Billionaire and the Sisters Ch. 01

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Amateur

A note to readers: This is a long story that unfolds chapter by chapter through the eyes of two protagonists — Mark and Elsa, and as in many of my other stories involves a growing spate of horny characters. Every ten chapters or so I will provide a short summary at the start of that episode to bring new readers up to date. This story could appear in a number of genres (Loving Wives, Incest, Lesbian, Fetish, and more) depending on the chapter, but the overall theme is Group, so I have applied this moniker to all chapters. The story is still being written, yet I intend to post a new chapter every couple of days. Enjoy.

Chapter 1 — Happy fallout from meeting at a party

Elsa

I stood near the corner of the room and watched all the happy people at the party.

I was not happy. I was a dark force in an otherwise joyful house. A lone dark rain cloud on an otherwise sunny day. The off-key screech in the middle of a perfect piece of music.

I had been unceremoniously dumped by my boyfriend of two years. The dumping had been a public event, taking place over what I thought would be a nice lunch for the two of us at Panera’s. He announced we were through. I upchucked the half sandwich and soup I’d eaten, fortunately getting some of my vomit on his meticulously clean shirt and slacks.

I believe I also screamed a number of epithets at him as the rest of the restaurant watched open mouthed, many with food partway to their mouths. When I stomped out, there were over a hundred people who knew that Malcolm was a big shit, a cad, a player, and a first class asshole extraordinaire, and my detailed list of the reasons why. I hoped the city had a strong rumor mill.

That was Wednesday. This was Saturday. I had cried for most of that time. The fantasy I had of a happy marriage, two-point-one beautiful children, a dog, a cat, a gerbil, and a little love nest in the suburbs behind a white picket fence had been blown to smithereens, because Malcolm had to ‘find himself’ before he could continue in a committed relationship. Finding himself would apparently involve seeing other girls. I had the feeling he’d already started in that process.

I wish I’d thought to use my pepper spray on him in the restaurant. I also thought of a hundred other things I wished I’d screamed at him.

I was nursing additional revenge thoughts when I became aware of a masculine presence next to me.

He smiled down at me, “Don’t look so sad. I saw you smile at our hostess earlier, but you went back to the dark side. Don’t listen to Darth Vader; come back into the force.”

“Bad week,” I mumbled.

“Break up with somebody?” he inquired, accurately nailing the situation.

I glanced at him. I wondered just how much was written on my face. Did everybody at this party know my story? I only knew a couple of the people, including my sister Cindy who dragged me out of my bedroom and away from my box of Kleenex. I still wanted to cry, but doing that in public seemed out of place.

I nodded. “Yeah. He took a couple of cheap shots, and left. At least we weren’t married or engaged. Two years down the drain.”

“I’m sympathetic. It happens to everyone. I think it’s part of becoming a real adult.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

He opined, “Well, despite a few experiences here and there I think we get to about age twenty-five and most of us still have a naïve streak about relationships running down our backs. We think that there’s a soul mate and some perfection out there, and we pursue that goal. If we find someone reasonably acceptable, we force fit them into that mold of perfection we’ve created in our minds. Later, we discover that no one is perfect, the concept of a soul mate is probably a myth perpetuated by greeting card makers to sell anniversary and Valentine’s Day cards, and that everyone is a little bit broken with no hope of fixing those terminal faults. The force fit you made no longer works.”

I smirked, “Spoken like a true life cynic.” I liked this man, whoever he was.

“At your service.” He bowed slightly.

“I’m Elsa.”

“Mark.” We shook hands. Already, he’d made me feel better. I actually smiled at him.

I sized him up. About six foot two, dark hair, insightful eyes, trim athletic form, and clothes that looked custom designed for him. They fit perfectly. His shoes were highly shined too, and they looked expensive — Italian leather. I felt good vibes from him, although we’d said little to each other.

He just stood with me leaning against the same wall. We were both sipping glasses of wine. When mine got empty, he politely took it without a word and got me a refill. After we’d been there a half-hour, Mark said in a low-key way, “Go out with me next Saturday evening? Dinner? Maybe dancing? I’m not good at the club scene though; it’ll be more like ballroom dancing. I’m trying to learn, but I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

I studied Mark’s sincerity and apparent trustworthiness.

