The very first time I saw her step down from their green Porsche 4x4 I knew that I wanted to fuck my new neighbour, my hard and throbbing dick told me so, insistently. She had fabulous grey shoulder length hair. She wasn't that old though, late thirties, early forties, somewhere around there; heavy breasts, wide hips but a trim waist; a regular, old-fashioned hourglass figure. Screw titless size 10's with falsies, she was what perfect is, the real deal, designed and constructed for serious fucking. And, let's face it, anyone dumb enough to buy a green Porsche 4x4, well he's begging to have his expensive trophy borrowed off of him and fucked over regularly; just no class. If a real man wants a 4x4 he gets a Toyota truck, if he wants a sports car, at the very least, it's a Ferrari or a Morgan, not some pissy underpowered Porsche. Come on, what the fuck use is a green 4x4 Porsche to anyone?
So, 'call me Kath,' all pouting lips, liquid brown eyes, simpering looks, always crossing and uncrossing her legs, always in a short dress or skirt - well aside from when she sunbathes in the back garden, never seen such a skimpy thong - she simply begs for it. Then there's Jerry: gold Rolex, Gucci shoes, Armani suits, Crombie coats, top of the squash ladder, scratch golfer, merchant banker and owner of a fucking sad green Porsche 4x4. OK. she's got a silver grey Merc. convertible that he mostly drives. Still, every time he comes around here he gets pissed, brags, blusters, bullies and finally falls asleep. Always away on business and he leaves behind a sweet peach like that, a perfect piece, all ripe for plucking and it'll be so juicy inside: oh yes, I wanted some of that dribbling off of my chin alright.
Kath; well she flirts mightily, even lets me squeeze under her bottom without sincere protest, sometimes presses right back onto my hand. And at our New Years bash, I thought she was trying to use her tongue to perform a tonsillectomy on me. But she won't put out for me; bitch. Yes bitch. I want her, she knows it, she encourages it, so she's a tease. Married to Mr. bloody Rich, who's such a shit, with really poor taste, a total sheep in wolf's clothing. Baa. Still I got my way in the end and now she's my bitch, 'aren't you my little stolen pet?'
She says, 'woof woof.' That means yes. We don't have a code for no, it's not a word she's permitted to use when she's with me.
We live in a pretty wealthy neighbourhood, moved here when I sold my first company. Not one of Google's major acquisitions but big enough to keep me in candy and clover forever. At first I ripped my life apart, fast cars, loose women, hard liquor, idleness then divorce and even after that I was still stinking rich. The trouble was I missed the business so I sobered up and built up a new one. Converted the old stables at the end of the garden and resumed churning out computer code. Next thing there's a woman answering the emails for me, then two, then three other coders appear; soon it's ten women answering the emails. Quite a little business, growing happily and it keeps me straight, sober and off the streets. The trouble was that all those loose women had left me with a taste for extreme sex. Not really Kinky. More stuff you can't do or things you can't have, like whips, chains, SS uniforms, pleading, begging and, naturally, humping 'call me Kath.'
Tuesday, yes it was a Tuesday: I was gazing out of the window wondering where the fuck the bug was, the bug in my computer code you dumb-arse, pay attention or bugger off. Anyway I saw 'call me Kath,' lead her tennis coach through the French windows and into their lounge, lead him by the hand that is. Well towed would be more accurate, perhaps even dragged would not be too strong. She must have been hot and sweaty because as soon as she stepped inside she shrugged her shirt and shorts off, just like that. What tits! What a superb pair, God was my dick stiff, a real boner. Then he shrugged off his kit and without any further ado he fucked her long and hard in one of the vast leather chairs that Jerry is so proud of. They hammered away, rested and then he pushed her face down over the coffee table and took her again, this time doggy style. I softened a bit, penis envy, my God did that coach have a king-sized dick, or what? Regular donkey man and that physique too.
Finally, after he had ridden her for a third time - on this last occasion she sat in one of the chairs with her legs over his shoulders, him knelt in front of her hammering away - she made me feel really belittled and useless. She got up, went over to the vast light oak sideboard they have in there and opened a drawer. From there she took out a purse, counted out a bundle of notes and handed them over to her coach. She was actually paying him to shag her! I would have given her that for free and been glad to. Also, I'm bloody brilliant in the sack. OK not as big as Donkey-Kong there was but still fucking wonderful alright. And she was actually paying him! So he's got a really long and very fat sausage but I've got technique and I work hard at it. I'd have made her beg before I fucked her and as she came you'd have heard her scream in my office, double glazing or no.
Of course after that I watched more carefully, I took in binoculars, visited the coffee machine less. I didn't have to wait long either, Thursday was the same: well different positions and she offered him a glass of champagne after they were done rutting and before she paid him but still the same long hard fucking. Next Tuesday he screwed her stupid once more, there was a pattern forming and I got busy to exploit it. I was going to have a piece of that, cut myself a real big wedge of her nice juicy pie.
I moved my office, my staff were used to me being capricious so no one even bothered. OK, I'm intolerant and unpredictable but I pay the coders bloody well and the bevy of email answering Mum's can work whatever hours they damn well please just as long as all the shit from the paying punters that comes in gets dealt with quickly. I locked up my old office, had a sign made for the door 'research and development' and had a ton of kit delivered. High definition video cameras, around 3.8k x 2.2k pixels, up to 120 frames per second; juicy! Telephoto lenses, motion trackers, 50 T Bytes of RAID 6 storage in fact I bought everything you could possibly use for high definition surveillance.