, and eat apparently. When I last saw her, she looked plenty healthy. "Oh."

John grinned. "I told you I could help. Once I got the office closed down, I had time to shadow her. Can you go out tomorrow? I want to show you. I think that will be most appropriate." He rubbed his nose with an index finger thoughtfully. "I think I understand that you need to buy these women without cutting off their hair. So, come out with me tomorrow. Let me show you what I have found. Then I can tell you how I think you can get her signed on the dotted line, or on the linen line, if you like?"

"The linen line?"

"You know, between the sheets."

"Ah, right." The guy kept trying to be clever. "Sure. What time? I can go out tomorrow. Need pussy with us?"

"Nope. Guys night out."

My neck tickled. I had to keep working with the guy. He did understand. I had to have Eve, without scalping her. That was essential. Unlike the other guys I had met at Holdingsfield, he still had his balls and I did not want them. So that is another complication.

He left and I went to work. I caught up a bit. The first week had been a haze of good drugs. I got off them immediately so that next week was rougher but I got well quick enough. I never felt like working and left Sharon to her thing. My cover as Josh Gale was a subsidiary we parked capital in for use elsewhere, hidden from prying eyes trying to guess our cash reserves. I invested that in short term markets and traded currencies. I was getting the hang of it. This was the longest I had been at it, the longest I had been Joshua Gale since Crowley created him for me as a way to vacation incognito, even for just a night. I liked it and I was settling into the role pretty well I thought.

I bet against the EURO and did some other research. Before I knew it, it was two and time to clean up. At five to three, I walked out my door and sauntered down the street towards the big house at the end of the main avenue. It was the largest house in the community, not necessarily the most expensive, but the largest. I walked up to the door, looked for a buzzer and finding none, I used the large knocker. The doors were double with a knocker on each, wrought iron tear drops on pivots mounted on the two big, rough aged-oak doors . The iron echoed, sounding on the oak.

The large door creaked open and I half expected Marty Feldman to open the door with his hunchback and one bulging eye. I was relieved to find Yvette and not Marty Feldman. I could not help myself. "Nice knockers." I muttered.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Yvette asked, raising her thin eyebrows.

"I said, nice knockers." The woman looked down at her chest. I made sure to be looking at the door, gesturing. "You don't see them much any more. Most people use electric bells, these days."

Yvette smiled thinly in that European way, all ennui and blase cool, full of noblesse oblige and disdain before a bumpkin American. "This way, sir." She closed the door behind me. Soft mood music slithered through the dark house. No electric lights were on and little outside light came in. The floor was all red slate, the walls a dark gray textured plaster that suggested adobe. The woman stopped and I nearly bumped into her. She turned and looked at me. She was about my height. "Monsieur, I must apologize for my appalling behavior, earlier. Would you permit me to make amends?"

I shrugged. She got to her knees before I could blink. Her deft hands had my belt open and my slacks unbuttoned before I could lick my lips. "Whoa, wait a sec. What are you doing?"

"It is a blowjob. I wish to suck you off." Her French accent made it sound exotic, like she was inventing something and I should shut up and let her genius work. She looked up at me from where she knelt, one knee up. Her black hose was netted with images scattered through the darkness. I wanted to see more.

I pulled her up, holding up my pants with the other hand. "That is all right, Yvette. A simple apology would be sufficient."

"Oh no, monsieur, if milady found out I traded mere words for bad behavior, she would punish me and takes delight in tormenting me. She will inquire if I have made amends...." Her implication was clear.

"Well, okay, how about a kiss, then?"

She threw her arms around my neck and pulled herself against me. All that European reserve disappeared. Her lush tits rubbed against my chest. I wore a simple polo shirt and slacks. I felt her firm breasts just fine. Her lips found mine, she pressed me against the rough plaster wall. She kissed me and she fucking meant it. In moments her tongue was down my throat and one of her hands had snaked down my chest and into my pants, slipping easily under my briefs and grasping my cock. It hardened in her cool hand while she kissed me.

I finally broke the kiss, my cock throbbing in her grip. "I think you have made amends enough." This woman needed a contract in the worse way. But from what John told me, the way to her was through Aurora. I had to follow through with this visit to get the lay of the land, so to speak.

"Now, I suck you, yes?" Her big eyes blinked before mine. The long skirt from that morning was gone, replaced by a short little black number that puffed out over her long, lithe legs, easily showing her garter straps and the limits of the black hose.

"A kiss is fine." I assured her, feeling the web of the black widow weaving into place around me.

"Oh monsieur, I want to taste your cum. When milady offers me to you, you must fuck me or she will punish me."

I tried to wiggle out, but now, thinking about it, I am not sure why I was so reluctant. I must have been concussed or something. "Punish you? How does she punish you?"

"She refuses to kiss my pussy."

Okay. I was speechless then, I apparently did not understand the maid-mistress relationship in place here. I lost focus, struck dumb by her words, so much so that when she knelt and finished undoing my pants, pulling my now nicely erect cock into public, I leaned against the wall and let her. That was no time to be impolite. Her lips touched my cock and sure enough, she sucked me. Past her lips and down her long, graceful neck, she drew my cock into her mouth like she was drinking a fine wine. She had that ability to make sucking my cock seem like an elegant display of her womanly charms. She did and it was. Her big eyes regarded me with gravity while she swallowed around my cock lodged in her throat. Her throat motions felt like they ran the the full length of my cock, escalating waves of sensation from root to head.

How she managed, I don't know. Her lips never once broke seal. It was the most elegant blowjob I have ever experienced. Professional without being cold, she managed to provide the perfect service with lips and tongue, kneeling awkwardly on one knee. That made it all the more amazing because she never wavered, never lost her balance even as her head bobbed, stroking my cock as she did so.

I leaned against the wall and let her do me. Her hands clutched the quads on my legs. Her head moved back and forth and the sucking increased intensity. Not a sound, just the luscious sensation of her lips sliding up and down on my cock. She cradled my balls with one hand and then began to squeeze them in some sort of rhythm I could not hear, but it matched the sucking of her mouth and lips.

In two minutes, I gushed into her mouth, groaning through a very thorough orgasm. The woman could kiss and suck cock. She stood up, licking her thick Gallic lips.