Your Favorite Girl (YFG Series)

by Steph Sweeney

  Before they even hit the floor, Mr. Moses was ushering me out of the room. At first I didn't move. I couldn't resist watching him penetrate her, his body shaking like a nervous poodle, tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto Flora Girl's breasts, his ass cheeks clenched tight as he came over and over inside her.

  Then he began to scream, and I understood why Mr. Moses wanted to leave.

  "He'll do that for a while!" Mr. Moses called out over Ted's deafening shriek.

  My ears ached. My heart ached. Jealousy and homesickness welling inside me. A small part of me was jealous of Flora Girl, but I didn't really think of her as a person—more of a machine. Ted, though, was experiencing something the rest of us could only imagine. In his voice were the tonal qualities of passion and adoration. He loved her. Instantly. And not the kind of love he used to express to me just before coming in my mouth or the love I thought he had for Ellen—just invigorated lust mixed with the excitement of the new and strange.

  This was something else. Despite his tense, rippling muscles and incessant howling, he caressed her cheek softly with his thumb. She turned her head and took it in her mouth, sucking on it and moaning with such strain that it would be safe to assume she was having one long, endless orgasm that continued to intensify with no apparent upper limit.

  Two big hands hooked me by my armpits and pulled me out the door. Mr. Moses shut it behind him and the spell cast over me by Flora Girl dissipated—somewhat, at least.

  "I'll give them about twenty minutes," he said. "Then they'll have to be separated."

  "Why?"

  "Too risky to spend much time with her." I followed him down the hallway. "I've seen heart attacks, strokes, aneurysms, even a broken back," he explained. "This one dude got his Favorite Girl bunched up against the headboard and he was bangin' her so hard he gave himself a concussion and her a skull fracture."

  I glanced back toward the bedroom. It sounded like a murder was taking place. Suddenly I wanted to take back every decision I'd made that day. What if Ted died? Could I live with that? Would I face criminal charges? Was Your Favorite Girl, Inc. even a legal entity?

  Certainly not. This was prostitution. No, worse: sex slavery.

  I stopped. "I don't want to do this."

  Mr. Moses turned at the top of the staircase, putting a hand on the rail. "I can do that," he said, "but not until we give them some time. If I try to pry your husband away right now, things will get violent."

  "How long before you can?"

  "Twenty minutes," he repeated.

  I took in a deep breath, exhaled slowly. "Okay," I said. "Would you like something to drink?"

  He asked for orange juice and my mind returned to earlier when Ted told me about Ellen leaving for Berkley, the bitterness and melancholy in his voice. I thought about Ellen living in a college dorm, fucking her way across campus to the fraternities, throwing her chances of an education out the window. If only I'd gone to college instead of marrying Ted. Maybe I would be happy.

  I directed Mr. Moses to the den and when I returned he was sitting on the huge sectional sofa, an arm thrown up over the back and one leg stretched out.

  "Thank you, lady," he said, downing the entire glass in three large gulps and handing it back to me. I set it on the coffee table and then climbed onto the couch next to him.

  "I changed my mind."

  "About your husband?"

  "Yes."

  "So you'd like to continue as planned."

  "Yes."

  "Great. We've got sixteen m—" He paused and looked down at himself. Then his eyes moved up my body, stopping at my chest, where my cleavage showed through the loose-fitted bathrobe. "Mrs. Reed, did you?"

  I didn't answer. Instead, I grasped the bulge in his pants again. It pulsated in my grip—or maybe I felt my own heartbeat in an artery in my palm, fascinated as I was by the length and girth of what I held. Ted would be so jealous.

  "You drugged me." Mr. Moses looked scared. "Ma'am, you gotta let go. You really do. You gotta let go, ma'am!"

  I didn't, and he made no effort to stop me. He jizzed so hard in his pants I could hear it, three consecutive jets of sperm, seeping through his pants almost instantly to form a warm, wet stain. When I unbuttoned his pants and pulled his dick out, more sperm drizzled from the head like froth boiling over in a pot. Yet he remained erect with no loss in turgidity.

