A Fucing Investment

Thanks for reading. This series is developing slowly but it will get more attention as the MILF series winds down. I hope you enjoy it. Vote, leave comments and suggestions. The comments help a lot. Send a message with your email to get on my list. I have been terrible about communicating lately but I am working on improving that. Sometimes its write or communicate and I have been writing. Thanks for the support! -C

For three days I wandered around in a daze, not catatonic, just uninspired. Realizing that John Sawyer had had a piece of Jennifer without permission, had raped her with seduction and temptation, not with violence, he had taken her and taken what was mine. When that came clear to me, I seriously challenged my approach. Despite Sharon's desire for revenge, my revenge was subtle. I wanted to fuck the 20 women of Holdingsfield without giving any of them any rights to me or my life. I wanted to own them but not dominate them. I wanted them to come running, or run coming when I summoned them and for them to view each other as being in the same situation without competition or resentment.

I know, women not resenting each other and not making your life miserable with incessant carping is a stretch of the imagination but that was why I needed to have something over each of them, more or less the same thing. Yet distinct, personal and utterly intractable, I wanted a hold that connected their desire to me, to my cock would be best but if some preferred to be connected to a woman I owned, I could work with that.

My objective was to make them docile at the start but ravenous in the end, discovering their most lascivious desires and inviting them to surrender to them. I wanted them helpless in the presence of their own desires, utterly seduced by the promise implicit in my investment, that their darkest, most private desire could be had, if they bent their will to me, to my will, and let me use them as I wished. This, this ambition infused me, both as a psycho-sexual experiment and the additional purpose of making them helpless before me.

This new development threated this tame version of domination I offered. I say "tame" but it must be understood that my version is far more absolute. I want to hold them in the prison of their own desires, not my oppressive control. I wanted the collar around their necks to be their own passion and lust, tethered to me by the hope and perhaps certainty that I would give them what they longed for down between their legs where lies always surrendered to the truth of actual, consuming carnality. A woman can lie to the ignorant man about her orgasm but not to herself. At least I don't think so. Hmm. What if a woman did, lie to herself about her own pleasure? Perhaps every woman does? Perhaps that is my opportunity, to own the knowledge they cannot bear to face but cannot resist. Perhaps what I actually wanted was to own the desire that originated between their ears, to convince them using their body that if they prostrated their will to mine, they could feel their greatest longing fulfilled. Perhaps.

I struggled to get my mind wrapped around this pebble in my oyster head.

This mental block included what I was to do with Jennifer. She, the fear skittered in her and though she flinched when I came near, I refused to penalize her for it. I understood it, or actually, I thought I understood her behavior. I didn't but my ignorance and arrogance did nothing to remove the block on moving forwards. I just had no idea how to proceed, given what John Sawyer had done.

That left my control on Friday when I got a phone call from a number I certainly did not recognize. The number connected me to a woman's voice I did not recognize. I like to think I have all my senses engaged but this woman's voice made me think I had gone through life stone deaf till then. Her cultured voice puffed breathy phrases into my ear, pushed through the aether at me but ensorcelling me completely.

"Mr. Gale? This is Victoria Grayson." She hesitated, waiting for me to respond.

I was responding, just not with sound. She needed a working camera connection to see my cock rising in my pants. This immediate response to a voice rattled my sense of my own sexuality. Who does that? Get hard at the sound of a particular woman's voice? Me, apparently. I felt helplessly entangled in something I did not understand, but god I wanted to. I wanted first to be hopelessly entangled and then maybe to understand. Priorities matter.

Aroused by a mere voice? That is an arresting experience!

"Mr. Gale?"

"Yes, this is he." I managed. Funny how the cock can make it difficult to breathe. It has nothing to do with respiration, right?

"I am Mrs. Victoria Grayson. Do you have a moment?"

I said I did, consciously trying not to pant into the phone. I just could not seem to catch my breath.

"I am calling about your Virgin Services? I believe your contact has been communicating with me. I am wondering if we could meet for lunch. I am in town. I'd be happy to buy you lunch if you have time in your busy schedule?"

I shuddered. "Virgin Services?" I said blankly. "Don't you mean the airline? I think you have the wrong number."

