My Loving Family

Synopsis: Peter was invited to dinner at Mr. Bose's home, where he was seduced by Bose and his "trophy" wife. Remember, Peter still does not know how Sarah earns her "extra" money.

Part III -- Our Story

Chapter Ten

Frankly, I was very embarrassed the next morning when Ian and I met in Mr. Bose's office. I could scarcely bring myself to look Mr. Bose in the face after the events of the previous evening, although I saw nothing in his demeanor to suggest that anything out of the ordinary had occurred.

I remember wondering if the man was made of stone, but then realizing that a person equipped emotionally for a full partnership in a dynamic factoring firm like Bose, Rothchild had to have a certain amount of ice water in his veins.

The morning seemed to drag on and on. I was watching the clock on the wall, urging the hands to move more quickly so I'd be able to meet my noon appointment to call Sarah and confirm our date for that evening.

I'm afraid that with the memory of Roscoe's warm mouth on my straining cock, and my eager anticipation of the evening to come with Sarah, I wasn't entirely focused on the direction the conversation was taking. Indeed, Ian had to repeat himself twice before his question sank in. "What's your estimate of the distance we'd have to lay track from the mine to the nearest railroad trunk line?"

I knew that we were some 20 miles from the nearest train station, but that was by a rather circuitous road. I could only guess. "It would depend on the route your engineers chose, but my guess is that it would be between 15 and 18 miles."

Ian had several additional questions of a general nature. I tried to be careful with my answers; I didn't want to make the project sound too difficult or too expensive; yet at the same time, neither did I want to construct a verbal house of cards that would collapse at the first disappointment his principals encountered. Therefore, I answered his questions slowly and deliberately.

Time seemed to speed up, and I was surprised when Mr. Bose stood. "Well, gentlemen, I think it's about time we broke for lunch. I can highly recommend Murphy's across the street. Suppose we meet back here at, say, two o'clock.

Ian and I knew we had been dismissed, so we took the elevator downstairs, and made our way across the street. The regular noon hour rush was largely over, so we were readily seated. I excused myself and made my way to the bank of telephones I had seen in the restaurant's vestibule while Ian went to the men's room.

Cursing my trembling finger and the cold weight that settled in my stomach the moment I lifted the received from its hook, I dialed Sarah's number, praying she hadn't given up on me.

"Hello?"

"Uh, is this Sarah?"

"Is that you, Pete?"

At least she recognized my voice. Feeling better, I asked, "Are we on for tonight?"

"I'm so sorry, Pete, but the prior engagement I told you about yesterday has materialized. But I'm open tomorrow, dear. I hope you're not too disappointed. I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow. Is that OK?"

What choice did I have? "I'm disappointed, all right," I said, "Because I'll be catching the train tomorrow back to Ft. Resolution."

"Oh, Pete, now I'm the one who's disappointed! I'm so sorry. But there's always a next time. . ."

I made no effort to conceal my disappointment. "I guess so," I said despondently. "Whenever that is . . ."

"Please, Pete, don't make it any worse than it already is. We'll get together next time . . .I promise!"

Slightly cheered by the strength and conviction in her voice, I said, "I'll be counting the days."

"So will I, sweetheart."

We hung up and I made my doleful way back to our table where Ian was waiting for me. "Why the long face, cobber?" he asked.

I told him I had thought I had a date lined up for the evening, but that it had fallen through. He shook his head, commiserating with me. "Ah, women," he said philosophically, "We can't live with them, and we can't live without 'em!"

Ian proved to be just the medicine I needed. He had a rich repertoire of stories about joeys and wallabys and great white sharks and the people who live in Australia -- Austrilia was the way he pronounced it -- so by the time we had to leave for our appointment with Mr. Bose, we had become good friends.

Just as we were walking through the restaurant vestibule, he stopped and put a hand on my arm. "I just had a great idea," he said. "Why don't I call my date and see if she has a friend?"

My first impulse was to decline. I didn't need anyone's pity. But the thought of a lonely evening in my sterile hotel room quickly caused me to change my mind. "Well, OK, if you think I won't be a wet blanket."

Ian hurried over to the same bank of phones I had used earlier. In less than two minutes he was back, a big, self-satisfied grin on his face. "I got you fixed up, mate. If she's anything like my girl, you'll have your hands full!"

