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Swingers
By: Piquette Fontaine
Table of Contents
Swingers
HERE IS YOUR SPECIAL BONUS!!!
Going Biker
Taken by my Realtor (Part 1)
My Bucket List Series – Then Comes Marriage
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Swingers
CLARK
She looked up at me with those deceptive eyes that could melt through the defenses of any careless Billionaire. Gina was a very passionate lover and I enjoyed having her over to my apartment in upper Manhattan, but our relationship was now getting to that uncomfortable place where she started talking about us taking long trips together.
To the unskilled victim Gina’s travel suggestions might have appeared innocuous and perhaps even frivolous, but it had set off the highly developed gold-digger warning alarm in my subconscious mind. These kinds of suggestions were always the precursor to some more serious talk about commitment; this I’d learned the hard way during my previous 15 years of dating scores of beautiful New York women. I was still single, despite the fact that Forbes listed me as one of the 10 richest people on earth and GQ magazine had voted me one of the most eligible bachelors on the face of the planet. I say this in all modesty, simply to bring across the point I’m making: I talk from experience when I say that Gina was setting me up. I thought again about the wonderful evening I’d just had with her and hoped that we would be able to continue our interaction without any serious relationship talks.
We’d returned to my apartment early, after enjoying an $800 dinner at a French Restaurant and we were soon caught in a passionate embrace in the living room; steadily working our way to the kitchen – where Gina found some inspiration and whipped cream – right through to a number of gymnastic positions in the bathroom and we’d finally ended up on my King-size bed.
Gina’s cries of ecstasy had been so loud that I hoped the neighbors wouldn’t think I was slaughtering a pig in my apartment. When all was said and done I really enjoyed how she vented her excitement and wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, just as long as I could keep seeing a couple of other women on the side from time to time.
My mother regularly lectured me on the dangers of having so many different ‘love liaisons’ as she so delicately put it. She’d spent the best years of her life dirt poor with my good-for-nothing whiskey-swilling father. I knew she was talking from experience when she told me how sly and calculated a woman could be when she catches the whiff of money in a wallet. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my dear mother to bits, but she had a keen eye for money and she made sure I regularly shared with her some generous helpings of the hundred dollar bills in my well stocked vault. My mother hated the idea of any other woman getting her filthy hands on ‘our money’. It was always interesting to me how mommy dearest managed to refer to my eight billion dollars of savings as ‘our money’ but I shared it with her generously as she’s always been right there in my corner whenever I needed her.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” Gina said smilingly with what she probably considered to be a clever play of words.
“Nothing much baby, was just thinking how pretty you look in your birthday suit.”
Gina lowered her eyelids and flashed me naughty smile. “Ready when you are,” she whispered and I put all other thoughts aside to concentrate, momentarily, on some more pressing and pleasurable matters.
VIVIENNE
The setup for the evening was coming together nicely.
“Much more than just nice, it looks stunning,” I thought to myself.
The catering was off the top shelves and the food looked delicious. There was lamb on a spit and side dishes galore; from exotic Middle Eastern hors d'oeuvres to Texas steak and delectable Creme Brulee desert. The entrance of my big mansion was decorated with some low key décor and lanterns, to lend a fantasy atmosphere to large reception area that was accentuated by the marble floor and long winding staircase in the hall. The kitchen looked most inviting and had been turned into veritable oasis, with drinks and champagne on ice everywhere.
My house parties would certainly have been the talk of New York, had it not been for the relative secrecy of these events. I always made sure my guests felt right at home and knew they could count on the confidentiality of their attendance. There would be senators, movie actresses, models, business magnates, doctors, lawyers and Supreme Court Judges; all under one roof to enjoy the festivities of the evening. Fuck the Hollywood parties, my social events were truly the place to be if you had any sort of claim to fame in America.
My guest list had 78 names on it and attendance was strictly by invitation only. The security was comparable to what you might expect at a Rock concert or a State visit by the Pope. Come to think of it, I should invite the Pope to one of these events one day, I thought with naughty smile.
“One day you will make your way to the top, nothing can stop you if you put your mind to it,” my grandmother used to tell me over and over until I believed her. We were poor immigrants from Paris and only got US citizenship because Nana, as I used to call my grandmother, had been a US citizen. I had incredible admiration for my grandmother’s strength and tenacity. She was the one who rescued us all from a life on the streets of Paris.
My grandmother had to fight and overcome her own demons to get the life she wanted. She once told me how one of her own uncles had raped and molested her as a child and how she took an oath to get her own back for the abuse she’d suffered. She’d married into money by seducing a rich American businessman during his vacation in Paris. Nana paved the way for us all to leave France by convincing her well-connected husband to help us get Green cards and full citizenship, after my father had died in a car accident in Paris.
