Fox & Hound: Part Nine
https://interracialerotica.net/erotica/articles/189/1/Fox-amp-Hound-Part-Nine/Page1.html
By Tracy Ames
Published on April 13, 2010
Annalisa’s nerves were on edge as she wound her way through the busy downtown market. Since the madness with Anthony began, she dreaded dense crowds but it was time to take back her life. Maybe that day wasn’t the best day to grow a pair of balls…she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. When she saw a lingering figure vaguely resembling Anthony, fear coursed through her blood.
Pint size, she barely made out Mrs. Greene standing at a stall haggling with a merchant through the mass of shoulders tossing her about. “Excuse me.” She pushed to no avail. Her eyes darted around searching for the ghostly figure she’d seen. It had to be him, no one else struck teeth chattering fear in her.
Suddenly, there was a blunt yet piercing pain in her back, a hand covering her mouth, and the smell of his cologne…and she found herself being forced through the crowd and into an awaiting car. One knock to the head and she was gone.
She came to, though time seemed to eclipse itself. Surely, someone missed her. Surely, someone was looking for her. But where? She didn’t even know where she was. It was a dark ratty vacant apartment with an inescapable smell of pungent furniture varnish. The only signs of life beyond the tattered walls were the sounds of children playing in the far distance.
She sat across the dinner table from him, swimming in only the dingy t-shirt bearing the evidence of his last attack. The sinister eyes of a predator stared back at her. The beautiful, kind and affectionate Black man she’d once loved was no more. In his place was a despotic cracked-out monster.
“Eat” he ordered.
She regarded the meal of franks and bean in front of her, and without lifting her gaze said, “I’m not hungry.” She didn’t have to look up to feel his anger rising. In a way she welcomed it—if he were going to kill her, she wanted him to get on with it. He’d done his worse: stripped her, raped her, beat her—broken her. Yet still, her fingers cradled the fork. She ate slowly, but she ate. Each mouthful was an effort under her swollen jaw.
The bowl caught on the uneven grain of the wood as she pushed it slightly away. Finished, she was unsure where to look. Her eyes flutter around the room, taking in all the details, before returning to stare at her hands daintily meshed together on the table.
She spoke, without looking up, words no louder than a whisper so faint that she can almost deny invoking them, “I want to go home, Anthony. Please let me go home. I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done?! What you made me do!” he stood and delivered a blow which left Annalisa sprawled on the cold tile floor, arms protectively above her head, her body clenched into a tight ball, sobbing. Kneeling on one knee, he loomed over her trembling body. His fist knotted tightly in her hair as he pulled her against him forcing her face up, focused solely on her eyes. “I’m not letting you go. You’re where I want you, bitch. Say it!”
She looked up, her eyes implored him to explain further, her lips moved but no sound escaped at first. Finally, timidly, “Say….what?”
“Tell me, you bitch, tell me where you belong.” She hesitated too long for his liking. He drew his hand back to strike and she cowered and raised hers protectively over her face. “Move your arm, Anna. Move it now or I’ll make this much worse than you can imagine.”
She obeyed and surrendered.
Annalisa awoke bolt straight in bed, gasping for air. Her night terrors were increasing with the frequency of Anthony’s calls and showing up on campus. It was obvious the restraining order meant nothing to him. She’d have to leave the Greene’s home if for no other reason than to protect them from Anthony’s wrath. There was nowhere left to turn, but to Scott.
******
The first ten homes the realtor, Lynette, showed Scott and Monica met with Scott’s searing disapproval. They were: Too close or too far away from downtown. Too old. Too new. Too small. Too large. They were always ‘too’ something. After day four, Monica wanted to strangle him and was only pacified when she realized his angst had more to do with his overprotective nature rather than him simply behaving like an asshole. She stood down and indulged him…allowed him to handle the ins and outs with the realtor…let him conduct a full fire inspection of the homes, anything to ease his mind because it wasn’t important enough to fight over. This was his transition of letting her go.
