This is a sequel to the story Jail Breaking. When you disregard all the well justified criticism of my punctuation and spelling in that effort, the majority of the numerous and overly generous comments relate to the ending or lack thereof. Technically as a short story it is complete, but I admit not in an entirely satisfying way. I also notice in the comments that most readers did not see the various characters the way I do. Again my fault for not giving enough back story. I have great sympathy for the women in my story and less for my protagonist who in a very dishonest person. As the comments came in, I saw a sequel develop that would please some but not all readers. However, this story holds true to the one rule I try to keep. A character cannot step out of character no matter how absurd the situation. They must be true to themselves. Keep this rule in mind as you read the sequel.
You will notice the improvement in the grammar. You have Vickietern to thank. It is still not perfect, but she did a great job with what I gave her. I would also like to thank Jerry S who has been slaving away on my latest opus and for which I am stuck for an ending.
I was seated on the back porch, watching the sun set over the western Catskills. The cabin -- you could not call it a house -- was just one large room and the rather spacious screened-in back porch. That room contained a small kitchen and a sleeping loft, and a small bath with a shower stuck out the far side.
This part of the Catskills is in the main undeveloped. There is no industry, farming is near impossible, and there is nothing to mine. The tourist spots are all to the south and east. It's a good place to go if you want to be alone and close to nature.
"Ein cent for your thoughts," she says.
"Save your money, I don't have any," I reply.
She is Annette Malene Grafin von Kabchreuth. I met her in Montreux on Lake Geneva – she more or less picked me up. I was eating in one of the overpriced café restaurants that seem to populate all of Switzerland.
"Is this chair taken?" she had said.
"No, feel free."
But she didn't take the chair to another table as I expected. She sat right down. To my quizzical look, she responded.
"I wish to practice my English."
"How did you know I spoke English?"
"Most Americans do," she said with the laugh that has become so familiar to me. It is a laugh that says all Americans are a bit simple, and, for this reason, quite amusing in their immature ways.
That was the start of it. She had no great difficulty seducing me -- why she wanted to at first falls somewhere between amusing and kinky. I am convinced she truly enjoys sex and plenty of it, but only on her terms. She is easily bored and perpetually in motion. Since we arrived in the Catskills, she has hiked every trail, gone swimming in every body of water, and found all sorts of amusements I never knew were there. The locals love her. Why not? She loves to spend my money, and she is beautiful.
She is not what I would call sexy. She is tall at five eleven, and thin. She has a beautiful oval face that has a mop of blond hair and clear blue eyes. She is as flat chested as a boy with a tiny waist and a cute little bottom. The boy-girls in Bangkok have more feminine curves than Annette, but her smile is to die for. I could easily love her but for her baggage.
Annette is thirty, married with three kids. The children all girls are in school. The Graf, that's a kind of Count, is usually off on a business trip with one of his mistresses. Annette plays while he is away, and is the authoress of many travel books. But she tells me it's all business when they are at home together. Apparently a lot of effort goes into being a German aristocrat.
She is a blood relative of her husband, a kind of cousin. It was a quasi-arranged marriage, though she tells me they are very much in love. I know after six weeks together that her idea of love and mine have little in common.
"You left your wife after nineteen years because she took a lover just once?" she asked, appalled at my shocking conduct.
"I didn't love her."
She burst into laughter. "You were married too long to use that excuse. It is more than that – you are lying, mostly to yourself. Your anger is not sufficient to cover the pain you caused. It is hard to lose a husband, father, and son. The reasons must be greater than you give."
"I wasn't going to let them walk over me."
"Nonsense. That might bring on a separation or a divorce possibly, but a complete break with your entire family because of a little sex? No, I think you are one of those hopeless romantics. You seek what you will never find because it is only exists in films and books. In real life we take what we can get and are grateful."
"How could I live with what she did?" I asked.
She gave that infuriating laugh of hers. "Because you cannot live without her, nor without those other women from whom you also run. You can't even face them, so you hide. You are afraid that you will go back to them because you have no life without them."
She is unfortunately right, at least emotionally. I had been living a lonely and purposeless existence until Annette came along. It's surprising the things that you miss. The way your daughter's laughs. The kiss your wife gives you first thing in the morning. The once a week call from your mother with all the family news, knowing she is only calling to see how you are doing. It's all a trap. Give in to it and they will tie you up so tight you will never get free. Annette has it correct – I didn't leave, I ran away. I can't go back, for I may never possess the will to leave again.
"I'm here with you -- this is my life," I said.
"I am on vacation. Soon I will return to life. My true life, and you will be no more than a pleasant memory," she said as she stroked my face with her hand.
"I guess that tells me where I stand."
"Stop being a spoiled little boy. Go back to your wife. You have punished her enough for her little sin."
We saw things so opposite. I could not blame her, we were from different worlds. Oddly I knew my mother would agree with her, but I had to keep searching. Even if I failed to find what I sought, I promised myself a good time trying. I left my wife and family last New Year's. I spent the first several months touring the Far East. I made my way across Asia, ending in Europe, Switzerland to be precise. During this time, I never suffered for female companionship, but every last one wanted something. Annette was different. Oh, she wanted something, but it was just a good time. She had managed to dampen the pain in my chest. It is hard to be alone and hard to shake feelings that have built over a lifetime. You don't choose your family, but you still love them.
"It is nice to watch the sunset. I am glad I came. The Swiss were so stuck up," she said as she seated herself on my lap.
She weighs almost nothing, but I knew where her being naked on my lap was going. When we were alone, she rarely wore clothing. I had no neighbors to see, and I was myself only in a pair of running shorts.
"Can we wait until the sun goes down?" I ask.
"You watch," she says pulling down my shorts.
My cock is hard and ready, and she slips in into her as easy as can be. She has small breasts but large nipples. They are very sensitive and she moans as I tweak them. She is not tight in the vagina, but she has developed her muscles there. She uses them to caress my dick. She always takes the top position, and she does all the work. It is a slow but intense ride. As light fades, she picks up the pace, her kisses become more forceful. Her tongue is fucking my mouth. One hand slips down to her clit. I work her nipples with my own hands.
I can feel her orgasm – they come in a kind of wave. You can feel her rise into it, and then it crests, and she slides down the back side. There will be yet another wave and then another.
"Don't cum! Not yet. I think I have another," she says.
When I finally get there, she pinches my little nipples with her long nails. It's like sending an electric shock through me, and I send everything I have into her. She puts her forehead on mine and her eyes look right at me. It is all but dark – only the dim light from the cabin's interior lights the porch.
"Now was that bad? Did it hurt my husband or your wife? And if it did don't they both deserve it?"
I have no comeback. She is right.
"How rich are you? I think very," she said.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes it does. You are very rich like my grandfather. He hid his wealth too, but then as with you grandfather made it dishonestly, trading western goods on the black market in East Germany with my father," she said.
"You think I am a crook," I said.
"But of course, and a smart one because you have not been caught."
"This doesn't bother you?"
"I am a woman who married a man because her father needed the respectability that came with her husband's title. How can I criticize you?"
"Yet you say you love your husband."
"Why not? He may have married me for Grand Papa's money, but it was a bargain we both made."
"What about love?"
"How silly you are. The love comes after, as you struggle together, sacrifice for each other, bring your children into the world and raise them together."
"You are here with me and he is somewhere else with another woman."
.... There is more of this story ...