Married on Mondays

by HoneyB

  She straddled her wife, placed the dildo in Naomi’s hands, then whispered, “I’m ready.”

  Naomi smiled. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “Positive,” Victoria said.

  “You look beautiful. Stand up. Let me look at you.”

  Victoria stood, posed, dropped her ass to the floor, pushed her hip to the side, then slowly stood. “You better act like you want this new pussy,” she said, then laughed.

  “Hold that pose. Let me get my camera,” Naomi said.

  Naomi powered on the video recorder. She must have taken a hundred photos.

  “Enough,” Victoria said, holding her hand in front the camera lens.

  She watched her wife strap on. Victoria lay on the bed, lifted her legs in the air. Closed her eyes. She felt the tip of the dildo press against her hymen. Victoria inhaled, held her wife’s shoulders. “Keep going,” she said.

  Naomi penetrated her a little more.

  Victoria’s eyes closed tighter as she clenched her teeth. Her nails dug into Naomi’s shoulders.

  “We can stop if you’d like,” Naomi said.

  Unable to speak, Victoria shook her head.

  Naomi continued taking her time penetrating Victoria until the dildo was completely inside. Victoria exhaled. The stinging sensation wasn’t pleasurable. She could’ve used a clit stimulator or put a bullet or butt plug in her ass, but Victoria wanted to experience her first time with her wife without enhancements.

  Naomi kissed her lips. “Sweetcakes, you are more beautiful than the sunrise.”

  “Is this what I waited thirty years for? I sure hope this vaginal penetration feels better next time.” Glad the mystery was finally over, Victoria kissed Naomi. “I love you.”

  CHAPTER 54

  DéJà

  Friday morning, three o’clock, DéJà stood in front of Acer. She stared down at him. She adjusted her black patent leather knee-length trench coat. She wore nothing underneath. Her thigh-high boots were six inches short of touching her pussy.

  “Lick my boot.”

  Acer smiled, flicked his tongue. “Yeah.” He held her boot in his hands, then licked the toe, the sides, and the ankles as if giving her a spit shine.

  “Do not speak unless I give you permission,” DéJà said, not believing her husband was enjoying being her slave.

  “Yes, Mistress-wife-precious DéJà,” he said.

  Hmm. She liked the way he said that. She suppressed her smile, resumed being serious. “Stick out your tongue and crawl behind me,” she said, walking into the living room, through the kitchen, then back to the bedroom.

  Whack! She couldn’t resist slapping his incredible naked ass.

  “Harder, please, Mistress-wife-precious DéJà,” he begged.

  “You feel it this time,” she said, hitting her husband a little harder. “Open my coat,” she commanded. “Then I want you to suck my nipples.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said untying her belt. “Oh, my God. Look at this,” he said like he hadn’t seen her naked before.

  Passionately he cupped her breasts together and sucked like a baby breast-feeding. He played with her nipples, kissed them, sucked, then buried his face in her breasts.

  “That’s enough. Down on all four,” DéJà commanded.

  Acer knelt before her.

  DéJà placed her fists on her hips, spread her feet. Her naked upper body, trench coat, and boots made her feel like a sexy porn star. “Lick my pussy. Slow.”

  “Ou, yes, indeed, Mistress,” Acer said, sucking her shaft.

  “I said lick, not suck,” DéJà commanded.

  “Forget this,” Acer said, throwing her on the bed. “I’ve gotta have my pussy.”

  DéJà tried to get on top and he playfully slammed her back onto the mattress. “I’m in control now,” he said. “Suck my dick, precious.”

  DéJà frowned, then said, “All right.”

  “All right, what? Call me Master Acer.”

  “I believe I’ve created a monster,” DéJà said. Obeying her husband’s command, she joyfully sucked his dick until he came in her mouth.

  There was no rush to have kids. She’d give her husband a child, but DéJà was no longer interested in having a baby before Foxy.

  CHAPTER 55

  Foxy

  Friday morning, three o’clock, Foxy awakened in her husband’s arms.

  Last night, dinner was perfect. Not the food Winton prepared. Dinner was perfect because they talked like a husband and wife should. He spoke, she listened. She talked, he heard her and responded. They agreed to start anew. Promised not to dwell on or discuss their infidelity.

