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.
