by Amy Brent
He was always questioning my motives and my decisions when he was alive. It bugged the shit out me when I was a kid, but once I became an adult I understood that most of the questions he asked were submitted for my own wellbeing. It was his way of asking, “Lucy, have you really thought this through? Is this really the right thing for you to do?”
“I have no idea, daddy,” I said with a sigh. I shook my head at the meager stack of boxes the moving company had set along the living room wall and gave a heavy sigh. I counted them with my fingers. Ten boxes. I was thirty-four years old and the sad contents of my entire life could be held in ten cardboard boxes with room names scribbled on the side in black marker: KITCHEN. BEDROOM. LIVING ROOM. BATHROOM. MISC.
It was sad to think that this was all I had to show for what I thought was a pretty good life. Sadder still was knowing how quickly that good life could come crashing down when you discovered that your husband was a sex addict with no self-control. Oh, fuck that. I don’t believe there’s any such thing as a sex addict. Randy was just a guy. He was a self-centered douchebag who thought with his cock rather than his brain. In other words, Randy Rhodes was a typical piece of shit who would fuck anything that moved and some things that didn’t. I wasn’t sad that I had caught him cheating on me. I was sad that it took ten years of my life to realize what a lowlife piece of shit cocksucker he was.
I’m not bitter.
Oh no, not me…
I met Randy in college. I was the bright-eyed innocent sophomore from Wisconsin and he was the smooth-talking, worldly junior from Chicago who was the life of every party he attended. I met him at a fraternity party and instantly fell in love.
Randy was a marketing major and I was in the journalism program at Stanford. I was a shy, unassuming country girl with blonde curls and timid eyes, and he was the proverbial tall, dark and handsome Italian with coal black hair, deep blue eyes, and a swagger that scared the hell out of me at first, then became a drug I could not resist. I fell madly for him, instantly, without listening to my girlfriends who told me what a pussy hound he was. I made the age-old mistake many women made. I thought I could take a bad boy and change him to suit my needs. I could turn a bad boy good. What a fucking fool I was. It just took me a fucking decade to realize it.
All I knew was that Randy seemed to like me and I damned sure liked him. We made awkward love the night we met in the back seat of his BMW. It wasn’t my first time, but it sure felt like it. Maybe it was because I didn’t have strong feelings for Randy like I did for my first lover way back in high school. Or maybe it was because Randy was so rough that it hurt when he entered me, so much so that I was afraid to do it with him again. It wasn’t that his cock was abnormally large or anything like that. It was just that Randy was a really rough lover. I swallowed my fears and kept fucking him until the roughness and the pain turned to pleasure. I liked rough sex now. No, that’s not entirely true. I loved it. I didn’t mind a good spanking or a little hair pulling now and then. Hit me in anger and I’ll kill you in your sleep. Pull my hair while you’re fucking me from behind and I’ll gush all over you.
Anyway, Randy and I dated all through college. Being a starry-eyed, smitten girl, I was monogamous from day one, but Randy continued to sow his wild oats. I was okay with it, at least for a while. When I caught him fucking one of my sorority sisters in my bed in my dorm room, that was when I drew the line.
“It’s me or them,” I said, shaking a finger at him so he couldn’t see it trembling from nerves. “I’m not gonna be the girl you come fuck at the end of the night anymore, Randy. I’m done.”
“Baby, you know you’re the only one that matters,” he cooed, pulling me into his arms and rocking me gently against his chest, as if I were a baby that needed comforting.
“Bullshit,” I said, pressing my ear to his chest so I could hear his heart beating. I closed my eyes and sighed at the sound.
He stroked my hair and whispered, “Baby, trust me…”
“I mean it,” I said, pulling away so suddenly it took us both by surprise. “You can either fuck me or you can fuck them, but you can’t fuck us all.”
Hearing those words in my head now, seventeen years later, I realized how pathetically stupid they sounded. Who the fuck was I? The Abraham Lincoln of college sex? You can fuck some of the people some of the time…
“I choose you,” Randy said convincingly, though in both our hearts we knew it was just more of his bullshit. It just meant that he would be more discriminating as to where he fucked his skanks and I would have to turn a blind eye if I had any hopes of a future with him.