  Foxy glanced at the bootees she’d placed on the nightstand. “Definitely the blue one.” She wanted a boy first, then a girl. She peeled away the covers to reveal the most attractive man alive. She wrapped her mouth around his dick.

  “Gorgeous, wow. Good morning to you too,” he said, pulling her on top of him. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her forehead and chin. “Gorgeous?”

  “Yes,” Foxy said, straddling her husband.

  He flipped her onto her back, pressed her legs together, raised them in the air, bit her cheek, then licked her pussy.

  Foxy came on his tongue, parted her legs so her husband could get closer. His mouth covered her lips. His tongue roamed over her pussy. She clenched her PC muscles.

  Winton braced himself on top of her. His dick was fully erect. Her shaft completely engorged.

  She felt his head penetrate her. Tingling on the inside, her entire body responded to him. Tears of joy, not sorrow, flowed. She curled her arms under his, held him with passion and compassion.

  Her husband stroked deeper. He moved his ass the way he had when they used to slow dance. A slow grind. He dipped, then pushed. Dipped, then pushed his dick deeper inside her.

  Foxy prayed the moment would last forever. She rolled her pussy onto his dick each time he dipped. She gripped his dick with her vaginal muscles. He pulsated to her beat. She’d forgotten how in sync they were.

  “Look, honey,” she said, pointing at the bootees. “Which one do you like more?”

  Winton rubbed her ass, then said, “This one.” Her husband pressed his lips to her ear. He whispered, “I want you to cum for me, gorgeous. Then I’m going to make you squirt.”

  The tone of his voice, the touch of his hands, the conviction of his love made Foxy gush like she’d never done before.

  EPILOGUE

  Mason

  Let the boys be boys… and men be men.

  All men should be man enough to educate their daughters. Tell them the truth about the scandalous ways of lying and cheating men. Tell their girls, “Never fall for the bullshit, and stop falling so easily in love with men who don’t deserve you.” Teach their daughters how to man up by marrying up and staying one up on their mate.

  Marrying up didn’t always mean marrying a man with more money. A wise woman saw the added value in extending her hand to a judge, a notable attorney, the CEO or COO of his corporation, a scintillating athlete, a brilliant nerd, a geek on the cutting edge of technology, or any man of power and good character who would benefit her and their children.

  Fathers should squash their egos, claiming, “No man will ever mistreat my daughter.” Men who stroked their egos were straight up trying to impress women with false pretense. Women should recognize that the men who boasted the loudest did and owned the least. Most men hadn’t kept a guarantee of respect for the next man’s daughter.

  Their lame intentions didn’t mean much to their daughters, especially if their daughters seldom saw them. The man who’d brag about his manhood, then bail out on the mother of his child—financially and emotionally—transforming himself from a sperm donor to an absentee dad should keep his dick to himself. Why should any woman respect a man who doesn’t respect her? Words without actions were a waste of everyone’s time.

  Lounging poolside at his mansion, Mason smiled, admiring the three beautiful women playing under h
is waterfall, his three girls. Foxy had his no-nonsense attitude and her mother’s voluptuous body. Victoria possessed his sensitive side and her mother’s slender frame. And Déjà, like him, was protective of her sisters and she had her mother’s sexy athletic build. The family bond he instilled in his daughters was unbreakable by their mothers and by him. By his design, Mason’s girls genuinely loved one another more than they loved their spouses.

  Honesty was his virtue. Real men didn’t lie to women. Weak men (afraid to face their own truth) lied to themselves and the women in their lives. Despicable men used women, beat women, degraded women, cheated on women. Mason never worried about how men should treat his daughters. He focused on teaching his girls how to detect and denounce lying men and how to recognize a good man or, in Victoria’s case, a good woman.

  Mason didn’t need a marriage license to treat a woman like a lady. His father had taught him to always tell the truth in bed and in business, saying, “Son, a dishonest man is a coward. He’s scared that if a woman knew the truth about him, she’d kick his ass to the curb. A man who does not protect and put his family first will never prosper. And a man who lies should be ostracized.”

