The Point of No Return… Pt Twelve

London on a bright spring day is a pleasure when you’re not in a hurry. I wasn’t. Over the last two weeks I had broken the back, if not the detail, of Clare’s departed husband’s empire and had also passed on most of my previous client’s for a short term, probationary period to other associated advisors. At a conservative estimate I had valued her husband’s worth in the region of £35 million pounds. Clare had been very excited on the phone when I had told her and had half complained that I hadn’t been there in person to give her the news. I had deliberately done so as my recalcitrant cock would have not behaved with the incredibly happy woman.

Although the original meeting that had called for me to be in the Capital had now been cancelled I was going to use the day to check on two companies and three properties that had belonged to the late Mr Patterson. I also still had my plans to see Mari in the evening. With recent events I had, at least begun, to turn over a new leaf. I hadn’t seen Angela for over three weeks, I had managed to stay away from the desirable widow and I had put thoughts of seducing Mari tonight out of my head.

The two companies had checked out and seemed to be above board. The first of the three properties was a bit of a slum tenement. Not the worst I had ever seen but by no means the best either. It was probably more trouble than it was worth as a going concern and I’d advise Clare to sell it to a property developer. Almost daily I’d hear the ‘ker-ching!’ of a cash register in my head. The second in North London I only looked at from the outside as I had managed to ascertain that it was the daughter’s flat while she was at University.

I’d left the last property till last partly because of its address. It was an absolute gem of a location looking out over the Thames and less than a mile from the Houses of Westminster. Easily worth two million on its own! The other reason was that Mr Patterson had purchased it three years previously and that had seemingly been that. There was no record of it having been leased to a third party and he hadn’t associated it as a tax write-off with any of his many companies! Very odd for someone who was obviously an astute businessman?

I reckoned I already knew the answer which was why I was calling round personally. It had to be the Mistress’s Pied à Terre! I held the door open for a woman with a pushchair and entered the building. The pristine lift shot me up the ten floors in no time and I stood outside the door to one of the four penthouse flats. Even the view from the lift lobby was ‘to die for’! I knocked politely on the appropriate door. Now I could have done all of this by letter but there’s a lot to be said for the personal touch. And hell I’m as curious as the next person.

The next person spoke from the other side of the door. “Who’s there?” said a female voice.

I knew that I was being watched through the blank void of the peephole just below the chrome numbers on the door. I explained that I was here on behalf of Mrs Patterson. I heard a mumble through the wood, “I can always come back when it’s more convenient” I offered. A moment later the door clicked and drifted open an inch. I looked quizzically at the small gap and tentatively pushed the door wide. It opened out into a corridor which led directly towards the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the river. The slim figure of a woman was walking away. She had black hair pulled back tightly into a bun and was wearing a pair of tight, very tight leather shorts that framed her buttocks to the point where she could have been almost naked. On her top she wore a striped shirt loosely tucked into the shorts, probably the late Mr Patterson’s. I glanced down at my crotch and whispered, “Behave!” I stepped into the sumptuous flat that had been tastefully if minimally decorated. The only out-of-place item was a tour poster in a picture frame of a band called ‘My Chemical Romance’. I have no idea why but I suspected that it had only been hung since the death of the owner.

“I’m sorry to intrude but I assume you know about the death of the owner of this flat?”

The woman span around, she was in her mid-twenties and stared at me hard. Finally she said “Of course I do.”

Something was nagging at my hindbrain and it wasn’t the dark areolae of her nipples obvious through the cotton shirt or the way the sunlight from the windows showed the silhouette of her torso clearly. These were nagging items but there was something else. “May I ask what your name is…Miss?”

“My name?” a smile crept across her face, “It’s Miss Watson.”

I was bemused and for a moment unable to think how I should proceed. The smile that was on her face wasn’t a kind one but after a couple of moments it softened but remained as if she was party to a private joke. “Would you care for some tea or coffee?”

“I…err… coffee would be good.” I followed her through the expanse of the lounge and into the good-sized and well equipped kitchen. I looked about and realised that this kitchen was at least half again the size of my own back home and this was just a flat. I headed straight for the window, placing my briefcase on the floor and stared down at a passing tug boat hauling containers on a barge down river.

“It’s a great view… day or night” contributed my host from behind me.

“It is.” I simply replied.

“How do you take it?”

“Strong and one sugar” I replied as I dragged myself from the view. I looked at my host as she prepared my coffee and by the looks of it her herbal tea. She was maybe slightly younger than I first thought and I found it hard to picture her with the late, fifty-two year old Mr Patterson. Still there was an unformed thought in the back of my head. “I take it you have been waiting to hear from Mr Patterson’s estate?”

