“After you have intercourse, let me know if there’s improvement.”
No man had made me cum from penetration. Masturbation gave me satisfaction though it wasn’t my preferred. Whenever Benjamin kissed my “good good,” that was the best. The heat from the wand did what I doubted would happen again even if I were intimate.
Checking my cell, I saw that Dakota had messaged me a picture of a woman with stupid long hair, in a short pink dress, followed by, Your husband hired Toya to spy on you.
I replied, She looks like a stripper to me.
She is. Be careful. But you know I’m all over her. Will have their every move tracked, Dakota answered.
Studying every feature in the picture, I realized I’d never looked that hot.
A text registered from Benjamin. I’ll get the kids. Go to the grocery store. Get your favorite wine. Cook dinner. Let me know when you’re headed home so I can draw a nice bath for you.
Speechless, I stared at the screen.
“Everything okay?” my doctor asked.
Softly, I answered, “I’m not sure.”
Another text from Dakota appeared. Don’t worry, honey. Every stripper has a price. I’m going to put her on my tab and our team.
I wasn’t stupid! My husband was feeling guilty. If Benjamin was fucking strippers now, it was time for me leave him for good.
CHAPTER 3
Benjamin
Inch by inch my dick extended along my inner thigh. Toya’s wife unfastened my belt, removed my shoes, socks, pants, and boxer briefs. At the same time, Toya unbuttoned then took off my shirt and undershirt.
“Stand here. Don’t move,” her wife said, blindfolding me. The raspy tone of Toya’s wife’s voice made my dick harder. Holding my arm, her wife led me down one, two, three . . . fifteen steps.
“Back him up a little,” Toya instructed.
Click. Click. Click. Click. “What the hell?” My wrists and ankles were cuffed.
Toya uncovered my eyes. Standing up straight, I was strapped to a leather-covered board like a damn frog. A chill traveled from the nape of my neck, to my spine, to the crack of my ass. I looked down; my dick pointed up. My shit was excited about some shit we were clueless about.
“Which one of us do you want to fuck and which one do you want to suck?” Toya asked as she climbed the pole that was in what she called her honeycomb hideaway.
I’d seen her legs spread East and West before but that was at the club. This pole was in her basement. She flipped upside down. Midway on that pole she flipped right side up, descended to the floor, did a full split bouncing her pussy on the hardwood.
I was not ready for Toya’s “good good” as Mercedes would call it. I was confident with my performance ability but what I’d witnessed Toya do might snap my shit in half.
Toya’s wife rolled a barstool in front of me. Straddling the seat, she pressed the remote, elevated her pussy to my dick’s level, aligned the opening of her vagina with my head.
“Please. Don’t,” I protested. The only woman I’d penetrated since standing at the altar was Mercedes.
Pressing the remote, she lowered the seat, opened her mouth, then drooled all over my knob. A strand of saliva stretched from my third eye to her lips. I watched her suction it in like spaghetti.
Toya rolled a stool behind me. “My turn,” she said, flipping me in her direction.
“Oh, shit!” Suddenly I was upside down. Blood drained to my brain.
Snatching my shaft, Toya held me tight as she licked my balls, then tossed me back to her wife. This time I felt Toya’s finger penetrate me.
“Hey. Hey! My ass is off-limits!” I’d felt the air against my back but didn’t realize they had access to my ass until now.
Ignoring me, she inserted a butt plug. That shit started vibrating. I damn near came instantly. Had to focus on her wife’s teabagging my nuts, then sliding her tongue to the tip of my head. Between the sucking, stroking, and buzzing, I shouted, “Yesss!” like a lil bitch as I came all over Toya’s wife’s breasts.
“If you still want to chill,” Toya said, “my spouse can pick up your kids and take them to your house. She can also cook, clean, and do your wife. Whatever I tell her to do, consider it done.”
My erection subsided like a wet noodle when I laughed. “Hell, no. Take these cuffs off. Y’all trying to kill me and get me killed in the same day.”
I’d told Toya all about my situations before I’d hired her. I did not need her to be a side to the side I already had, especially since Toya already had her hands in my wallet. How was she going to do the job I’d paid her to do if she was sexing me?