I said cautiously, “Can I send a kaçak iddaa photo of your driver’s license to my sister?”

He laughed, “Of course.” He fumbled in his back pocket, extracted his wallet, and passed his license to me.”

“You hold it,” I said, forcing him to display his state license. I pulled my cellphone from my pocket and took a picture, verified that it was legible, and then thanked him and immediately sent the pic to my sister Cindy. Of course, I ignored the actual writing on the license, only verifying the photograph. Next week, if I turned up dead in some alley, she’d know where to start.

Mark took my hand in both of his, “I sensed you wanted someone to kind of ‘be with,’ but you didn’t want to talk. I think I’m a witty conversationalist, but I gave you some space and was just ‘with you.’ When you’re ready — next week, maybe — we’ll chat. Appreciate that the hurt you’re feeling from your breakup will subside and eventually be a long distant memory. As a friend, I can maybe help with that, at least by diverting your attention for a few hours.”

“Thank you.” I gave a wan smile.

I gave Mark my home address and called his cell so we had that connection, and he promised to pick me up at seven-thirty.

Another man came up to Mark and mumbled in his ear. Mark turned to me with a smile, “Gotta go. I have miles to go before I sleep. See you next week Elsa.”

We parted and I found myself missing the aura of Mark, my mystery man. Later, I told Cindy all about him, what little I knew.

Mark

This would be one of the nicer parties I attended, mainly because there were only three people there who really knew me. To the rest I was a tag-along with Andrew Martin, my chief of staff; his pretty, sexy, and vivacious wife — Margo; and my executive secretary, Sheila Arden. We looked like a foursome, but our work and relative standing to each other was unknown and we kept it that way at my request. Andrew had gone to university with the host and hostess — Tyler and Kelsey, been in their wedding party, and at the party we helped celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary.

Running around the perimeter of the party were two young children that I learned were a by-product of the union we feted. I made a note that they seemed on sugar highs from continually eating the candies and brownies on the dessert table. Not my problem. They’d probably go to sleep the next day.

Most of the parties I went to did not have children around except for a few trophy wives and aspiring starlets, many of whom were of questionable legal age for any adult activity. Almost all of the people at those parties felt they had to genuflect in my direction, and many were bold enough to ask for something — money, usually, and often in subtle ways. Fifteen years earlier, those same people wouldn’t have given me the time of day.

I found those parties hollow, shallow, and a waste of time. They had long ago ceased to provide even entertainment value. Too much posing and posturing went on, and when I expressed those opinions and some other negatives to Andy, he politely asked if I wanted to go to a ‘normal’ party with him before we got on the corporate jet to fly to Europe. I said, “Yes.” Sheila was along for the trip, so was coming to the party as well.

I liked the anniversary party. Sheila made sure I arrived with a modest gift for the couple — some wine and a cheese board; something that wasn’t over the top and kept my anonymity preserved in the group. I met some interesting people, folks like me that were hard working and trying to get ahead. I had been lucky, made some good decisions, took some major risks, and by their standards had it made. I didn’t tell them that, only that I worked at Worthington Industries. I happened to be ‘The’ Worthington who had created and built the company — the multi-billion dollar international empire.

I didn’t think I was on the prowl at the party until I saw Elsa standing out of the way, watching the festivities. She was stunning in her simplicity and beauty, and I was instantly drawn to her. She also oozed unhappiness. Some rare part of me felt compassion for her, so I talked to her briefly. I sensed she wanted some companionship, but not an interrogation, so I just stood with her, with little conversation, for over a half-hour.

I can tell a lot about a person in that time, just by watching them. They may not make oral noises that pass as conversation, but their bodies talk in a unique language of looks, posture, gestures, and deportment. Elsa was a nice person. Some of the people I had to do business with were not nice, and I’d learned the hard way how to hone my instincts and body language skills. If I played poker, I would be a daunting opponent. In the business world I was a force to be reckoned with.