She glanced briefly at me, “Yes… something like that” she replied cryptically.

“I’m sorry…”

She turned to look directly at me, “You’re sorry, what for?”

I know I blushed, “Well… you and Mr Patterson… you were…” I left the sentence hanging.

“His bit on the side, his extra-marital, his floozy?” although the words themselves were bitter her tone wasn’t.

“I guess, something like that…he must have… liked you a lot to…” I indicated the opulence of the flat around us.

“Liked me a lot… something like that…” she handed me my coffee, “So you’re here to kick me out?” she stepped back and perched herself on a high stool beside the worktop crossing her slim pale legs over one another. Her right knee swung gently back and forth, a leather moccasin hanging idly from her toes.

“Something like that” I found myself repeating her phrase, “There isn’t any hurry though…” I wasn’t sure why I had offered an unspecified amount of time, it hadn’t been my plan coming up in the lift; two months had seemed more than fair for someone who didn’t officially live here. Of course with the amount of funds the deceased had left behind a mistress with any amount of rancour could easily have gotten a financially substantial settlement with only the threat of court proceedings. Miss Watson didn’t seem the type; Miss Watson didn’t seem to be the average Mistress by any measure.

“What if I wanted to buy the place?” she asked as she raised her cup to her lips.

“I reckon that could be arranged easily… though it’ll not be cheap.” She didn’t look like she had that sort of money although you never knew what Mr Patterson might have lavished upon her when he was alive. His financials were convoluted enough to hide a dozen Mistresses and only the best Forensic Accountants would have a hope in hell of finding it all.

“Are you going to tell M…? Tell Mrs Patterson about this place? About me?” for the first time the young woman looked slightly worried. The moccasin stopped swinging.

“Well the flat will be listed as an asset… but I’ve no reason to tell her about your relationship with her husband… won’t do anyone any good as far as I see it.”

She looked relieved, “Thanks.” There was definitely something I was missing, maybe this Mistress had her own fortune and so didn’t need any ugly court battle, maybe an inheritance from a rich-

I put my cup down on the side and literally stared at Miss Watson. She looked back at me unashamedly waiting for the penny to drop. It eventually did with a ‘clang’ that would have rivalled the famous bell across the river. “Wh- do you mind if I ask what your first name is?”

“Emily, of course!” she said simply. Her moccasin began to swing once more.

“…your mother’s maiden name…”

“It is, and it was the name I was born with… I changed it back two weeks ago…”

“Fuck!” I simply stated.

A smile flickered across Mr Patterson’s step-daughter’s face and then disappeared, “I hope this… I hope you still have no reason to tell my… mother…?”

“What…oh… err…” I stammered like an idiot, I picked up my coffee in order to occupy my hands for a moment while I collected my thoughts. “Sorry… No… no reason at all, let’s be honest there’s a whole host of reasons not to tell her… shit!” I shook my head, the old bastard Patterson was fucking his step-daughter, no wonder he’d kept the flat secret.

My mind began to crunch numbers as I thought about dates and ages. I couldn’t remember Emily’s birthday which I had seen on the Trust document but I did remember that this flat had been bought in the January after she started University whereas the other flat which I assumed her mother visited when she came to London to see her daughter (and so much more in keeping with a student’s flat and the amount of funds that Mr Patterson had allowed his wife to know about) had been bought in the previous August. When had he seduced his own step-daughter? He was dead now and beyond the reach of law. In the back of my head I wondered if he had still been alive would I have confronted him or revealed his secret. Had the affair started earlier than that, had it been actual child abuse? With the amount of money I was making with the deal I was glad that was a question I would never have to answer. I was afraid that my moral compass wouldn’t have been up to the job.

I shook myself from my reverie, “Well, Miss Watson-“

“Em! …please?”

“Well… Em, you’re still going to have to move out of the flat… at least to go and get the rest of your belongings from your other… official flat… if you do want to stay here?”

She looked about the sumptuous interior, “Maybe not… but I guess I could get somewhere else… in between the official and the un-official.”

“That could be arranged easily enough… between the two flats you could just about pick anywhere.” You’ve earned it! I thought to myself and then reprimanded myself for being judgemental when the truth was I didn’t know any of the details and I had no idea what the young lady’s own thoughts were or had been.

“… and you’ll still not tell my Mom?” this time she asked it without any nervousness, already confidant in my answer.

