Young Stud Meets The Ceos Wife

"Tate!"

"Tate! Wake up, we have to go!"

As his parents' shouts reverberated up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom, Tate Armstrong rolled over in bed and lifted his phone off the nightstand. It was 6:45.

"Shit."

The big Christmas party that the CEO of his dad's company was throwing started at 7. They were going to be late and he was going to hear it from his parents.

Tate scrambled out of bed and hurried into his bathroom to relieve himself and freshen up. He clicked on the lights and blinked a few times before his eyes adjusted to the brightness. Glancing at the mirror, Tate ran his hand through his hair and examined his 6'3 190lbs body. Years of swim practice had done their work. He was chiseled from head to toe. Thanks to punishing swim practices and workout routines alongside a highly regimented diet, Tate had almost no body fat. His muscular traps created a sharp line from the base of his neck to his round and thick shoulders while his biceps were defined and veiny. His triceps looked like bricks which in turn made his arms as a whole look as big as tree trunks.

It was Tate's chest that was his money-maker though. His pectorals were huge. They were not just chiseled and muscular, but incredibly wide. Even before he had dipped his foot in a pool, people had commented on what a wide torso and chest he had as a kid. Good genes were sculpted by years of practice at the butterfly stroke. Now at the age of 21, he was the national favorite to be the collegiate butterfly stroke champion and was expected to make the Olympic team for the first time.

Tate occasionally wondered which part of him girls focused on first when they saw him. While his chest won him accolades in the pool, Tate was convinced that it was his eyes and hair that won him the attention of sorority girls across the University of California, Berkeley campus. His eyes were crystal blue. His hair was luscious, with natural volume and soft curls. He hated keeping it so short all the time for swimming. The one time he had been injured during his sophomore year he'd grown it out so that it flowed all the way to his shoulders. He had never gotten more pussy in his life than during those few weeks.

"Tate, come on we have to go!"

His mom's voice cut through Tate's self-satisfied reverie.

"Coming! Hang on!"

He sprayed some cologne on, splashed water on his face, and rushed over to his closet where he threw on a black, dark blue, and grey checkered dress shirt and some light chino pants, and then dashed downstairs.

"I'm ready! I'm ready."

His dad, Jonathan, who was nearly but not quite as tall as Tate, gave a look of ironic bemusement while his mom, Stacy, began to read him the riot act.

"You know it's a new CEO this year and your father is up for a promotion. And now we're going to be late to their Christmas party? Come on Tate you are better than this. You are up at 4am for swim practice every day and can't be bothered to wake up at 6:30 in the evening to get to a party on time."

"I'm sorry mom," Tate said suavely, throwing a knowing look to his dad in the process. "It has been nice to catch up on sleep for a few days here at home before we head out for winter training in Puerto Rico. I just lost track of time. Please forgive me."

His mom's face softened.

"Ok, ok...get in the car you airhead, let's go."

Tate had gotten his eyes and hair from his mother, but he'd also gotten her intensity and competitive drive. She was the girls' basketball coach at the local high school and was notorious for how harsh she was on players. But her harshness was directed to good effect. The team had won state championships 2 of the last 4 years and was a perennial contender. His mother was widely regarded as the best girls' basketball coach in the entire region.

Saying that his mom was the best girls' basketball coach in the region didn't mean that much, though. The Armstrong's lived in a relatively quiet suburb in Kansas and their high school was small. Until Tate had arrived and made the swimming team competitive, girls' basketball was the only sport that they seriously competed in. Most of the graduating class had gone to local state schools or the community college. Tate was only one of 2 students in his graduating class of 100 that went out of state for college.

After he left for college, Tate didn't say close with his high school friends. That was why he never really cared about having a winter break cut short by swim training. Each year the team would get flown out to a tropical locale to have two weeks of backbreaking two-a-day practices to prepare for the final push to the NCAA finals in the spring. But his hometown was quiet and unchanged. The girls were nothing compared to those he met in California, not to mention the fact that he had already slept with the attractive ones during high school.

