The Mistress (3 page)

Finally coming to the conclusion that she didn't care if it was a never-ending cycle or not, she decided that she was happy in this moment with him. She curled her finger in a “come hither” motion so that she could beckon his brawny figure towards her. Smirking, his knee found the edge of the bed, and he crawled towards her. She spread her legs slightly, allowing him the access to top her – but he didn’t. Instead, his face found her underwear-clad mound.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and her breath caught slightly in her throat. He smiled. He knew she was nervous – he could sense it. She knew that. His ego seemingly fueled, he leaned to just above her clothed womanhood and kissed her lightly.

His hands worked at her body, causing her skin to tingle over every inch of flesh that he touched. Kissing her again, he massaged her thighs, and slowly and gently moved upwards. Goosebumps rose over her skin, and she felt him finger at the fabric covering her sex.

Hooking the index fingers of both hands, he began to pull at the white cotton, trying to rid himself of the barrier between him and what he truly wanted. She felt the chill of the air flicker over her for a moment as she became exposed to him. Only for a moment, though. The warmth of his mouth soon found her core. “Ah!” she groaned audibly.

She felt his lips curl into a grin as his tongue swirled around her clit and his lips suckled at her folds. She gripped at his thick blonde hair – he moaned. The vibrations of his voice danced across her clit, exciting her more. She began to flow with arousal, which seemed only to entice him further. Devouring her juices as if famished and in need of sustenance, he became the hunter once more. His hunger fueled his movements. Gripping at her thighs roughly, he buried his face deeper into her wet center.

Suddenly though, he abandoned his position and sat up. He began tearing at his black athletic briefs with feverish effort to be free. She noticed the beautiful outline of his hard cock in the elastic fabric of his under garments and took mental note of the heat it caused to spread over her. The head well defined, and the shaft fat with girth – she salivated over its delicious aesthetics. Pulling the fabric down, his member bounced – as if with joy – to its newfound freedom.

He topped her, tracing kisses across her pale smooth skin as he moved to her face. Enveloping her lips, he kissed her intimately as he unclasped the front latch of her bra. It was in that moment that she realized how truly experienced he was. Where most men needed a directional map, Preston was able to accurately pinpoint the latch and undo it with one swift motion. She gasped, hotter than ever.

Returning his kiss and deepening it, Haley pulled him closer and clawed at his plump ass cheeks. Reaching with one arm, she buried her hands in between them and grasped at his hardness. It throbbed under her touch. He hissed desperately. She smiled. This time, it was her ego that fueled her movements. She tightened her grip around his shaft and pumped slowly at first. “Oh, God...” he trailed, obviously heated.

She felt it growing harder, his veins pulsing inside her grip. It was then that she leaned against his ear, suckling on his lobe and seductively whispered the words, “Fuck me.” She had intended on guiding him into her ready love nest, but he must have had different plans.

Those words were all he seemed to need to hear before aggressively ripping her hand away from his shaft. She began to protest but soon ceased, surprised by him roughly grabbing both of her hands and pinning them down to the bed.

Both of her small hands were easily bonded by just one of his much larger – god-like – hands. She felt his fingers slide across the slit of her sex as he nipped at her neck. She was soaking wet, flowing like a river roars. She wanted him. She wanted him badly. She wanted him now. “Now!” she screamed as she finished the thought. It was then that his hands guided his erection between her legs.

In one thrust, he sank into her. Engulfing him, she felt him stretch and fill her to the hilt. He was large – much larger than she was used to, but it felt so damn good to feel his warmth slide against her walls as they formed around the flesh of his shaft. His movements were slow and precise, stimulating her sensitive spots as he simultaneously rubbed his pubis against her exposed clit.

“Faster, Preston. Move fucking faster,” she begged, not believing the language coming from her, nor the comfort she felt with him by telling him what she wanted. She rocked her body and sped up her pace so that he would accept the hint with her support. Obliging her, he thrust more quickly, and fucked her with greater intensity. Still holding her hands down, he moved his free one to her breasts, massaging them within his grip. He teased and worked her nipples, pinching and licking at them until they became hardened with arousal.