I grinned slightly, unable to not picture my own daughter conspiring with me about her biological investigations into the flowerbeds and worried that I’d ‘rat her out’. “No, it’s your business, not mine and it’ll only bring sorrow to everyone. On a selfish note there’s always a chance she’ll shoot the messenger!”

“There are a couple of shotguns and rifles at home…” Emily nodded at me as a grin lit up her face. “But I know Mom doesn’t want to shoot you.”

“That’s good to know!” Questions buzzed around my mind but most of them were far too personal to ask. I settled for “What’s with the ‘double’ identity thing, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She sipped her beverage for a few moments before replying, “I suppose it was a defence mechanism, actually I know it was one. Being a ‘Goth’ had the advantage of non-communication, part of the accepted persona and the long fringe shielded my eyes… don’t think I found it easy lying all these years to my mom.”

“I didn’t” I quickly answered, “I’ve no idea how anyone would deal with the situation you were in.”

She slipped off the stool, “Do you mind if we sit in the lounge, a little more comfortable…”

“Not at all” I answered following behind her, my eyes of course dropped to her leather clad ass. I shook my head at the shallowness of my nature. We sat down on opposite ends of a long cream sofa that could have easily seated six people; the view out of the window once again drew my attention, at least a dozen famous landmarks in sight.

I lifted my now empty coffee cup to my mouth and waited for her to continue. After a few minutes she did, “I haven’t talked to anybody about this… least of all Frank. He wasn’t an old pervert like you might think…”

“I have to admit my first ‘knee-jerk’ thoughts were along those lines and then… I guess, as I said before it’s a situation that everyone thinks they would do the ‘right thing’ but unless you’re in it!” I placed my empty cup on the glass occasional table at the end of the sofa, “Look, I’m prying and I have no right to… what’s done is done and time for you to have a fresh start, I’ll leave you to it.”

I made to rise, “No, please stay” Emily cut in, “I want to talk.” I sat back down again, “It was just before I came here to university, late summer. I’d probably had a schoolgirl crush on Frank for years and during the late summer I’d asked him if he could sort me out a bedsit or flat.” She breathed deeply and I waited for her to continue, “I think it came down to one sentence… one of those lines that if I hadn’t spoken, none of this would have happened…” Damn but my curiosity was champing at the bit, Emily lifted her own cup to find it empty and placed it on the matching table at her end of the sofa. “Where are my manners… would you like another coffee or something stronger?” At least he hadn’t abused her as a child I thought.

I could see she was having problems, unsurprisingly, “If you’re having something I will too” I answered.

She stood up and made towards the kitchen, “Red or White?” she asked.

“As it comes” I replied. As she disappeared into the kitchen I rose and headed for the window watching the cars and pedestrians and cyclists and joggers move along the far riverbank. So many stories dotted all around the world I thought held behind thin sheets of Silica, if only we knew to look up. Emily returned, two glasses clinking in her left hand and a bottle of Red held in the other. I saw her reflection glance at me in the window as she filled a glass almost to overflowing leaving it at ‘my’ end of the sofa before retreating to the other.

I remained staring out of the window as she sat down and without turning I asked “What was it you said?”

Her reflection looked down at the cream rug between us, seeming to fixate on one particular spot, “I said that ‘I would be ever so grateful’ and jokingly Frank replied ‘How grateful?’” she took a gulp from her glass. “I replied ‘Very!’ and I kissed him… I don’t really know… but… well that was the start.” She took a small sip, “The joke of course was that Frank had already bought me the flat across the river two weeks before that night!”

I turned from the window and sat back down carefully lifting the glass to my lips. I placed it back down when the level of wine was far safer to handle and looked at Emily still staring at the spot on the floor. I followed her gaze and saw a small red stain on the cream rug. I picked up my glass once again at a loss for anything to say. “Am I a bad person?” Emily whispered.

“No. Not at all… we’ve all done things that we regret.”

She laughed nervously, “The only regret I had was the lies or at least the truths I didn’t tell my mom. I know I could never tell her and… I think her and Frank’s relationship suffered… it wasn’t that good before either…”

“And what about you and your mother now?” I asked hoping for a positive answer.

Emily looked up from the stain, “We’re talking again… talking a lot now, making up for lost time perhaps… I missed her and she was there all the time…”

We chatted for a while on less sensitive subjects till we finished the bottle of wine and I rose to collect my briefcase from the kitchen. I took one last look at the magnificent view and picked up my case and turned for the door. Emily stood in the doorway, “Thank you again… for your discretion.”

