Stand in - Revenge

Just a recap in case you don't know the story. Jess, a society woman from a very rich family came to my workshop some five years ago expressly to fulfil the old female fantasy of being fucked by a mechanic to pay her bills. Turns out she enjoyed my attentions and we had a short and very decadent relationship, which resulted in her falling pregnant, something her husband had been unable to do. I have never been sure whether she intended falling pregnant or if it was just a bonus linked to our affair. What ever it was, she disappeared completely from my life and bore me a son which she did not tell me about. Losing contact with her affected me more that it should have. In my rage I tore into a painting that I had been fiddling about with for ages and created what has since been called by a critic "a masterpiece of emotion" (not my words, but horribly accurate). Jess' mother found the painting for sale in a backwater art gallery, liked it a lot and bought it only figuring out afterwards that I was the artist and father of her grandson. I was summoned to repeat the breeding function and was paid handsomely for my efforts.

And now on with the story.

The payment for my stud services caused my accountant a bit of a headache. I remember with some amusement when she phoned to ask where the money to pay off my bank debt had come from. Being an honest person I told her.

"Mary Jones. She has a daughter. Jessica."

"I read the society websites. I know this." Beatrice sounds confused. "So what?"

"I knocked Jess up. Twice. And Mary paid me for my services."

Dead silence on the phone. The sort of silence only women can produce. It is always kinda terrifying.

Then:

"Fuck. Lucky bitch."

Now I have always treated Beatrice with utmost respect. We have a business relationship only, especially as I scarcely ever see her. Most of our interactions are via the phone so this reaction comes as a complete surprise but I am wise enough not to comment.

Beatrice takes a deep breath, then says:

"Leave this with me."

I never hear anything more about the issue. I do buy Beatrice dinner, but I do not make any passes. We do have a business relationship after all.

So, about a year after I had impregnated Jess again, Alice tells me that Beth Simmons, Jess' married sister has requested an appointment with me.

"Late afternoon. She says Mary is sending her and she wants to see any more paintings you have done." says Alice looking suspicious. "You know anything about this?"

"I know nothing about it so I am as confused as you are."

I get this terrible feeling that Alice does not believe me but we set up a meeting in a week's time to give me a chance to sort out the paintings I have in my studio and do a general clean up. Since my bank debt was paid off I have the time and resources to do a lot more art than previously so there are a lot of paintings, a number of which record graphically my state of mind since my last night with Jess. I was not a happy person and it shows. Actually, I am still not particularly happy about Jess and my two children that I may not visit. I refer to paintings done with Jess and my children in mind as my black paintings, much like Goya's black paintings. My black paintings are the sole reason Alice is reluctant to go into my studio which is tucked away at the back of my workshop.

"Get over her." is a constant refrain from Alice. I am working on that. Not too hard though. The emotional content of my black paintings make them popular and I have sold more than a couple for good prices. I am not sure why anyone would want those paintings on their walls but there is no accounting for taste I suppose.

An hour before the meeting, Alice braves the studio to check up on my tidying which is always a bit spotty but the studio is reasonably tidy. She is just about to leave when she spots the painting right at the back of the studio. She stands and stares at the full length painting, then:

"She is not going to like that."

I shrug, "It is possibly true though."

Alice grins, "You are both a beast and definitely all right in my opinion. I will go press buttons as needful." and then she leaves me with my paintings of pain and anger.

Beth arrives on time, led into my workshop by Alice who has a completely evil grin on her face.

"Mrs Simmons." Alice looks at me. "I will hold the fort till closing time. You know where to find me after that." and leaves us together.

Beth is a beautiful woman, not as beautiful as Jess, but still desirable. A bit softer and rounder than Jess who is more athletic. Beth has a small pair of breasts, long legs that seem to go on forever and a soft sensual mouth that makes me immediately think of oral sex. A hardness in her eyes and a rigidity of body reminds me I am in the presence of Mary's daughter not the more sensual, sexy Jess. Beth is dressed in casual, sexy high fashion consisting of a pair of jeans that are ripped almost up to the crotch with no belt holding the tatters in place. High heels and a blouse that meets nowhere between throat and her waist complete the ensemble. Tan lines where she had worn a bikini top draw attention to the shape of her breasts. Dressed for a business meeting she is not. Dressed to trespass on her sister's territory she definitely is. And I ask you seriously, who am I to give a shit?

