I still can't believe she did it--and he did it--and Marc and I did it! Ever since the first day of classes at the Goethe Institute in Prien in the south of Germany Kate had the hots for Jack. I'd seen that look in her eyes before. It was the look of the hunter seeing her prey and already imagining how good it was going to taste after the hunt and the chase and the kill.
Kate usually got what she wanted. Beautiful women do. And when they're beautiful and smart and rich and moving up fast in the company they ALWAYS get what they want.
Men are such pushovers for pussy. A beautiful woman like Kate can utterly control them--get them panting and doing her bidding thinking she'll spread her legs for them--then laugh and walk away, leaving them bent over to hide their arousal and shame. I suppose I should hate her or at least envy her because I'm not beautiful--well-built, but not beautiful. I don't hate her though because being her friend since college has gotten me more hard cock than I ever could have gotten on my own. That's worth something.
Anyway, Kate always did get what she wanted. I think she had her legs calibrated. She knew exactly how much to open them and for how long to get her demands met--then wham! They'd slam shut until the next sucker came along. Her cruelty worked wonders for me, because I could then move in on cute boys and offer them a shoulder to cry on.
Well, you can guess how that went. They were crushed and feeling awful about themselves, thinking maybe they were dorks. I would come along full of sympathy and understanding, and suggest they come to my room in the dorm to talk.
They never suspected anything from me, because I was everybody's sister. I had always hated that. Men somehow found it easy to open up to me and they told me all about troubles with their girl friends. It was Kate who helped me turn what I had always hated to my advantage.
I'd sit them down on the bed and sit across from them and with a few leading questions I get them almost crying. I'd move over to sit next to them and put my arm around them to comfort them. If they responded--and they always did--I knew I had them.
I'd bring a guy's head to my shoulder and press his face, now wet with tears, into me. Since I'm very well-endowed--even more so than big-titted Kate--they couldn't help but feel my pillowy breasts. I made sure of that.
Of course, they would get embarrassed and pull away, but I'd pretend not to notice and hold them tightly. Guys heads are so easy to fuck with. A guy'd be crying and feeling like he was worthless because Kate had dumped him, but with a woman's arm around him, her breasts pressed into his chin and soothing noises in his ear and within seconds there'd be a stirring in crotch.
It was such a kick to pretend to be this "caring sister," only interested in helping this guy get over his grief, while all the while looking down at his crotch, watching as things came to life. They couldn't even help it! Their cocks are such traitors! I love it! Kate taught me how to understand guys: