Mind Games - A Bad Boy Romance With A Twist

by Gabi Moore

  Chapter 3 - Natasha

  He won that argument. In a way, he always wins.

  One of my ‘redneck exes’ had a theory about relationships: the one who cares the least is the one who has the most power. That boy was human scum, make no mistake, but he was 100% correct about that. Todd always won because he always played the cool and calm card, then just leaned back and waited for you to lose your mind being too ‘emotional’.

  But I won in my own way. I won at a game he didn’t even know we were playing yet. I sat at our breakfast table and felt the cum of another man trickle slowly out of me and onto the fancy damask upholstered chair my wealthy husband had paid for.

  While he smirked and felt so pleased at manipulating me, at hurting me, I sat in silence, winning. Focusing on how I could still feel the body of the man who had screwed me late last night. I had stumbled home at 1 or 2, fantasizing about how he’d be stewing and fuming and waiting in bed, demanding to know where I’d been. Of course, he hadn’t come home yet himself. Just like my ex said!

  But one day he would see. He’d discover that all the while he had been denying me, mocking me, belittling my hunger for him …all that time I had been getting it elsewhere! I was no fool. I was young, and still pretty hot. Most men would give their left arm to bed me. Maybe that’s why I chose the worst, dirtiest, nastiest men I could find – at least they were fucking grateful, right?

  I kicked the coffee cup with my foot. Maybe I’d just leave the stain there. Why not? Barely anybody ever came into this bedroom anyway. I walked over to my walk in closet, turned the light on and stood amongst all my clothing.

  Shoes were to the far end. Dresses on the left, on fancy scented cedar wood hangers. A plush pink ottoman stood in the center, from when I still had dreams of ‘decorating’ the house how I liked it. Todd had laughed and told me not to quit my day job and just to leave it the interior designers. The joke, of course, was that I didn’t have a day job. I had put my foot down and told him I would decorate my closet however the hell I wanted to.

  I ran my fingers along the dresses, like a big, soft xylophone. Ball gowns and cocktail dresses and slinky clubbing numbers and little rompers for yachting and tasteful beach dresses. Exotic silks, edgy black and silver gowns designers had gifted me, pastel floral creations for client weddings... And then on a hanger in full view was the ‘classy’ black dress he had picked out for me. It was strapless and floor length, in a weird inky velvet. A pair of opera length gloves were folded in a box beneath them.

  I didn’t even have to try it on to know it would be boring. Or, excuse me, ‘elegant’. No color. No shape. Well, I wouldn’t wear it. I looked at myself in the mirror. Whipped out the tape measure and wound it around my waist. Still 24 inches. I posed in the mirror, trying out my different angles. My breasts were still pert and poking out curiously from off my chest. My stomach was still flat and shapely.

  What to wear? It would have to be pink. It would always have to be pink. I spun around and grabbed a dress off the rack – one I had bought and never found the occasion for. But as I held it out in front of me and twirled it a little, I realized: now was the occasion. It would be the perfect ‘fuck you’ dress.

  I stepped into it and wriggled the fabric up my bare body, still wearing my L’Agent Provocateur crystal encrusted bodice. It was an art piece, and I wasn’t about to take it off now. In fact, I liked that the straps poked out a little. The dress was a little trashy, some would say, but I could pull it off. Pepto-Bismol pink, ruched along the sides. Tight. A slashed hem and bare shoulders, with a burst of equally pink feathers at the bust, like a built in boa. It was the kind of thing a drag queen would wear. On me, though …well, let’s say I felt like Jessica Rabbit’s sluttier younger sister.

  With that thought I grabbed the black gloves and put those on too, slinking them up almost to my armpits. Perfect. I rummaged around in my jewelry drawer and pulled out a great big honking ruby bracelet and put that over one of the gloves. Then, a tiara. Just a small one; I didn’t want to go over the top.

  I checked my reflection in the mirror. I was beautiful. More importantly, I was myself. Black just wasn’t my color. Rather, I now looked like an eccentric billionaire’s wife. A naughty princess who’s gone too far playing dress up. An aristocratic woman, but after a long night of drinking. It was fucking perfect.

  I flopped down onto the floor, crossed my legs and opened a hidden drawer underneath the jewelry. I lifted out a small wooden case that was concealed inside the drawer above it. They say men ‘compartmentalize’? Well, haha, so do women.

  Out of this drawer came my biggest and most loved secret: my ‘black book’. I took it out and held it in my hands, like a sacred object. Out of the drawer came a pen as well. I opened it and flipped though the soft pages.

  13 February

  I finally tried Tinder. Kind of scary how convenient it makes things. Met a 22-year-old kid, says he’s from Lebanon or something. Or somewhere in Asia? Anyway I forgot. His dick was medium sized, but thicker in the middle, like a football. I fucked him in his shower. Note to self: fucking in the shower only seems like a good idea. In real life it’s awkward as hell. We did it standing, and I looked down and I can still see his hairy toes in my mind right now. I was sad to see all the cum going down the drain. Oh well. Six out of ten.

  24 April

  I said I’d suck off two guys at a bar, and the guy who came first would have to buy me a drink. I don’t remember who actually came first, though. Too bad. Ten out of ten.

  25 December

  It’s a Christmas miracle. I sat on Santa’s lap, if you know what I mean, and told him what I wanted. He was a bit old for me, I think. He stuck his finger in my ass and told me I was a dirty little whore, and that got me off. He was nice and big too. He left a little bruise on my right thigh. Sadly, it faded before anyone saw it. I guess I could see myself fucking older men. Even really old ones with beards. Although it might just be the Christmas spirit and all the hard eggnog talking. I’d say eight out of ten.