The afternoon session in Mr. Bose's office went quickly. Again, Ian and I left together, this time pausing in a bar on our way back to our hotels where we had a couple of drinks. I tried to get more information about our "dates," but Ian didn't know anything more about the friend than he had already told me. Finally we left the bar and went our separate ways, me to my hotel and he to his. We agreed to meet in the lobby of his hotel -- which, by a stroke of irony turned out to be the hotel where the Boses live -- in an hour's time.

I took a quick shower, shaved, and slapped on some of that aftershave women seem to go for. Then, dressed, I walked up the street to Ian's hotel. Just before entering the lobby, however, it occurred to me that there was a possibility I might run into Cynthia or Mr. Bose. It could be embarrassing if Ian were find us together, so I carefully surveyed the lobby to make sure there were no familiar faces before entering. Then I quickly bought a newspaper to hide behind if necessary, found an empty chair away from the center of activity, and settled down to wait for Ian.

Promptly at 7:30, he strode out of an elevator. Laying the newspaper to one side, I waved to attract his attention. We briefly shook hands and went out to the sidewalk to catch a cab. I had no idea where we were to meet the women, but I wasn't surprised when the cab pulled up in front of Brown's Restaurant.

"We're to meet them in the bar," Ian said. I followed him through the revolving door and into the bar where Sarah and Willa waited.

Sarah hadn't noticed me yet, and I felt the color drain from my face as Ian and Sarah warmly embraced and exchanged the open mouthed kisses of lovers. Willa was standing slightly to one side looking very unhappy as her gaze shifted back and forth between me and the couple enthusiastically exchanging kisses. Then the lovers parted and Sarah saw me.

Her face also paled, but she quickly regained her composure. She held her hands out to me "Well, Pete! This is a surprise! Don't tell me you're Willa's blind date!"

I felt numb, but I managed to smile and nod as I took her small hands in mine. Despite the self-pity I was feeling, I thought I saw something in Sarah's eyes -- perhaps a plea for my understanding?

Ian was standing to one side watching us. "I guess I don't need to make introductions," he said. His remark broke the tension, and we all smiled, although a bit painfully. Willa came into my arms and looked up into my face. "Hi, Pete. Remember me?" she asked quietly.

Just then the maître'd came up to us and tapped Ian on the arm. "Your table is ready, sir." He led the four of us through the busy, noisy dining room into a quiet alcove. Since I was at the end of our little single file group, I had an opportunity to get my mind straight, and even compare the dresses the women wore, and they way they filled them.

Sarah was wearing a dark maroon off-the-shoulder cocktail dress that reached only midway between her knee and hip, giving any onlooker an expanse of shapely feminine leg accented by sheer black hose to admire. The dress was so snug in her waist and hips so that she might as well have been nude as her hips swung in the tantalizing hip swinging walk high heels seem to require.

Willa was a little shorter than Sarah, and seemed to lack some of the other woman's style, but she more than made up for it in a cuddly sort of way. She seemed less self assured than Sarah, almost like a teenager in her prom dress except that the woman in front of me was no teenager. If nothing else, the womanly flare and swing of her hips betrayed a certain maturity not found in youngsters, and the dress she wore was no prom dress, either.

Like Sarah's, it was snug enough so a panty line should have been visible. Her skirt was a bit longer, but her bodice was far more daring. Her plump breasts were exposed almost to the nipple.

The table the maître'd led us to was round and barely large enough for four place settings. A semi circular cushioned seat provided seating for Sarah and Ian, while Willa and I sat on soft cushioned chairs facing them.

The tinted soft light that flooded the room created a romantic aura and softened the women's features. Drinks arrived, and Ian offered a toast to the four of us in whatever adventures lay ahead for us. I was still trying to adjust my thinking to accommodate the new reality that Sarah was not exclusively mine, so I responded with a neutral toast to our joint mining venture.

While we were waiting for our food, the women excused themselves to visit the restroom. After they were our of earshot, Ian said, "Gor blim'y, mate! I never in a thousand years would have guessed that you and Sarah knew each other. Is there something special between you two?"

That was my perfect opening, and I blew it. But instinctively, I thought I wouldn't be doing Sarah any favors by trying to reclaim her, so instead of telling Ian the truth, I shrugged. "We've been out a couple of times; that's all."