"The studio is far more private than the workshop." I look across to Fred my assistant. "Go home Fred. See you tomorrow." He grins lasciviously and starts to pack up.

Fred is a wonderful acquisition. Not only is he a competent mechanic, but he is also a techy who understands computers and the ultra modern fancy tech that keeps modern motor vehicles going.

A real find.

"Thanx Dave. I will check in on Alice on my way out."

He has the hots for Alice but unless I am very much mistaken he is not going to get anywhere, because Alice has her position in the business firmly in her grasp. Also I think she enjoys easy access to my cock when things get quiet on her side. We make a good team but I would not trust her to be a good wife and mother. I know for certain she fucks "cute" customers on a regular basis. Put it another way she is probably as promiscuous as I am and so we naturally understand one other.

I usher Beth into the studio which smells of turpentine and paint. The paintings are arranged so that lights, erected by Fred illuminate them effectively. Beth stops at the first painting, takes in a deep breath, sighs and then presses up against me, sliding her breast against my arm. I slide a hand around her back, feel her back bone and then run my hand downwards, grasping then gently slapping her buttocks.

"Business first." I murmur.

Beth moves on, pausing at each painting, till we get to to the last painting. She gasps softly, puts her hand up to her mouth and then presses herself against me.

"Well?" I ask. "Is it true? Your fantasy?"

"No! NO! But it is so very sexy."

I slide in behind her, run my hand up inside her blouse until I find her small breast with its hardened nipple. I have always found small breasts are far more sensitive than bigger breasts. Dunno, my sample of small breasts has been far too small to really make a good survey so it could be the other way. Doesn't matter though. Beth's nipple is hard and bigger than I expected. I long to get my mouth on it but I do want to make her mimic the painting so I loosen the waist button of her tattered jeans and start to push the jeans down.

"You mustn't do that. Please. Jess! Please, this so bad." she moans gently as I run my lips down her neck onto her shoulder. A gentle bite breaks her resistance, and her hand is on my zip, pulling the zip downwards, pulling my cock free.

"Oh, fuck. You are huge. Just like..." she stops talking.

"Just like you saw in the videos of Jess and me in that fancy bedroom? I saw the cameras and I knew we were being recorded. Did that turn you on? Did you masturbate to the images?"

She doesn't answer, she just whimpers, bending forward, hands on the easel. The painting of me fucking her from behind directly in front of her. With a firm grip on her hips I push into her, all the way.

"Oh, God. You bastard. Oh, fuck. You are so bad."

"No. You came here to be fucked." I thrust into her, hard.

"No." whimpers.

"Jealous? Can I handle that cock like Jess did?"

"No. I didn't. "

"Yes, you did. You came here to be fucked. You knew what I was going to do. You wanted it to happen."

Each sentence emphasized with a thrust of my cock.

"Yes. Yes. YES. I wanted your cock. Jess always gets what I want. I am going to cum. Oh, fuck. No. Don't stop. Please, don't stop!"

I pull out, rub my cock against her clit and she moans, "Please. Please. Do it now!"

I slam back into her, her back arches, "Oh, Fuck! Yessss!" and she spasms cumming hard against me. I pull out without cumming and slide my cock into her arse and pump hot cum into her arse. I pull out slowly causing her to shudder. Once I am out of her I lift her up against my chest and whisper.

"Same time next week. Fit a butt plug before you come."

"Bastard!"

"Yes. And you will say nice things to Mary about me and my paintings won't you? I would hate for her and Jess to hear of what you have just done wouldn't you?"

She gathers her composure, gets dressed and leaves not before kissing me, open mouthed, tongue probing my mouth, her hand rubbing my still semi erect cock.

I watch her drive away and head for the office where Alice and Fred are watching a video replay of Beth and I fucking in the studio. I did tell you Fred was a techy didn't I? He fitted my studio with cameras and set the lights to get the best lighting. How did we know the lighting was right? Alice and I did a dress (or undress) rehearsal the day before.

A few weeks later the curator of a large fashionable gallery arrived on my doorstep, walked through gallery looking at paintings and murmuring appreciatively.

