The Influencer And The Heir Ch 01

Since I was young, I've been into cars. Posters of sports cars hung on the walls of my bedroom, and I always tried to spot expensive cars on the street. Fortunately, I was born into a family that can also afford these kinds of cars.

A distant great-grandfather was an industrialist at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. Since then, each heir has only grown the family fortune, and we have companies or investments in almost every sector. The fortune has now grown so large that the descendants wouldn't have to work for the next 200 years. But my family does not agree with that. Every heir must have studied and must work, preferably within the company, before you gain access to your trust on your 25th birthday.

I am Arthur, now 26 years old, and I have had access to my share of the family fortune for a year now. I studied economics and work at one of my father's holdings, namely the one that deals in exclusive real estate. And no, I don't mean the 2 million euro apartment, I mean the 25 million euro villa in Saint-Tropez. It all sounds arrogant, but that's how I'm used to it.

Contrary to what most people think, I have a close bond with my parents. Especially my father. A true role model for me. Not only do I work for him. I also race with him.

Together we have established a beautiful car collection. And these are cars that are driven, not parked in the garage as an investment. Together, we race a 1963 Ferrari 250 GT SWB during various classic rallies, but also in the Mille Miglia and on racetracks. Of course, a special version of father-son activities, but it is one and keeps us close together. It also ensures that we are in Ferrari's famous customer book and that we can afford almost anything.

So when the new Ferrari 12Cilindri was launched, my order was in the order books within 24 hours. Then I will drive to all our expensive villas on the Riviera instead of flying. Okay, the Ferrari isn't very environmentally friendly, but it's better than the private jet.

About two weeks ago, I received a call from Jacques, the owner of the Ferrari dealership, with an interesting proposal. To increase publicity, he wants someone to go to Italy to pick up a 12Cilindri and drive it to Belgium. Along the way, there should be stops at various places so the car can be seen and photographed.. Driving the new Ferrari as one of the first in the world sounded quite tempting. But Jacques' explanation wasn't finished yet. To help me with this, he asked an influencer to join and boost the attention even more. In any case, publicity and attention are not words my family likes to hear, let alone the word influencer. But I would only be the driver and not have to be in the photo. The proposal was too tempting to ignore.

That's why I'm standing in the departure hall of my local airport on a Friday morning, waiting for that influencer.

Of course, I immediately looked her up after the phone call with Jacques. Judging by her photos, I could easily understand why she has more than 200,000 followers. A handsome brunette with green-gray eyes, a slim, toned body, and a not inconsiderable bust. And then she had a nice tan from all her vacations, sorry, her 'business trips'. I had already resolved to set my prejudices aside and to give her the benefit of the doubt. I am indeed very fortunate with my background, but I do work as well.

So after about ten minutes of waiting, I see her coming. In real life, she looks even better. Especially now that she hasn't put on makeup for the camera. Truly a natural beauty, even in the white tank top and gray sweatpants she was wearing.

Just as I scan her, she scans me too. She looks me up and down. I'm just glad I put on a white shirt and dark pants, otherwise I would definitely feel like a beggar.

"Hello, I'm Arthur, your driver for the week. Pleased to meet you," I greet her with a smile.

"Hey, I'm Martha, but you probably already knew that," she replies quite confidently.

"Are you looking forward to it a bit?" Not everyone gets such an opportunity," I try to keep the conversation going as we head to the check-in counter.

"It's a great opportunity for me to do something new. Even though cars don't mean anything to me," replies Martha. A bit awkwardly, I say: "then I will try to teach you something. Cars are so much more than a means to get from A to B. And a Ferrari is the best example." Martha nods, but doesn't elaborate further. I'm going to have to learn not to talk too much about cars. That's not a great conversation starter for most people.

While we walk through the airport, I see that some girls recognize her, but I mainly see how boys and men stare at her. I can understand that, but at least do it a bit less obviously. Once at the gate, I ask her: "Don't you find it annoying that everyone is staring at you?"

"In the beginning, for sure, but I've gotten used to it by now," she says in a flat voice.

"Sounds pretty unpleasant anyway," I reply just to say something.

In the meantime, we've stepped onto the plane, of course in business class. Luckily we're sitting next to eachother. Because I am taller than she is, I have to make a huge effort not to constantly look at her cleavage.

With my black hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders from all the racing with cars without power steering or brakes, I've never lacked attention from women, but this woman is truly the pinnacle. To avoid being caught staring or worse, with a flagpole in my pants, I quickly set up my laptop to do some work. Next to me, I see Martha editing some photos and videos on her smartphone to post on her social media.

While I am busy estimating a villa in Cannes, I notice that Martha is looking at my screen. She leans a bit closer to me, making her cleavage even more visible. I'll look towards her face in a moment, but luckily she's too curious about my screen to realize that I was staring.

"Do you find it interesting?" I then ask her.

"Just curious, actually," she admits, "What kind of work do you do that you're looking at such a big house, no, actually a palace?"