  The greatest foundation for any man was a smart woman. If a man tore a woman down, he’d torn himself down. If he disrespected women, he first disrespected himself. If a man was so preoccupied with chasing a dollar and his dream that he left his woman behind, he’d fail every time. And if he did achieve material gain, he’d lose his soul in the process. Only when a man cherished women would he prosper.

  He’d taught his girls that women had the right to know the truth. Women had the right to know how many partners a man had; whether he was heterosexual, bisexual, trysexual, a sex addict; if he was married, engaged, committed; and how many children he had before kissing him or taking off her clothes. Most of all, Mason realized that given the facts, women had the intelligence to decide if they wanted to become emotionally or sexually involved.

  The three gorgeous, independently wealthy women who’d agreed to have his children each wanted a child but no husband. Mason wanted kids. A wife like Déjà’s mom would’ve been nice, but her rejecting his proposal made him realize a wife was not a necessity. His relationship with his daughters’ mothers was perfect.

  Mason Montgomery loved women and enjoyed his freedom to have as many women as he wanted by his side and in his bed. He was up-front, courteous, and respectful of his women. His ego was reserved for business acquisitions. Mason didn’t want a harem or house full of baby mamas catering to his needs. For that he’d hired housekeepers, landscapers, and a personal assistant.

  Mason gestured at his server, then asked, “Is everything ready?”

  “Yes, Mr. Montgomery,” she said. “Everything is ready.”

  “Tell my girls to get out of the pool. Have them shower and get dressed so I can give them their presents before we leave.”

  “Will do,” she said, heading toward the waterfall.

  Mason stood, smiled at his girls, then retreated to his bedroom. Tall white Italian arches graced the entrance. There were no doors separating the walls inside his home. White bed linens, antique furniture, and forest green carpet decorated his room. No woman had the pleasure of entering his bedroom unless she knew her worth. He refused to sex a woman simply because he could, and Mason never sexed a woman he didn’t respect.

  Entering his bathroom, Mason stepped into the shower, turned the gold knobs, and stood under the dome. Water gushed onto his head as though he was standing under the waterfall over his pool. He stretched his neck side to side, noting to have his assistant schedule him a massage and a facial. Mason never shaved himself or cut his own hair.

  Toweling off, he slipped into his boxers, then his white linen pants. Tightening the drawstring, he buttoned up his shirt leaving the top three buttons loose and slipped on his tan leather sandals, then headed downstairs to his family room. Quietly he sat waiting for his daughters to enter.

  Déjà entered first, sat to his right as she’d done since they were teenagers. “Morning, Daddy.” Her open-toe high heels were crossed at her ankles. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back.

  Victoria walked in next wearing a long purple, green, and gold halter-top dress that flattered her figure. She sat to his left, crossed her legs. “I love you, Daddy.” Her hair was neatly pent up with soft curls gathered in the back.

  Foxy never walked. She strutted into the room, then sat on the pillow at his feet. Not because he’d made her do so. She had to be equally as close to him as his other daughters. “Daddy, you’re the best.” Her long legs wore a knee-length dress that complemented her curvaceous frame.

  “My three favorite ladies,” Mason said, adoring his daughters. “Come, I have a surprise for you.”

  Mason held Foxy’s hand, helping her rise from the pillow, then extended his hands to his other daughters. Leading the way, he entered the living room. Three dozen of the best long-stemmed roses sat in real crystal vases on the table before them, one for each of them.

  “Foxy, you are my precious daughter. I’m proud of you, baby. You deserve the best,” he said, handing her a square black box.

  “Thank you, Daddy,” Foxy said. She winked at Déjà, then mouthed, “I got mine first.”

  “Victoria, you are my lovely angel. I’m proud of you, baby. You deserve the best,” he said, handing her a square black box.

  Victoria smiled soft and wide, winked at DéJà, then hugged her dad. “I’m so glad you’re our father. Thanks.”

  “Déjà, you become more like me each day. You are my beautiful queen. I’m proud of you, baby. You’ve always been the leader. Thanks for protecting your sisters.”