Then what? He thought peeked out over the vista from Cassé Hills. The bustling city below seemed miles away from the tranquility windy road, blooming gardens and fresh air on the hills. It was a planned gated community tucked into the hillside, no traffic to speak of and very little noise. Perfect. The house itself was California postmodern, typical four bedroom/three bathroom open floor plan, natural stone throughout, shimmering appliances.
“Monica, the furniture is included in the asking price.” The Lynette argued. “The house was owned but never lived in. Everything is brand new—never touched.”
“I don’t care. I’m not sleeping in someone else’s bed!” Monica shouted. “Scott?!”
Scott didn’t move from his position on the balcony and it wasn’t long before he was flanked by either woman pleading their case. As pushing them both down the hillside to their deaths wasn’t a reasonable option he feigned interest just long enough to form his own opinion. “Monica, you’re main objection is the bed. Fine, it goes but the rest stays.” He stated plainly and walked back to the house.
Lynette smiled smugly at Monica. They followed Scott. He saw them coming and rounded on them.
“Look, its nine month old custom-built, high-end furniture. You were planning to redecorate anyway and it fits your taste. It’ll cost you more to hire movers than it would to move in here as is.” He said. “Besides, there are women shelters in Atlanta that could use your belongings—you’d be helping someone get a fresh start just like you.”
Monica released a heavy sigh. “I sooo hate when you make sense.”
“I’ll have the seller deduct the prices of any pieces removed from the asking price. Hell, I’ll take them.” Lynette giggled, the clacking on her heels echoed off the walls as she left for the kitchen with the phone pressed to her ear.
“Thank you. I’m all nerves and being irrational.” Monica said.
“No problem. That’s why I’m here.” Scott took in the room then gazed at Monica. “So this is it, your new home.”
“Yeppers! This is it,” she passed him on the way up to the second level. “Nice huh? I picked it out myself.” She grinned over her shoulder. “This huge…new space will be all mine.” She gestured to the grandeur of the master suite and terrace before plopping down backward on the bed. “All mine.”
Scott lay beside her and stared up at the ceiling. “All yours.”
“You know, this bed ain’t half bad.”
“I knew you’d change your mind. It’s enormous.”
Monica rolled over and kissed Scott’s lips softly. “Can you imagine all of the naughty things we could do in it?” she kissed him again. “All of the kinky shit we could get into.”
“Oh yeah?” he tried to think of a more clever reply but it was best he could manage in sight of her boobs pushing over the ‘V’ in her shirt.
“Yeah,” she nibbled his ear. “We can play those games we used to play.”
“The Spanking Game?”
“Any game you’d like.”
They lie kissing until they were rudely interrupted by Lynette. “So you’ve decided to keep the bed then?” she laughed.
******
Joy went to Sharon and tried talking some sense into her. She rambled on for over an hour while Sharon stared at her blankly, never speaking a single word. Monica, the Fitz, and Cody tried but she wouldn’t speak to anyone. Her silence was her only weapon against her barrage of visitors and briefly broke when Monica offered to stay and take care of her.
“No. Go. I’ll be fine.” Sharon said softly, confident Monica would leave. It wasn’t as though she had a choice—business was business.
Fox & Hound: Part Nine
The last thing Monica, an Afro-American woman, wanted was a last night pub crawl with people she hardly knew until she was introduced to Scott, a tall, devilishly stunning man. As the night quickly progressed they find themselves exploring their sexual limits....
The last thing Monica, an Afro-American woman, wanted was a last night pub crawl with people she hardly knew until she was introduced to Scott, a tall, devilishly stunning man. As the night quickly progressed they find themselves exploring their sexual limits....
Fox & Hound: Part Nine
Annalisa’s nerves were on edge as she wound her way through the busy downtown market. Since the madness with Anthony began, she dreaded dense crowds but it was time to take back her life. Maybe that day wasn’t the best day to grow a pair of balls…she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. When she saw a lingering figure vaguely resembling Anthony, fear coursed through her blood.
Pint size, she barely made out Mrs. Greene standing at a stall haggling with a merchant through the mass of shoulders tossing her about. “Excuse me.” She pushed to no avail. Her eyes darted around searching for the ghostly figure she’d seen. It had to be him, no one else struck teeth chattering fear in her.
