The Making of a Gigolo (8) - Felicity Chumley

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Chapter Four

As it turned out, as Felicity barged into the library, Chester was just showing Bobby out. She pulled the door open and jumped back, when she was confronted with two men, standing there.

"I see youíve been making cookies again," said Chester, smiling at her.

She looked at her hands, and flushed deep red. "I need to talk to you," she said. "about this ..." she waved a doughy hand at Bobby. "about him ..."

"Excellent!" said Chester. "I need to talk to you too. Iíve hired Mister Dalton here to escort you to your class reunion."

Her flush drained away. She looked at the man standing with her husband. He was five inches taller, looked a foot broader in the chest, and was smiling at her. That smile, and his blue eyes, and that damned cute lock of hair draped onto his forehead, made her feel like she was seventeen again.

"I donít want to go," she rasped.

Chester turned to Bobby and held out his hand.

"Thank you, sir, for your candid answers to my questions. I appreciate a man who is honest. Weíll be in touch, after I discuss this further with my wife."

Bobby shook his hand firmly. "I remember the way out," he said.

Felicity watched as he started toward her, making her move to get out of his way.

"Maíam," he said, that smile still on his face.

She watched him move away from her too, feeling the blush begin to re-stain her face. Then she turned to face her husband, who reached for her hand, and drew her into the library.

"Please donít make me do this," moaned Felicity. She was sitting on Chesterís lap, where he had pulled her.

"I wonít make you do anything you donít want to do," said Chester, cupping one of her breasts.

"Thank you," she sighed.

"But I want you to go to the reunion, and I want that young man to take you."

"But why?" she moaned.

"Donít try to fool an old man," he said, squeezing her firm breast. "I know you found him attractive."

"Thatís the whole point!" she moaned. "I donít want to be tempted like that." She was remembering that smile, and those blue eyes, and that troublesome lock of hair that she had wanted to brush back into place.

"Sweet, sweet Felicity," said the old man, unbuttoning her blouse. She wore front release bras, just for him, and he was adept at getting them undone. The bra sprang apart to reveal her pink nipples. His hand went to fondle a naked breast. The nipple was already stiff. "I know what it has been like for you, these last four years." He pinched the nipple slightly, and she sucked in a breath.

"I love you," she moaned, leaning down to kiss him.

He let her ... kissed her back, but then spoke again when she was finished.

"I know you do," he said. "And I love you too. I want you to be able to experience the excitement of being with a younger man."

"Not like this!" she whined, as he mauled her nipple.

"Not unless you want to," he said. He pulled her toward him and sucked at the nipple while she moaned. After giving it a good suck, he went on. "But this is about all I can do for you, my darling. We both know that. It would make me very happy if I knew you were experiencing something more ... passionate, let's say."

"But I donít want another man!" she moaned. "I want you! You're my husband and Iím happy when you make love to me."

"That is precisely why I love you so much," he said softly. "but you deserve to be deliriously happy when you make love. Can you honestly look me in the eye, and say I make you deliriously happy in bed?"

"Yes," she said immediately, looking at his mouth.

He put a finger under her chin and lifted. Slowly, her eyes came up to his. She flinched, slightly.

"Be truthful, my sweet," he said. "I know what a young woman deserves ... needs. I was young once. What I gave Virginia ... back then ... is so much more than I can give you now. You know that."

"You want me to go off and have an affair with a stranger?" she whined, this time looking in his eyes. "I canít do that. It's just ... wrong. And I don't know a thing about him!"

"Which is why I hired him for the two weeks between now, and the reunion," said the old man. "He is to spend time with you. You need to get to know him, so that, when you present him as your husband, it will be believable. You need to know where heís from ... what heís like ... how he thinks. Heís a delightful young man, Felicity. I like him a lot."

"Why?" she asked, curious.

"I asked him questions," said Chester. "We talked. I was impressed with his answers. I think he is a man of character."

"Did you tell him to ... have sex with me?" she said, her voice high.

"Of course not," said Chester, chuckling. "That all depends on you, not me."

"I wonít have sex with him!" said Felicity firmly.

"If that is what you want, then you wonít," said her husband. "If you change your mind, I want you to know that I love you, and will always be here for you."

"Thatís just insane!" said Felicity. "I canít make love with a man I donít love! If I did that ... with him, I mean ... it would mean I fell in love with him. I love you. I donít want to fall in love with anybody else."

"I will not be here, forever," said Chester. "You know that too. You need to be ready to find another love, when I am gone. I will not go to my rest ... join Virginia again ... knowing you plan to stay a widow. That is not acceptable. You brought me great joy and comfort after I lost Virginia, and I expect you to let another man do the same for you when I'm gone."