  As I climbed into his lap, he slipped his slacks down below his knees, putting a hand around my back while he leaned forward. I massaged my clit with the slippery head, then worked it down to part the lips. Mr. Moses put his hands on my hips as my weight pushed his dick deeper and deeper inside me.

  "Mrs. Reed," he said between breaths.

  I let the robe slip off my shoulders and I grinded my pelvis into him. His big, smooth hand slid up my side and over my breast, squeezing.

  That's when things got crazy.

  Mr. Moses slid his left arm around my lower back and pulled me against him. Then he placed his right hand over my throat and bent the top half of my body backwards. My back popped in several places, painful and relieving at the same time, and panic began to well inside me as I struggled to breathe, not only because of this forced posture but because of the sharp currents of pleasure as he licked my nipples.

  The orgasm I experienced made me cry with joy and an insatiable craving for more. I lay against his dark chest, shaking, panting, sweat forming where our bare skin touched.

  "Fourteen minutes, Mrs. Reed. We have to stop. It's too m—it's getting too . . ." He groaned, then again, louder.

  Suddenly I was being flipped in midair. I landed with my back on the sofa and Mr. Moses towering over me, parting me with his thumb and index and guiding his cock into my hole.

  Pressing my knees into my chest, he delivered long, deep thrusts that tossed me around on the soft sofa cushion for the next five minutes, our sweat and constant coming wetting the fabric. My boobs ached from his groping and clawing and when he tickled my clit with his fingertips I screamed.

  His dick slipped out and suddenly I wanted to be away from him. I needed to catch my breath and my pelvis and hips ached. I rolled over and tried to stand but Mr. Moses slammed me back down and pulled me to him.

  Resisting only made me want it more.

  "Eight minutes," he said, hitches in his voice from the thrusting. I wondered how he knew the exact time without looking at his watch.

  "We have to stop," I cried.

  "I'm coming," he said.

  His mouth was wide open, so much that his jaw looked unhinged. He started pumping faster. I reached under my ass and massaged his balls, and when he climaxed, I squeezed them hard and kicked away, tumbling off the couch and hitting the floor on my stomach.

  He caught my ankle as I scrambled away, but I managed to wiggle free and get to my feet.

  Mr. Moses had dropped to the floor. He sat on his shins jacking off at a frantic pace, staring me down.

  "Get away," he said. "I can't handle it." He started to inch his way towards me, holding his penis like a lever. It took me a moment to realize he was pulling his shoes and pants off. "I'm gonna fuck you, Mrs. Reed. You better run."

  He brought one knee up and planted his bare foot on the floor.

  I ran out of the den and through the kitchen to the foyer and into the hallway where I dove into a bathroom and slammed the door shut. Mr. Moses hit the other side of the door just as I turned the lock. The sound made me jump back. If he hit it again, he might break through.

  But he didn't. After a few moments of complete silence, I heard the slap of his bare feet on the marble floor.

  He was headed upstairs.

  Shaking like a leaf, I unlocked the door and pulled it open slowly. Sure enough, I could hear him climbing the steps. What would happen if he made it to the bedroom? Would Mr. Moses and Ted kill each other?

  This was all my fault. I had to do something.

  By the time I reached the top of the stairs, Mr. Moses was scuttling into the
bedroom.

  I ran as fast as I could, but not fast enough. I heard the struggle before I made it through the door. In the bedroom, I found my husband flying off the bed and Mr. Moses flipping Flora Girl over on her stomach and gripping one ass cheek to expose her anus. He wiped his hand on her dripping pussy and used it to lubricate her ass. Then he slowly worked his dick inside. As he fucked her, she slipped a hand down between her legs and rubbed her clit, moaning in rising notes.

  Ted was stumbling to his feet. I tried to intercept him, but despite his weakened state, he managed to push me away and climb onto the bed, where he tried to grapple with Mr. Moses.

  Mr. Moses overpowered him easily, wrapping his meaty hands around Ted's throat and squeezing so hard I thought Ted's eyes were going to pop out of his head. He slung Ted down over Flora Girl's back and simultaneously humped her ass and choked Ted to death.