I smiled back at her, “No need, honestly!” A smile appeared on her face, one I hadn’t seen previously. It was disconcerting.

“I’m ever so grateful” she stated.

I’d swear I missed a heartbeat. I opened my mouth and closed it again.

“Very!” she said as she stepped towards me.


I’d like to say that I stuck by my vow of fidelity and politely turned down the young Miss Watson.


I’d like to say that but I can’t. Honestly I tried!

I told her I was married, her reply was “Do I care?”

I began to tell her that I was old enough to be her father which gained a loud laugh from her before I finished the sentence.

I lied and said I was faithful; she looked at me as my back was pressed against the window and suggested that would have been my second defence if it was true as she stood bare inches in front of me (She’d already mentioned she was studying Psychology at university and was expected to gain a First in her final exams, though afterwards she admitted the ‘pop-psychology ‘had been a bluff).

I tried the fact that there was no future and I couldn’t give her children. “No need for rubbers then!” she replied.

I even suggested I was gay. Her fingers rubbing over the crotch of my trousers easily proved that one false.

“You don’t have to do this” I pleaded.

“I know” she replied as she slipped her hand inside my trousers and my case fell to the floor.


We were out on the balcony; I was totally naked lying on a sun lounger as an equally totally naked Emily bounced up and down on my hard-on. My hands were on her hips as she drove down onto me again and again. I’d already noted that she was naturally a redhead like her mother. If anyone cared to look up in our direction from the riverbank or the buildings opposite the glass barrier at the edge of the balcony provided no privacy whatsoever.

Emily looked down at me as she twisted her hips about my cock, “Thanks Pete, I need this… almost two months without cock…is far too long…”

I grunted beneath her, “You’re…ahh…” she was squeezing her pussy hard around my member, “… you’re more than welcome!”

“Do you remember…what I said…earlier…?” she panted.

“…err… which… wh… what?” I stammered.

“About my Mom?” she muttered.

“You’re Mom!”

“…mmmm… yes… she doesn’t… want to shoot… you.” Emily began sliding her hips back and forth rubbing her clit hard down against my pubic bone, “… yessss… she wants… you to shoot in her…” she laughed loudly at her own pun, “I told you we’d been ta… talking again…”

“You’re MOM!!!” I repeated stunned.

Her laughter continued, the ripples echoing down to her pussy, “Oh yes… it’s not as if… we haven’t fucked… the same man before… and this time… we might be…able to compare…notes… OHHH FUCK!!!” she screamed loudly as I emptied my seed inside her.


Afterwards she told me she was serious about her mom, she’d seen how I had looked at her in my office and knew that I fancied her. Her Mom had already commented about me and she deserved to enjoy herself and that my cock would do just fine. I felt as if my body being attached to it was just an inconvenience but oddly enough I didn’t mention it. I asked how were we going to work this and she said simply that they could take it in turns. Her final parting words were that she was going to talk to her Mom and tell her that I was a ‘good fuck’ and she should give me a try. It’d be out in the open from the word go. I left the flat in something of a daze. As I stepped out into the late afternoon sun and looked back up at the tower block I remembered when I was eighteen. I had fantasised about the mother of one of my friends and had even had a midnight wank or two over the thoughts of an aunt; I could have so easily gone down the same road. I wondered if Emily really wasn’t that dissimilar from me.


I arrived early for my ‘date’ with Mari. I was still in a bit of a ‘fog’ over the afternoons events especially Emily pimping me to her Mom. Just before I walked into the restaurant I got a text from Emily. Mom’s keen! When can u visit her? The conversation that Mother and Daughter had just had on the phone was beyond my imagination.

I had a single ‘Very’ profitable account and I’d have at least two pussies and my wife to play with. Could life get any better? My vow of celibacy was out of the window and when I saw Mari already sitting at the table I figured tonight was the night. I smiled as she rose from the table at my approach. She was wearing a plain black dress that was cut tight around her chest accentuating her bosom with a plunging neckline showing a deep décolletage. It seemed to be cinched tightly around her waist and I wondered if she was wearing a tight Basque beneath it. Normally she only bothered with a hint of make-up around her eyes but tonight her lips were coloured a fiery red and she had also had her hair done which complimented the shape of her face.

She’d spent some time on herself hopefully for my benefit as well. It was a strange meal for me. Oh, the food was wonderful and full of sensory delights, a little place in a back street that Mari had known for years. I had noticed that it was nearer to my hotel than her flat and I wondered if its geographical location affected her choice. I’m still reading things in to situations whether they are there or not!

