Sherry's Story

Newlywed Blues in the Big Easy

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything whatsoever associated with the Sin City franchise and I’m not making any money from this.

lll

New Orleans was a world of contrasts to Sin City—it had a wealth of grace and history that the bustling Northern city could never obtain, not in a million years. I fell in love with my new home almost immediately. It was so different from anything else I had ever experienced. It wasn’t just the slower pace of day-to-day living that I liked, it was the entire atmosphere. Just by looking at the cobblestone streets and building styles, one could tell that the French language and culture gave this nearly three hundred year old city a unique Old World flavour right in the heart of America.

The architecture was completely different—here, buildings were created to be beautiful and pleasing to the eye. In the city we had just fled, buildings were strictly functional. In the business district, each high rise was designed to be exactly like its neighbors—cold and bleak; a cookie cutter monotony of glass and steel. No beauty or originality anywhere, except perhaps, in the Sacred Oaks area where modern copies of Edwardian and Victorian-like homes flourished. In older cities of the South, like New Orleans, were the originals.

I was surprised when I saw that men tipped their hats and opened doors for women. No man had ever done that for me before and I found that I enjoyed these displays of deference. In my old life, I had been treated like a cunt, a whore. Now I was treated with politeness and respect—like a lady.

Because Ben was larger than most men in both bulk and brawn, he received his share of glances but once the townspeople saw that beneath his intimidating size and “if-you-look-at-me-twice-I’m-gonna-rip-your-damn-head-off” demeanor, Ben was more bark than bite, he was accepted.

No, any attention we received was primarily because of me. I was petite and looked like every other fifteen-year-old girl in the country in the mid 1950’s—right down to the poodle skirt and ponytail. To everyone who saw Ben and me together, the obvious twenty-plus year age gap between us aroused their suspicions. This was the one part of the United States where a man of forty, in the company of a girl my age, would have had a lynch mob after him with their shotguns drawn and a hangman’s noose at the ready.

However, once we explained to the more distrustful folk about our marriage and they saw my wedding ring for themselves, no one gave Ben or me dirty looks anymore when we went out together. That small piece of gold on my finger gave us instant respectability and acceptability. I received good wishes and marital tips from other wives and Ben received good-natured nudges and winks from their husbands.

All around us were people from a countless array of colours and faiths—a mixed race child or adult in Sin City would have immediately raised eyebrows and caused double-takes, but they were not given a second glance in The Big Easy.

However, there was a dark side to my new home. This was the Deep South and unlike Basin City, there were segregated ‘whites’ or ‘coloureds’ only areas here but despite that, for the most part, blacks and whites moved amongst each other on the streets with acceptance and without incident. Both races had deep roots in the long and sometimes tumultuous history of New Orleans over the centuries and as a result, each culture learned to live with the other.

Every city in the world has its bad parts of town but in The Big Easy, there were dwellings that could only be described as shacks. They were so run down, my father wouldn’t have dared store his tools inside, let alone dream of living in. Yet, these were people’s homes. It was quite a wakeup call for me: a blond haired, blue-eyed white girl from an upper middle-class family to see how the other half lived. It didn’t affect Ben as much as it did me—by his own admission, he’d grown up poor and knew what it was like to have a leaky roof and not enough food.

When we left Sin City, we took all of our money—nearly five thousand dollars-- from the bank as well as the better pieces of fenceable jewelry that was in my safe deposit box. Ben and I decided that we would see if we could find a furnished apartment—it would be ready to move in and cheaper since we wouldn’t have to buy furniture. We found a decent place in a good neighbourhood and signed the lease for it on the same day.

Ben had to purchase a uniform for his job and he hated it. “I look stupid,” Ben grumbled after trying it on for the first time.

“No you don’t,” I said. “How do you find the job itself? Is it hard?”

“Nah. I’m nothing but a goddamn night watchman. I hafta sit in a little gatehouse that’s smaller than our bathroom and check people who come on and off the property. Every hour I have to do my rounds and make sure that all the windows and doors I just checked are secured. It’s so goddamn boring, I almost fall asleep sometimes.”

He ate dinner and when he was through, he went to change into his off-duty clothes while I dressed for school. During that first week, we hardly saw each other; when he was coming home, I was leaving and when I was the one coming home, he was the one leaving.