I’d been here long enough. “We’d better get to work,” I said, heading upstairs. Quickly, I put on my clothes. I’d shower soon as I got to Arizona’s.
After I handed Toya her weekly five hundred, she unlocked her phone, showed me a picture of a small parking lot with one building. Mercedes’s car was in a stall near the entrance. “This is why your wife couldn’t pick up the kids today. She went to Newman.”
Sarcastically, I replied, “She’s there? Now?” I felt foolish. All the shit I was doing with Toya was for retaliation against my wife when my wife was partially right about my being a dog.
I couldn’t let Mercedes win, especially if this was our last round as husband and wife. Things became worse between us because she took it upon herself to hire that smartass private investigator Dakota Justice to spy on me. I returned the favor by putting Toya on my team.
Reading the banner in the picture, I said, “Ciao Bella Medical Center. What kind of place is that?”
Toya looked into my eyes. “Your wife is having a vaginal procedure.”
“Procedure? For her what?” The more I wondered why, the less I could breathe.
Felt as though my heart stopped, then fell into my lap where Toya’s wife’s hands were minutes ago. Vaginal what? “Is that some kind of new terminology? Do not say that’s another way of telling me my wife is having an abortion!”
“Calm down, man.” Toya placed her finger over my lips. I gripped her wrist, moved her hand.
“Don’t tell me what to do! My wife is killing my baby.” Rubbing my neck I felt my veins protruding. Was this my fault? I couldn’t leave Mercedes if she was pregnant. But if she killed my unborn, I’d . . .
Toya’s wife handed me a glass of ice water, then exited the room.
Our having another kid would make me do right by my wife. An abortion would make me hate her. I sucked on a cube, started crunching it.
The next photos Toya showed me were of a woman’s vagina but that wasn’t my wife’s. I knew what my pussy looked like.
“I don’t give a fuck about another woman’s shit.”
“Dude. Stop tripping.”
Fuck that. Toya might have an artificial dick but I was a real man. I took care of mine.
“Benjamin. Your wife got a treatment called ThermiVa. It’s like a facelift for her pussy. It makes a woman more beautiful and tighter inside and out.” Toya laughed. “If your wife has never squirted, she might after today.”
Say what? My jaw dropped. I stood in Toya’s doorway. “There’s nothing wrong with my wife’s ‘good good.’” If Toya was right, I wish I could convince Mercedes to sit her new pussy on my face tonight. Smother me with her, what if she had fat juicy lips now?
She had a what? I thought, shaking my head. “You need to break the mechanics all the way down. How do you know my wife is really there if you’re here with me? And how are you sure that’s what she’s really having done?”
Toya held the edges of a C-note. Pop! Pop! She patted me on the back.
“Dude, you hired me to find out everything. I don’t have time to follow her. I have reliable sources everywhere. You want my wife to test drive your wife’s new vagina? Seeing how blessed you are it’s probably going to be too tight for you.” She laughed.
Why did some lesbians think every woman was secretly on their team? “My wife doesn’t get down like
that.”
Toya raised her brows, curved her lips sideways. “If you say so.”
“So you’re saying my wife is bisexual?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
Now I had a reason to ditch going to Arizona’s and making good on my earlier text to spoil Mercedes. I texted my wife, Baby, I’m headed to pick up the twins. Meet me at home. We need to talk.
CHAPTER 4
Benjamin
“Let’s get it on.”
Adjusting my Beats headphones, I uncovered my left ear, sang along with Marvin Gaye, Teddy P., Trey Songz, and screeched to Minnie Riperton’s “Lovin’ You.” I was doing all the right shit to make sure my wife smeared all of that new pussy in my face tonight. Hadn’t listened to our favorite romantic songs in, damn, in years.
Four o’clock. No response from Mercedes. That wasn’t okay. I decided to get things cooking. Milk. Butter. Sauce. Turned up the flame. Stirred the pot.
I yelled from the kitchen, “Brandon! Brandy! Y’all take a shower then do your homework.” By six, I wanted them in their bed, watching television with the door shut.
