Married on Mondays (9 page)

Her pussy quivered. She sucked his tongue deep into her mouth, wishing he’d shut up and fuck her so she could get back home
to her wife. Victoria pushed him away, went to his bedroom, removed her clothes, threw them on the floor beside his bed like
she’d done countless times during their relationship. She lay on his bed, faced down, turning her head to watch him.

Rain removed his clothes, threw them on top of hers, opened his nightstand drawer, got a condom and lube. He put a few drops
of warming gel inside his condom, generously lubricated her ass.

Doggie-style was her favorite position. Rain put his dick head inside her ass. He swerved his pelvis with the motion of a
snake gliding through a garden. Side to side his partially erect dick slithered inside her rectum until he made his way beyond
the S-curve. She felt the blood flow to his dick extending his hard-on deeper inside her. He pushed her body flat against
the bed, lay his body atop hers, French-kissed the nape of her neck while fucking her.

She teased her shaft on the cotton sheet tucked between her thighs. “Stay right there, baby. Don’t move,” she told him, rotating
her hips to the right, making his dick hit her spot on the left. Burying her face in the pillow, she screamed, “Oh, my God,
Rain, I’m cumming!”

Each time he pushed a little deeper, she came a lot harder. He pulled out. Removed the semen-filled condom, dropped it inside
the fast-food paper cup on his nightstand, then lay beside her. Holding his dick, he said, “This here is the real thing, baby.
A woman can’t give you this. I know exactly how to hit your spots and make you cum hard in five minutes. Naomi can’t fuck
you like I can.”

Getting out of his bed, Victoria said, “You might know how to fuck me, but you don’t know how to love me. And you can’t make
love to me better than Naomi.”

Rain frowned. “How you expect me to make love to you if I have to keep fucking you in the ass?”

She threw up her hands, went to the bathroom, turned on the shower, stuck her head out the door, then yelled, “So this is
why you really called me? You’re still dreaming about being my first?”

Rain entered the bathroom. “What are you saving yourself for? Give me your virginity, Victoria, so I can prove to you that
I can make love to you. I’m tired of being considerate of your wants. Your asshole is only one hole away from your pussy.
We can do this your way. Or my way. But I’m not going to keep politely asking for what’s rightfully mine.”

W
ednesday, three o’clock, Foxy locked the door at Crème. Today the standard number of customers had come in. Fifty people had
walked in and ordered pastries and beverages for office meetings, dessert, or after-school treats for their kids. Three clients
had prepaid for adult fantasy services.

DéJà removed the cash drawer from the register. Foxy followed her into the office. Victoria was already seated at her desk.
She’d been unusually quiet all day. DéJà too. DéJà’s quietness generally meant she was up to something. Victoria’s silence
usually meant she had a lot on her mind. Foxy appreciated that neither of her sisters were in her personal business today.

Victoria counted their earnings. Foxy double-checked the deposit, then handed the cash and credit card receipts to DéJà who
placed them in her tote. Avoiding starting a roundtable debate, Foxy picked up her purse and waited for her sisters at the
front door.

They got in three separate cars, drove a short distance to Crème Fantasyland, a hidden paradise on the outskirts of the city.
Their exclusive gated community was less than a quarter mile along West Shoreline Drive. The first entry gate opened to a
long private road that was bordered on each side by maple trees. The branches created a canopy that overlapped high above
the paved street. The end of the road forked into three long driveways that led to second gates.

To preserve privacy, each of their clients was given a singleuse access code to their destination. Once on the property, they
were instructed to follow the road leading to their designated house and to park inside the garage.

The first driveway led to DéJà’s slave chamber, the second to Victoria’s cozy haven, and the third to Foxy’s dreamland. They’d
invested money, time, and a lot of thought into designing their individual homes for their clients.

Foxy observed her client on the monitor. Senator Wade Pendleton lowered his tinted window, entered his code, then drove to
her chocolate-tinted house with mocha trim. The pitched roof cascaded over double-paned windows on the upper level. The lower
level had two-way mirrors. Foxy and her client could see out, but no one could see in. The murals of a forest, a waterfall,
and Lovers’ Lake coupled with seeing the trees outside her windows gave her clients an outdoor feeling while they were indoors
with her.

Senator Pendleton was a once-a-month regular who billed the government for reimbursement under miscellaneous expenses for
his fantasy. His having sex with her kept him happy and his being happy made him a better senator. As long as he paid her
in cash, it wasn’t Foxy’s concern where the money came from. She was not the moral monitor of her clients’ consciences. If
she were, she’d have no clients.

Men came to her for various reasons. Some to fuck the way they couldn’t fuck their woman or wife, others wanted her to strap
on and fuck them in the ass. Then there were the men who wanted an experienced woman, and women who’d discreetly wanted the
girl-on-girl experience. Some couples, both married and not, wanted a ménage à trois with a neutral person who wouldn’t get
emotionally attached. The list of fantasies was endless. Senator Pendleton came to her because he didn’t want anyone other
than his wife to know he had huge balls and a dick the size of a sweet pickle.

He entered the house through the garage, belting out, “These constituents are getting more demanding by the second I tell
you. We approve same-sex marriages, now they want us to lower the legal drinking age to eighteen.

Foxy thought about Dallas’s DUI, wondering why Winton still hadn’t mentioned the charges were dropped. Probably too caught
up with Nova.

