Sanford nodded. "This was my test piece, of sorts, to see if I could handle this kind of work," he replied. "Would it sell?"
Of course it would sell. A piece like this, even with the disclaimer that it had been restored, could probably set off a bidding war. "I don't want to sell it," I said, gently sitting down on the chair, still marveling at the detail and sureness of his work. "I want to keep it."
Sanford laughed, a happy sound. "Of course you can keep it," he told me, rubbing my shoulder as he beamed down at me with love in his eyes. "But I can match this level of work on other pieces, and I figured that you wouldn't want to keep every antique in this mansion. And there's even a property downtown, that would be perfect for a shop-"
I cut him off by leaping up from the chair and throwing my arms around his neck, dragging his broad frame down to my height so I could kiss him.
"You're amazing," I whispered up to him, not letting go after the kiss ended.
"Only because I'm with you," he replied, kissing me back.
A couple of months had passed since that day when he revealed his dream of a shop, and things had flown along in our preparations. Working with the wedding planner, a smart, no-nonsense woman named Angela, our dream wedding took shape. Working with a real estate agent, meanwhile, Sanford bought a lease on the building downtown, and set up his antique store. Just the mystique of the store's proprietor was enough to draw crowds on its opening day, and he'd done a brisk business ever since. He might have intended the shop to be more of a hobby, just something to fill his days, but his natural business sense kicked in on its own, and he was already estimating that he'd turn a profit for this year, and a much bigger one next year.
"I might even need to expand," he chuckled to me one night, shaking his head at the good fortune of it all. "Not that I'm ready to build another retail empire, but there's definitely the potential there. Maybe as a partner with someone else, if I can find a good business partner."
"As long as she doesn't hog all your time and keep you late at the office," I answered him, snuggling in closer. "After six, you belong to me!"
"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said immediately, his big, strong arm wrapping around me to pull me in close, making me feel safe and like the luckiest, happiest woman in the world.
Today, however, I had something else to discuss with Sanford, and I sat anxiously in the armchair he'd restored for me as I waited for him to return home.
I heard him before he arrived, the rumble of his sports car pulling into the driveway. As of late, he'd been less willing to have Winston drive him around, instead preferring to keep behind the wheel. Instead, Winston stayed home with me, reluctantly offering his opinions on things like tablecloths and china patterns when I cornered him. Most of the time, I was pretty sure that the butler kept out of the way in the kitchen, cooking up delicious meals and spoiling Whiskers.
Sanford opened the front door to the mansion a minute later, his steps light as he entered the house. "Elaine!" he called out. "Elaine, I've got something to show you!"
"And I've got something to tell you, too," I replied, raising my voice so that he could hear me. "I'm in here."
I didn't have to clarify any further; Sanford knew where to find me. He stepped around the corner into the doorway, beaming down at me. He held some small bundle in his hands. "Hey, there you are! I've got some news - someone new!"
"Me, too," I murmured again. I frowned, however, as he stepped closer and I got a better look at what he held in his hands. "Wait - what's that?"
"This," Sanford said, settling down on the couch next to my chair, "is the little girl who I found huddling under some pallets behind my store this morning."
In his lap, the little bundle of fur blinked a pair of huge green eyes and uncurled herself, revealing tiny paws and a bright pink tongue that slipped out of her yawning mouth for a moment. From inside my chest, I felt an uncontrollable "aww" come bursting out. The tiny kitten blinked and looked around at its new surroundings, but didn't seem motivated to leave the warmth of my fiance's lap.
In my own lap, Whiskers straightened up a little at his realization that he wasn't the only animal in the room. He stared over at the kitten, and then stood up on my lap, stretching up his back, and stepped over to the couch.
"Should we-" I began, but Sanford held his finger to his lips, shaking his head. He didn't move, just watching as Whiskers moved in closer, his nose twitching as he cautiously sniffed at the new kitten.
The kitten didn't seem to have any objections to being sniffed by another cat more than three times its size. It purred and leaned in against Whiskers. My big, fat orange tomcat looked surprised for a moment, but then settled down, and he started licking the top of the little kitten's head.
"Looks like they get along!" I exclaimed, surprised.
Sanford nodded. "I can put up some posters, but she looked like she'd been abandoned," he said. "I watched for the mom or any other cat, but didn't see anything. It looks like we just adopted another cat."
I smiled, looking over at the two cats. "You'll have to name her, you know."
"How about Valencia?" Sanford held up his hands in mock protest as I looked around for something to throw at him. "Hey, just kidding! Take it easy!"
Instead of chucking an object at his head, however, I took another look at the kitten. "Well, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad name, after all," I said after a moment.
