Author's Notes:
I must say, sci-fi readers are a little different in their responses to stories than I've seen in the Novels/Novellas category. And it's good. Helps me to think of things a little bit differently.
To all of you returning for this third installment, Thank You! It's gratifying that you enjoyed my story enough to come back again. If you haven't read the first and second chapters, I think you'll probably be a little confused by this chapter. I'd recommend you go back and read those first.
This chapter deals with a subject that I don't have personal experience with, and on top of that, it's a hot-button issue that has a possibility to alienate some readers. For that, I apologize. I hope that I've done the concept a little bit of justice at least. I've tried to show two different perspectives on it, though I, like Carson, don't really understand it. You'll know what it is when you get there.
Please, if you like the story, or if you don't like the story, take a moment to comment. If you want to insult me because you don't like a topic, go ahead and file that in your own trash can; mine's full. But if you have something constructive to add, please do. I'm still a new writer and it helps me quite a bit to see the story through others' eyes.
Finally, as always, all sexual activity takes place between adults.
-MB
*****
"Cutting it a little close, aren't you?" smirked his assistant, Patterson.
A quick network check indicated that he was pushing things a little, time-wise, but his father would understand. He laughed and said, "You're probably right. But you know how I get about newlyweds."
Patterson just rolled his eyes as his employed settled into the transport, and then closed the door.
As they pulled away from the curb, Jordan van Heuval reflected on the delightful evening he'd spent pounding Mrs. Torry Weathers into her mattress. Afterwards, as her frenzied need to couple with him dissipated, the realization of what she'd done had driven her to hysterics. Crying and begging for him not to tell her husband, he'd simply smirked and told her he'd think about it. Even now, the thought of her tear-stained cheeks made him hard. No matter how many times he cuckolded some stupid husband by planting a baby in his happily married wife, it never got old. For him, what happened afterwards was almost always at least as good as the sex itself.
In this case, the woman was just a girl really. Nineteen years old and married for about four months to her high school sweetheart. When he'd seen her at the club last week, dancing with her friends and having a good time, he'd decided to take her. It wasn't that she was overwhelmingly beautiful. In fact, she was kind of plain. But she possessed a fresh-faced innocence about her that drew him in. A little research by Patterson told him that she often hit the club after work on Fridays. Her husband apparently worked a weekend night shift while attending school during the week. His mistake was Jordan's gain.
When her friends were around, culling a woman from the herd was a delicate operation. This evening, he'd been careful to avoid paying too much attention just to his target. Instead, he'd spent a few hours dancing with her friends as well, keeping the drinks flowing and subtly ramping up the flirtations. A little touch of hands here, holding eye contact a little too long there, sexy dancing on the floor...it all added up to a group of amorous females. Jordan probably could have taken any of them, but he'd fucked literally hundreds of women in the last six years. The downside to having sex on demand was that each encounter was less and less special. So, he chose little games to pique his interest. That's one of the reasons he focused on hard-to-get women almost exclusively these days, and minimized the use of enhancers like the pheromones. Those he reserved largely for closing the deal and pushing his target over the edge.
In the end, under the guise of offering her a ride home, he'd left the club with only Torry. In the enclosed atmosphere of his transport, he'd ramped up the pheromones until she was nearly out of her mind with desire. They'd fallen into her bed, and for the better part of the next two hours, he'd used her in just about every way he knew how. When he'd dumped his last load into her well-used pussy, she'd been exhausted to the point she couldn't close her legs. He could see a little trail of his cum leaking down towards her ass, which was still seeping the remnants of the load he'd deposited there earlier.
The moment didn't always happen the same way with every woman. Some felt guilty in the midst of their passion, while others were quietly overwhelmed as he allowed them to cuddle with him after a particularly strenuous workout. With Torry, it was like a switch had been thrown as she watched him get dressed. Suddenly she realized that she'd just fucked a stranger like a wanton slut,
bareback
even, and she didn't know how she could live with herself over the betrayal of the man she loved. He could read the thoughts running through her mind as clearly as words on a page.
How can I keep Vincent from finding out? Where am I at in my cycle? What if I got pregnant?
In a panic, she'd struggled to her knees and begged Jordan not to tell her husband, her guilt flaring when she felt his cum dripping from her pussy. His callous response, and the disdainful way that he looked at her, only fueled her guilt even further.
It had started as a night to remember, but now she only wanted to forget. She began that process as soon as Jordan walked out, closing the door behind him. Torry resolved to give up on girls' nights and drinking, and to be the best wife her husband could ever want. Fortunately for her, they'd been talking about having a baby already, so she'd just pester him for sex on the pretense of making a baby, fucking away the guilt over her indiscretion. Unfortunately for her, Jordan's invading army had already raided the castle. Barring other action, in nine months, Vincent Weathers and his wife were going to welcome a van Heuval bastard into the world.
"We're here, sir." Patterson's announcement snapped Jordan out of his mental wandering. He looked out the window and saw that they'd arrived at the project towers.
What's the old man going to criticize me for this time?
he wondered. Getting called to his family's office was unusual enough, but a late-night meeting on a Friday? He couldn't remember that ever happening before.
Jordan turned to Patterson in the reception area. "I have a feeling that this is family business. Wait for me out here." Then he strode on, not bothering to wait for the man's acknowledgement. He'd do what he was told, because that was what he was paid to do. He never saw the anger and disgust that Patterson struggled to keep within. He worked for Orriri and believed in its mission. But the longer he worked around Jordan van Heuval, the deeper his misgivings about the direction of the project grew. If
Jordan
was part of the project's future, they might as well scrap the whole thing, as far as Patterson was concerned.
In spite of his confusion over the need for the meeting, Jordan strolled into his office as though he hadn't a care in the world. He made his way over to the bar and poured himself a healthy slug of scotch. His father watched him, long experience having taught him that the spoiled young man needed to be handled in a certain way if he was going to get anywhere.
Jozef van Heuval was a big man. Even as he approached his 76
th
birthday, his back remained straight, his hands strong and steady. He was the picture of a modern Teutonic chieftain, his silver hair still showing traces of the blonde locks he'd once worn, and his piercing, ice-blue eyes clear enough to capture everything that happened in his empire. Looking at his son, his anger and disgust were telling him to snap the bastard's neck and get it over with. Jordan seemed determined to ruin the plans he'd worked his whole life putting into place. Part of him just wanted to feed his son to the dogs and start over. Fortunately for Jordan, despite the years Jozef'd worked to position his family where it was, he was not an especially patient man. Sure, he could father another son or ten, but then he'd have to wait that much longer to taste the sweet fruit of victory.
