In the Long Run
Copyright© 2024 by The Horse With No Name
Chapter 66: Diversifying the Portfolio
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 66: Diversifying the Portfolio - Mark and Lydia hit a lot of bumps during the cold war and fate eventually brings them to the other side of the globe, but even there the challenges don't end. This is the founding story of my planned "It's always the Germans" universe, which will be created when this story reaches the year 1998.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Consensual Romantic Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Sports Incest Mother Son Light Bond Anal Sex Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Pegging Petting Nudism
John
“What have they done now?” Rhonda asked as she walked into my office. She knew, a phone call from Germany followed by me ranting in my office, could only mean that our illustrious gang of clients had engaged in some shenanigans again.
“Oh, the usual,” I replied, oozing sarcasm with every word. “Posed for the Playboy, got paparazzi-shot at Salzburg airport serving as a bare-ass naked stewardess on a business jet and that was only Lydia. Fedorova apparently got bored doing only cycling and cross-country skiing, so she got herself a national auto racing license too.”
Rhonda threw her head back and laughed, which confused me a little.
“Alright, John, one by one,” she said, still cackling. “The Playboy shoot was hardly a surprise, you knew about that.”
“Yeah, but not that she would take a side job as a naked stewardess and let herself be caught by a photographer while doing it.”
“Do we know who did that? Can we sue their ass off?” Rhonda asked, a bit more serious now.
“We don’t need to. One of the pilots was a dude the size of Texas and he made sure that the camera and the guy operating it looked very second-hand within seconds. But let me get this straight, you sound like you aren’t very surprised that she was buck naked on a plane in the first place.”
Rhonda chuckled. “I knew she would do it. Lydia and that Dutch girl – Femke – they both did a formal qualification training as a flight attendant, just so they could act as a naked stewardess for one day each. Mark got Femke for his birthday, and Bill’s son Ian got a very close-up look at his teenage crush for his birthday this week.”
“Oh my god,” I said and tried to face-palm, but the mirth got the better of me and we both started to laugh. We had known for years that Ian had had a crush on Lydia since he was about twelve. What a birthday that must have been.
“The only thing worrying me is, how a paparazzo got onto the apron of an international airport?” Rhonda dampened our merriment a bit.
“Bribery, probably,” I replied dryly. “You’ll always find some poorly paid baggage handler who’ll look the other way for a few bucks. But since that pilot roughed up the guy, destroyed his camera, and delivered him straight to the police, the Austrian authorities will soon know what happened exactly.”
“So, all in all a pretty normal month for that bunch,” Rhonda quipped.
“If you don’t count Nadja becoming a certified racing driver. How much more disciplines do they want to compete in?” I asked. “Next year is an Olympic year and I wonder if they get so lost in their many experiments, they’ll come home from Sydney empty-handed.”
“Would that matter?” Rhonda asked me straight to the face. “Just from a business point of view, how much publicity did we get from Lydia’s various exploits in comparison to her actual three Olympic medals?”
“Now that you mention it,” I conceded.
“And besides,” Rhonda said, now working herself up into a veritable rant. “Look at them. They are the happiest they ever were. Put your managerial glasses down for a fucking minute and enjoy their happiness. They sure as hell have had harder times. Does it really matter if they win another fucking medal?”
For a moment I was taken aback by her temper, but then I remembered that Rhonda had always been fiercely protective of them, especially Mark and Lydia, and I had traipsed into the trap of putting way too much importance on business matters over personal matters.
Now, I was not going to publicly flog myself for that. As the owner of the company I had responsibility for at least two-hundred jobs and livelihoods of people in three countries, but my beautiful wife in her sometimes fiery way had managed to remind me that some of our clients were more than that – they were our friends, and I had to admit I sometimes forgot that, if only for a few moments.
“And besides, I have it on good authority that the girls are probably fitter than they ever were. Mark told me that Lydia bit some real chunks out of herself and the others in that altitude training last month.”
“I forgot you are still calling each other every few days,” I admitted. “So are there any more news from the Fatherland that I may have missed?”