Tate was daydreaming about a few of those girls on the short car ride over to the CEO's house. The festive Christmas light displays that adorned the suburban McMansions cast an ethereal glow over Tate as he sat in the back seat of their family's Toyota Camry. His best and most frequent high school hookup was Jessica Cressick. Jessica was a prim and proper rich girl whose house was in the same neighborhood as this new CEO. And yet on the weekends when she got away from her parents, Jessica was the most fun party girl at school. She rode dick like she was at a rodeo. Tate fondly remembered the first time they'd hooked up. Jessica's parents were away and she had hosted a party in their mansion. But Jessica missed most of the party because she had been upstairs getting plowed by Tate in her parents' bed. Tate smiled at the thought and sent her a text asking if she was back in town between now and New Year's.

Before he got a reply from Jessica, the Armstrongs' arrived at the new CEO's house. It was massive even by the ridiculous standards of suburban McMansions. Most of the street was flooded with cars and so they had to park far away.

"See what you did to us by sleeping in, Tate?" his mom said, half-angry and half-joking.

"Yeah mom, I just wanted to make sure we all got our steps in today!"

Tate's mom and dad laughed despite themselves and the family continued in a happy group up to the door.

"So is this new CEO cool, dad?"

"Yeah, he's alright. To be honest, I think they just brought him in because he's a big name that will burnish the reputation of the company. Have you heard of Terry Nicholson? Before he came here he was a big wig at a firm in New York. He knows lots of people and has a lot of connections. But I don't know how much actual knowledge he has about what we do, you know? Which is why who he promotes to be COO will be a pretty big deal. I think he'll be content to let the COO run the company while he schmoozes clients and shareholders."

It went without saying that Tate's dad was one of the people under consideration to be hired as the COO. Jonathan Armstrong had been the Vice-President of Domestic Operations for a decade and must have been the odds-on favorite for the job. But unlike Stacy or Tate, Jonathan was not known for his killer instinct or competitiveness. He was a pretty quiet guy who got his work done efficiently and made sure everything operated like clockwork. His longtime rival in the company, Mark Harrison, was the other person up for the job. Mark was the Vice President of Sales and was everything Jonathan was not. Blustery and talkative, every success Mark had he was sure to promote endlessly. While a lot of people found him off-putting, Mark's successes spoke for themselves. He'd grown sales every year and had been personally responsible for closing the deal on some of the company's biggest and most important accounts. It wasn't going to be an easy decision.

"Hey, whatever happens, you've already won in my book dad," Tate said, gripping his dad's shoulder.

"I agree, sweetie," Stacy said, squeezing Jonathan's side.

"Is there anything we can do in there to help?" Tate added.

"Aw you guys..." Jonathan said with a smile, "Thank you but no, just be yourselves. Terry's a very friendly and easy-going guy, especially for a CEO. Your mom and I met his wife, Viviana, once when they first moved here. She was friendly enough when we actually talked to her but has seemed to keep to herself around town. Haven't seen her much. Meanwhile Terry is at all the fundraisers and charity auctions and what not. But like I said, she was friendly enough when we first met. They're not difficult people, that's for sure."

With that, Jonathan rang the doorbell. Within seconds the door flew open and a relatively squat, balding figure with a small beer gut appeared.

"Jonathan, so great to see you!" Terry Nicholson's voice boomed as he lunged out of the door to shake Jonathan's hand.

"Oh what am I doing, come in, come in. I'm so excited to see you all that I'm racing out the door and keeping you all in the cold, hahaha!"

"No worries, it's good to see you too Terry. You know my wife Stacy."

"Stacy!" Terry said with warm affection, as he wrapped her in something akin to a bear hug. "You look beautiful. How Jonathan ever managed to snag a woman like you, I'll never know, haha!"

"Ah well, I'm the lucky one who snagged him! Thank you for having us Terry, the house looks gorgeous."

"Oh Viviana is in charge of all the decorating and styling and what not. So tell her. Jonathan, who's this strapping young man you've got with you?"

"This is my son, Tate. He's back on break from his junior year at Berkeley."

"Ah Berkeley, out in California with all the liberals, eh? You go out there for the Marxist indoctrination? Learning some Critical Race theory?" Terry asked, grabbing Tate's hand in one of the firmest handshake's Tate had ever experienced.

"No, not really, Mr. Nicholson. I went out there to join the swim team on a scholarship." Tate explained. "And, between us," Tate said, pulling Terry's hand in closer and leaning down close to his face, "while I might not agree with them politically, liberal girls are a lot more fun if you know what I mean."