“YES!” she couldn’t help but scream. His ministrations were heavenly, and she felt pleasure greater than any she had ever experienced before. He seemed to be the center of great experiences, she thought with robust emotion. Suddenly, as if gaining a momentous boost in self-esteem, he felt frisky and daring. Abandoning her breasts, he moved his hands down the length of her sensitive body, creating chills and electricity as he went. He grabbed her right leg and, with great intent, stretched it upwards so that it would rest atop his shoulder.  

Burying himself deeper with every plunge, his moans increased in volume. As her walls clenched around his pulsating erection, she knew that they were both close to climax. The sensations began to overwhelm them, and this level of heated intimacy was something that they knew would have to be short-lived. But they didn’t care. Not at this moment. At this moment all that mattered was this and them.

Rocking her hips to meet his forceful contact was enough to make her orgasm right then, but she couldn’t allow it to happen just yet. She wanted to feel him cum; she wanted the satisfaction of knowing that it was her that made him feel that pleasure. She also didn’t want this moment to end, because she knew what waited for them after.

“I’m close,” he grunted. “I have to pull out.” She heard the sadness in his voice, and the desperation, but instead of letting him back away from this – and them – she freed herself from his grip and pulled him against her with distinct purpose. “It’s fine,” she nodded, assuring him. “Cum for me!” she pleaded.

Nodding in concurrence, he thrust faster and more deliberately, hitting her g-spot. A wave washed over her, and she could feel her body losing control. She felt herself tightening around him before she felt a hot liquid fill her from within. Breathless, they untangled themselves from one another. They knew that their existences were changing from around them; their worlds could never be the same again. The question was, what were they going to do about it? More importantly, who were they going to hurt in the process?

I
t was windy in the city that day. The pink and white striped fabric of the store’s canopy blew with the gusts, and beneath that decorative cover hung a cutesy wooden sign. Matching pink writing was perfectly etched into it, and it read, “Made with Love by Marissa”. The chilling winds fell against the window panes of the downtown shop, and the sunlight beamed inside and shone over a thin and youthful looking blonde woman wiping countertops.

Marissa was feverishly working hard cleaning up after the breakfast rush. Letting out a sigh of relief and exhaustion, she looked outside to the streets. Traffic had died down, and she knew that everyone was going about their day by now. The sun was hidden behind a gloomy blanket of clouds, darkening the city to an almost dusk-like appearance.  

Trash littered the streets and lifted into the air with intensity. She shivered. It was spring, but the chill of the wind could still sometimes cut through you like frozen knives. Just thinking of it was enough to cause a chill to run down her spine. She finished wiping down the tables and looked at the clock: 10:23 a.m. – lunch would be soon. She had to admit, she loved the business she had been getting lately.

Her bakery hadn’t always had a breakfast or lunch
rush
. She fondly remembered the early days of her marriage, the newly wed stage. They barely had two pennies to rub together back then. But they were happy. God, were they.

They had met in college, the dawn of the age where dreams are abundant but those dreams rarely provide success. She smiled. They were just kids, with the world ahead of them, but too silly to realize that they didn’t have it all figured out. All he wanted was to be CEO of a business – but not only any business. He wanted to be CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Still smiling, she recalled how they had always joked that the only reason he wanted to be Chief Executive was because he wanted to wear the suits and be in a position of power.

He was that type of man. Preston was strong, silent, but very intimidating to those who didn’t have the pleasure of knowing him personally. It was all cliché, really – the intimidating businessman – but it was true. God, was it true. Another truth though, was that he loved business, the thrill of the sale, the politics – he loved it all. She admired that about him. He set his bar so high from the beginning and yet still achieved greatness. His company had been on the top of the list for several consecutive years. She was proud of him.