One day when I came home a little earlier than usual, Ben was still asleep. I had to take a shower as we had been dissecting a frog in biology class and I reeked of formaldehyde, not to mention having bits of the long-dead amphibian on my clothes. As I stood under the cascading hot water and relished the feeling of being clean again, I glanced down at myself. My pussy hair was growing back. Feeling naughty, I made the decision to shave it off again.

I put on one of my red silk Olga teddies and got into bed with my husband, arranging my body so that my buttocks were spooned against his groin. Purposefully, I wiggled my ass until I felt Ben’s cock twitch in response.

I turned over and dove down under the covers. I giggled to myself as I imagined Ben’s reaction as he woke up to find my mouth around his cock. He told me once that it was every man’s dream to be woken up this way; perhaps mentioning it was a subtle hint that he’d like me to do it someday. Well, that someday was today! I was going to follow through on his suggestion with gusto. I hoped he wouldn’t mind being woken up a bit earlier than usual and the promise of pleasure I’d give would override his need for sleep. I knew from my time as a hooker that no red-blooded man—straight or not--would ever turn down a blowjob, no matter what time of day it was.

I heard Ben mumble something as my hot, wet mouth licked the tip of his shaft. I slid my hand under his balls and I caressed them just the way he liked it. From all the other times I’d sucked him off, I expected him to reach down and run his fingers through my hair as he pushed his dick deeper into my mouth, but that never happened. He was still soft and I thought it was because he was still asleep. I resolved that I would just have to try harder. I ran my mouth down the side of his cock before licking it up and down as if it were a lollipop. I had been with Ben enough times to know that that drove him wild. Still, there was no response from him.

If I didn’t know better, he wasn’t enjoying what I was doing—he was only enduring it, just like some wives who lay quietly underneath their husbands during sex. Unlike the women, however, Ben wasn’t waiting for the whole thing to be over; he was waiting for me to give up and leave him alone so he could go back to sleep.

Ben’s hand reached down and pushed my head off his cock. “Leave me alone, Sherry, I’m too tired.”

“But we haven’t made love in so long….”

“Yeah, well, unlike you, I have to work. Get my lunch ready at least, will ya? I’m gonna see if I can sleep a bit more.” Ben rolled away and burrowed deeper under the blankets.

Tears prickled in my eyes at his reprimand and I was hurt. “All you do is sit and read…how can you be tired?”

“I’m tired because I gotta stay up all night. I ‘m tired because I have to get used to the schedule of a fucking vampire! Now leave me the hell alone and close the door behind you, for Chrissake!”

I got out of bed and made my way to the kitchen, putting on my bathrobe and an apron over top of it. I was so hurt but I made his lunch, working my way around the kitchen by touch because my eyes were full of tears. After I had finished making his lunch and packing it away, I prepared supper. No matter what, I was determined to show Ben that even though I wasn’t earning money, I could still be a damn good wife.

I was well into my homework when Ben got up. He took a shower and put on his uniform before coming into the kitchen. He raised his head and sniffed the air in appreciation at the aroma of food and coffee. “Lamb chops? Smells good,” he said, “thanks, babe.”

He came over to me and bent down to place a kiss on my cheek. Still stung from his curt refusal of my romantic advances in the bedroom, I decided to pay him back in kind. I moved out of his reach. “Your supper is getting cold,” I snapped.

“Babe, I just want to say…”

“Forget it. Unlike you,” I said, concentrating my gaze on my English essay, “I have homework to do. Hours of it, in fact. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get it done. Your lunchbox is on the counter. Besides, someone in this house should get a high school diploma.” It was a cruel thing to say and in the years that passed, I’ve regretted it many times.

Getting back at him like that was a childish thing to do, but according to the law in many states of the Union, at fifteen, I was still a child. I knew what I said would hurt him but I was too pissed-off to be concerned with his feelings. I heard him sigh and go into the kitchen for his coffee and food. However, instead of eating at the table with me, he took his meal into the living room, not saying a word. I tried to focus on my schoolwork but because tears were streaming down my face, I never saw one word on the paper.

“That was a spiteful thing to say to me after everything I’ve done for you, Sherry.” Ben’s voice became thick with emotion but I couldn’t look up for fear he’d see the shame in my eyes. “And all because I said no to you once when you wanted sex…? That’s a hell of a way to thank me.” His voice sounded sad. However, he was not angry, only hurt to the depth of his big, loving heart... and all because I didn’t think twice before opening my big fat mouth!

I wanted to get up and run into his arms and beg him to forgive me but I didn’t. That, too, is something I’ve regretted not doing.