"But that will be years from now," said Felicity, hope in her voice. "I can deal with that then. Donít make me do something like that now!"

"Iím not making you do anything," said Chester. "Letís just say I want you to keep in practice. How long has it been since youíve had a man other than me?"

"You know itís been since school," said Felicity. "I told you that, when we got married."

"Seven years, without the kind of passion that keeps one young," said Chester, shaking his head. "Itís too long, my darling. You donít have to do anything with this man, but I want you to feel that passion, and I think this young fellow has what it takes to bring that out in you."

"He was just supposed to escort me," wailed Felicity.

"And if thatís all that happens, Iíll be happy too," said Chester. "At least youíll have had some time with a man your own age. I think you need that. Please do this for an old man who loves you."

Felicity didnít know what to think. She had conflicting emotions already, and didnít like that. She liked to be sure about things. She was used to being in charge of things, and making sure they went the way they were supposed to. Nothing in her life, though, had helped prepare her for managing something like this.

"Please?" asked the man she loved.

"For you," she said softly. "Only for you."

"Thatís my girl," he sighed. "Now, come let Daddy make you feel good."

Ten minutes later, with Chesterís finger in her pussy, and his mouth on her nipples, Felicity felt both better ... and worse. She felt better, because she needed an orgasm, to calm her down.

She felt worse, because while she was having it, with her eyes tightly closed, she was seeing blue eyes, and a forelock that wouldnít stay where it belonged.

While Felicity was having her orgasm, Bobby was thinking about the interview. It was clear, now, that thatís why heíd been called there ... for an interview.

Chester Chumley seemed to know a lot about him. In fact, Chester knew more about him than was comfortable. Chester had seemed to know about Prudence, and Jill, and Christy, for starters. Where he got his information was a mystery, and, while he was circumspect, he asked Bobby outright if he had done work for those women.

Bobby hadnít lied about anything. At the same time, he hadnít admitted anything other than performing repair jobs for all the women Chester had eventually named. After talking about those three, he had then asked about Martha too. He hadnít mentioned Tilly, or Sherry, but Bobby got the idea he just stopped when he had the kind of information that heíd wanted.

Chester had asked some very personal questions about his upbringing too, somehow getting Bobby to admit that Joe had been his father figure.

"Met him once," said Chester, when Bobby finally gave name to the man he was talking about. "He hired on at the plant for a while, in maintenance. Did good work - could fix anything made by man - but wasnít the kind to put down roots. He was a good man, though. A bit unconventional, Iíd say ... but a good man."

Bobby had simply agreed, wondering what was going on here.

Then Chester got around to talking about the reunion, and hiring Bobby to impersonate ... him, basically. Bobby had almost goggled at the man, as he casually said Bobby would be required to act like Felicityís husband ... convincingly. That was the particular word he had used ... "convincingly".

Bobby had questioned him on that.

"What, exactly would I be required to do ... convincingly?" heís asked.

"She will be your guide on that matter," said the old man, as if it were nothing of importance. "You just be there to see to her needs, and convince those young people sheís trying to impress that she caught herself a good man."

"That might get ... awkward," said Bobby.

"I can see how it might," said the old man, looking Bobby right in the eye.

Bobby had expressed an opinion that he was better at fixing things, than playacting, which was when he was offered two thousand dollars to spend as much of the next two weeks with her, getting to know her, and letting her get to know him, as she was comfortable with.

"If, when itís time to go, you donít think you can do it, then Iíll understand," said Chester. "Iíll have to depend on you to tell me if you think you can pull it off." He had squinted at Bobby. "Of course, the fee will be the same, regardless. I will have used your time, and kept you away from other ... work."

He had basically offered to pay Bobby two thousand dollars for spending a little time with Felicity, and which might come to nothing at all, in terms of the ultimate objective, convincing a bunch of people they were married.

"Youíre sure you want to do this?" asked Bobby.

"Iím sure," said the man.

Bobby had stood, then, and said: "Have her call me when sheís ready to start."

Bobby wasnít at all sure sheíd call him at all. If she didnít, that was fine. Heíd just keep working, if she didnít. He wondered at why the old man would want something like this. It was obvious that he cared deeply for his wife, and, from the looks of it, his wife cared deeply for him too. To do this must mean the old man wanted her to have something he couldnít give her.

Just about all that could be was sex. He had everything else in the world, and, through her marriage to him, she did too. Bobby grinned and shook his head. It would be interesting ... if it happened.

