WITCHCRAFT (A Paranormal Romance) (36 page)

The Polygamists

Falling in Lust with the Billionaire and His Wife

Dalia Daudelin

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1

When I was 13, I kissed my first boy. It was magical, in the way that any affection is magical when you're 13.

When I was 15, I kissed my first girl. It was magical because I loved her.

This was luckily at a time when exploring one's sexuality wasn't seen as a horrible sin to be hidden, medicated, or shamed. It was 2007 and the girl I kissed licked my lips like they were candy and she wanted to savor my sweetness. Her hands were rough, worn and dry from dealing with turpentine and paint in her advanced art class. It would be the only kiss I shared with her, but not the last time my lips would meet another woman's lips.

Although I've almost always been bisexual, I haven't had the most stories or sordid sexual past. I spent a total of one year at a community college, so I never got to have the wild sex party experience that porn would have me believe happens.

I'm not a virgin, but I'm still shy about my body. Insecure about being touched, used, pleasured by someone else.

I work in the photo department of a large pharmacy. It's a nice enough job, though the long house standing are tough on my knees. They're run down and tired from years of ballet and soccer.

My coworkers are nice. I don't spend time with them. When I was first hired, they asked me to come out with them, to bars or to their apartments. I turned them down so many times, eventually telling them I don't drink because my Dad did and I didn't want to turn out like him. They stopped asking me to hang out.

It's okay though. I do best when I'm alone, and interacting with my customers is all I really need. Most of them are older couples coming back from their vacation to Florida. They still use cameras with rolls of film that I have to develop. The chemicals make my fingers peel, but that's okay. I just have to make sure I wear my gloves.

Every once in a while, I get a customer with wild photos. Photos any normal person wouldn't want to be seen. Naked women out on the beach, or in their jacuzzi. Photos of anonymous penises, some next to rulers. Some porn.

I could refuse to develop them, but I don't even care. I look at them the same way a gynecologist looks at vaginas.

“Hey there, could you develop these cameras for me?”

In front of my register is an older man. His hair is black, though the front has a shock of gray hair. His eyes are covered by sunglasses, and that coupled with his leather jacket gives off the bad boy vibe. In his hand is two cameras.

“Sure thing! I can have these up in an hour.”

“Great,” he says, giving me a toothy grin. “I'll look around the store while I wait.”

The customers do that every once in a while, thinking the store is more interesting than it is. In a half hour, he'll plop himself down on one of the stools in front of the counter and watch me work, hoping that I might somehow speed up the process.

Still, there's no point in arguing. “Okay!” I say, nodding and turning around. I crack open the cameras and pull out the canisters inside. I set the first one into the developing machine and let it run through.

10 minutes later, the machine beeps. I pull the film out and run it through my computer before setting the second canister into the machine.

The developed film is sucked up into the feeder that scans the images. Flipping through them, it starts off normally enough. A group of people, mostly men and one woman, drinking around a table in a beautiful dining room. The guy who dropped off the film must have been the one taking the photos, since he isn't in any of them.

Things start getting a little bit weird as the woman removes more of her clothing. Her hair was up in a bun, but in this photo it's down, the beautiful waves rolling over her back. In the next photo, one of the men has a whole fistful of her hair, tugging her head toward him. She's laughing, her leg kicked up in the air. Her panties are showing They're damp.

In this photo, she's gone. I glance around it, a bit bored, but when I realize that she's under the table. I blush and start flipping through the images faster. I push them all to print, and then cut up the film to put in the package just as the developer beeps again.

I take a deep breath and start up the film. The first image is extremely graphic. The woman is on all fours, and one man has his penis stuffed in her mouth. Another man is stuffed in her ass. She has something white and milky on her back.

“Oh, sorry about that.”

I jump and turn, finding the man behind me. My face is so hot, I can tell I'm blushing. He sniffs and half-smiles.

“Unless you enjoy looking at the freaky stuff. If you do, then I'm not sorry.”

I want to yell at him for being perverted, and not considering that some kid might see the screen, but realizing that makes me fly through the photos, setting them all to print.

In an annoyed huff, I cut the film and place the first order of photos in their package. The second order finish printing soon after, and I take the packages up to my register. “Are you ready to ring up?”

“Sure am, darlin'.” He flops his wallet down on the counter. It's old leather, and nearly falling apart. It's thick, too, though. Lots of money in it.

With his order rung up, and after breaking the $50 he pays me with, I'm relieved and ready to let the pervert leave. Instead, though, he stands there.

“Could I have a pen and a piece of paper?”

I hold back the urge to roll my eyes, then give him what he asked for. He scribbles something down and then hands it back to me. “Here. It's my number, in case you ever want to come play.”

I can't imagine how I looked at that moment, but it couldn't have been pretty. I wanted to spit in his face, but he left too quickly.

I spent the rest of that shift fuming and hoping I would never see him again.

A few days later, a soft jingle and the faint scent of oranges caught my attention. I watched as a tall woman with beautiful, long blonde hair walked past me and turned down the wine aisle. Watching her, I noticed my heart beating a little bit faster. Every once in a while, a customer will attract my attention, though I never act on it.

She stands in the aisle looking over the red wines, her finger tapping her cheek. Her sunglasses take up most of her face, but her nose is small like a button and her lips are pouty. If she were some random girl on the street, I might ask for her phone number. I don't necessarily prefer women over men, though I do seem to gravitate towards them more.