The door closed quietly behind him and I started to cry. After I had done a half-assed job of tackling my homework, I went to bed. Hour after hour passed as I tossed in my cold bed with my empty arms and it wasn’t until I had some wine and knocked back three two-finger shots of vodka that I finally felt sleepy.

It looked as if coming to New Orleans was a mistake.

lll

Ben was not the type to hold a grudge, although I walked on eggshells when he came home the next morning. I waited for him to lash out either verbally or physically, determined to take whatever he would do or say and accept it as my due, but he was a far better-hearted man than I ever gave him credit for.

Instead, he kissed the top of my head and asked, “how about I take a shower and you get gussied up and we got out to dinner?” He swept me into his arms and I squealed happily.

I was so happy I nearly danced all the way home from school. Today was Friday and we had the weekend--two whole glorious days to spend with each other!

I was dressed and made up to the nines in less than an hour after I got home. As I was putting in my earrings, I heard Ben whistle appreciatively from the bedroom doorway. I looked over my shoulder at him. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I said. He was dressed in a dark grey suit with a navy open-neck shirt.

“Oh, I dunno about that. You think I could pass for a Southern gentleman?” he said, doing his best to imitate the slow, lazy drawl that I heard from everyone I had met in New Orleans.

“Why I do declah, Suh, a sweet young thing like mahself can get easily swept away by your sweet talk. Whatever shall ah do?” I said in my best Scarlett O’Hara impression before speaking in my normal voice. “Pretty bad, huh?”

Ben grimaced. “Yup. But I love you anyway.”

I playfully pushed at his shoulder and we headed out the door.

lll

As soon as we entered the dining room, I had to suppress a gasp. It was if we had stepped back in time. The restaurant was in a two-century year old white pillared mansion, just the kind of house one would expect the upper crust of Southern society to have. I could imagine a group of corseted, hoop-skirted women in dressed in elegant satins and silks sewing in this room as they waited for their men to return home. It was complete with oak trim, leaded glass windows that were draped with heavy cranberry coloured chintz. It was a dim atmosphere but the darkness was displaced with candles that lent a fragrance of magnolias throughout the room.

The maitre’d showed us to a corner table that had a freshly pressed snowy white tablecloth that fell to the floor. I suppressed a smile as a wickedly delicious thought came into my head. It was perfect. No one would know what I was up to, not even Ben, until it was too late. I giggled.

Once we were seated and looking at the menus, I moved my wrist until my fork hit the floor. It sank onto the deep carpet and made no noise. “Oh, look what I’ve done,” I said in mock surprise. Before Ben even noticed anything, I was under the table.

“Babe, what are you doing…?”

The feel of my hands on his zipper swallowed any further comment he might have made. He sat rigidly in his chair, probably afraid that if he moved even a little bit or said anything, the whole restaurant would guess what his wanton wife was up to under the table.

I eased his zipper down and reached inside his boxers to bring his cock out to my waiting mouth. I nearly crowed with gloating glee as this time, he became completely hard in a matter of seconds.

Too tired, my ass!

Our waiter had come to take our orders and during the entire conversation, Ben spoke through teeth that were so tightly gritted together it must have been painful. I heard Ben ask the waiter what the special was—seafood jambalaya. Wanting to keep conversation at a minimum, Ben also accepted the waiter’s recommendation of a good wine. If my mouth hadn’t been so pleasantly engaged, I would have howled with laughter as I listened to the exchange between the two men.

With my spare hand, I reached down between my legs and was not surprised to find that I was as aroused as my husband. I wanted to play with myself; intending that I would time my climax to Ben’s, but decided not to and reluctantly removed my hand from my sopping pussy. I wanted to focus all my attention on giving my husband the best blowjob he ever had.

Not being able to control himself, Ben eased back a bit in his chair and began thrusting slightly into my mouth. I guessed that he wasn’t able to push as deep as he wanted but he had another way of compensating. He reached under the table and filled his hand with my hair, holding it in a firm grip as he put pressure on my head, indicating that he wanted me to go deeper.

I didn’t disappoint. His movements became faster and I knew he was going to come soon. When he whispered to me, his voice was low and gravelly as it usually was when he was fully aroused. He used coarse and vulgar language to me but I didn’t mind. “That’s it, my little cocksucker, take me deeper…goddamn it, I said deeper!”

I obliged his wishes gladly. I felt both of his hands around my head, grabbing me by the ears and his cock fucked my mouth unmercifully. He was rough with me but not to the point of pain. I sensed that this was his way of getting back at me for my hurtful words earlier and I took my punishment obediently, my mouth stretched to its widest as he pounded into me.