I decide not to immediately say that I work for my father's company or to mention anything about my background. "I work for a real estate agent who only deals in the most exclusive properties. My job is to visit everywhere and make an estimate. And I often also oversee any renovations too.

"Well, I wouldn't say no to that, visiting those castles," Martha replies.

"It does look more exciting and luxurious than it actually is, you know," I say.

Martha playfully touches my arm as she continues: "Maybe you've just gotten used to it, to those dream houses."

From the touch, electric shocks shoot through my body. Exactly as if I can't believe that such a beautiful woman is touching me. But it also means that I no longer listen to what she says. I just nod once and then continue with my work.

That moment has stirred something in me. Subconsciously, I'm looking for a reason to stay in touch with her even after this week: "If I ever need a model, I can call you, if you want to see such a place."

"Oh yes, I'm definitely up for that," she responds enthusiastically.

I'm glad she's agreeing to it right away. The rest of the flight we will just continue working. Fortunately, it's not too long a flight to Bologna.

Once the flight lands, I help Martha with her rather large suitcase like a true gentleman, and we head towards the taxi stand. A typical Mercedes van is ready to take us to the factory in Maranello. In the taxi, Martha is sitting directly across from me. She is busy with her phone, as if she hasn't had WiFi or 4G on the plane for the past two hours. It gives me a bit of a chance to take her in. How intently she looks at her smartphone. And as her tightly wrapped curves sway gently with the taxi. I feel my member coming to life in my pants. For safety's sake, I look outside at the passing landscape. Without fully realizing it, I'm already starting to fall for her a little.

After an hour's drive, we arrive at the iconic factory gate with the orange building and the word Ferrari in large yellow letters above it. It's not the first time I've been here, but it remains a magical place for many car enthusiasts. I even manage, for the first time today, not to be tempted to peek at Martha. She herself is not very impressed. But hey, boys will be boys, right?

As we pass through the gate, Vincenzo comes towards us. He has been assigned the task of welcoming us and taking us to the car. It's no great surprise that he mainly has eyes for Martha. She herself is clearly used to the staring looks and the flattery. She asks if there is a space where she can change from her comfortable travel outfit into something more suitable for taking the first photos.

Vincenzo points her towards the restrooms in the reception area of the factory. Then he takes me to the new Ferrari. In the middle of the factory square, I gawk at the latest from the worlds greatest car manufacturer. Of course, in the iconic red color. I expect nothing less. In real life, even more beautiful than in the photos, just like Martha. You can tell that Vincenzo is a true Italian. Proudly, he begins the explanation about the car. He is so engrossed in the explanation that he doesn't realize that Martha has returned. When he sees her, he falls silent for a moment. I can understand why, she looks stunning. She has taken off her joggers and tank top and is now wearing a beautiful white-and-blue striped summer dress. It comes halfway up her thighs, so it shows off her tanned legs beautifully, and then a neckline that nicely highlights the curve of her breasts without revealing too much. Really a sight to behold. After being momentarily speechless, Vincenzo finds his train of thought again and continues with the explanation. Martha tries to be a little interested anyway.

Now that his explanation is done, Vincenzo hands me the key and wishes us a good trip before leaving us alone.

With a smile, I say: "How does that feel? Knowing that you left an Italian speechless?

Fortunately, Martha laughs at my remark: "I'll take it as a compliment. But first, a few photos before we leave."

"And now you need a good photographer, right?", I ask. She rolls her eyes and then hands me her iPhone.

As the first pose, she opens the door and pretends to get in. I take a few photos so that she, but also the whole car, is in the picture. For the next photo, she will sit behind the steering wheel. I take a few photos from the front of the car, so you can see her through the windshield. Then a few more by the door. Because I am standing higher than Martha is sitting, I can actually see a lot of her cleavage. I need to make sure that the photos don't focus too much on that and that I keep my attention. I don't want to come across as just any old pervy voyeur.

I give her the phone back so she can look at the photos. She nods contentedly.

"Yes, I can work with this." But now, there's one more photo I've always wanted to try," she says as she walks to the front of the car. Carefully, she lies down on the hood. She pulls her dress slightly higher on her legs and her neckline slightly deeper. I can't believe my eyes. What a body, I tell you. When she then also looks seductively, actually downright sexy into the camera, I'm lost. My penis starts to grow in my pants, fortunately not to full size. This is going to be a tough week.

Now that the photoshoot is done, we can finally leave. The moment I've been looking forward to. We put our luggage in the trunk and sit down. With a big smile, I press the start button. When the V12 engine awakens, my smile only grows bigger. I rev the engine a few times and hear the engine scream. What a sound, I tell you. Even Martha seems impressed, and that's saying something for someone who doesn't care much for it.

Carefully, I drive towards the highway. I want to get to know the car a bit first. But then to get onto the highway, I press the accelerator a bit deeper. The Ferrari shoots forward and in the blink of an eye, we're already well over the speed limit. During the acceleration, Martha lets out a little scream of excitement and fear. I have to smile, she isn't used to much yet. At a healthy cruising speed, we drive to Milan. Here we will stay for one night and need to take some photos of the car in front of the famous Duomo.