"What? Why?"
I smirked at him. "If Valencia ever does decide to come back, you'll just scold her like the cat, maybe hit her with a spray bottle. That ought to drive her off."
Sanford kept up his frown for a moment, as if he wasn't sure whether this was some sort of trick, but then his expression softened as he looked down at the little kitten, her eyes now closed as she purred under the ministrations of Whiskers' tongue. "Valencia. I guess it does kind of fit her, skinny little thing. Probably going to end up just as spoiled, too."
My mind returned back to other matters. "There's something else, too, that I wanted to talk to you about," I said.
He glanced back up at me. "Oh? What's that?"
"Well, you brought home one new family member..." I paused, unsure if I could get this out, but ordering myself to forge ahead. "But pretty soon, we're going to have another one."
Sanford frowned. "What? What do you mean?"
I didn't answer, but just kept looking at him. Slowly, his eyes tracked from my face down to my belly, where I had one hand pressed in against my stomach. "Really? Are you serious?"
I nodded, feeling tears welling up in my eyes, not sure how he'd respond. Sure, he agreed to marry me, he said he loved me, but what if this wasn't what he wanted? What if he was angry that this happened? What if he told me that he didn't want-
Sanford burst up from the couch, ignoring the meows of protest from both cats at being disturbed, and sank down on his knees in front of me, his hands pulling my waist closer to him. "You're pregnant?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
I nodded, the tears trickling out. "Yes."
For a moment, Sanford's mouth gaped open - and then he pulled me in, nearly crushing me with the strength of his hug. "Oh my god," he whispered down to me. "Elaine, oh my god!"
"Yeah, that's about how I feel," I said, muffled, into his shoulder. "But don't worry - with the wedding plans underway, we should be able to get married before the bump starts to show-"
"Honey, I don't care if you walk down the aisle at seven months pregnant," Sanford interrupted, kissing me over and over between words. "You're pregnant! This is amazing! I'm so happy for us!"
"You're going to be a good father," I told him, and at these words, I couldn't even attempt to hold back the tears any longer.
But Sanford just rocked me, holding me, wrapping me up in the warmth of his strong arms and his steady love. And I kept on weeping, with happiness, amazed at my life, knowing that I could never have hoped for anything as good as this, that I was truly blessed.
The End - but the
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SACK
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Chapter One
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
"Mmm, my big boy, you like that, don't you?"
Sitting back on the couch in the dimly lit club, Seth Chase blinked his eyes. The stripper perched on his lap was waiting for a response, he realized after a moment. He tried to remember what she might have been saying for the last few minutes.
"Yeah, that's good," he finally replied, pulling out another twenty from his pocket and handing it to her. "Just keep doing that - maybe with less talking, huh?"
The stripper gave him her best fake smile, making the bill vanish. "Whatever you want, stud," she purred back to him, turning back and around and sliding her round, toned, completely bare ass across his lap.
With the interaction over, Chase sighed, running his eyes around the interior of the club - or, at least, the interior of his VIP booth. He could see several of the other football players on his team, the Hawks, sitting around and engaged in various activities with their own strippers. Across the booth from him, he saw one of his wide receivers, DeShaun Jackson, grinning as he tried to juggle two strippers running their hands over his body at the same time.
Crazy on the field, crazy in the club, Chase thought to himself, smirking briefly at the sight. His mood soured, however, as he brought his gaze back to the busty, curvaceous woman sliding her ass up and down, pretending that she was riding his cock. He could feel his dick standing erect in his jeans, sure, but that didn't mean that he actually cared much about what motions she made.
Settling back a little bit on the couch, Chase let his mind drift back to the game, earlier today. With his eyes half-closed, he could see the plays in his mind's eye, replaying his throws and actions.
The Hawks had won the game, of course. Chase tried not to pay much attention to any comments by the sportscasters, but just about everyone in the world of professional football stood firmly behind their predictions that the Hawks would progress all the way to the Superbowl, and quite possibly win it all. So far, they'd only lost one of the last seven games - and that one had been a close finish.
As soon as Chase stepped out of the club, he knew, he'd get mobbed by fans asking for autographs - or, in the case of some of the young women, throwing their bodies at him, tits first! He grinned at the memory of two especially determined sorority girls who, on a previous stop in the Midwest, managed to talk themselves up to his hotel suite! He'd walked into the room and found himself immediately confronted by both of them, neither of them wearing anything but a couple squirts of whipped cream! They'd dragged him into the room, practically ripped off his pants, and kept him awake for most of the night as they eagerly tried out different positions on his willing body.
Those perks were nice, Chase knew, but he also knew that they'd vanish as soon as he stopped winning games. His multimillion dollar contract, his fame, his popularity - it all depended on continuing to win games.