Bobby went into his mother's bedroom. She was lying on her side. Through a quirk of appearance, her distended belly, and the baby inside it, seemed to be lying next to her.

"Hey," he said.

"I don't like you very much right now," she moaned. "You did this to me. I just know it was you. My back hurts."

He went around and started massaging her back, pushing his fist into it as she moaned her appreciation.

"It won't be long now," he said, rubbing her shoulders for a while, and then going back to her back.

"He moves around so much!" she sighed. "It's like he's running around in circles."


"I know it's a boy," she said. "It feels like you felt ... not like with the girls. He's going to come out looking just like you. I know it."

"I hope so," he said, kissing her neck.

"Go away!" she said, petulantly. "That's what got me like this in the first place."

"Not quite," he laughed. "I could show you how you got that way, but I don't think you'd enjoy it so much right now."

She struggled to roll over, and faced him.

"We can't do this again," she said softly. "I'm getting too old for this."

"Mamma," he said back to her, touching her cheek. "I'm going to help you change his diapers, and suck the milk he doesn't want, and, as soon as you're able, I'm going to make sweet love to you. I'm going to do that until you're at least eighty."

"Ohhhh," she moaned, tears of love welling up in her eyes. "How can I feel this way about my own son?"

"You just love me," he said. "Like I love you." He stroked down to her breast. "You want me to induce labor? I've heard that an orgasm can do that, when you're this far along."

"Go away, you horrid man!" she said, but there was no vitriol in her voice.

"I got a new job," he said, changing the subject.

"Who's the poor helpless woman this time?" asked his mother, feeling sorry for herself.

"Felicity Chumley," he said quietly.

She jerked, and her eyes opened wide.

"No! Honey ... not her!"

"Her husband hired me to take her to her High School reunion. He's paying me two thousand dollars for two weeks."

"Chester Chumley hired you?!" she gasped. "Why?"

"I'm supposed to convince all her young friends that I'm her husband."

"Ohhh, no, baby, not her. This can come to no good, Bobby."

"He seems to know what I've been up to," said Bobby. "He interviewed me for an hour before he offered me the job. He mentioned some of my previous ... customers." He smiled. "Two thousand dollars would go a long way toward a newer truck."

"That's your money," Mirriam objected.

"That's our money," he corrected her.

He kissed her, and she was able to ignore the ache in her back for a few minutes. He stroked her breast, and she felt the pain of her milk letting down. She pushed him away.

"Now look what you did!" she moaned, as a dark stain appeared on the front of the oversized T shirt she was wearing. It clung to her swollen belly, showing her protruding belly button. "What am I going to do now?"

He showed her what could be done about that, as she halfheartedly tried to stop him, until the exquisite pain/pleasure of him feeding at her breasts made her relax. The pain in her back vanished, and she felt the glow of being comfortable. He kept going long after her breasts were empty, until she felt the tingles that she wasn't prepared to deal with, and pushed him back.

"I'm not ready to go into labor just yet, Mister," she said. "Go away."

He started for the door.

"Thank you," she said.

"My pleasure," he said, smiling at her. "If you get uncomfortable again, though, you may have to call Ted. I'm supposed to spend all my time with my new wife."

"Be careful," she moaned.

"You know me, Mamma," he said, and left.

"That's what I'm worried about," she muttered, turning back on her side.

Bobby's first meeting with Felicity didn't start out well at all. When he arrived, a servant met him at the door, rolled her eyes, and bade him follow her.

"I'm Annie," she whispered.

"Nice to meet you, Annie," said Bobby.

Felicity was dressed formally, in a gown, and with her hair done up. She looked good. The dining room table was set ... with her at one end, him at the other ... and fourteen feet of table between them. Another servant, this one male, seated her, and then came to seat him as well.

"Good luck," he whispered, as Bobby sat down.

Bobby turned to look at him. "Why aren't you doing this?" he asked.

The man looked horrified, and backed away.

"What are you talking about down there?" demanded Felicity.

"I was just saying hello," said Bobby.

"You don't address servants in that way!" she snapped. "If you're going to try to convince anyone that you have breeding, you're going to have to do much better than that."

"Yes, Darling," he sang out.

"Don't you dare call me that!" she snapped back.

"Of course, Dear," he said, smiling.

Her chair made a racket as it scraped back, going an extra foot from the energy she shoved it back with. She stalked down to his end of the table, no longer walking like a lady. She put her face close to his.

"I think this is a stupid idea," she said, through teeth that were firmly closed. "I don't like you, and I'll thank you not to use terms of endearment to me."