What in the hell was a new vagina? Could I go somewhere to get shine on my dick? My shit was good in the girth and length departments but females getting “good good” enhancements on top of the fact they could out fuck us men wasn’t fair. If my wife had upgraded my vagina, I’d best be the only man who’d penetrate it.
I texted Arizona the truth: Can’t make it tonight. Anything more would be a lie.
My wife was only twenty-seven. The parts of her body that I saw nowadays looked fine to me. Why did she have to go get something enticing done right when I was torn between leaving her for my mistress? Probably to surprise me for my birthday! Yeah, that was it. I had to hold off on making an irrational decision. A part of me became excited that I didn’t want the twins to notice if they entered the kitchen. Brandon believed in the three-minute shower.
Standing closer to the stove, I didn’t realize I’d splashed Alfredo sauce on the burner until I heard the sizzle. Lowering the fire, I rubbed fresh basil in my palms, then slapped my hands together hard. Two tablespoons of pesto, then I dumped ajar of sundried tomatoes in before putting on the lid to let it all simmer.
I checked my phone. My wife really didn’t want to play games with me. Where in the hell was Mercedes? Newman was only forty minutes out, give or take five.
Fresh broccoli spears, carrots, and snow peas were in a bowl. One by one, I trimmed, snipped, or diced each piece.
A light ring tone came from my cell indicating a new text message. I dried my hands on my apron, unlocked my phone. It was my side asking, Are you sure? I just finished cooking your dinner.
I’d been crashing at her place on the regular for the past two months. My wife had screwed up our happy home by hiring that damn detective to follow me every fucking where. Arizona was getting too emotionally attached. Eventually I’d planned on ending it with my side. Now I wasn’t sure. Didn’t want to be persuaded by new pussy if I weren’t hitting it. Didn’t want to see my wife and kids happy with another man.
“How much longer before we eat, Daddy?” Brandon asked with drooping eyes. “I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, I’m starving,” Brandy said, holding her stomach.
“Homework done, you two?” I inquired, checking the time. It was seven-fifteen.
Over three hours had passed since I’d left Toya and her wife at their home. I texted Toya, Where’s my wife?
“Done,” Brandy said.
“All done,” Brandon commented, backing up his sister.
“We’ll wait a few more minutes for your mother. Go wash your hands and set the table with silverware.”
Toya texted back, @ Haven@1411
With whom?
I had to know if Toya was really on top of things or giving me false information. There was no reply. I wanted to go find out but I couldn’t leave my kids home alone.
What if my wife was on a date? If she was, it definitely wouldn’t be Mercedes’s idea to cheat on me. Dakota probably set this arrangement up for my wife to get back at me for being at the strip club. I hated Dakota’s ass for ruining my marriage. If it was going to end, we didn’t need outside help.
“Aw, shit.” What if Dakota followed me to Toya’s and that nosy bitch had taken photos of me again to show my wife tonight? Fuck, Dakota.
After putting two portions of vegetables in the steamer, I blackened the shrimp in a separate skillet, then hand-shaped six crab cakes. My wife and daughter usually ate one each. Brandon and I always devoured two.
I pan seared three crab cakes, placed them on plates for the kids. I’d wait to eat with my wife. Drizzling Alfredo sauce over the pasta, I topped the fettuccine with three prawns. They were so big and juicy I had to eat one of Brandy’s. A spoonful of vegetables completed each plate.
“Kids,” I called out, placing their plates on the formal dining table.
Brandon and Brandy raced into the room, sat at their seats.
“Where’s your plate?” Brandon asked.
“And Mom’s,” Brandy inquired. “Where is she?” Instantly my daughter became saddened. “Call her, Daddy?”
“Yeah, call her. We haven’t eaten together in a long time,” my son added.
“Mommy is with a client. I’ll wait for her. You guys eat.”
I watched our kids say grace. Brandon always ate all of his veggies first to get them out of the way. Brandy alternated broccoli, shrimp, carrot, a bite of crabmeat. I went to the kitchen to check my cell. No missed anything. I poured two glasses of fresh lemonade, no ice for Brandy, lots of ice for Brandon, and returned to the dining room.
