A/N: Thank you guys for the reviews, and adding to your alerts, and favorites! I know this story is very strange and different from my other work, but its an idea I've been toying with for the last couple of months, and didn't know the best way to approach it. This deals with subject matter I don't condone on a personal level, so that means politically correctness has been thrown out the window. Tee-hee. Read on and enjoy!
Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.
Sometime in the future…
It's been three weeks to the day since my interlude with Mr. Smith—well I should say—Sir. And the annoying thing is, I can't get him off my mind which by this point he should have been purged from my system in the fashion of a really good bowl movement. There had been very little which separated him from the pack of alpha males who thought they were God's gift to women and oftentimes left much to be desired. He was different in the aspect that while we were together he didn't abuse my body like he had an addiction that could never be sated; no, we had sex like he had been deprived.
Being deprived of sex was often a symptom of that disease called marriage. I know that sounds pretty harsh and that I might be anti-marriage, I assure you I'm not, only trying to keep things real.
But Sir handled me not like a high class hooker, but like the woman of his dreams.
For the first forty-five minutes I sat on the couch dressed in only the skin that covered my bones, and listened to him bitch and moan about problems he was facing at work. It was all boring, in my astute opinion, but I nodded politely, asked for clarification, and other inquires, and then sighed heavily.
That caught his attention for he paused in mid-sentence and finally stopped looking at me as if I were a therapist.
"I'm sorry…this isn't all that interesting to you, is it?"
I shook my head and reached for the glass of champagne. At that moment the rush it gave to my head had been the only exciting thing to happen all night. "Its fine, Sir. You have things you need to get off your chest and I rather you do it now than…"
"Take it out on you," he finished.
I nodded, took a sip of the golden, bubbly fluid before setting the crystal glass back on the table. I kept my eyes on him the whole time watching him as he watched me. Desire was plainly etched within his eyes; eyes that saw too much, I think.
Sir had risen to his feet and pulled his button down shirt out of his pants. I kept my eyes locked on him while he slipped the buttons out of their holes and peeled the shirt off his shoulders. He had a nice torso, well sculpted abs that contracted with each movement and breath. Arms that bespoke of spending upwards of three days out of the week at the gym. There was some hair on his chest but not a lot. Not a single flash of excitement coursed through me as I continued to watch him strip. Sir removed his pants, then his black boxer briefs that did little to contain his erection.
It was nice, I'll admit with a slightly curved tip. It jutted out perhaps seven and a half to eight inches from his body.
"Stand up," Sir ordered.
I followed suit and waited for my next set of instructions. Sir rounded the coffee table that had been the only barrier between us. He brushed my hair off my shoulders and just stared me in the eye.
"I want to kiss you. Is that sort of thing allowed?" he asked almost meekly.
I wasn't opposed to kissing but it wasn't on my list of priorities. "You've never kissed the other girls you've hired, Sir?"
"Well that's private…"
I smiled, "Things stopped being private between us when I walked into this room and took off my clothes, Sir."
He gulped and I watched in fascination as his cheeks colored over. There was something innocent about this man—which I know goes against what he's hired me to do—that I haven't encountered in anyone else.
"Kissing is important in this line of work, Sir. It's just as important as where you want to kiss me."
His mouth plopped open then and his breathing deepened.
"Have you been thinking about kissing my…breasts?" I asked mischievously deciding to go easy on him and not say what I had intended to say.
His eyes fell and landed on my boobs like the Puritans landing on Plymouth Rock. "Y-yes."
"Have you thought about kissing my twat?"
Vigorously he nodded his head.
"Then what are you waiting for, Sir? You already have your invitation."
"Are you wet?" he asked suddenly, eyes back on me.
No, I wasn't, but I thought of the three hundred dollars that lined my purse and the seventeen hundred that had just been deposited in my account. I felt a tingle. A shiver that ran down my spine before detouring and tickling my clitoris.
Sir was handsome, fatally so, the kind of man any woman would delve into endless fantasies about it. When he touched my cheek, something shifted inside of me that was unexplainable and caught me off guard. I immediately wanted to back away from him, establish a neutral zone between our naked bodies, but that would have been in violation of our contract. I was his for the next three hours. His to do with whatever he wanted. But I didn't want him touching me like I was important to him, like I mattered, like he cared.
"Come here," he pulled he forward and locked his mouth on to mine. I made a small snort of protest but then found myself relaxing against his granite-like torso. He was an expert kisser, one of the best I ever had the pleasure of swapping spit with.
This was not good on so many levels.