And that was the crazy part. That’s when my dad would ask, “Lucy, are you sure about this?” When it came to Randy’s vow to be faithful to me, I literally was deaf, dumb, and blind. Even when we both graduated and I followed him to Chicago for work, I knew that I wasn’t the only woman in his life. He was very discreet about it, very careful, but I knew about his affairs all the same. And I ignored them. God help me, even when he asked me if I wanted to get married I ignored the fact that he was a cheat.
So, daddy, what was I thinking back then?
To this day, I still had no fucking idea.
Randy was Vice President of Sales for a company that sold microchips to large manufacturers. He made three times what I did as producer of the evening news in Chicago at a mid-ranked station. Everything was in his name because my college loans had maxed my credit. Our house in the suburbs, our cars, his motorcycle that he had never had time to ride, our vacation home in Connecticut, and the boat dry-docked there that had barely been in the water. On paper, it all belonged to him.
I stayed with Randy for thirteen years, then the camel’s back finally broke under the weight of a million straws. I came home unexpectedly one afternoon and caught him butt fucking our neighbor Louise on our living room couch. That was it for me. I didn’t even scream or throw anything. I opened the door and they both looked up at me in surprise. I gawked at them for a moment, then went upstairs to pack a bag. Randy came bounding up the stairs with the stink of Louise’s ass on his cock and her cunt on his breath, pleading with me to listen to reason. I did the only reasonable thing I could think of to do. I kicked him in his dangling ball sack and punched him in the nose with my left hand. The large diamond in my engagement ring went across his face like a can opener, splitting open his cheek and nose with the precision of a paring knife. I quickly packed the rest of my things and left him lying on the bedroom floor clutching his nose with blood running between his fingers. It was one of the most satisfying moments of my life.
“He’s going to need stitches, Louise,” I said when I reached the bottom of the stairs. She was still standing in the living room clutching her house dress in front of her fat boobs, giving me a horrified look. I smiled at her awkwardness. “Enjoy. He’s all yours.”
I checked into a hotel and cried myself to sleep. Surprisingly, after the tears ran out I slept like a baby and awoke feeling great, as if a huge weight had been removed from shoulders. As luck would have it, that was the day Ed Quigley called to offer me the job of executive producer at WNN. Ed was my old boss in Chicago. He had been trying to pull me into the big leagues for years. When he asked if I was ready to play in the major leagues, I said yes so fast it made him hesitate.
“Are you serious, Ed?” I asked.
“I am,” I said, forcing myself to sound stronger than I felt. “Are you seriously offering?”
“You bet your ass I am,” he grunted. Ed was nearing sixty and was as round as he was tall. When he spoke, it was on gusts of breath that seemed to burst from his lungs. “The executive producer of the nightly news is moving on next month. The job is yours if you want it.”
“Don’t I need to interview first?”
He scoffed. “Not with me. I know how good you are. I trained you, remember? Do you want the job?”
“I want it,” I said without hesitation or debate. “Yes. Definitely.”
He paused for a moment. E
d knew me well. He had always been like a second father to me. He could tell when something was wrong.
“Is everything okay there, Lucy?” he asked, his voice full of concern. “That dipshit husband of yours giving you trouble?”
“Not anymore,” I said with a sigh. “In fact, as soon as I hang up with you I’m calling my attorney. I’m counting on the divorce being quick and painless because I just want out. I’m not going to fight him for anything. He can have it all and I hope it burns down around him.”
Ed chuckled. “Hell hath no fury like Lucy Rhodes scorned. Okay, I’ll meet with my people today and email an offer to you by the end of the week.”
“Thanks, Ed,” I said. “Your timing couldn’t be better.”
“Then that’s good luck for both us,” he said. “I’m glad you’re okay, Lucy. And welcome to the big time.”