"Lovely work. We can definitely do business. Just one question. There is an easel but no painting, there at the back. What happened to it?"

"Sold I am afraid. I will fill its place soon."

"Who bought it? Possibly we could get a better price for it."

"Mary Jones. She was very taken with it."

"Mrs Jones is a very good friend and customer so I know she will not part with it."

After that visit I was given a separate room in that high class gallery for my paintings. The paintings are priced at obscene levels and are selling well. Most of the black emotion paintings are gone and I am working on more. Gotta keep the ghouls, sorry customers happy don't I? No accounting for taste I suppose.

‐-------

The sun warms my back as I sit on a bench and look out over Walker bay. A whale cruises idly by, rising to the surface and blowing occasionally. It isn't doing any of the promised actions like breaching or sounding that the information boards have promised. It is Saturday after all and nothing, and no one does anything energetic on such a peaceful, calm day. Not even whales.

We are in Hermanus for the Art Fair where everyone who is anyone in the art world exhibits art and the buyers flock in to try to get good prices. The prices are not low and a surge in sales doesn't happen but it is beautiful here so it is worth the drive.

A tour bus stops behind me, disgorging a gaggle of tourists who crowd onto the lookout point where I am sitting, eventually obscuring my view of the whale and the bay. A young couple stop directly in front of me and he slides his arm romantically around her waist. She leans up against him which just encourages him to slide his hand down and grab a handful of her rather curvaceous bum which seems to prompt her to push her face into his neck. She glances back at me obviously aware of my gaze and whispers something to him. He smiles and kisses her, then slides his hand inside her loose fitting trousers and slowly slides his hand downwards, the shape of his fingers disappearing into the crack between her bum cheeks which causes her to arch her back. The slow regular movement of his hand causes her to press harder against him, her head pressed into his neck. The tour group, losing interest in the non performing whale start going back to the bus. The couple in front of me leave last with her giving me a mischievous smile as they leave. I am left with my view of Walker Bay and the soporific whale which pleases me. I shift slightly making allowance for the incipient erection in my pants caused by the couple's exhibitionism and I idly wonder if Alice will let me fuck her tonight. She probably will, as we are out of town and being far from home she won't have had time to find a lover at such short notice.

"She's arrived. You'd better come talk to her." Alice has been standing in for me at the gallery while I took time off to "be creative".

"Mary, mother of Jess?"

"Yes. She sent me to find you. Said she would "mind the shop" for us. Arrogant bitch."

The last said with little or no heat. Mary is one of our best customers so we treat her with careful respect. And she did start my unexpectedly successful artistic career as well so there is much to be grateful for. I still repair motor vehicles but painting is now my main occupation. A close friend once remarked that I had changed from being a Sunday painter to a Sunday mechanic. Alice having a sharp, avaricious mind and a keen business sense had adapted from being a mechanics secretary to being an artist's manager without much problem. And also filled the post of "the artist's moll" as she puts it, probably to keep other women's hands off my cock. The arrangement suits both of us. I don't have to worry about the business side and Alice gets to pocket a tidy salary.

"You really should fuck Mary. She has the hots for you and it will give us a bit more leverage." Alice murmurs as we get to the gallery.

"She's the grandmother of my children."

"Whom you are not allowed to see."

A sore point for me but we are now in earshot of Mary so the conversation dies inconclusively.

"Alice my dear?" Mary's voice positively oozes with charm and command "Go for a walk. Take lunch. Dave and I need to to talk business. Oh, and put up a "Closed for Lunch" sign. Please."

The please is a massive after thought but Alice smiles politely and leaves, shutting the door a bit more firmly than required and the "Closed for Lunch" sign rattles against the door.

"Jess says you are magnificently equipped." She reaches for my fly, pulling the zip down and reaches in, extracting my cock.

"Not bad. Not bad at all."

The gloating tone grates against me and without thinking I grab her hair.

"Bad girl! Down! Suck my cock."

To my utter surprise that is exactly what she does, taking my full length into her throat with slow deliberation. She takes my balls in her hand and squeezes gently. I start to pull back to thrust into her but the grip on my balls tightens dramatically and suddenly there are teeth on my cock. I stop dead. Well wouldn't you? She spits my cock out.