  I watched in horror as Ted's legs kicked frantically and then began to stiffen, bouncing like the legs of a bored child. I didn't remember the taser in the black case until he'd stopped moving altogether and Mr. Moses flung him back to the floor.

  The next few minutes I hardly remember. In a state of shock, I got a hold of the taser, zapped Mr. Moses, who fell aside twitching, then grabbed Flora Girl by the wrist and pulled her off the bed and down the hall.

  The electric feel of her skin drew me out of my hazy state of mind, and I was suddenly determined to get away from here with her—to be alone with her. From that point on, I had no other motive. She was mine. Nothing else mattered.

  We were both buck naked, but I didn't give it a moment's thought. I led Flora Girl down the hallway where I'd hid in the bathroom, all the way to the end, where a door led into the garage.

  I kept a spare set of keys in a coffee can on the shelf after several instances of Ted either deliberately locking me out of the house or taking off on a business trip without notice and leaving me without keys.

  We were in the car waiting for the garage door to open when Mr. Moses came bursting out of the hallway. I frantically hit the door lock, even though it locked automatically when I shifted into reverse and backed out, scraping the hood on the bottom of the garage door.

  I gunned it down the driveway, which curved on a slight slope down to the cul-de-sac, which luckily today was unoccupied by children riding bicycles or throwing a baseball.

  Mr. Moses was upon us in seconds. He jumped on the hood as I shifted into drive and spun a donut. I slammed on the brakes and he went sliding off, hitting the ground hard and rolling.

  As I drove away, I noticed Flora Girl was fingering herself.

  ─Faking It─

  I DROVE hours north of Indianapolis, almost all the way to Gary, stopping only once at a rest area to grab my suitcase out of the trunk, the one I'd packed several days before in a heated attempt to leave Ted.

  Of course, two truckers and a young couple saw me bent over with my head in the trunk, still completely naked. I'd waited until I thought the coast was clear, but they came out of the building all at once.

  I tossed the suitcase in the backseat, opened it, and pulled out the first two dresses I could find: one white and strapless with a quilted texture and an elastic hem above the chest, the other a simple red cocktail dress.

  I stepped into the red dress because it was the more difficult to put on. Who knew if Flora Girl had ever even changed her own clothes?

  As I was zipping the back up, I noticed the truckers coming towards the car.

  "You okay, honey, you need some help?" one of them said in a raspy voice.

  Pretending not to hear them, I climbed in, shut the door, and hit the lock.

  Flora Girl had fallen asleep with her hand on her crotch. I guess her body could only handle its own sexual drive for so long. She looked beautiful slouched down in the seat, knees touching, head resting on her arm against the door panel. A streak of blonde hair covered one breast, but the other rose and fell with her breathing, exposed, the nipple raised up and hardened as she moaned quietly in her sleep.

  The two men crowded around the car, peeking in the window, tapping on it, saying things their wives would shudder to hear.

  I ignored them, focusing instead on slipping the dress over Flora Girl's head, then pulling her forward so I could get it down her back. To my surprise, this didn't wake her, and though I thought pulling her arms through the top would definitely make her stir, she still slept like a baby.

  With the dress pulled down over her hips, held in place with the hand she'd used to masturbate until finally passing out an hour out of the city, I started the car and backed out, not making eye contact with the truckers, whose tones had turned impatient and now bordered on angry. Indeed, derogatory exclamations chased us down the entrance ramp.

  When I started seeing signs for Gary, I took an exit and pulled into the first hotel I could find that looked like it had a bar inside.

  In the parking lot, I debated for quite some time over whether or not to leave Flora Girl in the car while I rented a room, but when I opened the car door, she opened her eyes and looked at me.

  "My stomach hurts," she said, which took me by surprise. This was the first time she'd said anything besides "Fuck me," and "I love you."

  "Are you hungry?" I asked.

  "I don't know," she breathed. "I want to fuck really bad." She looked afraid, as though abstinence might kill her.

  "We're gonna check into a hotel room, okay? Then we'll get something to eat."

  "Okay."

  "Do you want to wait here while I get the room?"