Ian looked enormously relieved. "Ah, you had me worried there for a minute, mate." He paused. "She's one hell of a piece of ass, isn't she?"

I had an instant black urge to stand and beat the man to death, but I managed to curb it. Fortunately, the dim lighting served to conceal whatever emotional stress may have been revealed on my face. Gradually, my fists unclenched, and I even managed a curt nod in agreement. But my neck still felt hot and I had to work at forcing a smile. "That she is, mite," I said, mocking his accent.

I was still contemplating murder when I felt soft cool fingers touch the back of my neck, and I caught a whiff of an exciting perfume. I stood while Sarah slid into her place next to Ian, and held Willa's chair for her. Almost immediately, the waiter appeared with a large tray and a waist high folding stand. After placing the tray on the stand, he served our dinner.

Conversation was muted while we slowly ingested the delicious meal. I was swallowing a morsel of steak when I felt something nudge between my knees. Soon a stockinged toe was caressing the front of my trousers. I looked up sharply and gazed into Sarah's pleading eyes while our two companions, oblivious to our silent conversation ate on.

I nodded my understanding to her. She responded by digging her toe even harder into my crotch as if she were expressing her relief and thanking me. Suddenly, I felt Willa's hand on my thigh. I gave Sarah's foot a squeeze between my knees.

She evidently got the message because she quickly withdrew her foot and not a moment too soon because Willa's hand soon replaced it, touching my growing tumescence. She instantly withdrew her hand and leaned over to whisper, "Did I cause that?"

I put my left hand on her thigh, gently squeezing her leg. "What do you think?" I whispered back.

"Hey, you guys. No fair whispering at this table!" Ian was pretending to be upset. Sarah reached up, turned his face toward her, and kissed him. "Let them whisper if they want to," she said. "After all, they have some catching up to do."

I felt a jealous pang at her indirect confirmation of the boast Ian had made while the women were away, but Willa's busy little hand returned to my crotch and began massaging the growing lump in the front of my pants, and the pang disappeared, to be replaced, to my enormous surprise, by a wave of pure lust as I pictured a naked Ian mounted on Sarah, her bare legs wrapped around his waist and his cock deeply embedded in her body.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Revolted, not so much by the image as by my physical reaction to it, I consciously focused on stroking Willa's thigh, gradually inching her skirt higher and higher until I felt the lace band around her stocking top. I was prepared to go further, but we were interrupted by the waiter who poured another round of coffee.

Sarah smiled at me as if we had reached a silent understanding and said to Ian, "Let's go to the Cave. I haven't been there in ages."

I was relieved to see Ian open his wallet and lay his credit card on the dinner check. "Tonight's festivities are courtesy of Cromwell & Perkins, Ltd. of London," he announced, adding, "although I daresay the old boys would be very envious if they could see Pete and me now." We stopped in the cloakroom to retrieve the lady's wraps, stepped out to the curb and hailed a passing taxi. In scant minutes we pulled up in front of the Cave, which was just as crowded as I remembered it. We found a vacant table near the dance floor. Ian went to the bar for our drinks while we three attempted to make embarrassed conversation.

I was still trying to get my head straight. After all, Sarah hadn't told me she was visiting a sick aunt. Of course she hadn't told me she had a date with Ian, either, but why should she? It wasn't as if we were engaged. Actually, it was none of my business what she did or with whom.

I was feeling better about this evening's activities when Ian returned with a waitress to take our orders. Then, wasting no time, he asked Sarah to dance. I deliberately tried not to look in their direction. Despite my rationalizations, I knew how Sarah preferred to dance, and I was certain she found in Ian a willing partner.

I'm sure Willa must have realized what was on my mind, the way she stroked my thigh. It suddenly occurred to me that I was behaving badly. Belatedly, I asked Willa if she'd like to dance.

She shook her head. "I never learned how," she said. Then she explained her religious background. "Although I can't remember any discussion about it, I know my parents would have considered it sinful."

In vain, I told her I was strictly a country dancer -- all enthusiasm but very little skill, and suggested we could learn together.

Willa smiled. "Sounds like fun," she said, "but not here; not in front of all these people." Then she added, "don't you suppose we could find a place quieter than this where we could have a real conversation instead of having to shout over that loud music?"