“All the hoopla about ‘If an eighteen-year-old can go off to war and die for their country, they should be allowed to drink.’
Just what we need. A bunch of kids with guns drinking and shooting up every damn thing. I blame cowboys for this problem.
Yep, the wild, wild West started this mess, Foxy. Ya got Johnnie ready for me?” he asked, tossing back two shots of cognac
from her wet bar.

Johnnie stayed ready. She’d let the senator take his time and decide how he wanted to act out his fantasy this time. “Relax,”
Foxy said, loosening his tie. She kissed his neck behind his ear. Trailed kisses to his collarbone.

“You sure know how to make an old man feel like new money. If I weren’t already married, I’d marry ya. You know that.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes and into some warm, soapy, slippery water, so I can bathe you with my breasts,” Foxy said,
leading him to the whirlpool. Today was a day she had to take charge or the senator would waste his hour talking.

“Hot damn! Is Johnnie by the whirlpool?” he asked.

“He sure is, you hot stud, you. I can’t wait for you to rub your big ole dick all over my naked body.”

“I’ma do more than that. I’ma spank you with my big ole dick,” he said, strapping on his male penile extension before getting
in the whirlpool.

Thankfully sex was 98 percent mental. The tailored penile extension fit snugly around the senator’s dick. Each time she stroked
his extension the warming gel inside the dildo suctioned to his dick, allowing his sweet pickle to grow and stay fully erect
until he ejaculated.

“Sure wish I could take Johnnie home. Come sit on him for me. No, wait. Stand up here, and let me see that pretty pussy first.”

Foxy placed her feet beside his hips.

He spread her outer lips. “God damn! She sure is happy to see me,” he said, rubbing her shaft with his finger. “I’ma eat this
here pussy like you my twenty-seven-year-old wife.”

Last year the senator remarried shortly after his wife had passed. He was smart to announce his engagement after his reelection.
His marrying a woman half his age came as a shock to the community, but not to Foxy. There were older men who needed younger
women in order to feel youthful. Foxy felt older women should marry younger, not older men and reap the same young spirited
benefits. Foxy’s youngest client, a wealthy eighteen-year-old, fucked her good the entire sixty minutes. He knew tricks her
eighty-year-old client was too old to learn or remember.

Senator Pendleton picked up the dental dam from the poolside tray, covered her engorged shaft, then buried his face in her
pussy. He licked and lapped. Foxy moaned, “Oh, yeah. You’re making my pussy wet.” She had a small orgasm as he continued lapping.
A bigger orgasm emerged when he sucked her clit and shaft at the same time.

“Careful there,” she said. “Don’t swallow the dam.”

“Whew, that was close,” he said. “I just love this here strawberry dam… hot damn! I’m hard as a hammer.”

He’d paid for Johnnie and could take his sidekick home whenever he wanted but told her his wife didn’t like toys. “I’m ready
to fuck this sweet pussy. Get down here on this big ole dick,” he said.

Foxy stepped into the swirling water. He inched to the edge of his seat. She eased the dildo inside her pussy and swayed her
hips back and forth, massaging his nuts with her butt cheeks.

The senator grabbed her titties, held them tight, and sucked her right breast. “These the prettiest titties I’ve ever seen.
If I weren’t already married, I’d marry ya,” he said again. “Tell me you love me.”

Foxy whispered, “I love you.”

Some men like Senator Pendleton simply needed to hear a woman tell them, “I love you,” even if she didn’t mean it.

“Aw, hell. I’m cumming already. Cum with me,” he said, holding her tight. “Hold me real close and cum with me.”

Foxy wrapped her arms around him. Held him tight as she could. “You’re making me cum on this big ole dick. I’m cumming.”

The senator didn’t care if she came with him. His ego had paid to believe he could still fuck a young woman into an orgasm.

He let go, leaned back, then said, “Aw, damn. An old man like me couldn’t satisfy you every day. You got too much stamina.”

Foxy didn’t respond. He didn’t need to hear her confirm or deny his feelings. At times all a man needed a woman to do was
listen. It was five o’clock. Their session was over, and it was time for her to prepare dinner and her body for Dallas Washington.

En route to Dallas’s house, Foxy called Victoria. “Hey, I’m on my way out.”

Victoria replied, “I hope you’re headed home. Your home.”

“Good-bye,” Foxy said, ending the call.

F
ive o’clock, Wednesday. He arrived. Used his key. Entered her town house he’d paid for. He refused to put his name on the
deed as she’d requested. He’d given her cash. There were no traceable cashiers’ and definitely no personal checks issued in
her name. He was smarter than his male clients that purchased joint property so they could reserve the right to take back
whatever so-called gifts they’d given their mistresses.

The fresh scent of cinnamon greeted his nostrils at the door. The one picture she’d begged to take of him hung in a 24- x
36-inch frame on the living room wall. A 5 x 7 of the same photo was on her nightstand, and an 8 x 10 hung in her bathroom.
Women had done stranger things with images of him. Posted him on their Internet pages, carried him in their purse, pent him
up inside their cubicles at work.

His reputation as the best attorney made him a household name. Why she’d showcase a married man’s picture in her home was
beyond him. A single man wouldn’t have a picture of a married woman in any visible location in his dwelling. If she was a
bragging piece and he’d fucked her and she was great in bed, he might have a snapshot of her pussy in his cell phone. Maybe.