  "No," Flora Girl said quickly, eyes darting around the car.

  "What's wrong?"

  She was shaking. I noticed her hand sliding up her hip, her legs spreading slowly.

  "Flora G-" I paused. "What's your name, sweetie?"

  "Flora," she said, now rubbing her clit with her middle finger.

  She didn't have a real name. Just a product title.

  "Flora," I said. "I need you to stop . . . doing that."

  She stopped instantly and dropped her head, as if in shame.

  "What would you like me to do?"

  I didn't know what to say. She must have been trained to obey commands. By what methods I could only imagine. The way she shied from me when I gave her an instruction. She could have been beaten. In the Showcase Hall, she'd looked like a purely sexual creature, a moving sculpture of soft tissue and nerve endings.

  Now she just looked like a frightened young girl.

  What a conundrum she presented. I wanted to protect her, but I wanted to violate her, too.

  "When we get to the lobby, I want you to just stand there. If someone talks to you, you can talk back, but no touching yourself. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  We crossed the parking lot close together, but I made sure not to touch her. It was a miracle I'd managed to resist her so far.

  I suppose we looked like two porn stars on lunch break, tiny dresses, no bras, no shoes, our bodies reeking of sex, not to mention the intoxicating scent of Flora. The young clerk behind the counter perked up when he saw us. He looked half-Korean or something, like someone who should be working for the Geek Squad. He stared at Flora with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth.

  "Can-can I help you?" he managed to say.

  "We'd like a room," I said.

  "One bed or two?"

  I looked at Flora, then at the clerk. I smiled. "Just one, please."

  His face flushed and he coughed.

  "Let me just check," he said, tapping at the keyboard with his quick fingers. "Okay, yep. We have a king-size bed with a balcony on the third floor." He read off the total and asked for a photo ID and credit card, which I already had prepared.

  As he fumbled with my card, overwhelmed as he was by Flora's presence, a group of college kids entered the lobby. They were clearly drunk.

  "Day-umn!" one boy said.

  "Lookin' good, girls," said another.

  The first one slapped the second on the arm. "C
heck it out. They're not wearing any shoes, man."

  Something that needed to be remedied.

  They filed out the door, the last one among them saying, "Goddamn, that blonde girl is fucking hot."

  "Flora," I said. "I need you to stay here. I'll be right back."

  "No," she cried, grabbing for my arm.

  I jerked away just in time.

  "Just for a sec," I assured her. "You'll be able to see me. I'm just going outside."

  "No," she repeated.

  "Is she sick?" the clerk asked.

  "She's fine."

  "Are you sure? She's shivering."

  "I'm really horny," Flora said.

  The clerk burst out laughing, but it only took him a moment to realize she was being serious. A tear broke on the rim of her eyelid and went streaking down her cheek.

  This was getting bad. By the look on the clerk's face, I could tell he knew something was off about us.

  Still, I wanted some shoes. I hadn't packed any in my bag.

  "I'll be right back," I said, then looked at the clerk. "Don't you dare touch her, you got it?"

  "Excuse me?" the clerk said, curling his brow to show me how offended he was. "You know we do reserve the right to refuse service to hostile customers."

  But you won't, I thought. You wouldn't turn her away if it meant saving your mother's life.

  Suddenly I heard barking and turned to see a small grey poodle skittering towards us, its claws scraping on the slippery tile. Flora knelt to pet the dog and it went berserk, pawing at her and trying to lick her, dancing on its hind legs.

  It had a boner to rival that of Mr. Moses.

  "Hi puppy," Flora whispered, addressing the dog no differently than she addressed humans. For the briefest of moments, she might have passed for a normal person.

  Then an old woman shuffled in calling out, "Bartleby! Bartleby, you wicked little devil! Come here! You come here, I said!"

  The dog wasn't listening, Flora was still molesting it, and the group of college kids were out of sight.

  "Be right back," I said and ran out the door.

  I caught up to them halfway across the parking lot. It hadn't occurred to me to formulate what to say to them, so I just said, "Hey." They all stopped and turned, and I made eye contact with the closest girl. "How much for those shoes?"