Marissa on the other hand had other dreams in college. She majored in biology and wanted to work with the environment. She had always had a passion for conservation and maintaining the earth’s ecosystems. As fate would have it though, graduating in the top quarter of her class still did nothing to aid in a job search. The fact remained that she could not find anything in her field. As the story goes, she had to settle into a job that she hated.

She landed a job as a secretary for a company with questionable morality based on her typing skills and outgoing personality. At least, that was what she told herself. In truth, it was a company with questionable morality and her boss was an even more questionable person. Dare she think it, he was without a doubt – shitty; for lack of a better word. Impeccably shitty. Lecherously
shitty
.

What was worse, though, was that even shittier people called his shitty office with their
really
shitty problems. She had to listen to their shitty voices all day, complaining about their shitty lives and her boss’s shitty ethics. It was just shitty. She hated it with all that she had and all that she was, but she never said so. She never let on. She wanted to appear to be the happy working wife that she knew he not only wanted, but needed.

It wasn’t long, though, until Preston noticed her depression. She felt stuck, and he had sensed it. He was always good at knowing how she felt, no matter how intensely she tried to hide it. In fact, the more she hid it, the easier it was for him to sense it. It was as if he was born to dissolve himself into her psyche. One thing she could never deny was how in touch with her he truly was. It didn’t matter how busy he was at work. He knew her, truly so.

She couldn’t tell you the day or the month, but she could tell you every other aspect of the evening. He had come home from work excited about a merger he had landed for his organization. He leaped into the door, humming a show tune whilst loosening his tie and tossing his briefcase on the home’s cream carpeted floor. It was like a scene from a movie. He was dancing while he made his way to the doorway of the living room of their small first home. He began to speak his excitement until his gaze finally met her.

There she was, her beautiful body crumpled onto the couch, absorbed in whatever was on the television, with a glass of wine in tow. He noticed the bottle near her, and even though she didn’t want him to, she knew that he had. Her peripheral view showed his lips form a sideways smile. She knew what that meant. He pitied her. She hated pity. She hated feeling vulnerable and weak, and she hated even more that he viewed her as such.

She had merely been curled comfortably, knees to chest, leaning against the arm of their blue sectional. All the while a bottle of white wine chilled in its bucket atop their silver ottoman. To any other onlooker, she would look peaceful, unwinding at the end of the day with a bottle of white, her feet up, dressed in pajamas with her DVR recorded soap playing on the television. To every other onlooker, it appeared to be just a relaxing evening in front of the television, something to be envied by many. To him, though, he knew better. She was unwinding, yes... but she was also sulking.

It was then that he stomped through the living room’s doorway – with strong determination – and crossed the small room. His stupid little cocky grin was still plastered atop his face. She almost started laughing at the production he was giving. It was as though he was in a play, and he was being careful to exaggerate the theatrics of the situation. He reached to the arm of the chair, snatched the remote control, and flicked the television off.

“Quit your job,” he ordered. Though his tone was demanding, it was far from harsh. He reserved the harsh and brutal negotiations for those with a work-related issue. Not for her; never for her. His demeanor was always softer with her, but she knew that despite the softness – he was serious. He wanted her to quit. She looked at him, stunned. She knew – by all the showboating – that he was going to do something dramatic and abrupt, but she didn’t expect those words to come out of his mouth.

“I can’t just quit...” she stammered, shifting her head up off of the arm of the sofa. He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Why not?” he asked, his tone – surprisingly – not so much questioning as it was seemingly coercive. It was then that he threw the remote atop the silver ottoman. It clanked to the surface with a loud thud. Proud of himself, he gently sat down on the arm of the couch beside her.

He sighed a large and – once again – melodramatic sigh; he took her head in his hands and held her steady. His thumbs grazed her chin and cheeks lightly. Trailing circles across her flesh, he cocked her head upwards to look at him. It was then that he seemed to unleash a masterful plan; she felt, while he was explaining it, that it was something he had been concocting for quite some time.