Jack fucked me at Cinque, an upscale Italian restaurant on Friday night. It was hard sex beyond my wildest dreams – something primeval, savage, elemental. He was pure male, pure aggression, no sophistication, seeking only to penetrate me, to invade my most intimate recesses, to spray his copious outpouring of seed deep inside me. He made it clear that he wanted to impregnate me, to make me bear his child. And while the guilt of cuckolding my loving husband Richard was intense, I could not deny the excitement of this perverted passion. 

The weekend with my husband, Richard and our baby, passed slowly. Richard had sex with me on Saturday night, carefully using a condom. It only served as a tame and boring counterpoint to my ferocious coupling with Jack. When Richard asked me how it was, as he always did, I told him that he was a great lover. I had always known that it was lie, for he very rarely made me cum, and I faked orgasms to please him. But now I knew just how much of a lie it was.

On Monday, I went to work at the law offices of Brewster Bailey Hamilton LLP where I was a junior associate. It was a usual hectic Monday and I did not have a moment to call my own till the late afternoon. But as soon as I got a free moment, I called Jack’s office.

“This is Gretchen Elise Lovewell.”

“Well, you certainly love well, Gretchen Elise,” said Jack. His gravelly voice brought his hard, athletic physique to mind.  

“You’re the CEO of the Foncault Group, a conglomerate with sales of over twenty billion,” I said. “Your father-in-law Reginald St. James is the Chairman.”

“Yes,” he said.

“You’re married to Carmen St. James Grierson, you have two children, Martin and Kelly.”

“Yes,” he repeated.

“You married well, Grierson,” I said. “No college degree, just three years in army special forces.”

“All of this is public knowledge, Gretchen.” He paused before going on. “Look, I’ve had a stressful day full of high-pressure meetings, with a lot of very smart people. I’ve been defending the interests of the Foncault Group, that’s my job. Now I’m mentally exhausted. I was thinking of going to my gym for a hard boxing workout with the heavy bag when my desk phone rang. I only picked it up because I saw the caller ID was from Brewster Bailey Hamilton LLP.”

“I looked you up in the ExecuComp database,” I persisted. “It says your salary and stock options are both zero and you have no stock in your name. I looked up the Foncault Group. Your father-in-law owns forty percent of the outstanding stock, your wife Carmen owns eleven percent. You own nothing, your net worth is zero.”

I paused, but Jack did not respond. But I could hear his heavy breathing down the line, so I knew he was there.

“Yet you were named one of the ten most effective CEOs by Fortune magazine four times! I mentioned your name to the junior partners here at Brewster Bailey Hamilton. One of them said you are a business genius. He said that as Foncault CEO, you took the group from five billion to twenty billion.”

Jack still did not respond, but his breathing was definitely getting heavier.

“Then I asked one of our senior partners, Chip Bailey. He has a strong opinion about you, Grierson. He called you a low-life from the gutter. The SEC filings for the Foncault Group list your father as Sergeant Henry Grierson of the US Army. But – and this is interesting, I’ve never seen this before in an SEC filing – it lists your mother as ‘unknown’.”

“Chip Bailey is right,” said Jack. His voice was rough, but he sounded like he was forcing out the words between pants. “I am a low-life from the gutter. You seem to have spent a lot of time researching me. Why do you care?”

“Is it surprising that I should want to know everything about the man that fucked my brains out?”

“Well, you’ve got it all now,” he said.

“Where’s your father now?”

“He’s dead,” he huffed. “He was killed in action.”

“Who was your mother? Where is she?”

“Just some whore my father slept with,” Jack wheezed. His anger boiled over as he tried to shout over his panting. “My father raised me. I grew up on army bases. That’s all there is to it.”

“OOHHMFFF!! OOMMFFFF!!” A woman’s choked expostulations down the line.

“Are you fucking a woman now, Grierson?” I asked, incredulous.

“No,” huffed Jack, giving up on trying to keep his voice normal. “Not real sex.”

“Not real sex?”

“I’ve got my cock in her mouth, Gretchen,” Jack panted.

“She sounds like she’s drowning,” I said.

“It’s not her first time with me.”

“You’re a pig, Jack Grierson.”

“MMFFGGHH!! MMMFFFGGGHHH!!” The woman’s stifled gasping grew louder. I could picture Jack’s enormous member stretching this woman’s lips, distending her throat. I was sure I could discern a note of panic in her smothered puffing.

“Don’t hang up, Grierson,” I said. “I want to hear you cum, schweinehund.” (Pig dog.)

I heard Jack groan deeply, and knew he was letting himself go. Then I heard gurgling, that I assumed was the woman attempting to swallow his massive flow.

“Du bist ekelhaft, Grierson,” I said in a low voice. (You’re disgusting, Grierson.)

“Damn you, Jack,” I heard the woman say. “You came so hard, your semen is dribbling out of my nose, it’s all over my blouse and bra, it’s on my breasts. I can’t go home like this.”

“Take a shower in my private bathroom suite.” Jack sounded a bit tired in the immediate aftermath of blowing his load. “You’ve got a change of clothes in the office, right?”