When we drive into the center, everyone looks at us with full attention. Partly because cars are normally not allowed to drive here, but that's the advantage of being sponsored by Ferrari. The other part looks at the car. You often see fancy cars in Milan, but not the very latest Ferrari. Some, especially young men, pull out their phones to take a picture.

Once we make our way through all the tourists, we park ourselves in the square in front of the Duomo. Immediately, the car is surrounded by even more people who want to take a photo. Especially when Martha gets out, I see that a camera is regularly pointed at her.

As I don't crouds, I move more to the edge of the crowd. Martha, on the other hand, stays by the car and takes a few photos with the Duomo in the background. After taking a few more photos, she comes over to me.

"I was already looking for you, couldn't see you right away," she says a bit worried. "Sorry, I'm not really into large groups, so I moved a bit to the side," I admit.

"But now it's time to eat. I'm quite hungry," I say.

We sit on the terrace of a trattoria at the square. This way, I can keep an eye on the car a bit longer. So far, everyone can certainly appreciate the car.

We are enjoying a delicious dinner. The Italian cuisine is definitely my favorite. While eating, Martha and I talk about how she started as an influencer. "I quickly realized that I look pretty good, and that coincided with the rise of Instagram, so I seized the opportunity." And I can't complain. I have already seen more of the world than most people. And apart from that I just completed my Marketing studies. My influencer career won't last forever," she explains her life.

For the rest of the evening, we discuss her adventures. After that, she starts asking more questions about my life. I try to be diplomatic and not to bring up my family too much. I have experienced it before that people only want to be friends for the money that my name brings. Anyway, it's a pleasant evening. After enjoying a real Italian gelato, we head back to the car and drive towards the hotel.

Once we're in the car, I look at Martha with a smile. "I've always wanted to do this." I start the car and let it rev a bit. As a result, the pigeons on the square scatter and fly in all directions. We both have to laugh at my rather childish behavior.

Not even ten minutes later, we arrive at the hotel. It turns out to be a beautiful five-star hotel. But upon checking in, we find out that Jacques only booked one room. Martha and I look at each other. Not that I mind having to sleep together with her in a room, but she might think differently about it. She looks at me and shrugs. We take the key and let the bellboy bring our luggage to the room.

The room has a beautiful king-size bed, a separate seating area, and a bathroom where exquisite Carrara marble covers every surface.

I let myself fall onto the soft bed in a moment. It has been quite a long day, after all. Martha will tidy up her suitcase right away. I see that she takes out some clothes and lays them out. Then she suddenly takes off her dress. Of course, I can't take my eyes off her long legs and her perfectly round little butt. The sight of her red thong provides a beautiful contrast with her tanned skin. Then she takes her things and walks past me to the bathroom. As she walks, I see how her breasts are trapped in a red lace bra. I already knew they were big, but wow, that's definitely a D-cup. It is very difficult not to look at the soft shaking of her curves. My penis starts to fill up immediately. What kind of torment am I inflicting on myself, I wonder.

Fortunately, she stays in the bathroom for more than twenty minutes. No idea what she does in there for so long. Fortunately, I've cooled down a bit in the meantime. When I hear the bathroom door open again, I can't help but look. Martha enters the room in a purple satin pajama set. Her top comes halfway down her belly and shows a bit of cleavage. I can even see two hard nipples pressing through the top. From the number of straps on her shoulder, I can tell that she isn't wearing a bra underneath. Probably far too conspicuously, I look at her now freely moving breasts before I can tear my gaze away and look down. Her shorts hang loosely around her legs and backside. She looks spectacularly good in everything. I look up, straight into her green-gray eyes. In her eyes, I see a mischievous glint; she has caught me. "You shouldn't look so embarrassed, I'm used to it," she says. "Yes, but still, you are more than your appearance," I reply to her. I can tell from her reaction that she didn't expect that. It is clear that men only look at her body and not her personality. She comes over to me and wraps her arms around me. "Thank you, I needed to hear that," she says. While she stands like that, I feel her breasts pushing against my body. They feel so amazing!

Before she lets go of the hug, she gives me a kiss on the cheek. She looks at me gratefully. Fortunately, our hug didn't last so long that I need to hide a big tent in my pants. "Then I might as well go wash up myself," I say.

Once in the bathroom, I first take off my clothes and then stand under the shower. At the slightest touch of my penis, it comes to life. Next week is going to be torture. Being with an attractive woman, without the ability to help myself. Once my above-average cock is fully erect, I can't help but let my fist go up and down a few times. I have to sigh for a moment, what a blissful feeling. Before I lose my mind, I turn off the shower. Who knows what she thinks if I stay under it for too long? After I have dried myself off, I put my boxers back on and enter the room. "Sorry, I forgot to put on a T-shirt," I say as I walk over to my suitcase. I see Martha also briefly appraising my body. My broad shoulders and slight six-pack are just to her liking. I put on the shirt and lie down on the bed.

We are still busy on our phones for a bit and then say goodnight to each other. I can't help but let my eyes glide over her body first. I already know what I'm going to dream about tonight.