Suddenly, there was a blunt yet piercing pain in her back, a hand covering her mouth, and the smell of his cologne…and she found herself being forced through the crowd and into an awaiting car. One knock to the head and she was gone.
She came to, though time seemed to eclipse itself. Surely, someone missed her. Surely, someone was looking for her. But where? She didn’t even know where she was. It was a dark ratty vacant apartment with an inescapable smell of pungent furniture varnish. The only signs of life beyond the tattered walls were the sounds of children playing in the far distance.
She sat across the dinner table from him, swimming in only the dingy t-shirt bearing the evidence of his last attack. The sinister eyes of a predator stared back at her. The beautiful, kind and affectionate Black man she’d once loved was no more. In his place was a despotic cracked-out monster.
“Eat” he ordered.
She regarded the meal of franks and bean in front of her, and without lifting her gaze said, “I’m not hungry.” She didn’t have to look up to feel his anger rising. In a way she welcomed it—if he were going to kill her, she wanted him to get on with it. He’d done his worse: stripped her, raped her, beat her—broken her. Yet still, her fingers cradled the fork. She ate slowly, but she ate. Each mouthful was an effort under her swollen jaw.
The bowl caught on the uneven grain of the wood as she pushed it slightly away. Finished, she was unsure where to look. Her eyes flutter around the room, taking in all the details, before returning to stare at her hands daintily meshed together on the table.
She spoke, without looking up, words no louder than a whisper so faint that she can almost deny invoking them, “I want to go home, Anthony. Please let me go home. I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done?! What you made me do!” he stood and delivered a blow which left Annalisa sprawled on the cold tile floor, arms protectively above her head, her body clenched into a tight ball, sobbing. Kneeling on one knee, he loomed over her trembling body. His fist knotted tightly in her hair as he pulled her against him forcing her face up, focused solely on her eyes. “I’m not letting you go. You’re where I want you, bitch. Say it!”
She looked up, her eyes implored him to explain further, her lips moved but no sound escaped at first. Finally, timidly, “Say….what?”
“Tell me, you bitch, tell me where you belong.” She hesitated too long for his liking. He drew his hand back to strike and she cowered and raised hers protectively over her face. “Move your arm, Anna. Move it now or I’ll make this much worse than you can imagine.”
She obeyed and surrendered.
Annalisa awoke bolt straight in bed, gasping for air. Her night terrors were increasing with the frequency of Anthony’s calls and showing up on campus. It was obvious the restraining order meant nothing to him. She’d have to leave the Greene’s home if for no other reason than to protect them from Anthony’s wrath. There was nowhere left to turn, but to Scott.
******
The first ten homes the realtor, Lynette, showed Scott and Monica met with Scott’s searing disapproval. They were: Too close or too far away from downtown. Too old. Too new. Too small. Too large. They were always ‘too’ something. After day four, Monica wanted to strangle him and was only pacified when she realized his angst had more to do with his overprotective nature rather than him simply behaving like an asshole. She stood down and indulged him…allowed him to handle the ins and outs with the realtor…let him conduct a full fire inspection of the homes, anything to ease his mind because it wasn’t important enough to fight over. This was his transition of letting her go.
Then what? He thought peeked out over the vista from Cassé Hills. The bustling city below seemed miles away from the tranquility windy road, blooming gardens and fresh air on the hills. It was a planned gated community tucked into the hillside, no traffic to speak of and very little noise. Perfect. The house itself was California postmodern, typical four bedroom/three bathroom open floor plan, natural stone throughout, shimmering appliances.
“Monica, the furniture is included in the asking price.” The Lynette argued. “The house was owned but never lived in. Everything is brand new—never touched.”
“I don’t care. I’m not sleeping in someone else’s bed!” Monica shouted. “Scott?!”
Scott didn’t move from his position on the balcony and it wasn’t long before he was flanked by either woman pleading their case. As pushing them both down the hillside to their deaths wasn’t a reasonable option he feigned interest just long enough to form his own opinion. “Monica, you’re main objection is the bed. Fine, it goes but the rest stays.” He stated plainly and walked back to the house.