And so, even as the strippers cavorted on his lap, reaching down occasionally to stroke and fondle his dick through his pants (most definitely forbidden by the strip club, although these girls were likely to break those rules when they had a big fish like Chase on the line), Chase tuned it all out. His hands kept on pulling out the occasional bill to pass to the woman jerking him off through his jeans, but his mind was away, back on the gridiron.
That pass in the third quarter. He'd messed that one up. He remembered falling back, his eyes sweeping up for open receivers, but he hadn't properly watched his defensive line. The opposing fullback managed to find an opening, came smashing in.
And next thing that he knew, Chase was on his back, the air knocked out of him as he stared up at the sky. Sacked, for a four yard loss on the play.
Of course, he'd recovered, throwing a great short pass on the very next play for a first down. He eventually went on to score on the drive, but he still kept on thinking back to that single pass, how quickly his defenses had fallen away and left him open to getting broadsided.
Next time, he thought to himself, he'd look instead for receivers about to come open, and then drop his eyes back down to his defensive line as he waited for the receiver to move into position. Next time, if someone broke away, he'd be ready to throw - at least to toss the ball out of bounds, so that he wouldn't get sacked for a loss on the play.
Taking a sack like that could mean the difference between winning and losing a football game, especially on this high of a competitive level.
And Seth Chase, star quarterback for the Hawks, wasn't about to lose another game.
He leaned back, blinking as he realized that the stripper sitting on his lap now had one hand slipped all of the way inside his pants - which had mysteriously managed to come unbuttoned and unzipped.
For a moment, Chase thought of telling her to knock it off. It probably wouldn't be good for his reputation if some reporter managed to sneak in here and caught a glimpse of this, or even worse, a photograph. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been caught on some rather disreputable behavior, and it probably wouldn't be the last.
On the other hand, Chase noted, none of those racy, saucy exposes in the tabloids ever did a lick of damage to his reputation. After all, his reputation wasn't built upon his chastity or how pure he kept his cock.
No, he was famous for one simple reason: when Seth Chase played in football games, the Hawks won.
Simple as that.
Sure, the papers loved reporting on how he'd sometimes pick up prostitutes, paying for girls for the entire team. They'd catch pictures of him out drinking, a bottle in each fist, and his dick had been covered up by stars in celebrity tabloids more times than Kim Kardashian's nipples.
Let them keep on going, Chase thought to himself. They were just envious of him, annoyed that none of their stories ever touched his bulletproof reputation. Seth Chase was a winner, and everyone knew it. He didn't give a fuck whether they fawned over him or vilified him, as long as they kept on letting him play football.
"Hey, let's get some more drinks going over here!" It took him a moment to recognize the slurred voice as his own. But his call was met with a ragged cheer from the rest of the team, and a stripper hurried off to go grab them some more bottles of champagne.
Chase accepted the glass pushed into his hands, smiled up at the scantily clad woman who knew that drunk men were better tipping men. He pulled out a bill an
d passed it to her, not even bothering to try and blink at the denomination. "And another one if you take this stupid glass and just give me the bottle," he called out.
The woman didn't even waste any time considering the club's rules against handing full bottles to patrons. "Here you go, sugar," she replied, whisking the champagne glass out of Chase's hands and replacing it with the more solid stem of the wine bottle.
Grinning, Chase settled back on the couch once again, taking a long pull of the bubbly alcohol. He glanced down at his lap, observing that the stripper now had his cock fully out in the open, rubbing it with both her hands.
"Like that, huh?" he asked her, stroking her hair.
She looked up at him, smiling. "It's so big!" she exclaimed, widening her eyes in a practiced look of shock.
Chase knew that the expression was fake, but he didn't care. He did have a big cock, but more importantly, it was attached to a winner. That was all anyone cared about; he could have a micro-penis and women would still line up to suck him off.
He looked down again at the stripper's tits as she squatted between his legs, jerking him off. He guessed that some silicone had gone into their construction, but the surgeon had at least done a good job. They didn't point straight out in different directions like some of the boob jobs he'd seen at other clubs, and they bounced with her arm movements.
He reached out, giving the nearest breast a squeeze (another flagrant violation of the club's rules). The stripper jerked for a second in surprise, but then her smile returned. If Chase had been more sober, he would have recognized that smile as a crafty realization that the woman's mark still had a pocket full of bills that he could easily be convinced to spend.
Chase took another long pull from the champagne bottle in his hand, just to make sure that he wasn't sober enough to draw that connection. He squeezed the woman's breast again, tugging her forward towards his dick.
Tomcat Page 18
