CHAPTER ONE
Tonight Jessy would end it. No more sneaking around on her husband, no more staying up half the night worrying if she'd covered all her tracks, making sure she'd cleaned her body thoroughly of Caesar's scent, triple checking her cover stories, lining up alibis. Keeping her game face up for Robert at all times, draping properly and prettily on his arm, and, on those rare occasions when he wanted her in bed anymore, pretending passion.
Really it was only Caesar she could think about, with his hard cock, well toned muscles, smoldering eyes and that deep, velvet smooth courtroom voice, which he used so well to get what he wanted from her.
Caesar gave her things too, things Robert would never even try. For her husband, sex consisted of slapping her on the ass, hip, or whatever else he could get to first, and telling her to get ready. She would put herself in whatever position he wanted, praying he wouldn't labor over her long.
But he was her husband and she had to try again. She belonged to him, like it or not, heart, soul and body. She'd always been that way – devoted to her man. Unfortunately, when others came along to stake claims of their own, she'd never been able to say no. She'd hoped a year ago when Robert asked for her hand it would be different, but then Caesar came along, upsetting everything.
A sleazy affair is what this was and tonight she must lay it to rest. Kill it or whatever else one did to bury an improper carnal liaison.
Heart charging in her chest, taking one last look around the dimly lit motel parking lot, Jessy rapped lightly on number seven. Caesar always made love to her in seven because it was his lucky number. Scanning for prying eyes before going in was also habit, one she'd be more than glad to be rid of.
I'll make Robert want me more, she thought. I'll dress for him, like when we were dating. I'll turn him on and suck him for hours the way he used to let me and I'll let make him want to take me in all kinds of kinky ways, doing whatever pleases him.
Caesar, stripped to white dress shirt and boxers, let her in, a frown on his sharp angled, masculine face. "You're late," he locked it behind her, sliding the chain.
The sound of the metal set Jessy's blood racing. Even if only symbolically, he was confining her and soon he would want things from her, dirty things.
"I can't stay," she braced herself, beginning the well rehearsed speech, repeated a dozen times on the way over in the Mercedes.
"The hell you can't," said the city's second most prominent trial lawyer behind her husband. "I've got a hard-on the size of Rhode Island."
His hands were on her nearly bare shoulders drawing her in, making a mockery of her kiss-off performance. Feeling his gym-exercised grip, Jessy regretted now the choice of the spaghetti strap sundress, which she'd hoped would look dignified, standoffish and not sexy.
"Caesar, you're not making this easy."
"Making what easy?" He kissed her just the way he had that night at the City Opera Christmas gala, five minutes after they'd been introduced. His kisses were like brands, white fire, and Jessy had yet to develop an effective strategy against them. The first one had led to her giving herself to him in an upstairs alcove, her cheek and palms pressed to a white marble pillar as he tugged down her panties, lifted her designer dress from behind and slipped himself between her nether lips. She'd just stood there, lightly moaning, her toes curling in her wispy open toed heels as he had his way, bringing her to a quick, very public orgasm.
"We'll be doing that again," he'd said. Not a request or invitation but a directive. Formal notice having been served by an attorney that he was moving into another's territory.
A meek "yes," was all she'd managed, though a firm "no" or a slap to his face would have been much more in order.
"I – I don't want Robert to find out," she said now, breathless as he released her.
"What are you kidding me?" he tore through her argument – a tattered shred of what she'd originally intended. "Robert's a little prick. I could care less if he does find out."
Jessy didn't try to interfere as he unzipped the dress and pulled it over her head.
"I just can't do this anymore," she lifted her arms for him. "It's not right."
"Right?" he tossed the delicate fabric on the floor. "I'm a lawyer; what the fuck are you telling me, 'right'?"
"I can't sleep at night, Caesar."
"Take a fucking pill." He spun her around, unclasping the tightly binding bra.
Jessy sighed uneasily the way she always did when her breasts spilled free. They'd always been a little large for her frame and having them stick out like this made her feel too damn vulnerable.
"Oh, yea," he licked his lips, making her face him again. "Now we're talking."
Jessy knew she'd lost eye contact for the duration. She was a body now, and nothing more. A pair of knockers, a tight ass, a willing cunt.
That's all men had ever seen in her, except for her husband, who ironically enough, was the one man who should be lusting after her. Was it marriage that killed passion? she wondered. Did men lose interest in something once it was already possessed? Was sex for them all about the chase, the hunt and capture?
She gasped as he took her nipples between his fingers.
"I don't want to hear anymore talk about you leaving me, got it?"
"Yes," she replied, through gritted teeth, her verbal acquiescence signaling the start of their games for the evening.
"Yes, sir," he squeezed them harder, making her eyes water.
"Oh, yes," she threw back her head, the pain waking her up, focusing her like the first morning's cup of coffee. "I'm sorry, sir."
