Chapter 2
Chase
Ipull up to a nondescript building on the edge of town.
There’s nothing remarkable about the three-story block, and there’s nothing distinguishing about the neighborhood either.
Gray sidewalks line black asphalt roads, and mentally, I count two bodegas, a shuttered school that looks like it hasn’t been operational in ages, as well as a laundromat. Perfect.
After all, the Citadel is a hush-hush gentlemen’s club with a reputation for sourcing the best girls, and that’s what I’m here for tonight.
I’m here to buy myself a Christmas treat, and the Citadel is the place to look for a sassy little thing with lush curves and an innocent look to those big blue eyes.
Of course, this isn’t exactly your usual wine-and-dine before a kiss goodnight.
Instead, I’m purchasing a woman at auction, and it’s going to be fun for both of us.
I get to sample her sweetness, including tasting big, bobbling breasts as well as the wetness between her legs, while she gets to pleasure a billionaire while adding zeroes to her bank account.
Like I said, it’s a win-win for everyone involved.
“Mr. Wheaton,” a porter greets with a nod while holding the heavy door open for me. “Welcome.”
“Thanks, Stanley,” I say while tipping him discreetly. “Is the auction on the second floor today?”
Stanley doesn’t blink an eye, his expression impassive. “On the third, sir. They changed the location. Please enjoy yourself.”
I nod, and stride through the opulent lobby to a plated brass elevator.
But thinking better of it, I turn and head towards the stairs instead.
I’m a fit dude, and three flights of stairs aren’t going to kill me.
After all, I work out twice a day, with cardio in the morning and weights at night.
You have to, at my age. Forty-five isn’t old, but if I want to maintain the physique of a gladiator, then it’s necessary.
After all, I take pride in maintaining my looks.
It’s vain and self-centered, but we’re all judged on how we look no matter what any therapist says about “focusing on the inside” or “ignoring societal mores.” Hell, with the advent of the internet, men are judged just as harshly as women these days, and a lot of dudes get left-swiped because their bellies are flabby and their jaws weak.
Hell no. I’m not letting that happen to me.
Even if I need to wake up at four a.m. to get my workout in, it's going to get done because staying fit and healthy are priorities for me.
Yet with all the talk about looks, I don’t date a lot actually.
Sure, ladies come and go, don’t get me wrong.
I get my share of pussy because I’m hardly celibate.
But I tend to use professionals because I’m stuck in a sordid rut, and finding it hard to clamber out.
Even worse, all of the women I date are blonde, busty, and beautiful, with an innocent look in their eyes and a particular way of smiling at me that makes my heart race.
After all, I fell for a young woman a while back, and I haven’t been able to forget her since.
Her name is Haley Monroe, and she was my stepdaughter.
It’s fucked up and wrong. So fucked up and wrong, in fact, that I had to divorce her mother in order to distance myself from temptation.
The young woman was underage and living under my roof at the time, and I couldn’t go there.
My cock stiffened every time we were in the same room, and despite being a depraved motherfucker, I couldn’t do it.
I was married to her mother, for crying out loud.
But it started out innocently enough. I met my ex through Haley, actually, because Haley and my daughter were middle school friends.
How the two of them got to be buddies, I have no idea because Emma is spunky, vivacious and outgoing, while Haley is demure, sweet, and kind.
But opposites attract, and soon the two seventh graders were close chums. They did everything together, and of course, I met Haley’s mom soon enough.
Back then, my ex was a looker. Brenda was in her late 30’s, but her age hadn’t started to show yet, and she could have passed for twenty-five.
She was a gorgeous blonde with flowing hair, cornflower eyes, and of course a busty figure.
I’m into women with curves because broomsticks have never been my thing.
I like a female with assets that I can squeeze and enjoy, and Brenda delivered one hundred percent.
After a whirlwind courtship, we were married in a picture-perfect ceremony with just our daughters present.
It was sweet. Both Haley and Emma were bridesmaids, and the two girls were giggly with excitement.
They loved their matching pink dresses, and of course, my bride was resplendent in a mermaid gown that highlighted her generous assets.