"No! No, I don't. I, I know I don't. Please listen to me for a moment. Let me explain."

I waited so she could.

"Hello?"

"Yes?" I managed. "You, you asked me to listen. I am listening."

"Oh, yes of course. Please, Mr. Gale, your Mr. Crowley, I spoke with him and he thought, I, he thought it would be acceptable for me to contact you directly. Particularly since I am in town."

"When did you speak to Mr. Crowley?" I understood in a distant way; Crowley had given her my number!

"Just a moment ago."

"How did you contact him?"

She did not answer immediately. Finally she clicked her tongue. "I have to admit I used some of my resources to trace the emails we have exchanged back to him."

Through the purple haze of my penal intoxication I had a fleeting thought, that she was prevaricating for some reason. The haze ate that thought, perhaps my little devil put his pitchfork up my little angel's ass. At any rate I focused on the feeling of that voice in my ear and believed what she told me. It was the truth, just not the whole truth.

Crowley was going to be chagrined and blushing when he admitted he had been penetrated by a woman. I supposed he'd have an explanation. The synchrony in my life blinked and Crowley's number appeared on my phone, beeping for attention.

"You seem intent on speaking to me." I said.

"A mother will do a lot for her son, once she figures out a course of action and I more than most, only because I have considerable resources beyond what is normally available."

Her voice licked my ear and made my brain tickle and sizzle. My cock throbbed in sympathy.

"Can you wait a moment? I have another call I should take." I sounded perfectly reasonable but felt like my skin was levitating off my body.

"Of course."

I switched to Crowley. This should be good.

"Hey boss, I uh, I think a Mrs. Grayson will be calling. She, she is the woman interested in hiring a woman to seduce her son." Crowley spoke quickly. He almost never sounded rushed, always lollygagging from syllable to syllable like he cared nothing for getting to the end of his sentences. His alacrity at getting under your skirt surprised lots of people because of his measured drawl. Not now. I almost chuckled, hearing his voice crackle with tense insistence.

"I know, Crowley, she is on the other line." I thought about tweaking his proboscis but demurred. That was too cheap by half and I needed him. I sought to give him slack and reassurance. Everyone needs it once in a while, even Crowley, and they appreciate it if they are not a sociopath. "Did you manage anything with the club downtown? Getting Mrs. Lewis unhitched from their stable?"

"Working on it boss, I think I have a solution but I, you really don't want to talk about this if Mrs. Grayson is on hold, do you?"

Crowley always knew how to deflect notice of his shortcomings and they were many. That was part of his charm, if you could call it that, he was not intimidated by his own character flaws, not proud, but not ashamed either. That made him easy for me to deal with but perhaps I am a special case.

"A point. What did you tell her? About Mrs. Simpson, I mean?"

"Nothing. She asked for a blond and I said we had just the thing. I'll, er, I'll explain why we were speaking another time. No, she has not seen a picture of Mrs. Simpson. Do you think that she is, will be able to do something like this?"

"We'll discuss it later. Did you check on the Covingtons for me?"

"I did. I sent them a little missive by messenger. They should have it today or tomorrow morning, latest. It should get a rise out of them. What's happening with them? Do you want to move on them or not?"

"Wait. We'll wait. Don't do anything yet. I'll get back to you about them. Free Mrs. Lewis, though. ASAP." I got a flutter in my putter. Poor Mr. Cock was confused because the sights and sounds of Mrs. Lewis' aural orgasms intruded on my present reality. That remembered jazz and this present thrill competed to inspire the stiffened resolve in my cock and it was unclear in that moment which could be granted responsibility for the bubbling response in me. I voted for both and felt that wondrous delight from the confidence that I might have both.

Mrs. Grayson won in that moment because she was not a sure thing and the likelihood that she'd sign a contract of any sort was nil. The happy hounds of lust bayed after her though I had no picture to match to her voice. Oddly, I needed none. That inviting, breathy voice promised enough to get me signing on the dotted line. Ah, desire how wondrous, how marvelous. Oh brave new world that has such sensations in it!