"You're a sorry little cunt, you know that?"
"I know, sir; let me make it up to you."
"For starters, let's find something a little more appropriate for your mouth other than yammering, shall we?"
He brought her down to her knees, tugging the swollen buds. Using only her teeth, Jessy unsnapped the heavily strained boxers, freeing his erection. Continuing to control her by her helpless tits, he thrust himself deep, finding the back of her throat on the first go.
Now it was the muscular barrister's turn to moan. She pictured his face in ecstasy, the hard edges softened, the veins in his thick neck throbbing, the skin on his smoothly shaven, well tanned head drawn taut toward his ever expressive eyebrows.
Jessy prided herself on her cock sucking. She'd been doing it since her senior year of high school and she was good. Very good according to the many takers she'd had over the years. For a girl like her, oral pleasuring was just the option she needed to offer the various men who were attracted to her. Turning them away empty handed was not in her nature, nor had she been able to afford the risks of pregnancy, especially with the violent temper of her alcoholic, ex-navy father.
Using her mouth as a cunt was the perfect thing when it came to pleasuring the men in her life. No one ever refused her and she herself received thereby the inordinate joy of giving pleasure. The fact that the act was performed most often on her knees was an added bonus given her naturally submissive nature.
"See, baby?" he rasped, letting her nipples go to stroke her sandy brown tresses. "I give you what you need – not that spineless husband of yours. Jeezus, what I wouldn't give to see the look on his face if he knew what his little wifey was up to right now."
Jessy stiffened. Here was the root of Caesar's attraction to her. Competition with his chief rival. It was like this secret the man had, so that whenever he saw Robert Condrum he could smirk just a little and Robert would never even know what it was about. Indeed, as far as her husband was concerned, Jessica was a loyal little bride, the perfect mascot.
Where did that leave her, though? Was she little more than a trophy for the two of them? In a way it excited her, making her feel cheap and used, but she couldn't help thinking there should be more to life. Certainly she hadn't married out of anything other than a genuine desire to devote herself to her spouse and to have him devote himself back. Submission to one's husband was one thing, but to be cast aside emotionally was quire another.
Robert would never fail to give her things, but more and more, she was coming to wonder if she was just one of those things herself. A rare and unique possession displayed perpetually to its best effect to impress friends and excite jealousy in enemies.
"Whoa, slow down there, hot stuff." Caesar withdrew just in time to avoid spilling himself in the warm opening. "The party's just getting started."
A part of her, the rational side, wished she could just finish him off and be done with it. Another part, the slut side, however, was glad it would go on. All night if possible.
"Let's get you naked," he lifted her by the tresses of her long hair, his hands pulling and twisting like it was some kind of handle.
Jessy winced, hating the fact that such treatment always went straight to her crotch.
"Damn," he muttered, bowing her back. "You know how much I wish I could whip those titties?"
"M-me, too, sir," she croaked.
There were limits to what Caesar could do to her even though she was his acknowledged submissive in all sexual situations. Marks of any kind were out of the question, as were bruises or cuts. Not that he didn't get her off sometimes just talking about what he wanted to do to her and how – if she were his – he would make his ownership of her unmistakably clear on her soft, female flesh.
"I can spank you, though, can't I?" Continuing to control her by her hair, he slid his other hand under the waistband of her panties, lightly massaging her warm ass cheek.
His touch unleashed the floodgates between her legs. "Y-yes, sir."
"Are you wet for me, slut?"
She nodded fiercely.
"On the bed," he pushed her backwards. "Get naked."
Jessy landed on her back on the crisp white sheets. Using both hands, watching mesmerized as he unbuttoned his crisp, tailored shirt to bare his barrel chest, she skinned down the sopping wet silk.
"Let's see how good a girl you are." Caesar took the panties, wadded them up and pushed them between her legs, soaking as much of the juice as he could manage. Satisfied at the saturation level he retrieved them.
"Open."
Jessy gaped her jaws to receive the soiled silk. She took it all, nearly choking on her own fragrance and taste.
"On your belly," he said, giving her no quarter.
Jessy rolled over, presenting her ass. There were various things Caesar could do it without leaving tell tale abrasions. The paddle was one, or his hand, and if he wished, he could also shove his dick up there. Robert was too lazy for anal intercourse, nor had he any interest in verbally and physically dominating his wife this way. She was a convenient receptacle for him, like an ashtray or trashcan and nothing more. Not that he wasn't forever becoming jealous if another man so much as looked at or talked to her, though. For as much as he didn't want to exploit her or enjoy her charms himself, he didn't want anyone else to, either.
It was much the same way with his expensive English roadster or his speedboat, she thought sardonically, both of which sat in the garage collecting dust for months at a time between uses.
Caesar ran his hand over her posterior, making her shiver with anticipation. "You'll never leave me. You need this too much."
