Daniel is inside me, thick with the swell of lust.
I am wet for him. I know I am just his woman of convenience — though convenient on a regular basis — yet I can’t help myself. I want him. So I am open. Hungry. Juicy.
His body lies atop mine, and his muscled weight slides back and forth, his chest hair scraping across my smooth skin, rolling my breasts and rocking my naked flesh. His mouth lies beside my ear whispering directions — “slow,” “easy,” “let it come” — and I almost laugh at this man who, like many others, cannot help but issue commands even during sex. Even this he must control.
My arms drape over his shoulders and my hands cling to the back of his head. It is as if I loved him, and maybe I do in some way. Does it prostitute me more to give the guy not only my pussy but also my heart? Or is that the other way around?
He changes his angle and his cock pumps me more, now gracing my clit every other stroke or so. I close my eyes. Maybe I love all the men who fuck me like this and make me come, as he just did moments ago. Do I shudder just for him or for others too? I can’t remember.
He thrusts himself farther in. His balls slap me underneath. And suddenly he stops, holding himself there.
It is the briefest of moments.
From a rock solid standstill, he erupts and gushes his semen into my deepest places. It is warm and thick and demanding. It coats me inside.
Daniel pushes himself off my body, sliding out of me. He angles himself over to the other side of his bed, stands, and walks out of the bedroom without a word.
Sitting in the corner is his wife.
She wears a pretty sleeveless sundress, yellow-and-orange floral. Standing, she walks to the bed and reaches her hand out to me. I take it and our fingers intertwine.
“Dierdre, I think you’re a little overdressed,” I say.
“I always like to be presentable for the show,” she says in her thick voice. “You know that.”