I flipped back to Mrs. Grayson. We arranged to meet in an hour at The Pale Stallion, a bar and restaurant located in the bottom of The Finest, one of the best hotels in the world.

I took a quick shower and told Jennifer I was leaving for the afternoon. She watched me but provided little other response. I got to the car and decided to do something. Her flat effect had bothered me but I knew its origin and had no solution. Now I finally had an idea, an option, trial to try to see if it generated an error. It was worth the risk, beauty depressed is bleak and horrible and I cannot stand to leave it unaided. I went back into the house.

"Jennifer, do you have anything planned for this weekend?" I asked.

She shook her head, still empty of her former sparkle.

"I am going to meet a woman who is seeking a woman to take her son's virginity. I don't know the particulars but if you think you are up to it, I am inclined to sell her your services for a few days." I held up the phone, "I need a pic."

She nodded and struck a sexy pose. "Wait, wait." She said and in a flash removed the bra from under her blouse, pulling it out one sleeve in that private feat of legerdemain that women rarely show to their male counterparts. Her breasts billowed before her, ghostly lures behind the pink blouse, the nipples blunted on one side by the shirt pocket but poking clearly into the fabric on the other. She struck the pose again and her tits rose to the occasion. I snapped a couple pictures. Her smile blinded me, the bleakness in her eyes gone for just that instant she stared into the camera. Every woman is an actress but for men, the prick cannot lie. When they say men are more straight forward than are their female fellows, they mean the hard cock reveals a truth the women can and often do keep privately inside.

"I'll be back." I said and left Jennifer there. She almost seemed eager but a stressed reserve remained. I did not want to enliven her until it was a sure thing so left the possibility dangling and evanescent.

I drove to The Finest and went inside, leaving the keys with the valet service. Once inside, I realized I had no idea whom I was seeking. I'd been dazed by a mere voice, I hoped I would not find she was a fat old crone. That sort of dissonance tended to cause trauma to the sexual psych but that consonance was far more usual than a sexy voice matched to an equally sexy body. Such unity of sensuality is a true unicorn.

I entered the bar that was alive with the lunchtime hubbub and scanned the place. It is always a risk to look for a voice. Some of the sexiest voices I have known belonged to women who could crowd a truck off the highway.

Despite my intent to focus on all the women sitting alone, my eyes went immediately to a beautiful brunette sitting alone. Her eyes were down, she fussed with a compact, opened it and touched her perfect face. Every movement bespoke the grace in her voice.

"That may not be her." I muttered sub-vocally, trying to pull my brain back from the precipice, the hope and desire that she was Victoria Grayson. At any moment I expected her to look up and smile at some man approaching her from another direction. I shook my eyes loose from her beguiling appearance and scanned the place. My heart hammered in my chest as I forced myself to consider the possibility that another woman sitting alone would prove to be Victoria Grayson.

I'd like to say there were none but that would be a lie. My heart sank as I scanned the room. Three other women were also sitting alone. Each had their own version of middle-aged homeliness and to be sure, all looked far more like mothers than did the first woman who commanded my attention with her beauty. I kept getting bumped by other men shouldering through the entrance. I was struck by that first woman and wanted her to be Victoria Grayson. That possible consonance teased me and I felt the un-Zen like desire that she be the one, I wanted her! I felt that desire writhing deep inside me and it made my chest hurt. I feared going to settle the matter because such a thing seemed so unlikely. I decided to avoid disappointment but stood considering my next move, trying not to stare at my first and only choice.

Finally, after a guy elbowed me in the ribs and gave me a glowering look, I moved to the side and the motion enlivened my mind. I realized that I was going to have to ask all of them till I found the right woman. What order should I use?

I decided to make a game of it. I'd ask her last. If she remained alone and the actual Mrs. Grayson proved disappointing to eye and cock, if not to the ear, I'd reserve the option to approach the vision and seduce her if I could. That hope buoyed me and I shifted into action.

I went to the second woman I spied. "Mrs. Grayson?" I asked in as neutral a voice as I could manage. Even then, it twanged with a tension that was subconscious dread, I have to admit.

She looked up. Her eyes went down my body and back up to my eyes, like she was gaging a side of beef. She shook her head. "Not in the market, buddy." She said.

