“Cynthia, I promise you that he’s worth every penny. The whole operation is so clandestine. He comes in and gets the job done for you and, I kid you not, he’ll leave you there thinking you should fucking tip him…hell, if you do he might throw another round in just to keep you coming back for more.”
“I don’t know about this. Doesn’t it seem a little wrong?”
“Does Frank think it’s wrong to nail his little mistress at the Hilton on the weekends while you’re sitting at home in a teddy hoping he’ll drop by to show you a little bit of attention?”
“I didn’t think you knew about that…”
“Cynthia, EVERYONE knows about that.”
“I don’t know, I just don’t…I don’t think its right, me calling another man to come in and…you know…do those sorts of things with me…”
“I said that the first time too but now look at me? When’s the last time you’ve seen me this happy? Take the chance, Cyn. There are no strings attached. You can always cancel before he gets here…”
Cynthia Davenport sat anxiously in the middle of an antique chaise lounge set against the wall in the foyer of her mansion. A tall glass of Chablis hung precariously between her fingertips as she chewed the inside corner of her lips. Large doe-like eyes watched the ticking of the clock stationed on the adjacent wall as her stomach twisted into knots over the mere idea of what she was about to do.
Shakily she lifted her glass to her lips and allowed the smooth golden liquid to bathe her tongue. She savored the flavor for a few uneasy moments before swallowing down the liquor and releasing a deep breath into the air. There were still five minutes left until midnight struck upon the clock. Perhaps if she just forced herself to move her unsteady limbs and made her way to the phone she could call and say that she had made a mistake. Perhaps he would be running late and say that that was fine. Perhaps he could come some other time.
She took another drink from her glass once deciding that canceling this appointment would be the best course of action. Just as she was about to stand to her feet the sound of the doorbell struck her into a temporary paralysis. Her heart jumped instantly into her throat almost causing her to choke on the drink that she had yet to swallow down. All a jumble she quickly stood up and placed her glass upon the side table and rushed to the mirror to take one final look at her appearance.
A dark brown eye shadow covered her lids giving her hazel eyes an extra pop from beneath her long black eye lashes. A pinkish-rouge coated her thin lips and she pressed them together, forming a thin line, just to be sure that they were even in the dispersing of color. Her long raven hair was pulled into a high bun and there in that moment, staring at her aging features in the mirror, the sorrow began to seep in. She didn’t used to look this old. She used to be attractive. Now she looked like a grandmother trying to kick the zest back into her life.
Snatching the ponytail holder from her hair viciously she watched as her raven locks fell down around her face and shoulders. The doorbell rang for the second time. Her eyes darted to the clock hovering above. It was two minutes passed twelve. Raking her thin fingers through her hair she took in one last deep breath before adjusting her breasts in her push up bra beneath her shirt and making her way to the door. The hand that was home to her three-carat diamond wedding ring clasped the knob and dismissively she turned it in her grasp and said farewell to the life she used to know.
His eyes, two expertly cut sapphire stones, stared intensely into her soul as she stood breathless in the doorway. He paid no mind to the heaving of her full breasts as her breathing instantly picked up in pace at the sight of him. He was used to this, accustomed to it, and was no way bothered by the silent acceptance of his physical attributes. His perfect lips curved upwardly into a smirk.
“Cynthia?” her name seemed to roll off of his tongue like some sexual prelude to a kiss.
“Y-y-yes,” the middle-aged woman stammered despite her best efforts to keep her composure.
“Nervous?”
“A bit, yes,”
“Don’t be,” his assuredness somehow put her at ease. “May I come in or would you like to join me outside?”
“Jesus,” Cynthia placed her hand to her bosom apologetically, “I am so sorry. Please? Please, come in?”
“Thank you,” he stepped inside, just passed her, and waited patiently for her to close and lock the door. “I assume you already know the rules of our little arrangement?”
“Rules…?”
“Yes. Rules,”
Cynthia shook her head in confusion, “Nothing much was explained to me besides what you do, obviously, and your price.”
“Really?” he raised an eyebrow curiously. “What were you told about what I do?”
“Well, I…I mean your services…the, um…”
“Don’t be shy, Cynthia. You can be frank with me. What is it that I do?”
“The, um, the sex…the foreplay…”
His smile was almost mocking there in that moment, “You mean the fucking?”
“Everything that entails, yes,” she nodded her head almost as if to tell him that he didn’t need to go into details about the things listed on his very delectable menu.
“Hmm,” he smirked again. “Let me just give you the rundown about my rules then, Cynthia, if that is alright by you?”
“That’s fine,” she took the few short steps back to her chaise lounge and sat down as if a child in a classroom.
“Alright then,” he cleared his throat, “our arrangement is just that, an arrangement, and it is not to be interpreted as any sort of relationship. I’m not going to make friends with you and I’m not about to run away with you off into the sunset. This is in no way about love. This is about me fucking you and you putting money in my hands. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.”