"That might work with that slut Jessica, but not with me. Behave like the good, experienced and considerate lover that Jessica says you are. And of course what I saw in the video. Such a romantic fellow. Smooth too, whispering "With gentleness, with respect and with love. Come to bed, let's make love, not fuck." The "I love you." really rounded the job off didn't it. Impressive."

My words to Jess that night after the unveiling party, said with sincerity now being repeated mockingly turned my stomach.

"Oh, yes! Don't look so sad. It worked a treat. One good night's pounding and she was pregnant again. I must admit I was a bit concerned when you wasted good seed in her mouth. And in her arse for that matter. But she did rather enjoy being fucked in the arse didn't she? Got all potty mouthed towards the end. I must admit I do watch the sodomy scene regularly. With the sound on of course. "Oh! Oh! Fuck! Oh fuck. Fuck my arse. Harder, fuck you. Harder!" I love the look on her face as she comes doing something she has consistently refused to allow her weedy husband to do. Oh, yes I must confess to being an inveterate voyeur."

Horrifyingly she has Jess' voice perfectly copied. It turns my stomach. Now, I am in a bad place. Mary is a very generous customer. A patron you might call her. My painting career is as successful as it is because of her unfailing support and promotion but her nasty, mocking attitude to Jess, Alice and myself makes me want to vomit. I take a deep breath and smile. "Maybe we can meet later this evening in a more comfortable setting where I can service your needs more effectively?"

She stands up still gripping my cock, looks at it, smiles and gives it a firm squeeze.

"I think that is an excellent suggestion. Come to my hotel at 10;30 sharp this evening."

I won't describe that night's frivolities except to note that I edged her so effectively that she was begging for my cock at one stage and then eventually whimpering that she couldn't come again, "Pleas stop". A minor bit of vengeance but revenge none the less.

-----

The next visitor to my workshop was Rhino Jones. A hard headed business man and rumoured local gang boss. Gossip speaks of drugs, protection rackets and money laundering. I haven't ever repaired a vehicle for him, but I know him by sight.

"Dave, Dave! Good to meet you at last. Been hearing good things about your repair shop and your paintings. You are becoming the talk of the town!"

Not a good start to the conversation but I smile and shake his hand. "Welcome Mr. Jones. How can I help you?"

"You have somewhere private to talk?"

"My studio is relatively private. Fred! You might as well knock off now. Finish that job tomorrow."

Fred waves and heads out the door.

Rhino looks inside, nods and ushers me into my studio and closes the door.

"You know John Reynolds?"

I nod. John is a serious artist. Been around for years.

"He's been doing some painting for me recently, but he has arthritis and has pretty much stopped painting and I was wondering if you could complete a commission he started for me but cannot finish. Due the arthritis you know."

At this point he extracts a painting from the folio he's been carrying. I take it from his hands and put it on the empty easel where Beth's painting had been and switch on the light. It is an incomplete copy of a German Expressionist painting after Kirchner. Beautifully executed. Not one of Kirchner's works that I recognise.

"John is really good, but I didn't know he did copies of of old masters."

"A favour to me. My daughter likes the style but John can't finish it and my daughter will be so disappointed. Could you finish it? I will pay you well."

"Sure. Won't be too difficult."

"It must be indistinguishable from an original. Same paint, everything. And completely confidential of course. But then I am told you are very discreet."

A tiny bell rings in my head. This sounds dodgy

"Of course! John started in that way so I will finish it so."

We negotiate a price and he leaves looking pleased. The fake Kirchner still on the easel.

I go to the office and find Alice and Fred sitting at the terminal.

"You get all that?"

Fred doesn't answer, just clicks a button and the video starts from a few seconds after I put the painting on the easel.

"Is he going into art forgery now?"

"Not sure Alice. My guess is money laundering. He sells a forgery to a crooked dealer and the dealer pays with with dirty money. The painting is never checked by an expert but it is available if the authorities get curious. The chances of the authorities doing a deep check of the painting is slight."

"You going to do it?"

"Don't see why not while we have that recording. Fred please put that recording onto a flash drive and wipe it off the hard here. You keep it safe for us."