'This' was a hard smack, delivered with enough strength to drive her down into the mattress. The pressure chafed her sore nipples and caused her pelvis to burn against the cool polyester. She could feel the liquid seeping out of her onto the sheet. Were he to flip her, he would find the stain, confirming just how much the rough treatment turned her on.
"Get on all fours."
Jessy raised herself painfully. Caesar wasted no time in mounting her, his rigid cock meeting no resistance at the entry to her superheated pussy. She shoved herself back hard against him to receive it, needing the firm, hard push of flesh, the sense of violation and outrage as this man did to her what he pleased without regard to her feelings or wishes.
"Pity Condrum wastes you out there in the suburbs," he reached round to take her tits in his hands. "A little piece of ass like you should be turning tricks or at the very least shaking it on the stage at some strip joint."
Jessy knew he'd never do such a thing, though there were times she wished he would. Anything to get him to notice her as a female again, a creature with living breathing desires, who wanted to be wanted, to be lusted after by men, willing to pay money to fuck her or just to look at her sweaty, gyrating body.
She closed her eyes, at the brink of orgasm already. This was hardly new ground any of it; they'd been here before, but Jessy never seemed to tire of Caesar's insults, his denigrations, his steadfast refusal to treat her as anything other than an object of his perverted desires.
"Maybe I'll put you out there myself. What do you say?" he kneaded her firm and supple mounds, breasts far too big to belong to a self-respecting career girl. "You ready to earn me a little extra income? Let's say twenty apiece for blow jobs, forty for a straight fuck and fifty for anything fancy. How's that sound?"
Jessy felt so cheap being mauled and used like this. The man never even bothered to use a decent hotel or take her to dinner before screwing her. After their encounter at the opera he'd simply called her the next day giving her the location of a parking lot to meet him mid afternoon.
"Blow me," he'd said as soon as she'd settled herself in the seat of his Jaguar.
And she had, no questions asked, swallowing every drop. She sometimes wondered how he'd read her so well, knowing how she'd respond to being treated like a whore. No, worse than a whore because she performed for free.
"Oh, yea, that's it baby," he rode her like a jockey now, shifting positions slightly so he could swat her noisily on her hips and bottom. "Give it up. Show me what a little slut you are. Show me how bad you want me to put your ass on the street."
Fingers clawing the sheets, sucking wildly at her own underwear, Jessy came for him, giving him gloating rights for another day. Still intact, the one-time amateur boxer pulled out of her still spasming pussy so he could fuck her tits. Lying face up, Jessy held them up and out for him, allowing the man to rub his cock between them to abandon.
Holding out to the last possible second, he finally grabbed his thing in his hand, the veins in his neck popping as he took aim. For a forty year old, he still sported a good, thick load, and he was mighty good shot, ejaculation-wise. By the time his grunting and hissing was over, he'd hosed her down good, landing a well spaced smattering of white gobs in her hair as well as across her face and torso.
"Go get cleaned up," he broke through her feminine afterglow. "You look like shit."
He was gone by the time she was done with her shower. Having gotten his rocks off, he wouldn't need her again for a week or so, less if his stress load picked up. Jessy dressed quickly, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. So much for making a clean break, she thought bitterly, as she pulled shut the door to Number 7 till next time.
Too late she remembered she'd forgotten to dry her hair. Great. How would she explain that little fact to Robert, given that she was supposed to be at her girlfriend Debbie's consoling her after yet another break up?
Maybe she could tell him that Debbie had cried up a storm and gotten her soaking wet, she mused as she fished for her car keys in the dark. Or maybe she'd just flat out tell him she was out fucking his worst enemy, the man who'd single handedly taken more money out of his pocket and put more egg on his face than any other.
The rag-covered hand came over her mouth so fast Jessy never had time to scream. It was attached to an arm, powerful and masculine. A second one was wrapping her waist, trapping her own much smaller arms.
"Don't resist," counseled the stranger. "Just breathe in nice and deep and we'll both come out of this alive."
She shook her head, trying to struggle for all her tiny, female body was worth. Unfortunately this only caused her to breathe in the chemical on the cloth more deeply, the wet poison settling darkly in her lungs.
For a split second she told herself this was all a game, something Caesar had dreamt up to titillate them both. But it wasn't Caesar, he'd left already, selfish bastard that he was, and now she was alone, caught by this man, this robber, rapist or murderer, whichever he might turn out to be.
Forced to lean back against his lean strong chest, Jessy remembered the panties. Oh, god, she'd shoved them in her purse and now her crotch was bare. If he should pull up her dress and want to rape her, he'd find nothing in his way.
Her half conscious mind wandering, her limbs growing slack, she thought she could hear him speaking to her, telling her to relax. Incredibly, in spite of her terror, she could feel herself responding positively, melting into him, feeling a peace she hadn't known in a long time.
If ever. |