“I want to live in a big house like you one day Nana,” I always exclaimed when we visited my grandmother in their mansion in Greenhaven. My mother had steadfastly refused to stay with my grandmother in the big mansion and we lived in a humble apartment on Hudson Street. My mother worked as a seamstress and, no matter how my grandmother coaxed and prompted, my mother wouldn’t accept any financial aid from her and we lived in relative poverty, until my mother passed away from Pneumonia when I was 14. I was very sad when my mother died, but the upshot of it was that I went to live with Nana in the big mansion. I started going to a new school, where I mingled with the privileged children of the super-rich and my entire life changed in the blink of a New York eye.
“Now you live in the big house just like you always wanted to,” Nana used to say to me with a satisfied grin when we sat down for tea in the big living room.
“It’s time I taught you the tricks of catching the right man, Vivienne,” my grandmother announced one day at our morning tea party. I was 17 already and strictly speaking too old to have tea parties with my grandmother, but to me this was still the best part of any day. Nana spoke to me about things that no one else did. I was turned off by the sex talk of my friends at school and had no interest in competing with them to see who could fuck the most football players in the shortest time possible.
“Yes Nana,” I answered expectantly, “You must teach me everything you k
now!” I was eager to discover the secrets that had catapulted my grandmother from a life of poverty to the upper echelons of New York society.
“We will start with the correct timing for a good blowjob,” Nana went on, as if it was the most natural thing on earth for a grandmother to discuss with her 17 year old granddaughter. I didn’t feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, as Nana and I had developed a bond which was more intimate than anything I’d ever shared with my own mother.
“There’s no point in doing it too early in a relationship,” Nana proceeded, “You only give a man a blowjob after you have toyed with his affections to the point where he is ready to give up on you.”
I loved the sound of that. All these fucking American men with their arrogant attitudes and condescending, macho ways needed to be put in their place. “How do you toy with a man’s affections?” I asked and sat forward eagerly to hear the secret.
“It’s very simple my dear, you act as if he’s the prince of your dreams when you first meet him and then you start rejecting him without giving any reason for your rejections.”
“Sort of a seesaw ride of emotions?” I asked with a smile.
“You’re a quick learner,” Nana answered with her own sly smile. I always wondered why all grandmothers were not more like my Nana. I found the sweet, boring old ladies of Manhattan so tiresome with their talk of roses and other meaningless shit when they came to visit my grandmother. Nana only tolerated their visits because she believed it was important to keep up appearances.
“When the man is just about to give up on you the time has come to strike,” Nana said and made it sound like a military action. “You make sure he is on the very point of calling the whole thing off and then you seduce him and suck him like he’s never been sucked in his life!” Nana said and threw her head back with a deep, hearty laugh. I joined in her laughter and she spent another hour or so teaching me some of the finer techniques of driving men nuts with desire.
“Where do I put these large vases?” the delivery guy asked and interrupted my thoughts about the good old days when my grandmother was still alive.
“Just put it right at the entrance, next to the stone lions,” I directed and was pleased to see how the meter high vases completed the picture of opulent splendor where they stood next to the exquisitely carved stone lions. I suddenly wished that Nana could be there to see how well I’d continued her legacy. I inherited the big mansion after my grandmother passed away; her rich husband having left it to her when he died. I’m sure Nana would have felt right at home at one of my parties and would have enjoyed mingling with all the rich men; putting her manipulations to work on their unsuspecting minds.
I have to admit that I’d probably taken my grandmother’s machinations to the next level. Not only did I have her skills of seduction and manipulation, but I also possessed a keen sense for business which facilitated the development of my social empire. This was a business endeavor, not merely a series of social events, and the income I derived from it was probably twice as much as the average salary earned by the CEO of a large Multinational Corporation. It wasn’t only the attendance fee of $5000 per person for each of my social evenings which drove my income. The most important part of my business was the favors which super-rich men did for me in order to get their names written in my Red Book.
I kept a small red diary, my famous Red Book, with the names and numbers of men who’d earned their place there. One of these men, for example, had given me a 12 Million Dollar racehorse for Christmas and I duly entered his name in the Red Book. Another man bought me an apartment in the rich Parisian suburb of Le Vésinet, while a number of other men earned their places by buying me sports cars. I now had a collection of Ferraris and Porsches to match that of the Aga Khan.