So life was sweet ... for a while, that is.
Brenda and her daughter moved in with Emma and me, and it was great.
We enjoyed the big house on the lake, and the first year or two was filled with plenty of sucking and fucking to my heart’s content.
Brenda took my seed non-stop, and I enjoyed giving it to my new wife in every position.
Meanwhile, Haley and Emma did whatever eighth grade girls do.
They were on their phones a lot, and were caught up in a mix of middle-school dances, rehearsing with the majorette team, as well as mooning over whatever pimply boys they had crushes on.
But when high school rolled around, everything changed.
First, Brenda had a bad fall. It’s my fault because my house is huge, and the back stairs leading to the garage have always been a bit rickety and steep.
Brenda decided to use the stairs one morning, and she tumbled down the entire flight, landing in an ungraceful heap at the bottom.
I still remember the screams. They were blood-curling, filled with agony and despair, and of course, I rushed her to the hospital asap.
Then there were tests. And more tests. And more doctor’s appointments, and medication by the truckful.
My wife blew-up like a balloon, and not in a good way either.
What had formerly been proportional and sassy became distorted and gross.
Her eyes disappeared behind mountainous cheeks, and her mass was so great that she literally couldn’t use the scale at her doctor’s office.
We had to go to the hospital to use a special reinforced scale kept in the bariatric unit, and it was humiliating for everyone involved.
Brenda’s cheeks were pale and her eyes oddly hot and dry as she was helped onto the weighing platform, and frankly, the ordeal reminded me of a farm animal being weighed at auction.
Moreover, the doctor didn’t have the heart to tell us what Brenda’s weight was that day.
He merely hemmed and hawed about “finding the right balance” and making sure that we had a “holistic approach to health.”
Sure, my ex dieted. She hit the gym downstairs, and we had a personal trainer come in five times a week to take her through various exercises.
But the long and the short of it is that my wife was severely injured during the fall, and had to take a boatload of medication that caused her to balloon hideously.
This wasn’t someone with a runaway appetite which could be quelled by Ozempic.
This was someone who couldn’t survive without a handful of steroids and pain meds each morning, just to make life bearable.
I was resigned to the situation. After all, everyone knows that you don’t ditch your partner just because she’s going through a medical crisis.
What kind of man would that make me? I’d promised to stick with Brenda through better or worse, and I intended to keep those vows.
But at the same time, I’m still a man, and I have full faculty of all five senses.
I’m also a man with a voracious appetite for sex, and without Brenda to satisfy those needs, I began to notice other women.
Specifically, I began to notice my stepdaughter.
I know how fucked up it sounds, but it started innocuously enough.
Again, Haley and Emma were on the majorette team together, and by now, they were in high school.
They were always prancing around in sparkly red and white outfits with short skirts that barely covered their ass cheeks.
The tops weren’t much more than a bra with a glittery “SG” emblazoned on the front, and the girls did their hair in bouncy ponytails tied with red and white ribbons.
“Hi Dad,” Emma said in a breezy tone as she and Haley sailed into the kitchen one afternoon. “Whatcha doing?”
I was home early from work that day and making myself a sandwich at the island countertop.
But upon catching sight of Haley, the knife fell out of my hand and onto the floor with a loud clatter.
Thank fuck, because it gave me an opportunity to bend over and hide for a moment, collecting myself at the sight of the beautiful girl.
After all, what happened to the sweet little munchkin with pigtails and a gap-toothed smile?
I remembered Haley as being super-skinny the way children are, with scrawny arms and legs, and more than few scabs on her knees.
But the young woman standing before me now had filled out.
Haley had the body of a woman, with the biggest breasts I’d ever seen on a teenage girl, a narrow waist, and lush hips.
Her thighs were thick and golden, revealing long legs that ended in a cute pair of white sneakers.
“Hey Mr. Wheaton,” she greeted while popping a strawberry in her mouth and shooting me a winsome smile. “You’re home from work early.”
I almost couldn’t talk. The air in my lungs vanished, and my cock was already hard just from being in the vicinity of this young blonde goddess.