“Christ, I’m gonna come and you’re gonna swallow every fucking drop!”

Obviously, he didn’t expect me to answer since my mouth was around his dick but I made an ‘uh-huh’ noise anyway. His entire body tensed and he surged into my mouth, filling me with his hot seed. In all the times I had given him a blowjob, I doubt that he ever came as hard or as long as he did at that moment. When he stopped twitching, I heard him give great panting breaths as he calmed himself down. It took a while but he recovered. I gently licked him clean and put him back into his boxers before zipping up his fly.

“OK, the coast is clear, you can come out now,” he whispered.

I retrieved the spoon that I had dropped on the floor and slowly came out from under the table on my hands and knees. When I lifted my head from under the tablecloth, I met the eye of a man who had been dining alone who was seated not far from us. He was the epitome of a well-bred, well-dressed Southern gentleman—something like Clark Gable but without the mustache.

He winked at me. At first, I was mortified but feeling naughty, I brought my finger to my lips and brazenly winked back. He nodded and flashed me a broad smile, his teeth startlingly white against his tanned skin. With a jerk of his chin and a movement of his hand in his hair, he indicated that my hair was disheveled. I finger-combed my hair into some sort of order and indicated my thanks with a grin of my own.

When I sat back in my chair, I looked around and was relieved to see that other than the dark-skinned man, no one had any clue of what I had just did. Primly and properly, I adjusted the napkin over my thighs and sat up straight, not giving anyone a clue that less than five minutes before, I was giving my husband head under the table of this very expensive restaurant.

Our meal was served and I was starving. We talked, and it was like falling in love with him all over again. We rehashed both good and bad times that we had had in Sin City.

“When I first started this gig, I thought it was as low a job as I could ever get, but you know what? I like it. It’s honest work. I can hold my head up because I don’t have to beat or torture people because they owe some big shot money. I can sleep at night. Sure, the money’s not great and I don’t get perks like first dibs on stolen jewelry or fancy clothes, but that don’t matter to me no more. I’m glad we came here.”

He reached across the table and took his hand in mine, squeezing it. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had a heart-to-heart talk, but it had been too long ago. My heart was too full of emotion to speak at that moment.

After dessert, I leaned back in my chair, too full from food and tipsy from wine to even think of moving. I idly let my gaze wander over the other patrons of the restaurant, seeing everywhere the signs of couples in love. I was drowsy from the good wine and food and perfectly content. When I looked over at Ben, he had a ‘cat that just swallowed the canary’ expression on his face. I was well acquainted with that look—he was up to something and nine times out of ten, it had something to do with sex.

Curiously, I watched as Ben shifted in his seat, stretching his long legs towards me. “Now it’s your turn,” he said, “spread those gorgeous gams of yours, kid.”

I did as he requested and was hard put to silence a gasp as I felt his stockinged foot worm its way between my legs and settle firmly at my pussy.

“Ooh, someone’s dripping,” Ben murmured in a voice so low that even if someone were standing next to me, they wouldn’t have heard him. “Could it be you got turned on by sucking me off?”

“Smart ass,” I responded tartly. I nearly jumped out of my skin when Ben ran his toes up and down my soaked slit. Having my crotch fondled in public by this rather unorthodox way was driving me crazy. Now I was the one biting my lip to keep from crying out at what was going on under the table. As if they had a will and mind of their own, my hips moved against his foot as my excitement grew.

“Even in this light, I can see your face is beet red. I wonder why? Oh, look what I’ve done.”

I widened my eyes and gulped when I saw Ben brush his coffee spoon off the table. Just as it had been with mine, the carpet swallowed the noise.

“You can’t!” I hissed.

“You did,” Ben teased. “Besides, I know how sweet you get when you are really, really wet.”

“No!”

“Watch me.” Ben looked around before diving under the table. With his large body size, he barely fit, but the floor-length tablecloth hid him well enough. As Ben moved closer to me, his head hit the table and I heard a muffled ‘Damn it!’

He edged closer to me and I felt my husband’s large, calloused hands spread my knees as wide as they could go and still be covered by the tablecloth.

“Please…” The word came out of my mouth like a whimper.

Ben chuckled low and deep when he discovered how wet I was. I moaned when I felt the crotch of my panties being eased to one side. Ben slid one finger into me and curled it upward, so that it caressed my g-spot.

