I was on top of the world. Finished my MBA work, got a job offer, and had a date with an extremely hot chick. Her name was Christy, and I met her at the Jester Club last week: we'd hung out there two nights, closed the place down both times and talked for two hours over coffee afterward, and tonight was the Third Date. This guy was going to get laid for the first time in two years, someone who could be the one I'd make my trophy wife. Knockout looks and sharp as a whip, funny, sentimental, crazy and down to earth she was. Life is good.
I just put on my tie, was taking this lady to a classy restaurant I was planning to pay off with my first expense account, when I got a text from her: Get here early so you can meet Mother.
Mother turned out to be Constance Connors, owner and CEO of a corporation rich enough to get a guest room at a Republican White House. I'd just read an article about her in the Wall Street Journal, and got a little nervous: she was ruthless and direct, had no problem with calling things as she saw them, and she usually saw them accurately. A quick visit to her corporate website confirmed everything I thought. It was an outfit I'd love to work for, but they never hired apprentices or took on interns, you had to have a great track record before they'd let you work for them. Even Christy had to prove herself with another outfit before her mother would employ her.
My GPS took me to the address Christy gave me, and it turned out to be a large, split level house with a two car garage in a upper middle class neighborhood. All right, they didn't believe in show or a gaudy lifestyle. The driveway had a basketball goal, and small, well trimmed shrubs. It looked like the home my bricklayer father and accountant mother raised me in. A sign warned me it was protected by a first class surveillance company. I strolled around the walk to the front door and rang the doorbell. A woman in her mid 40s, wearing a white blouse, brown skirt, flesh colored hose, brown shoes and minimal makeup answered: "Yes? Are you Kevin?"
"Yes, Ma'am. I'm here to see Ms. Connors." I assumed this was the housekeeper; she was rather attractive with brown eyes, high cheekbones, full lips and long brunette hair tied back in a flowing ponytail,; she filled her blouse out nicely. Her manner was very assured, someone who was in charge things, someone who got things done.
"I'm Constance Connors. It's a pleasure to meet you, Kevin." She extended her hand and gave me a firm handshake. "Please come in." A slight smile revealed a pair of dimples, which I have a weakness for.
The house was laid out similar to a lot of suburban homes: a large dining room on the left of the entrance went from front to back and a sliding door led to a back patio, the kitchen seemed straight ahead, the stairs on the right led up to the half story where the bedrooms were, and a doorway underneath obviously led down to a family room. "This way, Kevin," she said, leading me down the stairs.
The level below was a combination family room and office that featured several large bookshelves, a large LED TV, a U shaped desk that held a Mac Pro laptop with a printer beside it, and a couch that could face either the work area or the rec area. "This is a nice house, Ms. Connors. Reminds me of the house I grew up in."
"Yes, I don't believe in extravagance even though I afford it. I grew up in a house like this, too, and this is comfortable. May I get you something to drink?"
"Iced tea would be nice if you have it, water otherwise." I felt like a beer or a scotch, but that could wait. This lady was dangerous and I needed my wits about me.
"Good choice, I think I like you already." She went over to a bar and ducked down to produce a tea pitcher from a small refrigerator. "Did I see you in a Camry just now?"
"Yeah, it's a good sensible car."
She nodded as she pour the tea. "I have one, too. Detroit still has a long way to go before they get my trust again. Besides, who really needs an SUV? If I need a load hauled, I rent a serious load hauler. Do you take sweetener?"
"No, thanks. I'd say I'm sweet enough already, but I don't want to push things."
A soft chuckle came from her and a small smile. "Good." She handed me the glass and poured one for herself.
"Tell me, Ms. Connors, where is your office? I know your headquarters is in this suburb, so I guess it's not far away."
She pointed to the desk as she sat at the other end of the couch from me. "Right here, Kevin. I gave up my office ten years ago, no need for it any more. I'm in touch with all my people through Skype, and if we need to meet in person, I book a private room at one of four restaurants I trust and we have a nice meal with our business. There's a resort by the Lake I use if we need to meet for more than an hour, and we do our person-to-person in the flesh team building there twice a year. A lot less expensive than to be a huge office building that needs a staff just to run it. My people all work from home, and I trust them because they've all proved themselves to me."
"Wow, that's amazing. How about your shipping?"
"Oh, we have a series of warehouses, of course. I can keep track of them easily from here, and I'll pop in unannounced often enough to keep them on their toes. And I make sure the auditors I hire are the best in the business."
There was a lower level patio door that looked out under the porch to a small swimming pool and a large vegetable garden. It was tough to believe that a multi-national business was run from here, but she did it. "I'm impressed by your operation. But it seems unnecessary to dress up as nicely as you do; you could run this corporation in your pajamas and bunny slippers if you wanted to. I would be tempted."