"You don't have to like me ... Sweetheart," he said calmly. "All you have to do is act like you like me. And you and I both know, Pumpkin, that people will expect terms of endearment to be exchanged between a husband and wife." He smiled. "Honey," he added.

Her face went almost purple with rage, and she stood back up, breathing deeply. Bobby watched, shamelessly, as her breasts moved under the gown. Her mouth opened and closed several times and she sputtered. Finally she settled on something to say.

"I'm only doing this for him!" she snarled.

"As am I," said Bobby, gently.

She looked like he'd slapped her. Then she calmed herself, visibly, and marched back down to the end of the table. She rang a tiny silver bell, and they were served ... seven courses. The meal was excellent, and he made a note to find the chef and tell him so. He concentrated on old memories and used all the right utensils, and wiped his lips before and after every sip of water, like he'd been taught to do by his mother when he was fifteen. She'd told him he might never need the knowledge of how to formally dine, but that it was better to know it and not need it, than to need it and not know it. He also made a note to himself to kiss his mother when he got home. He'd also wondered where she'd picked up this errant knowledge.

Felicity was clearly nonplussed that he could behave at the table. He tried to carry on light chatter, but she wouldn't return his comments. When the sherbet was served, he stood, crooked a finger at Annie, who was holding his crystal goblet, full of the pink stuff, and picked up his chair. He walked down the table and sat his chair next to Felicity and seated himself. Putting his napkin back on his lap, he leaned back, to let Annie know she could serve him now. The hand holding his sherbet was shaking a little as she set it down. If Felicity would have frowned any harder at him, her eyes might have looked Oriental.

"What are you doing?" she asked tightly.

"Well," he said, causally, taking a spoon full of sherbet. "You seem to think that, when we get to your reunion, the dinners will be formal, and served on fine china. I kind of doubt that, myself," he said. He put the sherbet in his mouth and, when she opened her mouth to speak, he held up his index finger, pointed the spoon at her. He tasted, swallowed, wiped his lips with the napkin, and went on. "You also don't seem to think there will be any light conversation, which I also doubt." He made his face wrinkle as he seemed to think of something. "Unless," he said, "You went to some fancy boarding school, where they acted like you've been acting. If that's the case, I'm sure I'm wrong."

She stiffened even more, if that was possible.

"I'll have you know I went to public schools all my life!" she snapped.

"And lunch was like this?" he asked.

She abandoned her sherbet by slamming her spoon down on the cherry tabletop, and Bobby winced at the thwack of the utensil hitting the hard wood. There would be a mark left, and that was too bad. It was a beautiful table. He could tell she intended to get up, and he moved smoothly from his chair to stand behind hers, pulling it as she moved it.

"Allow me, Dear," he said, solicitously.

Fuming, she stalked to the parlor, where she sat on the edge of an upholstered high-backed chair. She sat ramrod stiff, and held herself like a queen. There was another chair angled toward hers, with a table between them. Apparently this was where she intended to ... chat.

"Be right back," he said.

He went off toward the doorway he'd seen Annie coming from, when she served them, and found his way to the kitchen. Annie and an older woman were in there. The older woman had on an apron that was stained with the sauce their braised beef had been soaked in.

Annie's eyes were round, as he came up to the counter, across from them.

"Might I assume you are the chef?" he asked the older woman.

She blinked at him, and her eyes seemed to wander around his upper body until she settled them on his face again.

"I've never been called a chef," she said.

"Well you should be," said Bobby. "I've never had better. My compliments."

She smiled.

"Why thank you," she said, beaming. "Mrs. Chumley said it needed to be good, so I tried to make sure it was."

"You are not to approach the staff in this house, Mister Denton!" came the rasping voice of Felicity Chumley, from the doorway behind him. "Is that clear?"

Bobby winked at both of the staff he was facing, and then turned.

"But Darling, don't I need to know how to interact with the help? How will I ever convince your friends that I have breeding, if I can't learn these kinds of things?" He smiled. "And, just for the record, my name is Dalton ... not Denton."

She went pale, as the blood drained from her face. The servants all knew what was happening, of course. They hadn't been told, formally, but they knew. She was aware of that. But his bald-faced approach was too much! She turned and fled to the bedroom, where Chester had said he'd be taking a nap.

Bobby turned back to the women.

"Sorry," he said, his face wry. "I hope I didn't get you in trouble."

"Oh, we'll survive," said the cook. "I'm Ramona, by the way. Just slip me your wants, next time you're coming over, and I'll be happy to serve you some real food."

"Thanks," he said. "If there's a next time."

He went back to sit in the parlor, and wait to find out about that.

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