“Thanks, Dad,” Brandon said right before he chomped on his last shrimp.
“When are you going to stop traveling so much, Daddy?” Brandy asked.
Brandon followed with, “Yeah, you’ve been gone every night. Are you going to be here when we wake up?”
“Yeah. I miss you tucking me in, Daddy,” Brandy said.
“Us,” Brandon corrected. “He tucks me in, too, you know. And I’m his first born.”
Brandy’s eyes darted toward Brandon then froze. Her fork stabbed the last mound of crabmeat on his plate. “This could be you,” she told her brother.
Damn! When had my little princess become hardcore? “Apologize. Now,” I told her.
The family values my father instilled in me . . . now I got it. My affair should’ve never started. Definitely not worth my sleeping under a different roof missing out on time with my kids. If my wife was with another man doing the things I’d done with my mistress every night, I’d have no choice but to leave her for good and take my kids.
There was no ring tone but I checked my cell. Not a single message from Toya or my wife. I prayed what I’d imagined was far worse than what Mercedes was actually doing. Couldn’t leave the house without taking the kids with me. They’d never met my mistress. Never will.
“You okay, Daddy?” Brandy asked.
I didn’t realize I was biting my bottom lip until she spoke.
“You disappointed him,” Brandon added.
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
“Yes, baby. Daddy is fine. Who wants dessert? Homemade sweet potato pie à la mode.”
“That’s what I’m talking ’bout,” Brandon said. “Mom does not cook like you, Dad. Hurry up and finish that business deal so we can keep getting your delicious meals.”
I removed their plates, went to the kitchen. I’d made a half dozen individual small pies. After removing them from the foil pans, I topped Brandon’s with ice cream. Brandy’s ice cream was in a small clear dessert bowl next to her pie.
The swelling in my chest hurt like hell. I wanted to yell, Where the fuck are you, Mercedes! I placed the plates on the table before my kids, kissed them on their forehead, said, “When you guys finish, watch television in your room,” then returned to the kitchen.
I’d done all this shit when I could be s
itting at the table with—
I texted Arizona. With the twins. See you in the morning before you go to work.
I tossed the remaining crab cakes in the garbage disposal. Followed that with the shrimp, sauce, and vegetables. Turning on the water, I scooped the mouthwatering pies out of the pans. Let them plop on top of the food in the sink, then flipped the switch.
Watching everything go down the drain, that was how I was starting to feel about my marriage, especially if my wife was out there letting another man eat my new pussy.
CHAPTER 5
Devereaux
“Please. Allow me.”
I looked at a stranger dressed in a red fitted collarless button-down long-sleeved shirt, black slacks, and black hard sole polished-to-perfection shoes, as he held open the door.
Whoa. Wow. His simple gesture to wait until I was inside surpassed the consideration of my ex-fiancé. If my mental wasn’t messed up about my man having fucked my employee, I wouldn’t be in awe of what this six-foot-three, olive-complexioned giant with neatly trimmed black hair and dark brown eyes had done.
Acknowledging his chivalry, I gave a half smile. “Thanks.”
Attraction to a man other than Phoenix hadn’t happened since I’d stopped communicating with my former director. This guy with a squared chin and sleek cheekbones smelled amazing. Inhaling his masculine fresh scent I relaxed my shoulders. Not wanting to appear desperate or walk away, I employed a stall tactic my sister Alexis would use. I opened my purse in search of my cell. A side glimpse revealed that his manhood protruded farther than his stomach.
“I love your show, Mrs. Crystal.” His Italian accent wasn’t sexier than his physique yet both excited me inside and out.
After my television series started trending on social media, more people knew me than I them. Softly I answered, “Thanks.”
Haven @1411 was in my neighborhood. I’d brunch here on Sundays the few times my schedule allowed. The mansion where I now resided, alone, was less than two miles away. I’d never invite a man over without his taking me out first but I wasn’t the type of woman who didn’t need a man.
The One I've Waited For Page 3