  Nodding upward at Foxy and Victoria, Déjà gave him a warm smile and firm hug. “You taught us well, Daddy. Thanks.”

  Mason smiled as Foxy made the first move toward her bouquet. Victoria and Déjà sniffed their flowers. He watched his girls embrace one another. Mason was pleased. “Open the boxes,” he said.

  He’d done well with spoiling and educating his girls. There wasn’t much their spouses could give them that he hadn’t. He’d taught his daughters to value every part of their body. Maybe he’d taught them too well.

  Foxy screamed, “Oh, my God! Daddy!”

  Victoria and DéJà joined in the excitement when they saw their five-carat black diamond solitaires.

  “Let’s go. We have to find settings for these diamonds… and…”

  “And?” Victoria said.

  Mason replied, “I have one more surprise for my girls. I want you to meet my fiancée. Your father is getting married for the first time.”

  Book Club Questions

  How important is sex in a marriage? Could you be married and have an affair with your ex? Do you feel Foxy was justified in having an affair with Dallas when her husband wasn’t meeting her needs?

  Was Victoria cheating on Naomi?

  Can a person who is a virgin cheat in a relationship? How?

  Did DéJà betray her husband or her sisters in any way?

  Do you believe Winton will remain faithful to Foxy?

  Do you feel an affair can strengthen a marriage? Why?

  How would you view an officer of the law who raped someone? Should that person go to jail? Do you think the justice system would protect the victim or the officer?

  Could you be married on Mondays, meaning could you go through the motions of being married, have an affair, and cater to your spouse once a week?

  Should a woman in the adult industry—strippers, escorts, madams, sex coaches—reveal to her fiancé the truth about what she does to earn her money?

  Should a woman let her fiancé know how much money she has? Should she have a bank account of her own? If you’re married, do you have a separate bank account in your name only?

  Could you teach women how to masturbate or ejaculate? Could you be a dominatrix or sex slave?

  Would you have stayed married to Winton if he were your husba
nd?

  What things do the characters have in common? What do you have in common with the characters?

  Would You Marry for Love?

  A man worthy of diamonds has paid for the pleasure of pearls.

  Not the kind embedded in oysters. The precious pearl (clitoris) of a real woman costs men time and money. If a man doesn’t provide for a woman and cum bearing gifts that make her smile from the inside out, then no matter how much he loves her, he hasn’t earned her hand in marriage. Seriously, if a man doesn’t impress a woman, he’s not the man for her.

  Love and marriage, sad but true, you can have one without the other. Would you prefer love without marriage or marriage without love? Can you have both? Yes, if you give what you’d like to receive. I say this because before and after people marry, their expectations far exceed their willingness to reciprocate.

  Life is simple. People are complex.

  You don’t deserve to receive the things you’re unwilling to give. Love. Respect. Honesty. Compliments. Money. Time. Great sex. It matters tremendously to what degree you please your partner. If you sacrifice selflessly for your mate and family, you deserve the same consideration. If either you or your partner is selfish, your relationship will fail.

  Love is the pinnacle of marriage, not the foundation.

  It takes a lot of work to reach the highest heights of your goals and your relationships with others, marriage included. Most folk see love in the reverse. “If I love you, you won’t cheat on me.” That’s not true. Instead, before getting married, one should say, “If you cheat on me, I will still love you,” and mean it. Infidelity happens. You must determine what’s significant to you.

  Honesty is the foundation of marriage, but most people aren’t truthful with their mates or themselves about everything from losing weight to, you know, that lil’ somethin’ somethin’ you keep on the side so you can hit it, lick it, and stick it every now and then. Or the ex-lover, who you secretly reserve a sacred place for in your heart, wondering if you’ll ever see them again. Or those bad spending habits or addictions you try to hide from your mate, fearing they won’t love you anymore if they knew… if they knew the truth about you. So you go on living lies and having greater expectations of your mate than you have of yourself. Sometimes the things you do would drive you insane if you found out your mate was doing the same, yet you do them anyway. Worst of all you’re ill prepared for your consequences and demise, so when your partner discovers your truth, you suddenly have a conscience. You cry, apologize, or even beg for forgiveness only to revert to your deceitful ways.