His hands were everywhere and grew bolder and bolder by the second. Fingertips circled my nipples, hands brushed against my stomach before moving around to palm and squeeze my ass. He separated my cheeks and ghosted a finger over that puckered bud. I tensed for a second.
I ended our kiss. "That's still virgin territory," I felt the need to tell him.
"I bet it would feel great," he whispered in my ear.
"I bet it would cost you a hundred thousand dollars to go back there."
After hearing that, Sir dropped it and then picked me up bridal style. We entered the bedroom, and he lowered me to the bed all the while still raiding my mouth with his tongue. The minute my back hit the cool duvet, he headed south, mauling my titties until my nipples were harder than they had ever been in all my…my age isn't important. Just know I'm old enough to do this.
Lower still he traveled until he was eye level with my C U Next Tuesday.
"How many men have you been with?"
He really wanted to discuss this now?
"Worried about catching something?" I asked. "I get checked out every…"
"No…I just want to know if you're tight."
"Find out for yourself."
Two fingers invaded my tunnel and pumped a couple of times massaging my inner muscles before retracting. And I might have moved my hips a little because well, he knew what he was doing. This man didn't need any coaching which only served to make me even more nervous about doing this.
"You're almost as tight as a virgin," he looked at me suspiciously.
"Is that a problem?" It wasn't like he was so endowed that I feared for the survival of my vagina.
Sir crawled back up my body and hovered over me. "I can pretend you are mine and mine alone. That you've never been with anybody else."
Oh, great the virgin fantasy. How original.
I said nothing but merely made room for him between my thighs and began to look as reticent as I did when I initially lost my virginity. For the record no one loses their virginity; I willingly and happily gave mine away.
His eyes hardened. "Ask me to fuck you."
I grinned up at him and stole a kiss before settling back on the bed. "Please, fuck me, Sir. Bust my cherry."
I didn't say anything after that because the breath had been robbed from my lungs as Sir thrust forward, after putting on a condom, and impaled me on his shaft. My toes curled on impact; my fingernails dug trenches in his shoulders.
I lost count of the number of positions we tried. Sir was into spanking, hair, and nipple pulling. His Boy Scout demeanor had been a front because a freak resided in that man.
"Your pussy is so goooodddddd," he moaned and then bit my neck almost savagely. He was going to pay for that.
"That's because it's your pussy," at least for tonight.
Sir pumped his hips until I was moving across the bed, and then he jerked, back arched as he howled towards the ceiling. I followed suit a little while after that.
Six mind-numbing, hair raising orgasms later Sir did more than bust my figurative cherry. The man took my body to places it's never been before, made me say things that weren't all that explicit or raunchy in nature. At the end there had been no mistaking the fact I indulged in the specialty it had taken several months to perfect. It had been a shock to Sir who grew curious if I could do it again. I showed him just how talented I was, and he simply marveled.
"Are there any other girls who can do what you just did?" he asked. "Squirt?"
"Plenty. Some girls are much more limber than I am, too, and can twist their bodies in all sorts of interesting positions." Some could also do triple penetration. I'll just let that slightly disturbing thought marinate in your brains for a while.
"Wow," Mr. Smith said and then curled up behind me. Spooning me. Cuddling. I never stayed around long enough for anyone to cuddle. I always allowed myself fifteen minutes towards the end of the session to clean myself up, but Sir had exhausted all of his time, and I was simply exhausted. I didn't want to leave the bed unsure if my legs would cooperate or not.
"I know you have to go, but I have one final request," Mr. Smith said.
I craned my neck to look back at him. "What?"
"Tell me you love me."
The hell?
"I haven't heard that in a long time," Mr. Smith went on to explain.
For a half a second I found myself wondering what kind of cold bitch was he married to, to not tell him that she loved him, but then I thought of the fact he was an adulterer, and deserved to have his wife find out what a lying, cheating bastard she married, and take his ass to the cleaners. But that expression on a face fashioned by the spirit of Michelangelo made me feel sorry for this loser. I thought of my own rules about not growing attached to clients, or falling in love, and though technically I didn't love him, I would in a way be breaking my golden rule by uttering those life-altering words.
So I did what I did best. Focused on the fact he just paid for my new wardrobe this month.
"I…I love you, Sir," the words sounded odd and like an echo in my head.
Unexpectedly, Sir sighed and then rolled out of bed, a look of disappointment and disgust marring his striking features.
Instantly I copped an attitude because he was the one asking a stranger to say 'I love You', and if he were hoping it would sound sincere and authentic he shouldn't have made the stupid request in the first place!