I’d had bad luck in relationships. I wanted someone in my life who I resonated with in mind, body, and spirit. I wanted to feel an electric connection with someone else, and I had yet to meet that person. As much as kaçak bahis I ridiculed the idea of a soul mate, that was exactly what I was looking for. Someone where the best in them would hale the best in me, and together we’d make each other infinitely better in every dimension.

During the short time that Elsa talked she briefly explained her down behavior, not giving me a lot of unnecessary details — some guy dumped her in a public setting with no warning. I figured him for a loser with shit for brains. Elsa apologized for being a ‘dark force’ at a happy party; I told her to forget about it and that everyone had such days.

Elsa was a rare beauty in my opinion: blonde, blue eyed, trim, late twenties, athletic, and even sensuous in her own way. Further, she oozed personality and her own brand of sexuality — subtle and sweet, although I felt there was a lot hidden about that part of her that didn’t show. I’d seen a few other people at the party try to engage her — even hit on her, however she seemed rooted to her spot and not in a social mood.

After we’d been in each other’s presence for almost a half-hour, I asked Elsa out and amazingly she accepted. I didn’t pressure her, just politely asked. I thought ‘low key’ might have more of a chance with her than a high-pressure sell that I could easily do. I suggested dinner and ballroom dancing — not club dancing. There were still a few places around that did that. In my early thirties, I’d often be the youngest in the dance studio.

I also didn’t talk much, and yet I was ready to respond to her questions — questions that never came. I didn’t try to impress Elsa. My ego didn’t need stroking, and she didn’t look as though she wanted someone trying to impress her at the moment. I kept it simple and brief, and this after we’d just stood in silence for a long time feeling each other’s vibes. Amazingly, in those vibes I started to feel that special connection but I didn’t articulate it to myself until later.

Andy nudged me about ten-thirty and reminded me in a whisper that my jet was waiting at the local airport for a midnight flight to Milan. I did have business to attend. Leaving at midnight would time our arrival perfectly for a few day’s worth of business meetings where I was buying a company that complemented two I had in terms of product line. I’d get their R&D pipeline too.

I bid Elsa goodbye, promised I’d see her Saturday, and left in my foursome after again congratulating the hosting couple who only knew me as one of Andy’s friends. Andy and Sheila were traveling with me. He kissed his wife goodbye outside the house, and the three of us took my limo to the airport. I hoped that Elsa hadn’t seen the limousine.

Elsa

I had continued to wallow in my depression following Malcolm’s departure, but as the week after the party went by I started to realize I felt relieved. I had built up a fantasy about my relationship with Malcolm. I liked the fantasy, and the various features in it, except for one — Malcolm. I came to the realization that he had not been the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Thus, while his departure put cracks in my fanciful notions about my future, I felt it was for the best.

Mark had been right; the pain of the breakup faded with each passing hour. Moreover, I think it faded faster because I had felt something special with Mark. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was more than just I thought he was hot. He was hot and we had some chemistry, but most of my thoughts were probably specious dreams.

Mark called me to confirm a couple of days before our date. When my caller ID on my cell phone lit up with ‘Mark Worth’ I felt my heart jump a couple of beats. I was excited and thrilled to be going out with this mysterious man.

My first date with Mark Worth was pleasant and did wonders for me. He had been a perfect gentleman. He picked me up in his old Jeep, and we went to dinner at the Skyline Steakhouse atop the tallest building in the city. He got a table with a fabulous view. He insisted that I have the best steak in the place, even though the price was quite high. He wanted me to taste a really great steak, and he was right; it was like nothing I’d ever tasted before, it was so good and tender. He looked pleased that he had pleased me in some unique way.

Mark got me talking about my life: growing up, parents, aspirations, college, grad school, and the three jobs I’d had since. He seemed fascinated with every word out of my mouth, and I got carried away enough to get embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation.

Mark said, “Elsa, you fascinate me. If I didn’t want you to keep talking about yourself, I would stop asking questions. Maybe we can just do a Vulcan Mind Meld, like they did on Startrek. ” He laughed, and I loved the sound of his laughter. It was relaxing and inviting to participate. I already felt we were doing some kind of mind meld.