I moved away, embarrassed as hell. I look young because I am young but I was not accustomed to such crass dismissal, partly because I usually had more money than the people I addressed. No one in the Pale Stallion would be impressed by my money. Well, they might since I have a lot but surely they all had money of their own and would be loath to show it.

I moved to the next woman. She looked up as I approached. She smiled and nodded when I stopped before her.

"Hello." She said brightly. "Can I help you?"

"I am sorry, I am supposed to meet a Mrs. Grayson and...."

"You don't know whom you are looking for? I am Mable Diggerson. If your Mrs. Grayson doesn't appear, come have lunch with me." She smiled again. "I'm alone." She did not have looks to speak of but she was not a horror, either. She was what might be described as handsome, the sort of looks that money can transform and did but which pushed her into business lunches rather than the runway, early in life. Still, she had tits and they seemed proud enough, though the table hid legs and ass. Now I was assessing her like a side of beef.

I thanked her and moved away. The third woman was black but I did not dare to think I could hear race in a woman's voice as though rounded or neglected constants could be indicative. Hiphop shattered that general distinction in American women. This black woman had a brusque look, flipping through emails or texts on her phone as I approached.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Grayson?" I asked.

She looked up from her phone eyes steady. She shook her head and returned to the phone, not even seeing me. Her eyes clicking with concentration.

My heart hammered in my head as I turned around to face the fourth woman and not from that disdainful dismissal that I had rarely been exposed to. My heart heart her voice once more and my eyes sought her again at my heart's behest. It nearly tore out of my rib cage when I found her eyes on me. I forced my feet to move. The room seemed to dim, the sounds dulled as thought turned down and tuned out by a theatrical focus. I swear a spot light lit her features. I could not breathe and my body turned to doughy clay.

I shuffled towards her, fixed by her brown eyes and her rich smile. This experience, I had not had often in my young and privileged life; the drama of a desire fulfilled out of a thorough and realistic dread that I would be disappointed, but then finding new hope of satisfaction. It was a high I had not experienced often in the past.

I arrived at the edge of her booth. "Mrs. Grayson?" I said in a papery voice.

She nodded. Her eyes held something, a shard of shock that vanished like a broken ice icicle dropped into a bond fire.

My fucking cock got hard, swelling in my pants the moment she spoke. Fuck me. My cock didn't even have ears and it knew that voice.

"Mr. Gale?"

I nodded.

"Please do sit down." Her eyes were laughing. "I watched you speak to those other women. Didn't you think I would be sitting close to the entrance?"

I slid into the angled booth. A glass of water before me got my attention and I drank from it before attempting speech. "I put you last because I hoped you would be, hoped it would be you. My god, you are beautiful. How is it possible that you have a nineteen year old son?"

She smiled calmly, accepting the compliment but not basking or preening. It seemed to be her usual fare and how not? She was fucking gorgeous, the more so the longer I lingered in the wash of her presence, like she was radioactive and I was soaking it up. My whole body felt like the subatomic particles were taking me apart, exploding one cell nucleus at a time. Time slowed.

Her eyes measured me. Finally she nodded once glancing away then reattaching her gaze to me, like a tether. "You are much younger than I expected. Your man, Crowley, he sounded as though you were..." She trailed off and a slight pink touched both cheeks. She looked around the room, away from me. When her eyes returned to mine, she smiled. "I thought you would be a man much older to...to be, to be offering this service."

She squinted then and looked away again.

We sat in silence for a moment. I waited for her to continue, my brain roasting in her presence, unable to yield up the least intelligent thing to say. All I could offer was a sizzling hiss so I kept quiet.

She finally began again. "I, I, there is no sense in avoiding the issue. I want help to get my son, to help him, to arrange for my son to have sex, and I want it to be special somehow. I, I don't know how to do that, or why I thought I should involve myself in his sexual resume...I mean, I know full well why. I just haven't fully realized what I am attempting. That bothers me. I, I am struggling to figure out what I expected. I never expected you to be such an attractive young man." She smiled and for a moment I saw an unaccountable ravenous shadow flick through her eyes.