“Okay,” I heard her say. “I better hurry and get cleaned up. I need to be home soon.”

“Don’t let your husband give you any more grief about your pregnancy,” I heard Jack say.

“He’s getting used to it,” I heard her say. “By the time I give birth, he’ll love this baby. Even though it’s yours.”

“You’ve got to stop saying that, Farah,” said Jack. “You’ve got to keep saying that your husband is the father.”

“I love being pregnant because it’s your baby, Jack.” Her voice grew fainter and I assumed she was walking away.

“Are we done, Gretchen?” Jack asked. “I’d like to get going to my gym.”

“How do you manage it?” I asked, returning to my line of questioning. “You drive a fancy Jaguar, you have credit cards, you live well.”

“You won’t let it go, will you, Gretchen,” Jack said. “You’re so German.” It sounded like he was smiling. “It’s a company car. I have a company expense account. It’s quite generous. I live with my wife and children in her mansion.”

“Why no salary, no stock, no possessions in your name?”

“It was my father-in-law’s condition for the marriage.”

 “Does your wife know about all your women? You’re very often in the gossip sheets.”

“Carmen and I have always had an understanding.”

“Do you want to see me again?” I asked.

“Do you want me to fuck you again?”

“No, I don’t,” I said.

“Why not?”

“I’m 26, Grierson. You’re in your forties. You’re almost old enough to be my father.”

“I don’t want to marry you, Gretchen. I just want to fuck you.”

“Du bist so grob!” (You’re so crude!)

“You’re a cave woman, Gretchen, we both know that now. Für dich ist ein roher Fick ein guter Fick.” (For you, a crude fuck is a good fuck.)

“Ich bin nicht grob, ich bin eine anspruchsvoll Frau!” I protested. (I’m not crude, I’m a sophisticated woman!)

“Then why did you call me?”

“I just wanted to tell you all that I found out about you. And to tell you that I don’t want to see you again.” I paused and waited for his response. I wanted him to say that he wanted me, that he needed me, that sex with me was the best he’d ever had. But the line remained silent, and I grew anxious.

“Well?” I prompted him.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye, then,” he said.

“I really don’t want to see you,” I said hastily, before he could hang up. “But don’t let that stop you.”

* * * * *

I still had a stack of briefs to go over, but I couldn’t concentrate. My conversation with Jack kept running through my head. He was fucking the mouth of this woman, Farah, while he was talking to me! I told myself I was furious about being treated like this, to make me listen to another woman choking on his massive cock. I’d told him I never wanted to see him again, and I was relieved that he had just said, “Well, I guess this is goodbye, then.”

But as I got to the middle of the first page of the brief, I realized that I could not remember anything about it. I read the words, but my brain refused to make any sense of them. I felt Jack’s hands on my buttocks, holding me up, my back against the glass of the French windows at Cinque, his thick cock in me, so deep in me. He was pounding me against the glass, and I heard my inarticulate cries in my head all over again. My pussy spasmed and I realized my panties were wet. Not damp, but wet, soaking.

Without truly thinking, I raised myself off my chair, and slid my black silk panties off. I hiked up my skirt around my waist and ran a long fingernail over my clitoris. I gasped at the intimate touch. I pushed a forefinger into my pussy, while continuing to stimulate my clitoris with my middle fingernail. Talking to Jack had conjured up images of our sex together. Without even realizing it, I’d gotten myself very excited. I was breathing hard and just on the verge of cumming, when there was a knock on my office door. I cursed, but knew I had no option. I pulled my skirt down, shoved my wet panties into my Fendi handbag, and said, “Come in!” The door opened.

It was Wayne Hilliard, cool and confident as usual. He was a senior associate, the top grad out of a top law school, good looking, popular with the clients and the senior partners. He was only 30, four years senior to me, but everyone said that he would make partner within in a year. He was always hitting on me, and I could see that this visit would be no different.

“Hi, beautiful,” he said. “Want to go out and get a coffee before we start the night shift? I like your black silk choker ribbon, matches your black bra outlined through your translucent white blouse. Very sexy, you’ve got my cock hard already. I’ll let you sit on my lap, feel it through your short skirt.”

We law associates usually worked very late, sometimes even past midnight. It was part of the standard drill at all major law firms and I knew what I had signed up for when I took the job. But now I was so tense with my near orgasm, that I just could not face an evening fighting off Wayne Hilliard’s sneaky hands. If he wasn’t so well connected in the firm, I would have smacked his face, for I am taller than him in my high heels.

“Not tonight, Wayne,” I said. “I’m going to head home, make it an early night for a change.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“We’ve got four briefs to prepare before lunch tomorrow,” he said. “Are you going to take a free ride on my work again?”

This was bullshit and he knew it. I was the one who almost always did the lion’s share of the work on the briefs, while he just read my work and made the odd edit.

“Do some work, Wayne,” I said. “For a change.”

“Touchy, touchy,” he said, his voice mocking. “What’s got your panties all wet, gorgeous? Thinking of the two of us together under the sheets?”