I had caught only a glimpse of Ian and Sarah dancing, but a glimpse was all I needed to send that cold cannonball into the pit of my stomach again. They couldn't have been more intimately entwined if they were lying in bed! I didn't really think I could handle much more of that without doing or saying something I knew I would bitterly regret. I nodded and smiled. "Sure. There's a quiet bar in my hotel. I could use some fresh air, too."

I left some money on the table. Willa tucked Sarah's purse out of sight on her chair, and we left. Cabs were readily available. As soon as we were settled in one, Willa asked, "Wouldn't you rather come back to the apartment? The girls are at a slumber party."

"Well, sure, if that's all right," I replied.

She gave the driver her address. Then rested her hand on my thigh again. I already had an arm around her shoulders, so it was a simple matter to reach up and turn her head so she was facing me, pull her close, and give her a gentle, kiss on her closed mouth.

I was surprised by her response. She quickly wrapped her arms about my neck and pulled herself against me. Then she returned my kiss, her mouth open and working against mine. I felt the tip of her tongue caress my lips, teasing me by tickling the corners of my mouth, and when I opened my mouth, driving her tongue inside my mouth to dance with my tongue.

We were a wet, slobbery pair when she finally pulled away so she could breathe. "Wow!" "I like you, Pete," she said. "Or maybe I'm a just pushover for guys like you who come from the country. I'm still just a farm girl at heart, myself." Then she placed her hand squarely on the growing lump in my pants.

I responded by sliding my free hand under her skirt, so I was able to tickle bare skin on the inside of her thigh above her stocking top. She clamped her legs tightly shut, trapping my errant hand in place. "I'll give you ten minutes to stop that!" she whispered.

In much less than ten minutes, we drew up in front of her apartment building. I retrieved my hand so I could fish my wallet out and pay the driver. Then we climbed a flight of stairs to her apartment.

"Let me get you a drink," Willa said, as I sank into the sofa. I nodded and looked around the room. Not much had changed since my previous visit -- except the woman who stepped through the kitchen doorway, a brimming glass in her hand. She handed it to me. "I hope it's not too strong."

There was none of the coquettishness Cynthia had displayed when she had leaned forward to give me a glimpse of her bosom. Willa was much more direct.

As she sat next to me, I asked, "Aren't you having a drink, too?"

"I never learned to like the stuff," she said, "besides, having a handsome man sitting beside me is all the stimulation I need." She put her hand on my thigh again.

The drink was almost pure Scotch. Despite its superior tang and flavor, it nevertheless burned as it slid down my throat. I coughed, and tears came to my eyes.

"Oh, dear," Willa said. "It is too strong. Let me put some more water in it."

I felt my cheeks flush as the alcohol took hold. The anxiety I had felt watching Sarah and Ian faded, and really for the first time, I saw Willa as the very desirable woman she really was. Willa stood. "Let me put some more water in it," she insisted.

I handed her the glass and sat back, trying to envision what she might look like naked. At the same time, another part of my brain was trying to tell me that if we had sex, it might very well mean the end of anything romantic developing between Sarah and me. I certainly didn't want to risk that, but . . .

My thought processes were interrupted when Willa floated back into the room. Instead of her dress, she was wearing a diaphanous wrap. Even though the front of her body appeared to be shielded by two layers of the gauzy fabric, her nipples and surrounding areola were clearly visible, as was the dark mat of pubic hair covering her mons. I must have gawked like a schoolboy because when she saw my reaction, she smiled. "Now I really feel like a cocktail waitress," she said as she handed me my glass and sat on the sofa facing me with one leg folded beneath her.

She leaned forward. I put the glass down and I gathered her into my arms. This time, as we kissed, she met my open mouth with hers. I sucked on her lower lip, and then slid my tongue into her mouth, caressing her tongue and her inner mouth. She pushed her chest against me, and began to explore the outline of my rapidly stiffening cock through my trousers with her free hand.

I pushed her back on the sofa so I could lean forward and delicately touch the end of her engorged nipple through the wrap she was wearing with the moist tip of my extended tongue. She shivered, and I felt goosebumps rising on her arms. "That tickles," she said. Then, "Let me up. I know where we'll be more comfortable."