CHAPTER THREE: Cole
“Oh, my god… Cole… your cock… is so… fucking big…”
The words gushed out of Monica’s moist lips each time I thrust my cock into her. Her pink scrub pants were down around her ankles and the pink scrub shirt was lying on the floor. She was bent over a bathroom sink, clutching onto the sides so tightly that her knuckles were turning white, with her tight, round ass shoved out and my fingers digging into her sides. I was behind her with my knees bent so my cock would line up to her luscious pussy, hammering it to her like there was no tomorrow.
Monica was a small girl and her cunt was so tight it wrapped around my cock like fingers on a hand. She could tense her pussy muscles and squeeze my cock like a milking machine. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever felt, and of course as a medical professional, made me wonder why I hadn’t gone into gynecological research. Hmm, maybe I had without even realizing it.
I glanced at her in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her pink mouth was hanging open. Her tongue rolled out and swiped across her lips. Her big milky tits bounced on her chest. I grabbed onto them to keep them still. Her plump nipples caught between my fingers and I gave them a squeeze.
“Fuck… Cole… I’m cumming…” she moaned, getting on her tiptoes and pushing her ass toward me. “Fuck… Cole… cum with me…”
I sucked in a quick breath and tensed every muscle in my body to let my balls know that it was time to blow. I could hold an orgasm with the best of them. When I was young I’d shoot my load even before I got my cock out of my pants. Now, thanks to years of practice with more women that I could count, I could hold off until my partner was ready for me to cum. The only time I didn’t hold back was when I was getting my cocked sucked or I was in a hurry. Then, I could come in no time. Why draw it out. It was just a blowjob.
I squeezed Monica’s hips and lifted her off the ground, impaling my cock deep inside her until I heard her gasp. I could feel her hot juices gushing out of her pussy around my cock, soaking my balls and filling the tiny bathroom with the pungent aroma of our sex.
“Fuck… meeee… oh… god… I’m…cumming…” Monica started to scream, but I quickly put my hand over her mouth. She bit hard into my fingers and moaned. I somehow managed to keep going as I shot my hot milky load deep inside. When it was over, she pried her teeth from my finger and hung her head, panting like a dog.
“Holy shit, Dr. Walker,” she said, looking up at me in the mirror with a sweaty grin on her face. “That was awesome.”
“Yes, it was,” I said, smiling at her as I stepped back to let my long cock slide from her cunt. She turned around quickly and grabbed my sticky, deflating cock in one hand and put the other hand around my neck. She pulled my lips down to hers and roughly pushed her tongue into my mouth.
“I love your cock,” she said, her hand sliding up and down my gooey member. She gave me a pitiful look. “When am I going to get to fuck you outside of this hospital. I mean, this was great, but I have a king-sized bed that would be even better.”
“You know the rules,” I said, taking her wrist to pull her hand from my cock and gently pushing her away. “If the hospital administrator knew about us, you would lose your job. And your fiancé would shit a brick and call off your wedding. You don’t want that to happen.”
She leaned her bare ass back against the sink and folded her arms over her tits, which were red and marked from the roughness of our sex. “You keep quoting hospital rules to me. I don’t even think there is such a rule. I think you made it up so you wouldn’t have to see me outside of the hospital.”
“Look it up in the employee handbook,” I said with a shrug as I tucked my cock into my shorts and pulled up my black scrubs. “Or go ask your fiancé about it. He works in administration. I’m sure he’d tell you the same thing I’m telling you.” I narrowed my eyes to give her a serious look. “I mean, if this isn’t enough for you, we can just stop.”
“No, this is great,” she said quickly, ignoring the fact that we had just fucked in a public restroom the size of a broom closet. It was representative of the nature of our affair. We had fucked in janitor’s closets, empty hospital rooms, public restrooms with locks on the doors, bathroom stalls with no locks, unoccupied labs, service elevators, and the laundry room in the basement. We had anointed pretty much every area within the hospital with the sounds and smells of our sex, but we would never meet outside. Monica was a sweet girl and a nice fuck, but she was not someone I’d give the time of day to on the outside. She knew and I knew it, and it wasn’t really an issue. Monica always got clingy right after sex.