Did he want me to call him by name? I didn't even know it. His name could have been Paul, Ian, Nate, or Joseph, hell he could have been a Zach or a Michael for all I knew. And I really didn't care.
His time was over. My services were done. I got out of bed and went on the hunt for my clothes which were still in the living room of the suite.
Sir didn't say anything. Kept his back to me as he poured what champagne was left into a glass and picked up a chocolate covered strawberry. I didn't find it necessary to thank him, merely dressed, then retrieved my coat and purse.
"Can I…can I see you again?" Mr. Smith asked timidly.
I buttoned my coat before replying, "I don't do repeat customers."
He glared at me then. "So you really do just fuck em and leave em, hun?"
I smiled and then winked. "It's part of my lure. Good luck with your business, Sir."
"Wait."
I halted with my hand on the doorknob that led to freedom. I felt Mr. Smith at my back pressing his naked warmth into me, infecting my olfactory senses with his masculine and sex drenched scent.
"Thank you for tonight."
"You're welcome, Sir."
"Be careful. The roads are slick this time of night."
I nodded my head at his suggestion and threw open the door.
::::
The door to my bedroom flew open and in walked him. He eyed me as I wiped off the bookshelf that housed some of my favorite novels, pictures, and little knickknacks that have been collected from all over the globe.
"Why are you cleaning? We have a maid service I pay good money for to do that, you know."
The Pest, as I affectionately called him never passed up the opportunity to remind me how much money he spent to make sure I lived in the lap of luxury. As if I needed his goodwill. This arrangement between us was only as permanent as I felt he served some purpose. I ignored him and continued on with my wiping, dusting, and rearranging.
Living in suburbia had its perks but many pitfalls as well. Forced to socialize with women who only went to college to land a husband that would one day take Wall Street by storm, and didn't have two brain cells to rub together; forced to pretend that the walls of my three-story home were filled with warmth and not sterile coldness. I lived a lie everyday.
"Ignoring me won't make me go away."
"Unfortunately," I mumbled under my breath. I finally turned to acknowledge him. "Did you need something?"
He shook his head and crossed the room and entered our massive walk-in closet. "I'm going out for a few beers with the guys. I'll be home late. If I drink too much I'll just crash at…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said cutting him off knowing how much he hated the sound of his voice being interrupted.
The Pest came out of the closet with his fashionable and insanely expensive leather jacket. He slipped it on and wrapped his Burberry scarf twice around his neck. Though I couldn't stand the sight of him on a good day even I wasn't immune to how attractive he was, how riveting he could be when doing the most basic and simple thing. He didn't share the same attitude or opinion when it came to me. He thought I was rigid and obtusely proper. Ha. If only he knew.
"Be a good girl and make that lamb that's been going to waste in the freezer. We can have it for dinner tomorrow night."
"I'll have Madge do it. She's the better cook."
He sighed heavily in resignation. "It would nice if…"
I held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "We've both been on our best behavior today. Let's not ruin it with a pointless argument over food. Go have fun with the guys."
He grunted and moved towards the door but then stopped to look at me over his shoulder. "What will you be getting into while I'm gone?"
I shrugged. "I'll probably just check my email and then watch a movie. I have no plans to hang with the girls tonight."
"I really wish you'd spend more time with them. We really should be trying to fit in here."
And I really wished you leave and stop getting on my nerves, I projected that thought through my narrowed eyes.
"They might be the wives and girlfriends of your 'friends' doesn't mean they have to be mine as well. Have a good time, sweetheart."
The Pest muttered something incoherent before leaving me to my solitude.
I waited an hour before venturing downstairs to tell Madge to take the rest of the night off. If the Pest wanted lamb he could make it himself. He knew how to cook.
Alone, I went into my office and logged on the Venus Dolls website. I signed into my account and saw I had fifteen messages in my inbox.
There were a few from so-called lonely college boys looking to burn through their trust funds on whores and booze, one from a Texan businessman who was specifically looking for a Nubian goddess who offered "maid-like" services. Um, no. Not going to be reliving days on the plantation through me. I had received an offer from a professor. That one piqued my particular interest but it was the last email that held my attention.
In the subject line there was only one word written: Sir.
I smiled and opened up the email against my better judgment. Mr. Smith apologized for making things awkward between us with his final request. He also felt the need to tell me that he would be away on business, but was hoping I might agree to lunch or dinner, hopefully dinner, upon his return, and we could just talk. I shook my head because he was willfully ignoring the fact I said I didn't do repeat customers, and it was also printed in all caps, I might add, on my profile.
"Persistent bugger, aren't you?"