I did get to turn the tables on him a few times. He’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, but illegal bahis somehow managed to escape, as he put it. He’d worked his way through college, and had even started a couple of businesses to help him earn money while he got his education. After college, he went to work for Worthington Industries, and thought he had a pretty good job there with a lot of room to grow as the company grew.

More than listening to his words though, I floated along over dinner to the sound of his voice. He had a hint of some cologne on or maybe it was just his natural scent; either way I kept inhaling him all night long. His dark brown eyes were captivating and I kept staring into them, even falling into them completely more than once. He enthralled me at every step. His manners were impeccable. Despite the point that the Jeep was pretty open, he held the door for me and even helped me with my seatbelt. He was very attentive, and that scored big points with me. He was treating me like a porcelain doll.

We never left the restaurant that night. We were seated at eight o’clock after having a cocktail in the bar, and at eleven-thirty, our waiter suggested we might want to move back to the lounge. We were the only two patrons left in the restaurant at that point and he obviously wanted to go home. I certainly hadn’t noticed the absence of other patrons.

Mark drove me home, and was a perfect gentleman. He didn’t try to invite himself inside. He helped me out of the car, and walked me to the front door. I don’t think he even expected the kiss I gave him — on the lips yet. I smiled. He smiled and thanked me.

When I kissed him, I felt this electrical charge race back and forth between our bodies. I almost had an orgasm, and my knees went weak. I wanted to pull him inside and do nasty things with him the rest of the night, but I stopped myself somehow. Hell, yes, we had chemistry — damn near explosive chemistry.

Sunday morning, a delivery from a florist shop got me to my front door at nine-thirty. Mark had sent me two-dozen pink roses — my favorites, a point he’d elicited from me at dinner the night before. The card said, ‘Elsa. You were enchanting. I hope we can see other again soon. I’ll call midweek. Hold Saturday if you can. We still haven’t danced. Fondly, Mark.’

I danced around my apartment all day long. I inhaled the scent of the flowers so much I almost hyperventilated. I even called my sister and told her all about my date and this new man in my life. She laughed right along with me as I told her every detail I could remember about the night — words, questions, looks, sounds around us, drinks and dinner, Mark’s eyes, voice, manners, and scent. I also described my latent lust for the man.

Cindy reminded me that I might be on the rebound, and that I should hold myself in check until at least the third date, except she was a little more blunt than that: “Sis, don’t let this guy fuck you until at least the third date. Remember what happened with Malcolm, and how fuckin’ well that turned out.” Cindy liked to tell it like it is, plus she liked a little shock value so she often used the ‘F’ word with me. I preferred terms like making love or intercourse, despite my own colorful and sexual past.

I was not a virgin, and I’d had a goodly number of one-night stands before I toned things down with Malcolm. With those it wasn’t that I was even looking for Mr. Right; I was looking to get fucked and have some great orgasms and sexual release. If Mark had been slightly more aggressive I suspected that he could have bedded me that first night we went out. I had been that kind of girl. He was such a gentleman that he had me swooning about him all night long, and that is one way into my bedroom — make me swoon.

Mark did call me on Wednesday evening. He explained he was on an airplane on a business trip, but had some time to talk. He explained he had a breakfast meeting with ‘some important people’ bright and early the next day, so he couldn’t afford to try to get there the next morning, especially with a weather front moving through the area.

We confirmed the Saturday evening date — dinner and dancing, again, only this time he promised we’d make the ballroom he wanted to try. He told me to bring some comfortable shoes to dance in too; none of those six-inch heels that might have me teeter tottering. Six-inch heels would make me exactly six feet tall; that’d be two inches shorter than Mark, but I wouldn’t do that to him.

Mark

My first date with Elsa went extremely well. I knew I had to win her over to even considering another man in her life after some chump dumped her, so I allowed my natural charm to come through. I was attentive, hopefully without giving the appearance of stalking her. I got her talking a lot about her life. I could be an insightful interviewer, and had long ago learned to ask great open-ended questions to get people to reveal themselves.

Elsa was the older of two girls in her family. Her parents still lived in Upstate New York. Of course, I already knew that. I’d had my staff check out everything they could find out about her, Cynthia — her sister, and Bart and Martha — her parents. They were of good solid, slightly upper middle-class stock.

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