Lynette smiled smugly at Monica. They followed Scott. He saw them coming and rounded on them.
“Look, its nine month old custom-built, high-end furniture. You were planning to redecorate anyway and it fits your taste. It’ll cost you more to hire movers than it would to move in here as is.” He said. “Besides, there are women shelters in Atlanta that could use your belongings—you’d be helping someone get a fresh start just like you.”
Monica released a heavy sigh. “I sooo hate when you make sense.”
“I’ll have the seller deduct the prices of any pieces removed from the asking price. Hell, I’ll take them.” Lynette giggled, the clacking on her heels echoed off the walls as she left for the kitchen with the phone pressed to her ear.
“Thank you. I’m all nerves and being irrational.” Monica said.
“No problem. That’s why I’m here.” Scott took in the room then gazed at Monica. “So this is it, your new home.”
“Yeppers! This is it,” she passed him on the way up to the second level. “Nice huh? I picked it out myself.” She grinned over her shoulder. “This huge…new space will be all mine.” She gestured to the grandeur of the master suite and terrace before plopping down backward on the bed. “All mine.”
Scott lay beside her and stared up at the ceiling. “All yours.”
“You know, this bed ain’t half bad.”
“I knew you’d change your mind. It’s enormous.”
Monica rolled over and kissed Scott’s lips softly. “Can you imagine all of the naughty things we could do in it?” she kissed him again. “All of the kinky shit we could get into.”
“Oh yeah?” he tried to think of a more clever reply but it was best he could manage in sight of her boobs pushing over the ‘V’ in her shirt.
“Yeah,” she nibbled his ear. “We can play those games we used to play.”
“The Spanking Game?”
“Any game you’d like.”
They lie kissing until they were rudely interrupted by Lynette. “So you’ve decided to keep the bed then?” she laughed.
******
Joy went to Sharon and tried talking some sense into her. She rambled on for over an hour while Sharon stared at her blankly, never speaking a single word. Monica, the Fitz, and Cody tried but she wouldn’t speak to anyone. Her silence was her only weapon against her barrage of visitors and briefly broke when Monica offered to stay and take care of her.
“No. Go. I’ll be fine.” Sharon said softly, confident Monica would leave. It wasn’t as though she had a choice—business was business.
Fox & Hound: Part Nine
Finally alone, save Mrs. Ellis yapping from the chair beside her bed, the reality of what was happening began to sink in. If everyone would stop…stop thinking for her…stop and let her speak…just stop and listen to her fears. This microcosm, this strange world of the WASP, for which she’d willingly enter for the man she loved didn’t seem so scary when he was around. But living without him shut down her senses. These weren’t her people. She had nothing in common with them. Heaven forbid he died leaving her to fend for herself, to manage his estates, his legacy alone—she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
“Sharon,” Mrs. Ellis said. “We got off to a bad start. We don’t care about the money. If something happens, Grant has given it all to you.”
Sharon turned and blinked. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? I don’t want it.”
“If you marry him, you don’t have a choice. He never had a choice. His only choice was in choosing you and he did so because he loved you. Neither your race, nor where you came from mattered—all he wanted was Sharon. You’re all he ever talks about, you know?” her chin dropped to her chest. “If I could change his lot in life I would.” She met Sharon’s eyes. “But I can’t and neither can he. You both have played the hand life has dealt you. Now,” she heaved herself from the chair. “…it’s up to you if you want to go at it alone. If you want us out of the picture, then we’ll have nothing to do with you.”
Sharon’s heart leapt. Was this what it had come too? “None of this is me,” she blurted to Mrs. Ellis’s back, she turned. “I don’t…that is…I never wanted a big wedding. I only did it to please you all…because it was what was expected of me. I can’t live like that—I can’t live under a microscope. I need to be able to make mistakes without everyone coming down on me.”