His mention of wet panties had hit the mark completely by chance, and I fought to keep color from rushing to my face. I smiled to brazen it out.

“Thinking of you makes me sick, not wet, Wayne,” I said. “I’m going home to my baby. I’ve outlined all four briefs, I’ll email them to you. If you can’t finish them, I’ll get everything done when I come in tomorrow morning. I guarantee we’ll have them ready by lunch.”

“I’ll walk you to the elevators,” he said.

I knew this was just an excuse to put his hands on my ass, so I said, “No need, Wayne. I know my way there.”

He turned and headed back to the door but leaned on the jamb, his expression turning serious.

“I’m always here for you, Gretchen,” he said.

“I know, Wayne, and I really appreciate it.” But I thought, Slimy asshole, all you want is to get me in bed.

At the elevators, I ran into Bryn Belladonna. There were over 500 associates at Brewster Bailey Hamilton, but Bryn and I were the only two women under 30. She was 27, just a year older than me, a petite, pretty blonde. She was just over shoulder high to my willowy height, especially with my heels on. She looked guilty when she saw me.

“You going out to get coffee, Gretchen?” she asked.

“No, I’m going home.”

“I am too,” she dropped her voice to a whisper as the elevator doors opened. There was no one in the car, we both got in and I hit the lobby button. Bryn waited for the elevator doors to shut before continuing. “Liam just called and I was giving him phone sex. I got him so revved up, he really needs me! He’s waiting for me at home, says he can’t wait to fuck me.”

Liam was Bryn’s boyfriend, and they’d been together since before I joined the firm a year earlier. He was a history professor, small, balding, and owlish, with heavy glasses. He was bookishly arrogant in the way that professors have of looking down their noses at everyone. He dominated every conversation, treating everyone else’s views as “trivial” or “uninformed”. Richard and I had double dated them a few times, and we found him to be insufferable.

“What’s it like, Bryn?” I asked. “Fucking Liam, I mean.”

“He’s …,” she hesitated. “He always cums quite quickly.”

“Does he make you cum?”

“No,” she said in a low voice. “But I pretend. How about Richard?”

“The same,” I said, laughing. “I fake orgasms too, I’m pretty good at it. Richard really thinks he’s the world’s best lover. But he often does go down on me and sometimes he can actually make me cum that way. He seems to enjoy it.”

“Of course, he does,” Bryn exclaimed. “You’re very sweet down there.”

Bryn and I had had a quick little lesbian fling in her office when I first joined the firm. But we agreed it was unwise for the only two young female associates in the firm to become lovers. It would simply confirm the stereotypes that the senior partners had about attractive young female lawyers. So we stopped. However, the tight skirts and thin blouses she always wore highlighted her cute ass and her pert little breasts. She always caught my eye, and she knew it.

“You have a sweet pussy too, Bryn,” I said. “Doesn’t Liam go down on you?”

“He won’t,” she said, her eyes clouding. “Though he makes me give him blowjobs. He often blows his load in my mouth and then can’t get it up again to fuck me. He always complains when that happens, says it’s my fault.”

“It’s not my business, Bryn, but you’re a very intelligent woman. You make a lot of money, much more than him. Doesn’t he live in your fancy apartment? Don’t you pay all the bills? He doesn’t seem right for you.”

“What about you and Richard?” she asked, a touch defensively.

“Richard makes more money than me,” I said. “He has a net worth of a couple million.”

“But you’re taller than him.”

“Only when I wear heels,” I said, as the elevator doors opened in the lobby.

* * * * *

I went by the daycare center, picked up our baby, and drove home in our Mercedes. I parked in the below ground garage of our upscale rowhouse, carried the baby, baby bag, and my briefcase through the comfortable finished rec room that we maintained on the below ground level, then up the stairs. I dropped off the baby bag and my briefcase on the thick carpet, and sat down on the sofa.

I unbuttoned my blouse all the way, pulled down one of my black silk bra cups and offered the baby a thick, red, meaty nipple. It perked up and leaked a tiny globule of milk on exposure to air. The baby suckled on it greedily, and I felt relief as the pressure of my milk buildup eased. He was a big for his age and quickly emptied my breast. I pulled down the other bra cup and the baby made short work of it. Then he yawned, I burped him, and he fell asleep. He was a good, well-behaved baby – I credited it to the German genes he had inherited from me.

I heard the key in the front door and Richard came in almost on cue. He saw me on the sofa in my business suit with my naked breasts and immediately came over to kiss me. Then he suckled my erect nipples one after the other. He sighed with disappointment when he found he could only get a few drops from each.

“Junior’s always hungry when I bring him home from daycare,” I said.

“I know, I know,” said Richard, not completely mollified. “I’ll suckle you later tonight, when you’ve had some time to lactate.”

“You’re such a baby, Richard,” I said, ruffling his thinning hair before I took the baby upstairs to put him down in his room.

I pulled my bra cups up as I came down the stairs.

“Don’t button up your blouse,” said Richard, as I came into the kitchen. “You look so sexy in your suit and black stockings, with your blouse unbuttoned all the way. Black bra, black...