Why was my little Red Book such a sought after place to have your name written if you were a rich and powerful man? Simple. My Red Book also contained the names and numbers of all the most famous and beautiful actresses and models of Hollywood and I could set you up to meet any of one them if I so wished. If you really believe any of these women would ever date a rich man they’d randomly met at a party, you are naïve and ill-informed. Meeting these Hollywood goddesses is strictly by invitation only. I developed my Red Book system after spending many years wining and dining Hollywood agents to earn their trust. These agents have enough power over the models and actresses they represent to convince them to attend my social evenings from time to time and it is at my social events that many rich men have their only realistic chance of ever meeting one of these beautiful, famous women. The competition is simply too fierce to do it any other way. It wasn’t as if the women in my Red Book were unwilling participants though; they were very happy to meet the powerful men of New York and to fuck them in return for the furtherance of their careers. I had many Directors of movie studios and Model Agency bosses in my Red Book so there was a lot to be gained for a pretty young girl to become part of my system. To the men, similarly, I was providing a valuable service. I had some leverage to arrange for one of these sex-goddesses to occasionally attend a red carpet event or movie premiere with one of the men in my Red Book. Even if the man didn’t have any romantic luck with the actress or model in question, the sheer extent of personal exposure for him and his business was beyond measure in financial terms. For a CEO to attend a movie premiere with an A-list Hollywood actress or world famous model could easily drive up the profits of his business with double digits; so insane is the American craving for fame and some kind of connection to these gorgeous women and their place in the spotlight.
All of these considerations aside, my Red Book was simply a foolproof way of setting up rich horny men with famous gorgeous women and, more often than not, they ended up fucking happily at one of my parties.
I looked around the big house and felt very happy with how things had turned out for me. I really had no reason to complain. The only downside of my chosen lifestyle was that I never quite managed to meet any kind of man that really interested me. Perhaps I was implementing the methods my grandmother taught me too rigorously and sent many potential suitors running with my habitual rejection of their advances. Or maybe I was just bored with all their talk of money and possessions, which seemed to be the only way these rich men had of romantically presenting themselves to me. I’d had a series of very disappointing and short-lived love affairs which totally put me off the idea of having a serious relationship. I toyed with the affections of one or two men at my parties every now and then, but steered clear of anything more lasting.
I was craving something outside of the ordinary; someone who was a match for my own strong personality. I wanted to feel that glimmer of excitement and longed for the moment when my heart would start beating with the expectation of true passion and everlasting lust, as Nana used to describe it.
“That’s everything mam, we’ve unloaded the truck and set it all up as you asked,” the delivery guy announced and I paid him in cash for his efforts.
“Thank you, it all looks perfect,” I said and meant it. I took one final look around the entrance to the mansion and was pleased with the effect that had been created. The theme for the evening was ‘An African Feast’ and the various stuffed animals and stone carvings complimented the rest of the décor of lanterns and soft lighting very well. The band would soon be arriving and start setting up for the evening. This was not some makeshift band that would be playing covers and other boring music. I’d hired the hottest new London Rock Band of the day and their latest single had just reached number one on the American Billboard charts. I always did everything in style and my parties made the average Hollywood event look stale and boring by comparison.
“That will do nicely,” I whispered to myself as I took in the scene where the party would soon be in full swing. Then I ascended the big, spiraling staircase to go and take a long, leisurely bath before the first guests started arriving.
I had one late addition to the guest list; some Billionaire businessman which old
Brenda Logan, one of my late grandmother’s best friends, had been nagging me for months to invite to one of my events. The belated guest was Brenda Logan’s son and he was supposed to be an incredibly good looking guy with wonderful investments all over the place bla bla bla…I’d heard it all before and didn’t expect him to turn out any different from all the rest.
CLARK
I was sitting around wondering what to do for the evening when my phone rang. The name on the screen announced that it was my dear mother calling. I was kind of glad to get the phone call from her as she always had some interesting gossip and insider news about the rich and beautiful people of New York. I didn’t really mind the fact that most of these phone calls ended with a subtle hint from my mother at the possibility of me depositing some money into her bank account.
“Hi mom, what’s up?”
“Nothing really, I was just wondering how you’re doing?” she said, but I immediately knew it was not just a casual phone call as my mom’s voice had that badly disguised exuberant edge to it.
“Come on mom, tell me already…what’s going on? I can hear the excitement in your voice,” I said with a smile.
“Okay, you’re forcing me to tell you,” she answered happily, “I’ve just finished a call with one of my friends and she has a special invitation for you to a wonderful party tonight!”
“Oh mom…thanks but no thanks. I really don’t feel like meeting a lot of boring people and empty headed bimbo’s tonight and …”
“Just wait before you say no. Have you seen the latest movie with Jenna Roland in the lead role?”
Of course I’d heard of Jenna Roland; I mean who hasn’t? With her wavy blonde hair and deep blue eyes she was the undisputed queen of Hollywood and I’d seen her face on the large screens of Time Square a hundred times. I hadn’t seen her latest movie though, as I wasn’t much of a movie goer; I enjoyed skydiving and racing sports cars in my spare time.
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