My fingernails tapped the desk as I thought of what I would do. Delete his message or reply back.
I thought of the way he pulled my hair, the way he thrust deep inside, the fact my legs had remained airborne for most of the night, and his smell. I couldn't exactly get that out of my head.
He was dangerous whoever this man was.
I was tempted…oh so tempted, until I looked at that diamond handcuff on my ring finger reminding me of my obligation. Did I feel bad or a sense of remorse for what I was doing on the side? When you're a stay-at-home trophy let me know what you do for kicks in your spare time before you cast that stone.
Sir treated me like a person, like I mattered, wanted to please me which was probably why I should stay far away from him because I could very well see him making me want things I didn't currently have. My home life was monotonous and routine, boring yet punctuated with fun times and adventures. Didn't necessarily stop my wandering eye. I did love the Pest contrary to popular belief, but love couldn't salvage everything.
After a few more minutes of weighing the pros and cons and the possible tragedy this could all very well lead to, my mind was made up.
"Fuck it," I wrote him back.
Three weeks ago…
His heart was a maddening beat behind his sternum. Every step he took that led to his sprawling estate felt heavy. His shoulders slumped with guilt, and his eyes burned with images of caramel skin. He worked his tongue across his entire mouth tasting her despite the fact he brushed his teeth three times and gargled half a bottle of Listerine.
Sticking his key in the lock, the beep of the alarm was the only thing to welcome him home. Quickly he crossed over the polished floor to the winding staircase taking his time, dragging his hand up the wrought iron railing, eyes to the ceiling trying to discern any sound of her movement. It was a little past seven o'clock in the morning and she was an early riser.
It wasn't the case this morning as he opened up one of the double doors leading to his bedroom. The blinds, set to a timer, had opened at six forty-five and in poured the rays of the sun blanketing her in light.
His angel.
She shifted a bit as if knowing she was under his heavy stare, but she didn't wake up much to his relief. He dropped his leather bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and approached the bed.
He was tempted to kiss her on the cheek but reframed from doing so. With her still unconscious to the world this gave him some time to screw his head on straight.
Quietly he entered the bathroom and carefully eased the door shut. Again he sighed in relief but he hadn't even encountered the hard part yet—facing the missus who would bombard him with questions about the meeting, his stay in the hotel, and why he didn't return the three calls she left for him the night before.
"My phone was on vibrate" excuse could only work but so many times before she would begin to look at him suspiciously. He never traveled without his charger so he couldn't blame his lack of contact on a dead battery. Maybe he could get away with saying he was tired, had every intention of calling, lost track of time, figured she'd be sleeping, and he didn't want to disturb her. That would have to work.
He stripped out of his clothes, turned on the shower, and took a piss.
With his hand on his jock a memory of last night instantly slammed into him and it wasn't his hand doing the honors of making sure he aimed for the bowl, it was a tiny caramel hand clutching him at the base while a pink tongue…
He flushed the toilet and his traitorous thoughts as his nuts strum to life and he felt himself stiffening. Growling lowly in his throat, he stepped into the shower and didn't leave until his skin was taut and tight. Toweling himself dry, he eyed his reflection and wondered if he wore the expression of a man who just had the night of his life, a night that didn't involve his significant other in any way, shape, or form?
The correct way to feel about the entire situation was disgust. However, the only thing that made him feel disgusted was the fact he wanted B again, but she had turned down his request for another "meeting". Didn't women who did what she did for a living live for repeat customers? She knew he was good for the money so what exactly was her deal? Maybe she really did have an issue with the fact he was married. Maybe she was one of the few who had some scruples despite the fact she was paid—and very handsomely at that—to sleep with or "entertain" men she wasn't in a monogamous relationship with.
Running thick fingers through his hair, he shook his head and knew it was best to just forget about her and the incredible night they had.
"Babe…are you home?"
The sound of his angel's voice snapped him out of his reverie and pulled him into their bedroom. She was awake, rubbing her eye with one hand while the other was stretched above her head while she yawned.
"Hey," he greeted her and watched as her eyes fluttered against the sunlight while they took in his damp appearance. Her smile was slow and instantly warmed him but also scared him witless.
"When did you get back? Last night?"
He shook his head. He could have lied and said yes and that he fell asleep in the office while looking over some reports, but he was tired of lying to her.
"This morning."
"How was your trip?" she scooted out of bed, and strolled over to him.
That warm feeling inside warred with trepidation as he noticed she had turned one of his shirts into a nightgown. He leaned down as she stood on her toes to peck his lips. That was it. Just a peck. No tongue, no teeth clashing, no oxygen deprivation, no bodily contact of any kind, just a no thrills peck.