A tense silence fell over the whole group. Jonathan and Stacy glanced nervously at Terry and Tate until Terry burst out in uproarious laughter giving Tate a blast of whiskey breath in the process.

"Oh I'm sure you're right, kid. You would know! Look at you!" he exclaimed while slapping Tate's back. Everyone else joined Terry in laughter.

"Swimming huh? I played football in high school and college. I was a defensive lineman. A real man's sport where you could hit people, you know what I mean?"

"Well, I played football throughout all of high school Mr. Nicholson. I was an All-State tight end. But picked swimming because I got a big scholarship and because I was close to qualifying for the Olympics at the end of my senior year of high school and figured that was the best thing to keep pursuing."

"The Olympics!?" Terry said with surprise, looking at Tate and then back at his parents.

"Yeah the Olympics," Jonathan said. "He has been close to qualifying the last few years and everyone thinks he's a shoo-in at butterfly stroke this year. But he's already accomplished more in that regard than I ever did as an athlete, so we're proud of him regardless. Definitely an improvement on my career as a slacker on the track team!"

This too prompted a round of laughs before Terry interjected again.

"Well, now that there is another former football player here, maybe I can show you some of my memorabilia? Viviana hates it and my son isn't an athlete and doesn't care. Would be nice to show it to someone who appreciates it! What do you say? Jonathan and Stacy you go in to the great room where the party is, get yourself some drinks, and I'll give Tate the tour and meet you back there?"

Jonathan, Stacy and Tate all exchanged a glance as if to say "why not?"

"I'd love to!" Tate said.

"Great, we'll meet your mom and dad inside the party in a few minutes. Come on son," Terry said wrapping his arm around Tate's much taller shoulder.

The memorabilia tour was not particularly taxing on Tate. Terry talked almost the entire time. Each piece of memorabilia had a story and Terry was all too happy to have a captive audience. Tate laughed at the appropriate times and expressed his awe at the rarity of Terry's collection of various signed jerseys and footballs and stadium chairs that populated the basement mancave. Pretty soon they were discussing the prospects of the Kansas City Chiefs and Terry was promising to take Tate to a game in his box seats.

"You've never lived till you've gone to a football game in box seats, kid. A free buffet. Free drinks. Women--they literally stock the box with models like it is a fish tank or something haha--and the best view in the stadium. You've got to come. My son from my first marriage is a sophomore at some art school in New York. Never comes out here. Hates that we moved to Kansas. Even if he did come out, I'm sure he'd never want to go to a football game with his old man."

Tate could sense the sadness in Terry. It seemed like Terry was trying to cover up a lot of hurt through his continual bluster, laughter, and forced jolliness. Mostly it worked, but not all always.

"I bet as he gets older, he'll come around. In the meantime, if I'd love to go to a game! Just let me know."

"They've got their last home game the first week of January. Are you in?"

Tate grimaced.

"Ah, Mr. Nicholson, I'm sorry. We've got swim training in Puerto Rico. They fly us somewhere for two weeks during winter break every year for intense training to get ready for the NCAA finals. So I leave town on New Year's day."

Terry was unable to hide the disappointed look on his face with any more bluster. Tate began thinking quickly.

"It's not quite the same Mr. Nicholson, but what do you say you and I go get a beer now?"

Terry's face lit up.

"What a great idea! And while we're at it, one more thing. You can call me Terry. 'Mr. Nicholson' is for all these scared corporate peons," he said while laughing and gesturing at the crowd of partygoers as the two emerged from the basement and converged on the great room.

The crowd of corporate peons parted like the Red Sea for Terry and Tate as they made their way to the bar that the caterers had set up against the back wall of the room. A few brave employees came up and shook Terry's hand or said hi, but most stayed out of the way of Terry and the impressive young man next to him that most assumed was his son.

As they approached the bar, Terry lobbed another question at Tate.

"Do you like whiskey son?"

"I love it, Terry. I for one, think men should only drink brown liquor. None of this clear shit."

Terry's booming laugh rang out once again.

"A man after my own heart. Hahaha! Don't tell your father, but I was very disappointed in him a few months ago. Me, your dad, and Mark Harrison came back here after we had closed a big deal and I poured them some scotch from my personal collection. Some Oban 14. Your poor dad did his best but it was clear he was not having a fun time, haha!"