She finally reaches out and grabs a wine from the shelf, a small smile on her face as if she's proud of herself for making a decision. Her slender body moves the fabric of her long, flowing blue dress as she comes back up to me.

“Can I check out here, doll?” She asks. She has an accent, though it's faint. Texas, maybe.

“Y-yeah!” I say, hating myself for stuttering. How can I be that much of a loser?

She sets the wine bottle on the counter and pulls her small purse off of her shoulder. Her earrings are long and jingle when she shakes her hair over her shoulder. I scan the bottle and place it back on the counter, suddenly feeling like I've seen her before.

“That will be eighty-nine dollars,” I say. She pulls out her credit card, which is decorated with a cartoon cat and is very girly, and swipes it. I bag her wine as she finish up the payment, my mind trying to process where I know her from.

She takes the bag from me, but she doesn't leave.

“You know, when he said you were cute, I didn't quite believe him. Why would a cute girl be working here? But he was right.”

“I'm sorry?” I ask. Her voice is so pretty. I would ask her to sing if it weren't creepy.

“A few days ago, you developed our photos. My husband says you refused to call him, and he seemed pretty upset about it. My husband tends to get what he wants. But you know, for once, I'm the one who is a little disappointed.”

I step back as I realize who she is. This is the woman who was servicing all those men in those photos! Realizing that I've seen this beautiful angel with cum on her back both arouses me and confuses me more. “Oh,” I say. “Well.” I don't have anything else to add.

“Look, I know it seems weird. Maybe it is a little bit weird. But I can tell from how your pupils are dilated that you like me.” Her hand comes up to her chest, playing with the buttons on the neck of her dress. She unbuttons the top one, then the next, showing off her cleavage. “I'd like to get to know you better. I don't like phones, so maybe you don't either, so I wrote down our address.” She hands me a small piece of paper. The address is written with a pink gel pen in large, curvy letters. “If you stop by tonight, when you get off of work, I'll make you dinner. This wine's for you, after all.”

She turns then with a giggle, and I watch her as she walks out of the store, my mouth hanging slightly open and my mind blank.

I try to process what just happened to me. So, that weird dude and that beautiful woman are married. They both want me to come over to their house, probably for sex. And somehow... I'm turned on by all of this?

The rest of my shift goes by fast, since my mind is battling itself as I try to decide what to do. Is it immoral to go over there and see what it's like? Do I want to risk it? What if they're serial killers? What if they're not and they really do want to sleep with me?

By the time I check out of the pharmacy, I'm tired and confused and near tears, but worst of all is that I am wet. My clit is swollen and needs some attention.

That is what inevitably causes me to push the address into my GPS unit and take a deep breath. I hold it, then slowly let it out as I set my mind to what I'm about to do. I'm going to go to their house, and if they want sex... I'm going to give them sex.

2

“Darling, should we have steak or chicken tonight?”

My dear husband pokes his head into the kitchen, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It isn't lit, because he gave up smoking a year ago. He just likes to keep his mouth occupied.

“I prefer steak.” He mumbles around the cig. I smile and nod, happily returning to my cooking.

This is a happy home, give or take a few things. I married Shane when I was 17 and he was 19, and we've been so happy ever since. He treats me well, buying anything I could ever want. He writes me poems, and he paints me when he has the time.

Shane owns his own business. He started it in Texas, which is how he met my Daddy and how Daddy introduced me to him. When we moved up to Michigan in order to better serve the auto industry, it was a big shock for me to be away from my family, but it has been so worth it.

“Do you think she'll be here? Should I make a steak for her?” Shane and I have been looking for a girlfriend for years, but we never found anyone worthy of our love. I'm not 'sister wife' material, and I can be jealous if Shane shows affection for someone who doesn't deserve it.

“I think she'll be here,” he yells from the living room. “What do you say to inviting Kevin over next week for the game and some fun?”

“I think we should run that by Melanie first, dear.” I shake my head. Shane is always trying to whore me out to other men, but with another woman coming into the house we have to be more choosy. We don't know what she'll be comfortable with, and if we want this relationship to last we have to worry about her desires too!

Shane doesn't respond. In the end, he'll make his decision and I'll happily serve any man he brings to me. The truth is, I love it. I'm a true nymphomaniac, and Shane wouldn't be able to keep up with me on his own. I know, we tried, when we were first married. I ended up being disappointed because even after trying tantric sex I just wanted more. And more.

When Shane suggested swinging, at first I was really not into it. Scared, really. But after that first man, who Shane made sure was our sexy neighbor that I had been eying for a year anyway, I became obsessed. I love grinding on a cock while Shane watches, sometimes filming and sometimes taking photographs. If I could spend every moment having sex, well, I very well might.

I put the third steak on, seasoned with my personal blend. Tonight could turn out to be very interesting.

Shane pokes his head into the kitchen again, the cigarette gone and a toothy grin on his face. “Jen, someone's at the door.”

3

I arrive at the house at 8:30. The sun's nearly gone, but even in the dark I'm taken aback by how large the house is. It's basically a mansion!

Well, there's no turning back now. I'll go in, and see what they're like. If they're creepy or weird, I'll just leave. I check my cell phone so that I can dial 911 if they're murderers, before stuffing it into my jean shorts. I leave my purse hidden under my car's seat and then step out.

The windows are lit up, and in the huge bay window I can see the man from before sitting on the couch. For a second I'm resentful, irritated that I have to deal with him in order to get to know the woman better.