I nudged her aside and washed my hands while she sat on the toilet and cleaned off her cunt with toilet paper then pulled the pink scrubs back up her legs. I dried my hands on a paper towel and kissed her on the forehead.
“I’m going to check on our patient,” I said. “Have a good night. And thanks for this. It was nice.”
“You’re such an asshole,” she huffed, rolling her eyes at me, pretending to be irritated. Then she smiled and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
I unlocked the door and stepped out into the brightly-lit hallway. There were three nurses at a station at the end of the hall. They all looked at me, then quickly looked away.
I smiled and headed toward ICU to check on my patient. I could only imagine the gossip that would start when the nurses saw Monica coming out of the bathroom.
The Dr. Cole Walker legend lived on.
CHAPTER FOUR: Lucy
Ed gave me the grand tour of World News Network’s news production facilities that took up the entire top three floors of the WNN building located in New Jersey right across the bay from lower Manhattan. I could see the Statue of Liberty from the balcony off the bullpen, where dozens of reporters and writers toiled to produce the network’s constant flow of news. Apparently, my morning commute would involve a taxi or subway, and a ferry ride that was pleasant in the spring and fall, but hot as fuck in the summer and cold as a witch’s tit in winter. Those were Ed’s words, not mine.
“If you’re here next year think about moving over to this side of the bay,” Ed said as I followed him into his office. He directed me toward a chair and he slid in behind his desk. His belly pushed against the desk, so he pushed his chair back.
“If I’m here next year?” I said, giving him the eye. “You think I’ll be burnt out by then? Or fired?”
Ed smiled and his eyes nearly disappeared above his puffy cheeks. He had gotten even rounder since I’d seen him last. He grunted when he moved and sweated a lot. His once red hair had turned gray and was cut into an old-fashioned crew cut. He tugged a Kleenex from a box on the desk and mopped his face with it.
“This place will burn anybody out,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Look at me. I’m only thirty years old.”
“You don’t look a day over fifty-nine,” I said with a smile. “I appreciate you giving me this chance, Ed. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” he said, waving the tissue at me. “If you’re still the hungry go-getter I hired in Chicago all those years ago, you’ll do
fine here. The audience and the egos are bigger, otherwise, it’s all the same.”
“When do I get to meet my anchors and staff?” I asked, glancing at the large photographs on his wall of the network stars under Ed’s control. The main anchors for WNN’s Nightly News were Bryant Hart and Stephanie Bean. I’d seen them countless times on TV but had not had the chance to meet them yet.
Bryant was a youthful-looking fifty-something with perfect gray hair and perfect teeth and steel blue eyes that cut into the camera like lasers. He had been the network’s star for twenty years and showed no signs of stopping. Stephanie Bean was probably his tenth co-anchor. It was common knowledge in the industry that Bryant was a bitch to work with and she was just the latest in a long line of comers.
Stephanie was in her early thirties but tried to sell it as late twenties. She was a drop dead gorgeous blonde, a former Miss Kentucky, who had come out of journalism school full of talent and drive and reportedly fucked, clawed and backstabbed her way to the network chair. These were my two stars that worked for me, at least during the hour when I was in the booth controlling the show.
“Let me give you a little insight on your anchors,” Ed said quietly, even though the office door was shut. “Bryant Hart is an egotistical pussy hound that’s probably fucked most of the women worth fucking in the place and will try to fuck you.”
“Define ‘worth fucking’,” I said with a smile. “And should I be flattered that I’m included in that club?”
“You know what I mean,” Ed said, huffing, shaking his head. “He’s like most male anchors. He thinks he’s a bigger star than he is, though Bryant’s numbers are pretty damn good and have been for a long time. Good enough to make him the number two anchorman on cable.”
“And what about Miss Kentucky?” I asked, nodding at her picture. She really was gorgeous, with her big blonde hair and infectious smile and a pair of legs reportedly insured for a million dollars. “What’s her story?”