"Well I can assure you Terry, despite my dad's many qualities, I'm better than him in the drinking department."

"I'm sure you are son, I'm sure you are. Let's do a shot of whiskey before that beer."

The bartenders popped the tops off some beer bottles and poured Terry and Tate a shot of whiskey each.

"What should we cheers to, Terry?" Tate asked, his whiskey shot ready in his hand.

"You're the guest of honor, why don't you decide."

"To men being men and the Kansas City Chiefs."

Terry roared with laughter yet again and the pair downed their shot. Terry coughed and his face turned beet red. It was far from his first drink that night. Tate put his whiskey down without so much as a second thought, let alone a change in facial expression.

"Now that's how you take a shot!" Terry said between coughs, patting Tate's arm. "Oof. I'm not as good as that as I'm used to. Back to whiskey on the rocks and beer for me. I'll leave the shots to the younger men."

Grabbing Tate's arm, Terry pulled him aside with some force.

"Look I have to go mingle. Shake the babies and kiss the hands, haha, you know? But I'll find you again before we go. Maybe give you a bottle of scotch from my private collection for you to take home. None of this shit the caterers use. Or maybe we can get a cigar and have glass of the good stuff together, eh? What do you say?"

"That sounds amazing, Terry. I can't thank you enough, really."

"Oh it's nothing, nothing at all. I'll see you around kid."

Terry slapped Tate's back one last time for good measure and disappeared into the crowd. Tate let out a sigh of relief. Terry was nice enough, but it was good to be out from under the gaze of his dad's boss. Sipping his beer and feeling the warmth from the shot slowly spread through his stomach, Tate scanned the room for his parents. Not seeing them, he checked his phone. Jessica had responded.

"Sorry, in the Bahamas for Christmas with my parents :( miss you Tate."

Tate sighed. It would've been nice to have a fuck buddy for the next week and a half of break before Puerto Rico. It was too small of a town to have much of an active night life or dating scene. Nothing close to the women on offer at the college bars and frat parties. He took a long sip of his beer as the disappointment set in. It would be just another break of napping and light workouts.

And then he saw her.

A clump of people had recently dispersed, some heading for the bar, some heading for the ors d'oeuvres in the other room. Their departure gave Tate a line of sight towards the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She was standing in a circle with some people near the middle of the room, chatting easily and sipping a glass of champagne. She was short. Maybe 5'2, a solid foot smaller than Tate. Her hair was naturally a dark brown, but she had given it tasteful blonde highlights to achieve an ombré style and it fell in soft curls just past her shoulders. But it was her curves that made Tate almost drool into his beer. Her outfit wasn't anything to write home about. She was wearing a black sweater with 3/4s sleeves and a short, bright red, pleated mini-skirt. The sweater was exceptional in only one way: it was incredibly low cut. Even from a distance, Tate could see the most perfect cleavage he'd ever encountered in his life. Her breasts weren't huge, probably 32C's if Tate had to guess. But on her small frame they looked massive. At every gesture or small turn of her body, Tate could see the jiggle of her all-natural boobs from across the room. The cleft between her two breasts was highlighted by a simple gold necklace that seemed to run on forever down into the beautifully tanned fissure of her cleavage. This was the most lush, fleshy, and bouncy set of tits Tate could ever remember seeing. And he had seen a lot of tits.

Tate took a deep swig of his beer so as to prevent this woman from getting any suspicions that he was staring at her, which, of course, he was. His eyes continued to roam over her entire body. Her butt was hard to discern in a mini skirt. From what Tate could tell, it wasn't large. It was petite but well sculpted, like her entire frame in general. And then there were her legs. For such a small woman he'd never seen such a long pair of legs. Her legs weren't muscular, but then again, it was clear that she did not skimp on workouts since there was not an ounce of spare fat anywhere on her body except her chest. Not only were her legs long and shapely but like the rest of her body, they were perfectly tanned, a surprising feature in the middle of a midwestern winter.

The only thing Tate didn't have was a great look at her face. Her figure was in profile from Tate's vantage point. It was a great angle for him to scope out her measurements, but her face remained a mystery.