“Oh, you will love that bit,” Rhonda said, now a lot more amused again. “There’s going to be an Idiotarod in Pasadena this year, and I invite you to guess who’s going to attend.”
“A what?” I asked her.
“You know the Iditarod, right? That dog-sled race up there in Alaska?”
“I’ve heard of it,” I said warily, not knowing where this was going.
“The Idiotarod is essentially what it says on the tin,” Rhonda explained. “It’s an urban race. The idea started in San Francisco in ninety-four. It’s really just a slap-stick shopping cart race, in which all competitors, or idiots as they are referred to, are encouraged to sabotage each other, all within reason of course. They can’t be hurling bricks at each other. It’s a more rowdy variant of a carnival.”
“And the point of it is?” I asked.
“Other than having fun?” Rhonda asked back. “Well, guess which charity will get the proceeds of that event. It’ll just be a bit more lively than the two charity runs they did in the past years.”
“Mark will need a lot of paint again, won’t he?” I asked her with a snicker.
“Nope, at least not for his girls,” she surprised me. “For once they’ll all be fully clothed, well, most of the time.”
“Most of the time?” I pointed out the caveat in her answer.
“John, four women with bodies that the Playboy offers millions to photograph, how do you think they’ll distract rival teams?”
“They’ve been in Germany for a few years now. Do they remember they could actually get nicked for flashing their tits in this country. Such a clown race is bound to have lots of kids in the audience.”
“The organizers have this in hand,” Rhonda assured me. “There is half a mile of the course where there are actually no spectators allowed, around the central fire station. There can’t be any kids where there are no spectators to begin with. And minors are not allowed as competitors.”
“Ah, so any spontaneous wardrobe malfunctions are only allowed in that zone,” I realized.
Rhonda nodded. “That’s why they’re not doing the body paintings again. But then again the organizers didn’t want to be mixed up for Utah, so they created that special zone. The fire station was ideal. Without any spectators crowding the area, it’s also safer if the fire engines are actually needed for something.”
“Just how much were you involved in organizing this event, lovely?” I asked her, my suspicion coming from how well she was informed,
“I might have pitched the idea to Betty from Breast Cancer Action,” she admitted ‘coyly’.
“And just how naked will you be?” I continued to chase my suspicion.
“Quite a bit,” she ‘defended’ herself. “I will actually wear a body painting this year. The local pride community asked if they could solicit Mark’s services this year. They’re planning a display in that zone.”
I thought for a moment. “Hm, Mark is quite a free spirit, but have you actually checked with him if he’s up to painting naked guys?”
“You’re making their point,” Rhonda groaned and rolled her eyes. “When someone mentions pride, everybody always thinks about gay dudes. Have you heard about people called ‘lesbians’ before?”
“Ah,” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment about fitting the stereotype.
“If you’re looking for gay bars full of men, you’re spoiled for choice around here. This is California after all,” my better half lectured me. “But the women, in good old tradition, are a bit in the shadows still. And besides, this isn’t just a plea for attention. In a lesbian relationship both partners run the risk of contracting breast cancer. For all the clownery, there’s a serious message behind this event.”
“Well, if I can help in any way,” I offered.
“We both can,” Rhonda accepted the offer. “Not with the event. Betty has that all covered, but we could give Mark’s and Lydia’s place a once-over. They haven’t been here for nearly two years. I’ve checked on the house now and then, so there are no burst pipes or holes in the roof, but it could use a good cleaning by now.”
Mark
Well, I knew a well-fucked look when I saw one, so when Lydia came home from Salzburg in Austria, I knew Ian had taken very good care of his ‘birthday present’. She didn’t offer any details and neither did I ask any. That was the arrangement in our home and it was the same for the rare outside partners that were allowed in our already complex enough relationships.
The only thing she said was that, for such a young guy, he was apparently quite well-versed in the art of pleasuring a lady. Considering that none other than Sofia and Ira had been showing him the ropes, this was not exactly the world’s most surprising revelation. And there was of course that mysterious Hungarian sister of Sofia’s who, according to Ira, would make Meri’s gargantuan boobs look ordinary.