On the inside, I was a wanton woman, almost on the verge of loudly begging the man between my legs to take my clit into his mouth and suck it with that enormously talented tongue of his while I screamed my pleasure to the four corners of the room. However, on the outside, I had to present myself as a proper young lady whose only concern in life was holding her teacup correctly and thinking of nothing.

What a fucking dilemma…!

Just as Ben had done with me, I grabbed him by the back of the head, pushing his face so hard against my pussy that he must have been breathing through it. I was mewling in my throat like a newborn kitten as I was relentlessly driven forward to my approaching climax. I had to do something--otherwise, I’d be screaming out to God in a matter of seconds. I crunched up the silk napkin in my lap, clenching my fingers around it with the force of a death grip.

I glanced to the side and saw that the quietly well-dressed gentleman who had winked at me after I had given Ben head was now watching me intently. In a flash, I knew that he knew what was going on. I tried to force myself to close my eyes and not look at him but I couldn’t. I could tell by the passionate expression on his face that he wasn’t shocked or repulsed in the least--but his scrutiny was unnerving. For a moment, I imagined that he was the one under the table and the image was seared into my mind, making me blush to the tips of my ears. As if he could read my thoughts, his long lips curved in a half-smile. The heat from his eyes as they stared at me over his brandy snifter was making me very uncomfortable. With a tremendous force of effort, I wrenched my gaze from his and closed my eyes.

Luckily, there was a loud party of people in the restaurant and throughout our meal, their occasional bursts of boisterous merriment made us aware of their presence. I thanked God and all the angels in heaven for them. As their laughter crested, so did my orgasm. I whimpered and moaned as quietly as I could. Wave as wave of pure, raw, primal pleasure burst from my clit and radiated to every pore and follicle of my body. Through a dim haze, I felt my husband’s hands on my thighs as he held me to subdue my writhing hips so it wouldn’t be noticeable to the other diners until I rode out my ecstasy to its conclusion.

When I could breathe and think clearly again, I opened my eyes and saw Ben sitting across from me as usual. He grinned at me and discretely wiped my juices from his chin and cheeks.

“You wanna get outta here?”

“What?” I was completely drained of energy; I wanted nothing more than to lay my head down on the table and sleep.

“When we get home and after I have a drink, I’ll fuck you into the mattress. Or against the wall. Or even on the goddamn kitchen table. But make no mistake, Sherry, I intend to bury my dick so far inside of you, I’ll be able to feel your spine against my cock. Now, I’m gonna ask you again: You wanna get outta here?”

Suddenly, I was no longer tired. Scorching liquid fire flowed through me, pooling in my nipples and clit. I needed to feel my husband’s hands, lips, and mouth all over my body. Because of my earth shattering orgasm I’d just experienced, I’m sure the cushioned seat was saturated with my juices.

I rubbed my thighs together in anticipation of being fucked into the mattress, against the wall, or even on the goddamn kitchen table! Ben saw the movement and gave me a slow sexy grin and I saw his eyes darken to midnight blue in arousal. “I guess I have my answer,” he said.

lll

On the drive home, I sat next to Ben, squeezing his knee in anticipation and begging him to go faster. He laughed at my eagerness. “If I go any faster, we’ll get a speeding ticket. Don’t worry, babe, we’ll be home soon enough.”

Even if we traveled at the speed of light, it would never be fast enough for me. I wanted him now. However, I realized he was right. It wouldn’t do either of us any good if we wrapped the car around a telephone pole.

“Here, hop up on my lap,” Ben asked. While holding onto the steering wheel with one hand, he used the other to pull me onto his knee and immediately hiked up my skirt, his hand stroking my pussy. He chuckled when he felt my wetness.

I spread my legs further apart and he slid two and then asking if it was all right, three fingers into me with no trouble whatsoever. “If my wife gets this wet just ‘cause I suggested some sex, then I’m dropping the ball as a husband.”

I wriggled my butt against his groin and was smugly satisfied that I soon felt his erection straining the front of his pants. I couldn’t resist saying: “Is that Matilda in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?”

“You’re a helluva cocktease, little girl,” he growled. “And once we get home, I’m gonna make sure you pay for distracting me—Christ! I’m tryin’ to drive!”

I had reached down between his legs and fondled him, making his cock even harder. “You drive with your hands, not your cock,” I said archly.

“Just you wait,” Ben promised darkly. “Thank God, we’re home!”