Mrs. Ellis chuckled then looked at Sharon and then burst into roaring gasping laughter. She reached for a chair and threw her head back. “You think I know what I’m doing? Darling, I don’t have a clue. I was the black sheep of my family. Of course, I was born with my fortune, but the airs you see about me? They’re who I am; it’s natural in the same way yours are natural. Be yourself. You’re one of us now. Who gives a damn about what others think. At the end of the day we are who we are. Were you afraid we’d change you?”
“I was afraid I wouldn’t fit in and then the business with the pre-nup came up and I realized I wasn’t being true to myself. I was playing dress up, not getting married,” Sharon pouted. “I love Grant and I’ll marry him. But I want an intimate wedding, just close friends and family. No cameras. No media. Nothing.”
It was then that it dawned on Mrs. Ellis what part of the problem was. Popular media had repackaged the WASP into the glitzy, Paris Hilton wannabes with cameras shoved in their faces. “Sharon, real WASP are mentioned in the papers three times in their lives: When they’re born, when they marry, and when they die. What you see and read in the magazines doesn’t represent us anymore than what we read about Blacks represents you.”
Sharon shrugged bashfully. “I guess ‘sorry’ won’t cut it, huh?”
“You know,” Mrs. Ellis titled her head to one side. “You’re a prideful young lady. I like you. You’ll do well.” She paused while stretching her nose. “So! Can I call off this ridiculous wedding?”
“But so much money has been spent…”
Mrs. Ellis held up her hand and shook her head. “Ah, we never talk about money. Now, let’s try it again. Sharon?”
“Yes, Mrs. Ellis?”
“Can I call off this ridiculous wedding?”
Sharon’s smile grew as her head bobbed. “Yes, call it off.”
“We’ll work on this ‘Mrs. Ellis’ thing you’re so fond of, reminds me of my mother-in-law.”
“Shouldn’t we tell Grant that I’ll marry him?”
Mrs. Ellis reclined. “Nah, let him sweat it out for a few more hours—consider it payback for something he’s gotten away with.” She winked.
******
The word temptation is usually used in a loose sense, to describe actions that indicate a lack of self-control. No, temptation was sharing a hotel room with your half naked ex with whom you were madly attracted. Temptation was lying in bed with said half naked ex on your chest with her supple breasts calling to you while she rubbed her buttery soft legs over yours. Temptation had Scott’s balls on the verge of exploding. Don’t stick your penis in her! She’ll be asleep soon.
“I used to love it when you dominated me,” Monica crooned, her raspy sleep-drunk voice torturing Scott.
“I noticed,” Scott answered.
“In fact, I loved it so much that sometimes I wanted more,” crooned Monica, her voice continuing to torture Scott.
“More?”
“Yeah. More stronger unexpected dominance.”
“Hmmm,” he said, pausing briefly. “Mon…” Okay, stick your penis in her but only the tip. Is that even possible?
“You don’t find me attractive anymore. You don’t want me.”
His eyes were as large as a fist as he stared down at the top of her head. “Monica, I wanna fuck you with violent disregard for your health! Do you have any idea how difficult this is?”
Monica smiled shyly as she rose from his arms.
Scott rolled onto his side, watching her remove her gown. Her nude body was more beautiful than he remembered. Next she slid his sleeping pants free and tossed them aside along with any notion of them not screwing.
Provocative and cat-like, she straddled his lap. Then leaning forward she kissed and gently nibbled her way down his neck; she could feel her wet lips rubbing greedily against his length. “I want you.” Her breath warm against his skin, she moved further down until her lips teased his collar bone. His hand gripped her ass as she slowly rocked rhythmically back and forth; the warm wetness of her pussy covering him. “Use me any way you want. I’m yours. You know I’ll do anything you want me to do.”
The head of his cock brushed deliciously over her swollen clit. He masterfully controlled her hips and watched her. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. A delicate shadow of lust scissored across her rich brown skin. Desire shimmered off her body like heat devils off tarmac in the summer —she was close to cumming.
Abruptly, he grabbed her hips and rolled her over on the bed. She gasped at the suddenness of his move but before she could protest, his hands were in hers, their fingers interlaced as he held them down hard on the bed. He moved between her open thighs...his weight pressed down against her, pinning her to the bed—just the way she liked it. The tip of his cock skidded against the wetness of her pussy…it was there, right there…warm, tight, and begging to be taken. “Anything I want?” He rubbed himself against her sensitive clit.
