WARNING: This story contains explicit sexual language and activity, including rough sex. If such material offends you, please read something else. There is something for everyone on Literotica.
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It was a balmy evening on LA's westside, perfect for outdoor dining and people watching. Well-heeled diners came and went from the expensive restaurants and shops or strolled along Sunset Boulevard.
The popular thoroughfare was bustling with a hodgepodge of well-heeled and well-dressed locals from the wealthy neighborhoods nearby and the tourists who were mostly there to gawk, and perhaps see a movie star.
While some of those coming and going from the shops and restaurants along 'The Strip' pursued their people watching as an idle pastime, enjoying both seeing and being seen, for Peter and his companions, it was a business, and a very lucrative one.
Peter and his crew had made the rounds of various hot spots on the westside, in Beverly Hills, West Hollywood, Brentwood and Santa Monica, on a nightly basis for the last month on their current trip, looking for potential targets, and tonight was no different.
They were looking for the flashy, ostentatious car, the well-dressed man and the even better dressed woman. If they were flashing expensive jewelry and watches, that was an added bonus.
The jewelry and watches were a plus because they were both easily taken and even more easily fenced for a handsome profit. The right jewelry and watches could make for a good haul all by themselves, and without the necessity of following their marks all the way home, with the risks that entailed.
After about an hour sitting in their van across the street from one of the strip's most famous restaurants, they had identified their marks for the evening. Their potential victims had arrived in a canary yellow Rolls Royce Corniche convertible. The man was expensively dressed in gray slacks, blue blazer, blue button down shirt and ascot. Even before he stepped out of the car, Peter rightly guessed he was wearing wingtips.
The man wasn't very adventurous in his sartorial tastes, thought Peter derisively. With any luck his taste in watches was similarly predictable. When the valet opened the driver door, Peter was rewarded as he saw the man reaching for the parking stub the valet handed him. As Peter guessed, he was wearing a Rolex, and to Peter's trained eye, it appeared to be a GMT Master II Ice, worth at least a half million as he homed in with his binoculars.
As the two women got out of the car from the other side, the first to exit was the older of the two. She had been sitting in the front seat and Peter assumed her to be the man's wife. She was a statuesque blonde whose hair was cut short, barely reaching the top of her slender neck. Her persona screamed trophy wife. Her husband was predictable, if nothing else.
At first Peter thought she was thirtyish, but he quickly concluded that she was probably more like a very well preserved forty who pampered herself with frequent trips to an expensive spa. The outfit she was wearing was the tipoff to her actual age. The suit she was wearing looked like a vintage Chanel from the sixties, although it probably had been custom tailored for her.
The jewelry she wore was almost certainly worth twice as much as her husband's watch, provided they were not paste of course, with the originals tucked away safely at home in a safe. Discovering the answer to that question would later be Peter's first priority.
The other woman got out of the backseat of the Corniche, and she was a carbon copy of the wife, but about twenty years younger. Peter assumed it was their daughter. Like her mother, she was tall, but her blonde hair was cut slightly longer, coming down to the base of her neck.
Both women looked like they could be fashion models, they were slim and neither had particularly large breasts. To Peter's discerning eye, the mother looked like she was a respectable C-cup and the daughter's breasts looked about a size smaller, not having fully blossomed yet.
Because of their slim frames, their breasts seemed amply proportioned for their lithe bodies. That their breasts were pert and proudly jutting from their chests, only added to their raw sex appeal.
Peter thought about the predictable husband for a moment. He presumed that if the husband had his way, both the wife and daughter would have had 90210 tit job by now. Peter guessed that the wife probably wouldn't stand for it―not for herself and certainly not for her daughter.
The wife looked prim and proper, and hard as nails, Peter concluded. His guess was that she was very high maintenance. She was statuesquely beautiful, but she also looked like she was as cold as the marble itself. She was beautiful in a very refined patrician sort of way. Her whole persona seemed to scream 'do not touch' to anyone who glanced her way!
Her face was lean and chiseled, just as a statue, and the expression on her face betrayed no emotion, unless of course, the emotion was boredom. Based on her facial features, Peter guessed she was of Scandinavian extraction. And Peter had experienced many Nordic ice queens over the years.
The younger blonde, whom he presumed to be the daughter, was more animated as she sprung from the jumper seat of the expensive convertible, her breasts flopping wildly beneath her skimpy evening dress.
A smile seemed to come effortlessly to the young woman's face as she flirted with the valet who she caught looking down the front of her low cut dress. She could tell that he liked what he saw, and she liked having him like it.
Once the three were all standing on the curb, they walked up the red carpet toward the restaurant's entrance with the older woman in the lead, and the husband and daughter trailing behind her. The husband put his arm around the daughter's waist as they walked.
But slowly daddy's hand ventured south until it was cupping the girl's shapely pert ass. She swatted his hand away and scurried forward to join her mother. Peter made a mental note to find out what that was all about later in the evening.
"Well, it's obvious who wears the pants in the family," Peter thought to himself at the time, as the older woman led the way through the front door of the restaurant.
"She must be a real piece of work," he thought to himself.
~~~~~
Realizing his mind was drifting, Peter refocused his attention on the task at hand as he looked down at his watch. It had been a little over an hour and a half since their marks had gone into the restaurant.
Fortunately, the marks had been seated in one of the prime tables at the front of the patio overlooking the boulevard. Peter and his crew had been able to keep an eye on them the entire time. The man sat across from the two women.
Most of the conversation at the table seemed to be between the two women. Neither of them talked to the man very much, nor he to them. However, the man was constantly waving to other diners as they arrived to be seated, and many of them stopped by to talk briefly.
Peter thought about the wife for a moment. His intuition told him that she was probably too smart to make a target of herself by wearing a million dollars' worth of real jewelry to dinner. She struck him as the cold and calculating type who wouldn't take that kind of risk. She looked like a woman who worked all the angles and had a plan for everything.
He and his crew would have to follow these three home, Peter decided. There would be no quick snatch and grab tonight, even though the convertible made them an easy target for that kind of play.