I spent most of the evening being Jenny’s training partner which, like always, involved the two of us, the pool and a beach ball. Lately she had taken to heading the ball back, to train her neck muscles as she insisted.
As if those muscles needed more training. After her latest growth spurt, Jenny was quite tall for a twelve year old, but she was a bit on the skinny side, except for her rather pronounced neck muscles. She was starting to develop what Germans call ‘Stiernacken’ – a steer neck. She didn’t seem to mind though, probably because the only one whose opinion she was interested in, as far as her appearance was concerned, was sporting an equally chiseled neck himself – having the same hobby and everything.
But still, something was off about her today. For starters, once we got out of the pool, she toweled herself dry and then stepped into her clothes without the often needed reminder about the dress code around here.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m being cheated,” she said gruffly and sat down on one of the deck chairs.
“What do you mean?”
“They put ten kilos on me, just because I won the first three races. I’ll be nowhere in the next race. My tires will not last with so much extra weight.”
“You knew the regulations provided for success ballast,” I reminded her. “It happens in karting, in touring car racing.”
“But only five kilos, not ten,” she complained. “Is it because I’m a girl?”
“Yes,” I said flatly and she stared at me in shock.
“Wh ... what? Why?”
I took her hand. “Jenny, you’re stepping on people’s toes, and you knew that since the day we took you karting for the first time. Do you remember the boy who nerfed you into the tire wall three years ago?”
She nodded, and I saw tears in her eyes. She felt hard done by, and rightly so.
“Look, honey. There are some rich people out there who think their darling son is god’s greatest gift to this planet and they think, because they sank thousands upon thousands of bucks into buying him the best of the best, nobody else can beat him. They can’t stomach when their golden boy is being trounced by a cute little girl.”
She actually giggled and blushed a bit.
“So you agree that the ten kilos are unfair?” she asked.
“They are not in the spirit of the rules, but unfortunately within the letters of the rules,” I explained.
“I don’t get it,” Jenny admitted.
“Normally you would get five kilos after three consecutive wins. So far everything is fair, but there is another clause that allows for even more additional weight, if someone has an exclusive technical advantage.”
“Huh?”
“What do you have that none of your competitors has?”
“Titties?” she answered with a giggle.
I rolled my eyes. “No, I mean on the technical side, Jenny.”
“Ah, a chassis from Uncle Jonjo.”
“Exactly. If there had been a second Ross chassis in the field, they could only have given you five kilos.”
“Easy, we get Matt over here. His chassis is from Uncle Jonjo too!” she exclaimed gleefully.
“Nice try, honey, but we wouldn’t trust the two of you any farther than we can throw you. We’ve been there. You are both waiting until you’re old enough.”
“Spoilsport,” she said with a pout. “Besides, you threw me pretty far yesterday, when you chucked me into the pool.
“Let Matt win his own title over in Pasadena, he’s busy enough with that. What we need is someone in the field we can flog one of Jonjo’s chassis to.”
“Seb!” Jenny said immediately.
“Another crush of yours?” I needled her for the quick answer and Jenny actually blushed a bit.
“No, nothing like that,” she denied hastily. “He’s the one with the wild hair. You’ve seen him in the first race.”
“You mean the blond one who does his hair with a hand grenade?”
Jenny giggled and nodded. “He’s quick, and he’s not as mean as some of the other kids. His daddy is a really nice guy. They don’t seem to have much money though.”
“Money isn’t the issue,” I said. “Important is if you trust him.”
Jenny nodded again. “We don’t really talk much, but he’s always fair to me.”
“Okay, then I guess we’ll try to contact them so you can lose some weight.”
“Hey!” Jenny complained about that jibe with a giggle.
Regina
Normally I left all this racing malarkey to Mark and Nadja. They knew more about those things than I did, and more importantly, they were more interested in it. But since that day’s meeting involved my daughter and a little boy the same age, my protective instincts had urged me into actually wearing clothing and going out to the karting track with them.
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