“Anything you like. Make me cum.” She tried to kiss him but he recoiled and forced her down hard. She gasped and struggled. He held her tighter and she wriggled under him. This back and forth prelude to fucking ceased when she felt the head of his hard cock slide between the lips of her pussy; they parted lusciously around his shaft.
“Oh Fuck!” They groaned in unison. A sudden gush of wetness dribbled along the length of his erection.
“Baby, you’re squirting,” Scott growled and thrust harder and harder, deeper and deeper into her…filling her, stretching her pretty little pussy in ways no decent person should. He positioned her bent knees around her earlobes, the sheer greediness of the position would be something he’d have to reckon with later…for now, he drove her post-orgasmic gushing hole with epic force.
“Yesss! I’m cumming…” She moaned as he held her in place, his lips mauled her neck. The salacious sounds of her juices spurting over his cock ushered another orgasm. Unable to fight anymore, Monica surrendered, uncomfortably doubled yet gleefully suffering from Scott’s pneumatic thunder drilling. She panted in ineffable helplessness, her pussy squeezing around his thrusting cock…“Oh God, Scott…” her orgasm swelled like a tsunami.
Her guttural cries had Scott seconds away from exploding. Then without warning she came so intensely, she literally, and quite rudely, milked his cum from him and sent him into wild convulsing waves of wood splintering orgasm.
Twelve-fifteen local time Scott’s cell phone rang. Without bothering to check caller ID he answered.
“Sorry for calling so late, but Monica’s phone is off. Can I speak to her?” Annalisa asked a trace of fear in her voice.
“Hold on.” He passed Monica the phone…she wasn’t thrilled about being awoken so he took the call himself. “What’s going on?” Anna didn’t speak…Scott knew it was trouble. He moved from under Monica’s weight and went into the sitting area. “What’s happened?”
“Joy and I went to dinner and on the way home we stopped by the office,” she paused and whispered. “On the way out we saw Anthony waiting in the lobby. The security guard stopped him from following us upstairs but he waited for us. He was waiting for me.”
“What the hell? Are you guys alright?”
“We’re fine. We spotted him first and flagged down another security guard. They escorted him out before I could tell them about the restraining order—they would’ve called the police if they'd known. Now we’re at Joy’s house and don’t know where he is. He could be anywhere.”
Scott dragged his hand down his face frustrated and looked towards the bedroom. This wasn’t the time for him to be running back to Annalisa when he and Monica were making progress. But what choice did he have. Dragging the Greenes, Grant, or Case into this mess weren’t options. He’d have to cut his trip short and return home immediately.
“Who’s that?” Monica asked, pulling her robe closed and sitting beside Scott. As he gave her the news, Monica’s blood began to sizzle. She took the phone from Scott. “Anna, Anthony was in the building, right? Have Joy call the building security for a copy of the surveillance video and send Cody to pick it up; he loves drama so he’ll take you to the police station tomorrow. In the meantime, call Scotts' doorman and have him send a car for the both of you. You’ll be safe there. Cody will take care of you until we return. Call us in the morning and let us know you’ve made it safely. Goodnight.” She hung up, tossed the phone to Scott and stood and walked to the bedroom. “There’s only one bitch calling shots in this relationship.”
Scott beamed from ear to ear. "She's bbaacckkk!"
“Sharon,” Mrs. Ellis said. “We got off to a bad start. We don’t care about the money. If something happens, Grant has given it all to you.”
Sharon turned and blinked. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? I don’t want it.”
“If you marry him, you don’t have a choice. He never had a choice. His only choice was in choosing you and he did so because he loved you. Neither your race, nor where you came from mattered—all he wanted was Sharon. You’re all he ever talks about, you know?” her chin dropped to her chest. “If I could change his lot in life I would.” She met Sharon’s eyes. “But I can’t and neither can he. You both have played the hand life has dealt you. Now,” she heaved herself from the chair. “…it’s up to you if you want to go at it alone. If you want us out of the picture, then we’ll have nothing to do with you.”