It was a strange and exciting meal because of the ‘dance’ the two of us wove.

She knew me well, maybe as well as anyone and she knew that I wanted to get her into bed. I was at a loss as to her intentions but guessed that they were still undecided. So we danced sitting on either side of a small table, the conversation flowing easily but at least as far as I was concerned not the usual narrative I would employ. Of course I was charming but not the more obvious charm I would employ on a stranger or the likes of Angela (a friend who just didn’t know me), this was several levels more subtle. Even so I knew that Mari knew that and that she knew that I … LOL! You know what I mean as well!

It reminded me of an old Steve McQueen film, the Thomas Crown Affair, it had been a favourite of mine and Elena’s before and after we got married. There’s a scene where Steve and Faye Dunaway play chess, of course what is happening on top of the chequered board is by no means as interesting as what is going on beneath it and in the characters heads. It’s an incredibly erotic scene showing hardly any flesh at all. The joke between El and me is that we have never seen the end of the film, we always get distracted and the two of us are very happy to never watch it. We don’t even own a copy now that it’s easy to replay them at home (it wasn’t quite so easy back in our courting days and we had to wait for each time it came up on a television with so few channels back then) but if it turns up on one of the hundreds of channels now we make sure that the kids are elsewhere or safely tucked up in bed. We both hope the hero and heroine sail off into the sunset but sometimes things are better left unknown.

That’s what the meal was like. A game of chess played within our heads with the aim of the King toppling the Queen or the Queen taking the King!

All through it Mari gave away no hints as to which way the game would end. Rather she gave hints (of course I was trying to read any and all real or fictitious signs) that my luck was in or that we’d just remain friends, albeit unusual ones. The occasional red painted fingernail would ‘idly’ scratch the flesh above her cleavage, sometimes she would sit back in her chair and fold her arms across her chest, her heeled shoe might graze my shin beneath the table and she’d look around the restaurant seemingly bored with me.

I played it straight, there was no point playing hard to get, with both knew that I wanted my cock inside her pussy. My weapons of choice were words, trying my best to drop in subtle references to our more risqué mutual exploits. I asked after her dog remembering when she first saw me and Angela in the woods. Using the word ‘guide’ with its split meanings seemed to have an effect or so I thought. Discussing my future plans regarding my garden at home. I have to give myself maximum points for effort for not just asking her straight for a fuck. You wouldn’t believe how tempted I was but it was easily the best ‘dance’ I ever had.

We’d taken our time with the meal and although I was impatient for it to be over I was sad to see it end. I insisted on paying for the meal telling her that it’d get written off against tax anyway (which was a lie as I used my ‘other’ credit card, you can never be too careful; if Elena was to see the statement for this card there would be no way I could answer all the questions) and we walked out into the night air. It had been raining lightly and the streets had that pleasant fresh smell about them as we sauntered in the direction of my hotel. I doubted that Mari would allow me to walk her back to her flat and if anything was to happen it would be at my hotel. My desire changed during that walk, I didn’t want it to end for fear that I would be ascending to my room alone.

We reached it in no time at all and stood beneath the large canopy that extended across the pavement. She touched my shoulder and pointed to the dark recess of a covered doorway opposite. A couple were wrapped in each other’s arms their mouths locked together in a passionate kiss. Finally I gave up any idea of subtlety, “An omen?” I suggested.

She remained staring at the couple, her fingers once again stroking her flesh above her breasts. I wondered if she was as wet as I was hard. “An omen…? Look closer!”

I stared across the street and smiled as I saw what she meant. The two in the doorway were both male. “Not the sort of omen I would have hoped for” I admitted. “Still a boy has got to hope… do you want to come in for a nightcap?”

“No” she said simply. Before my face had time to fall her hand dropped from her chest and took mine and led me into the hotel. “I don’t need a drink.”

In the mirrored lift, I took her head gently in my hands and we kissed softly and tenderly. Her lips tasted of the strawberry sorbet she’d had for dessert. We broke our first ‘true’ kiss as the doors opened and we walked unhurriedly, hand in hand, down the carpeted hallway to my room. I didn’t fumble as I opened the door with the card and held it wide for Mari to enter first. The door clicked shut behind us as I followed her into the room. She briefly looked at the bed and turned to face me, dropping her coat off her shoulders to land on the floor.

I stepped up close and took her hands in mine looking deeper than I had ever looked into another’s eyes.

“I love you.”





So did we like the happy ending???


~ by ftfagos on September 30, 2011.

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