Hand in hand, we raced to the door of our apartment. Once the door was open, Ben lifted me up so that my legs were around his waist and he carried me into our bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind him and abruptly threw me like a rag doll onto the bed. As he had done on the night of the carnival, he tore my blouse off, tearing it to unrecognizable shreds, buttons flying everywhere.

He stood at the end of the bed, staring at me with those damn irresistible eyes of his that never left my face. I knew what he wanted to do but he needed me to ask him first.

“Make me your whore,” I said, getting to my knees and unbuckling his belt. I eased his pants and boxers down just far enough so he could fuck me. He threw me down the bed again and instead of waiting for me to undress, hiked my skirt up, and ripped my panties from my body, hurling them to the side.

Less than a heartbeat later, his dick was buried inside of me to the hilt. He let out a loud groan, his fingernails leaving long scratch marks in my flesh from my shoulders to my buttocks. He growled like a feral animal satisfying the overwhelming urge to mate, gripped each cheek hard, and began a fast-paced rhythm. The rough hair around his dick scratched at my bare pussy lips, igniting my lust with each thrust.

To anyone watching, it would have seemed as if Ben was raping me again but nothing could be further from the truth. Even though it was never expressed, both of us knew that I only had to say the word and Ben would stop. I wrapped my legs around him, making him go deeper inside me. “Are you my whore?” Ben growled.

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s no fucking good enough. Are—you—my—whore?” After each word, Ben thrust sharply into me that I cried out. What I was feeling was either painful pleasure or pleasurable pain; I couldn’t decide. But one thing was certain: I never wanted this to end!

“Answer me!”

“YES!!!!”

Ben crashed his lips onto mine so hard it hurt, using his mouth to violate my own. He removed his hand from my ass and buried it in my hair, grabbing a handful and yanking my head to the side. I instinctively knew what he was going to do and I moved so that he could have as much as access to the sensitive area between my neck and shoulder as possible.

I wanted to feel his teeth on me, biting hard and deep into my flesh. In all the times he’d done this to me, not once did he ever left a mark on my skin. But this time was different—I wanted him to mark me. I wanted him to be rough. “Please…” I begged.

“Please what?” my husband asked.

“Bite me. Bite me hard.”

When he did, I screamed. Not because it was painful but because it felt so fucking good. I felt an orgasm of gigantic proportions sweep through my body. Our lovemaking that night was unlike anything we’d ever experienced before; it was rough and hard, each taking what we wanted from the other. To Ben, I was nothing but a cunt. To me, he was nothing but a cock. It was as if both Ben and I needed this in some mystifying and unexplainable way: he needed to be rough and I needed to be used.

I had told Ben once that I wanted to be fucked into the mattress…that night, I was. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sit down for a long time afterward but I didn’t care. We lay quietly in each other’s arms in the afterglow, saying nothing, doing nothing; loving the idea that we had fucked each other so hard that we were too weak to move. Not that we wanted to though; nothing beyond the sheets mattered to us.

“Boy, oh boy,” I murmured. “That was good.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Ben replied as he suckled me.

I giggled as I ran my hand over Ben’s face. “Again?”

“Give me an hour and you’ll get the answer to that,” he said with a smile in his voice.

“Promises, promises,” I said. I moved onto my side and hissed a little at the soreness I was beginning to feel between my legs.

“I didn’t hurt ya, did I?”

“Hell no!” I responded. “Well, maybe a little. I probably won’t be able to sit down for a week…”

“Can’t keep up with me, huh?” Ben asked smugly but his tone quickly turned to indignation. “Hey! What’d you smack me for?”

“For being a smart ass.” My hand was stinging from the force of the good hard slap I’d just delivered to his backside. “Why? Did I hurt you?” I asked coyly.

“Nah. Hell, with all the scratches and claw marks I have on my back, I guess I can handle a slap to the butt.” He kissed the top of my head. “I don’t mind about the marks—I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Going deaf for a few minutes ‘cause of your screaming only tells me that I did my job.”

“And hearing you call out to God only tells me that I did my job,” I countered.

“Ain’t that the truth. Look, I’m sorry I got mad and turned you away the other day, but I was really tired,” Ben said softly. He took me in his arms and held me close, our limbs entwined and our clothes still on our bodies—cooling now because the cum, pussy juice and sweat was beginning to dry.

We awoke a short while later and made love again. This time it was gentle and slow; instead of using each other for our own pleasure, we gave pleasure to the other in every way only two people deeply in love could possibly do.