Sharon’s heart leapt. Was this what it had come too? “None of this is me,” she blurted to Mrs. Ellis’s back, she turned. “I don’t…that is…I never wanted a big wedding. I only did it to please you all…because it was what was expected of me. I can’t live like that—I can’t live under a microscope. I need to be able to make mistakes without everyone coming down on me.”
Mrs. Ellis chuckled then looked at Sharon and then burst into roaring gasping laughter. She reached for a chair and threw her head back. “You think I know what I’m doing? Darling, I don’t have a clue. I was the black sheep of my family. Of course, I was born with my fortune, but the airs you see about me? They’re who I am; it’s natural in the same way yours are natural. Be yourself. You’re one of us now. Who gives a damn about what others think. At the end of the day we are who we are. Were you afraid we’d change you?”
“I was afraid I wouldn’t fit in and then the business with the pre-nup came up and I realized I wasn’t being true to myself. I was playing dress up, not getting married,” Sharon pouted. “I love Grant and I’ll marry him. But I want an intimate wedding, just close friends and family. No cameras. No media. Nothing.”
It was then that it dawned on Mrs. Ellis what part of the problem was. Popular media had repackaged the WASP into the glitzy, Paris Hilton wannabes with cameras shoved in their faces. “Sharon, real WASP are mentioned in the papers three times in their lives: When they’re born, when they marry, and when they die. What you see and read in the magazines doesn’t represent us anymore than what we read about Blacks represents you.”
Sharon shrugged bashfully. “I guess ‘sorry’ won’t cut it, huh?”
“You know,” Mrs. Ellis titled her head to one side. “You’re a prideful young lady. I like you. You’ll do well.” She paused while stretching her nose. “So! Can I call off this ridiculous wedding?”
“But so much money has been spent…”
Mrs. Ellis held up her hand and shook her head. “Ah, we never talk about money. Now, let’s try it again. Sharon?”
“Yes, Mrs. Ellis?”
“Can I call off this ridiculous wedding?”
Sharon’s smile grew as her head bobbed. “Yes, call it off.”
“We’ll work on this ‘Mrs. Ellis’ thing you’re so fond of, reminds me of my mother-in-law.”
“Shouldn’t we tell Grant that I’ll marry him?”
Mrs. Ellis reclined. “Nah, let him sweat it out for a few more hours—consider it payback for something he’s gotten away with.” She winked.
******
The word temptation is usually used in a loose sense, to describe actions that indicate a lack of self-control. No, temptation was sharing a hotel room with your half naked ex with whom you were madly attracted. Temptation was lying in bed with said half naked ex on your chest with her supple breasts calling to you while she rubbed her buttery soft legs over yours. Temptation had Scott’s balls on the verge of exploding. Don’t stick your penis in her! She’ll be asleep soon.
“I used to love it when you dominated me,” Monica crooned, her raspy sleep-drunk voice torturing Scott.
“I noticed,” Scott answered.
“In fact, I loved it so much that sometimes I wanted more,” crooned Monica, her voice continuing to torture Scott.
“More?”
“Yeah. More stronger unexpected dominance.”
“Hmmm,” he said, pausing briefly. “Mon…” Okay, stick your penis in her but only the tip. Is that even possible?
“You don’t find me attractive anymore. You don’t want me.”
His eyes were as large as a fist as he stared down at the top of her head. “Monica, I wanna fuck you with violent disregard for your health! Do you have any idea how difficult this is?”
Monica smiled shyly as she rose from his arms.
Scott rolled onto his side, watching her remove her gown. Her nude body was more beautiful than he remembered. Next she slid his sleeping pants free and tossed them aside along with any notion of them not screwing.
Provocative and cat-like, she straddled his lap. Then leaning forward she kissed and gently nibbled her way down his neck; she could feel her wet lips rubbing greedily against his length. “I want you.” Her breath warm against his skin, she moved further down until her lips teased his collar bone. His hand gripped her ass as she slowly rocked rhythmically back and forth; the warm wetness of her pussy covering him. “Use me any way you want. I’m yours. You know I’ll do anything you want me to do.”