"Oh, I guess you're right. I like to look nice because I do want to see other's faces on Skype and that means showing them mine. That means I have to be presentable, because looks still matter in business. I also find that dressing professionally puts me in the right frame of mind during working hours or when doing business in other time zones. There's times I wear bunny slippers and a beat up bathrobe, as Christy could tell you."
"Well, you look lovely and your house is lovely as well. Whoever takes care of your house does a fine job."
"Thanks, Kevin. Christy and I do everything ourselves. It's stress relief and we enjoy cooking, cleaning, yard care and gardening. Now, Kevin, I've done a little research and I'm interested in where you're going with your life. You've taken a job with Mike Zimmerman, from what I understand."
I blinked and took a sip of my tea: here it comes. "Yes, I'm happy Mr. Zimmerman offered me such a fine job, and I look forward to working for him. His company is doing some very interesting things I hope to be part of."
"Yes, he's also good at developing young talent. I do a lot of business with Mike, and if he's hiring you, you must have a lot of potential. Your exam scores are top notch, and I look forward to reading your Master's project. I'm also impressed you went to Stanford and finished in the upper 10% there. You like baseball, fresh water fishing, poker and traveling. You do well enough at poker to do better than break even, and Phil Hellmuth suggested you could join the tour anytime. Anything I've missed?"
Damn, she's too good, I thought. "No, that pretty much covers it. I know traveling must seem a bit extravagant, but. . ."
"Oh, no, Kevin." She cutting in, shaking her head. "Nothing wrong with seeing the world, if that's what you want to do for fun, as long as you aren't cruising the gutters. Do you speak any other languages beside English?"
"I can get by in Spanish and French."
"That should cover you almost anywhere you would go." She pulled her legs up underneath her, leaving her shoes on the floor, and put her drink on the end table. "Now, I need to make a few things clear about my daughter."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Christy is the most important thing in my life, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for her, short of protecting her from a murder charge if she killed someone. I was a wild child until she came along, so it's just been the two of us her entire life. There is nothing I wouldn't do to protect her, either. She will not be like me: pregnant, alone and working three jobs to make ends meet. I will not permit anyone to take advantage of her, understood?"
"Yes, Ma'am. My intentions are nothing but honorable."
A sly smile creased her lips. "That's an old line, and easily said. You have probably figured out by now that I know a lot about you, and have influence that can work to your betterment or detriment."
"Yes, Ma'am. I know." She could call Mike Zimmerman and get me fired tonight, if she wanted. I already had plans for the evening, and a good idea how to keep her from finding out what was going to happen. John LeCarre couldn't set up my plans any better.
"Perhaps the most important thing I need to know is if you masturbated before you came over there this afternoon."
I shook my head: this was starting to sound like a porn video. Her manner was calm and measured, she'd asked me in a matter of fact way that could have inquired what I had for lunch or what the weather forecast was. "No, Ma'am. I've had a busy day and it never crossed my mind."
A sly smile formed on her lips and she shook her head, doubting me. "But I'm sure my daughter crossed your mind several times. No matter, I know what young men are like, and if I didn't approve of you going out with her, you wouldn't be here now. However, I know this is the Third Date, and I know the expectations of such an encounter. So I will not let you go without releasing the pressure."
"What do you mean by that?" I must have started shaking because the ice cubes in my glass started to rattle.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. Stand up and come over here." I did so, and when I approached, she undid my belt and unzipped my fly. "I'm going to release your libido now so my daughter will not be victimized by it later. You can have sex with her when you marry her, not before. But I'm not inhuman, and won't let you suffer from blue balls. Quite the opposite, your little buddy's just going to have his good time a bit sooner than expected." Pulling my pants down a little, she exposed my briefs and fished out my pecker. "Maybe I shouldn't call him your little buddy," she observed, examining my package carefully.
"I don't know what to say." It's tough to know what to say what a dazzling looking woman is holding your cock and has a calm purpose to make it happy.
A smile and dimples shone briefly before she go serious. "Don't say anything. You can thank me later." Her fingers traced the length of my member and swirled underneath to tickle my nuts. It started to stiffen, and she took a deep breath. "How nice, haven't seen anything this big for a while." She spat on it and used the saliva to lubricate the skin as she stroked it.
I wasn't worried about her ruining my plans for later, but I was interested to see how far she'd go. "Your hands are so soft, it's like being touched by an artist."
There was a sparkle in her blue eyes, and her lips pursed. "Oooh, nice. One point for you, flatterer. One more and I may give you something special."
"What more can I say? I never expected anything like this from such a lovely lady who can choose any company she wants at any time."