“I’m not putting it in you without a jacket because I have no intention on knocking you up and, yes, I know it feels better for both of us without one but I don’t play that game. You are never to leave any marks on my body nor am I to leave any on you. So that means all that dominatrix shit is something you’re going to have to keep in your back pocket. I’m not wearing a collar and when you ask for a spanking that’s all you’re getting. There won’t be anything funny, alright?” He continued on easily. “I’ll do all the shit that turns you on except for eating you out. That’s nothing personal, I trust that you taste as sweet as pie, but I’m not putting my mouth on anyone’s pussy. You fuck your husband and I don’t know who he’s fucking before he puts his dick in you.”
“Understood,” she nodded agreeably.
“I don’t spend the night and cuddle with you after everything is said and done. If I do end up staying overnight it’s because I was working you that long and not because I caught a case of emotions for you. Once you come I get up and I leave with no questions asked even if you don’t come until 6am. Finally,” his voice was serious and she sat more erect in her seat as a result. “The only way you ever contact me is by the number on the card that you were given. Don’t stalk me, don’t track me down, and don’t address me in public. You’re a job to me. I’m not taking you home to meet my mother or to see my kids.”
“You have kids?” Cynthia’s breath caught in her throat.
“Not your business,” he returned pointedly. “Any second thoughts now that you know the rules?”
“No…I mean, yes, just one?”
“Shoot,”
“How often, in the case that I do call you again, am I allowed to send for you? I mean…like is there a limit or a time restriction? Do you have certain hours?”
“I don’t fuck on Sundays; does that answer your question?”
“Sort of…”
“Listen, Cynthia, if you’re fiending for it you just give me a call. If I’m not all booked up I’ll show up day or night to fuck the shit out of you as long as you can afford it…are you all set for tonight?”
“A thousand dollars in small bills, no checks, cash up front?”
He nodded slowly.
“Envelope in the top drawer there,” she pointed behind him and he turned slightly toward the antique table that she was referring to. She watched as he opened the drawer, reached inside, and removed the envelope. His fingertips riffled through the cash quickly and she was sure there was no way that he had counted it all as quickly as he let on but it was all there. She had counted it fifty times before his arrival.
“So, Cynthia?” he turned back to her after dropping the cash on the surface of the table carelessly causing it to fan out in all directions. “Where would you like it?”
The guesthouse was alive with the sounds of pleasure emitting from within. The very walls seemed to pant right along with the nude woman bent over the back of the couch with her backside exposed only to the eyes of the man behind her. His hands gripped firmly to her buttocks as he plunged steadily within her heat barely breaking a sweat as he did so. Her cries of ecstasy were little more than an extra incentive for him to work her to her limits as her full breasts bounced with every move that he made.
“Is this how you like it, Cynthia?” his voice held tightly to its evenness despite the rapid motion of his hips.
A guttural moan was the only response he received.
“Don’t be afraid to voice your opinions with me, baby, I’ll do it however you like,” he slowed his rhythm down dramatically and took his time. “You like this better?”
“Oh, god,” Cynthia breathed out and braced her hands against the couch to push further back against him.
“Got-damn,” he spread her legs wider with his knee to grant a deeper access and leaned forward to cup her breasts in his hands. “That’s what the fuck I’m talking about right there. Work with me, baby.”
“Mm,” she closed her eyes as the tingle that she hadn’t felt in so long began to creep up her back and into her neck. He slammed against her sensing the nearness of her orgasm.
“Don’t fight it, Cynthia, let it come.” He whispered into her ear and released her right breast to slide his hand down the length of her body and around the front to play between her legs. She bucked her hips at the sensations taking over her. “Let it go…”
…and she did…
Sliding his wristwatch back over his hand, J.R. stared out into the night through the French doors of the guesthouse. The definition of the toned muscles of his torso was set in the spotlight of the moon with his designer slacks opened precariously over his thin hips. Cynthia took this all inside in awe wishing that she could walk up behind him, wrap her arms around him, and press her lips to his shoulders as they stood there together in the aftermath of what they had done. She knew though that that could not be. He had already stated that this was merely an arrangement but he had made her feel so alive for the first time in months, maybe even years?
Dressed in only a button-down shirt that belonged to her husband she padded her way across the carpet nearer to him. Clearing her throat she held a bottle of Avian water within his eye sight. He thanked her, never looking back into her eyes but remaining focused outdoors, and accepted the refreshment. She watched wordlessly as he twisted off the cap and brought the bottle to his lips to drink down the cool liquid. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with each gulp and she felt herself getting hot all over again watching this young Adonis that had just ravished her naked flesh standing before her.
“I have another appointment,” he stated as if reading her thoughts of longing. “You still have my card?”
“Yes,” the disappointment was evident in her eyes if not in her voice.
“Alright,” he handed her the half-empty water bottle before turning away from her back into the main room of the guesthouse. She stood silently as he zipped his pants, buckled his belt, and slid his tee shirt over his head followed by his own button-down shirt and blazer. “I hope I didn’t come across too harshly when we met. I just have to be sure that we’re on the same page before we walk into something like this.”
“I understand,”
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he commented once fully dressed and approached her with serious yet stony eyes. “You’re in terrific shape.”
“Thank you,”
“No, thank you,” he drew her hand into his and brought it to his lips to kiss the back gently. “I’ll fuck you for nine the next time instead of the full thousand.”
Leave a Review: Lipstick on the Wall || Next Appointment: Chapter 02