The head of his cock brushed deliciously over her swollen clit. He masterfully controlled her hips and watched her. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. A delicate shadow of lust scissored across her rich brown skin. Desire shimmered off her body like heat devils off tarmac in the summer —she was close to cumming.
Abruptly, he grabbed her hips and rolled her over on the bed. She gasped at the suddenness of his move but before she could protest, his hands were in hers, their fingers interlaced as he held them down hard on the bed. He moved between her open thighs...his weight pressed down against her, pinning her to the bed—just the way she liked it. The tip of his cock skidded against the wetness of her pussy…it was there, right there…warm, tight, and begging to be taken. “Anything I want?” He rubbed himself against her sensitive clit.
“Anything you like. Make me cum.” She tried to kiss him but he recoiled and forced her down hard. She gasped and struggled. He held her tighter and she wriggled under him. This back and forth prelude to fucking ceased when she felt the head of his hard cock slide between the lips of her pussy; they parted lusciously around his shaft.
“Oh Fuck!” They groaned in unison. A sudden gush of wetness dribbled along the length of his erection.
“Baby, you’re squirting,” Scott growled and thrust harder and harder, deeper and deeper into her…filling her, stretching her pretty little pussy in ways no decent person should. He positioned her bent knees around her earlobes, the sheer greediness of the position would be something he’d have to reckon with later…for now, he drove her post-orgasmic gushing hole with epic force.
“Yesss! I’m cumming…” She moaned as he held her in place, his lips mauled her neck. The salacious sounds of her juices spurting over his cock ushered another orgasm. Unable to fight anymore, Monica surrendered, uncomfortably doubled yet gleefully suffering from Scott’s pneumatic thunder drilling. She panted in ineffable helplessness, her pussy squeezing around his thrusting cock…“Oh God, Scott…” her orgasm swelled like a tsunami.
Her guttural cries had Scott seconds away from exploding. Then without warning she came so intensely, she literally, and quite rudely, milked his cum from him and sent him into wild convulsing waves of wood splintering orgasm.
Twelve-fifteen local time Scott’s cell phone rang. Without bothering to check caller ID he answered.
“Sorry for calling so late, but Monica’s phone is off. Can I speak to her?” Annalisa asked a trace of fear in her voice.
“Hold on.” He passed Monica the phone…she wasn’t thrilled about being awoken so he took the call himself. “What’s going on?” Anna didn’t speak…Scott knew it was trouble. He moved from under Monica’s weight and went into the sitting area. “What’s happened?”
“Joy and I went to dinner and on the way home we stopped by the office,” she paused and whispered. “On the way out we saw Anthony waiting in the lobby. The security guard stopped him from following us upstairs but he waited for us. He was waiting for me.”
“What the hell? Are you guys alright?”
“We’re fine. We spotted him first and flagged down another security guard. They escorted him out before I could tell them about the restraining order—they would’ve called the police if they'd known. Now we’re at Joy’s house and don’t know where he is. He could be anywhere.”
Scott dragged his hand down his face frustrated and looked towards the bedroom. This wasn’t the time for him to be running back to Annalisa when he and Monica were making progress. But what choice did he have. Dragging the Greenes, Grant, or Case into this mess weren’t options. He’d have to cut his trip short and return home immediately.
“Who’s that?” Monica asked, pulling her robe closed and sitting beside Scott. As he gave her the news, Monica’s blood began to sizzle. She took the phone from Scott. “Anna, Anthony was in the building, right? Have Joy call the building security for a copy of the surveillance video and send Cody to pick it up; he loves drama so he’ll take you to the police station tomorrow. In the meantime, call Scotts' doorman and have him send a car for the both of you. You’ll be safe there. Cody will take care of you until we return. Call us in the morning and let us know you’ve made it safely. Goodnight.” She hung up, tossed the phone to Scott and stood and walked to the bedroom. “There’s only one bitch calling shots in this relationship.”
Scott beamed from ear to ear. "She's bbaacckkk!"