"It was the same as all the other business trips I go on, honey," he said and retrieved his bag, looked over his shoulder and then quickly emptied out the contents. He grabbed the box of condoms and stuffed them at the very bottom of his sock drawer in their walk-in closet.
When his angel stepped out of the bathroom she had her toothbrush lodged in her mouth. "Hmm…why didn't you return any of my messages? I was worried."
"I'm sorry, babe," and then he went into a litany of excuses that were nothing but lies. His angel nodded in acceptance of his words before heading back into the bathroom to finish up her morning routine.
Donning a charcoal gray shirt and pajama bottoms, he left his feet bare as he entered the bathroom and watched his angel floss her teeth. She really was beautiful and he was lucky he married her, but there had been something lacking in their relationship that went all the way back to when they initially started dating. She was a southern bred debutante; had the right familial connections, received a stellar education from some of the most prestigious schools and university. She was everything a financier like him could want in a spouse, but she didn't fulfill all of his needs.
Their sex life was a matter of perspective. His angel thought she was an exceptional lover and he never let her think otherwise, but there was this hunger, this appetite within him that she could never quench.
He lowered his eyes guiltily as once again he was transported back to Riverside Manor, back to B's tight and dripping wet snatch, back to the sound of her moans echoing in his ears.
"Did you hear me?"
He snapped his head up. "I'm sorry, what?"
"What do you want for breakfast?"
Alcohol.
"I'll cook," he offered because he needed to get away from her. Just as he turned to make his escape, he felt her hand on his arm tugging him backwards.
"Are you okay? You look flushed. You didn't eat something bad did you?"
"No, sweetie, I'm just tired."
"Oh," she nibbled a corner of her lips and stared at her feet demurely before looking up at him again underneath those dark lashes. "I was hoping…we could…you know…fool around. It's been a while and I've missed you."
Inwardly he groaned. As much as he may have wanted to slam her on the bed and have his wicked way with her his toy solider was down for the count, and appallingly only stirred to life if he thought about B. And the angel standing before him was nothing like B.
"Let me get some food in me and then we can fool around," he muttered dryly. Not once had the words, sex or fuck traipsed out of his wife's mouth, and her euphemisms for each word made him laugh sadly. If it weren't for the fact she just initiated the idea of them having sex, he'd think she was as passionless as a corpse. He smiled though it felt forced and his stomach rumbled with guilt.
Her eyes lit up like fireworks and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth, still without any hint of tongue.
Later that afternoon, he managed to get out of performing his husbandly duties by saying he had to have an emergency conference call. His angel had pouted but once again accepted his lies for truth without complaint. She could be so damn docile it was a wonder he was still awake. Instead of waiting around, she dressed, and then went out to go pile on more credit card debt with one of her snobby friends.
With her gone, he logged into his Mac, and then signed on to his account at Venus Dolls. It took him no time at all to pull up B's profile since he bookmarked it. His hands flew over the keyboard before he could talk himself out of what he was doing.
He read over his message twice checking for typos and grammatical errors, and then hit the send button. She wasn't online now from what he could tell, but hopefully she'd check her messages later on today or tomorrow. Regardless of her no repeat customers philosophy he was determined to see her again. He didn't know that much about her, but what he did know intrigued him.
She did whatever he asked of her. Even told him she loved him. He was really fucked up to ask a complete stranger to say that to him.
What would possess him ask such a deeply personal and intimate thing left him scratching his head and wanting to pummel himself for the unfaithful bastard that he was. Women like B were not turned into housewives. Not to say they weren't worthy, but who would respect them once their profession was made public knowledge?
The smart thing to do was to stay away from her. He had a life here in Connecticut. A good life. And one he shouldn't throw away for anything least of all for some pussy that didn't belong to his wife.
Green eyes taunted him while a Mona Lisa smile questioned him. "You sure you can walk away and stay away?"
"I honestly don't know," he replied to the phantom voice in his head.
There was no backing out now. No matter how long it took he would see Miss B again. Hopefully.
Chapter end.
A/N: Looks like Mr. Smith isn't the only one leading a double life. There is just one chapter left and things will come to a head. And yes, I still haven't coughed up any details about Mr. Smith's identity or that of his wife, or B's husband. I kind of want to leave that open for you guys' interpretation and imagination. I know who I have in mind, who I'm using as inspiration and I'm kind of on the fence whether I want to reveal that or not. I might or I might not. But thank you for reading and let me know what you think. Until tomorrow, love you guys!