  3 May

  I really should stay far away from married men. God, so much drama. I think tonight I finally met a cock too big for me to actually handle, and you’d think that was a good thing, but it came attached to a real downer of a guy. Seriously, he was this really sad guy who kept whining about his wife and to be honest, it was a total turn off. But honestly, I was dreaming about that cock for days afterwards. Four out of ten for the guy, nine out of ten for his dick.

  1 March

  I changed my mind. Older guys are definitely no good. Yesterday I “poached” (as Abby would say) this college kid and we went for a kebab and beer and he acted like he’d never seen a pussy in his life before. He was so quick about everything, like he was still afraid his mom would catch him in the act or something. I guess it was kind of hot. I’m just in a quantity over quality mood, I guess. Nine out of ten.

  I cracked my knuckles, took the pen in my hand and wrote down the date, then started scratching away on the pages:

  22 November

  Stupid fight with Todd. I hate him. But I’ve also discovered a new thing for cum. I’m thinking about what it would take to get a room full of men to cum all over me. Money, probably. Which I have. Or if not ON me, then in me. A whole lot of it. Does it mix, inside you? How much would it take before I was literally overflowing? I fucked Pablo all yesterday and last night I met up with the Romanian guy again. I went on all fours and he fucked me really, really deep. I squealed like a pig. Ten out of ten.

  I re-read what I had written, pen tip in my mouth, then clapped the book shut and put it back in its little compartment, sliding it under the bigger drawer so nobody knew it was there at all.

  When I had first met Todd, I thought he was the man of my dreams. I was just a wreck. A fucking problem child if ever there was one. But what problem could I ever have, little old me, that he couldn’t solve? He was strong and rich and smart and perfectly in control. He had a solution for everything. He understood
me, and he took care of me. To say I was head over heels would be putting it mildly.

  And then something happened. I don’t know what happened. But I began to hate him, I think. I know, I’m an asshole. I didn’t deserve him. I had the perfect life and I was ruining it, as fast as I could. I don’t know why I did it, to be honest. He wasn’t the same anymore.

  We had always laughed at the old stuffed suits he worked with. And now he was one of them. He used to tell me how different I was from all the other wives and girlfriends. And now I was trying so hard to be as much like them as possible.

  I didn’t want his money anymore. Who knows what anyone ever wants.

  I stripped off all my clothing and looked at myself naked in the mirror. That’s how I’d really like to go to the party. I left everything in a pile on the floor – they’d be nice and wrinkled by the time I had to leave for the dinner. I slinked out of my dressing room.

  I decided I’d have a nice skinny dip to start the day.

  Chapter 4 - Natasha

  “Watch out, you’re going to rip it!” I giggled and sure enough, I heard the slow, unmistakable zzzzziiiiippp of fabric tearing.

  I looked down and saw a big gash on the side ruching, revealing my naked flank underneath. I laughed. He laughed too.

  “Fucking animal!” I said and slapped his chest, and he kissed me again. I felt his cock twitch and bounce inside me. I leaned into him and kissed back, hard and with drunken abandon.

  He slipped one rough hand into the tear and touched my skin. His hand was wide enough that the tear got bigger. His other hand was tight around my waist, pulling me into him. He was a strong guy, eager as hell, pawing at me like he hadn’t fucked in ages and was about to explode. His strong abs tightened and relaxed, bringing his hips strongly up and into mine, fucking me deep and hard as his dark eyes watched me, a little glazed over.

  “This is what you want, huh? You like this?” he breathed, voice thick. He seemed genuinely surprised that oh yes, I liked it very much. He pumped into me with more urgency, almost as though he was worried I might change my mind any second. His hot cock slid in and out of me, my thankful pussy slick through the length of him. He still had the smell of the kitchens on him – a little sweaty, a little warm. He’d be back to serving canapes with the very same hands he was working over me now.

  “Yes, it’s what I fucking want.”

  “You like this? Getting fucked by a stranger?”

  I felt his voice growing a little more desperate, a little more out of control. Just the thought of him exploding a stream of hot cum inside me was enough to send a shiver all down my spine.

  “I love it. I love this right here…” I said and pressed myself into him, pulling his gorgeous cock deeper into me still, so it stroked at that delicious spot right inside me. I wanted him to feel my naughty little body pulsing and convulsing around him.

  He moaned and threw back his head. I could feel him shudder. It might have been the cold corrugated steel pressing against his naked knees, or it might have been the chill night air, or it might have been the fact that he was balls-deep in some hot-shot’s wife, fucking in an alleyway like he wasn’t just a moment ago taking drinks orders.

  My back to the corrugated garage door, I opened my hips to him, one leg bent and in the air, loosely wrapped around his body. He pinned me to that steel door, and each thrust was a metallic bang against it. To be fucked by a stranger was exactly what I wanted.

  My black velvet gloves had slipped halfway down, my pink dress was rolled up nearly to my waist, and my tiara was hanging loose somewhere by my ear. This handsome boy, his cock buried deep inside me where that asshole Todd would never reach, well, he would get an ten out of ten for sure.

  I giggled, feeling the first goosebumps of an orgasm flirting on the edge of my awareness. I was so soaked that a wet sound accompanied each bang of the metal. I was going to come soon. He was going to come soon.

  And then it happened. Inside the glowing yellow square leading back into the building, in the frame of the door leading back into the well-lit kitchens of the fancy house of this fancy function, I saw a silhouette. The dark form of a man appeared in the doorway and stood there, the light behind him. My body twitched around the cock of a man I had met barely five minutes ago, and the light was dim and my head was buzzing, but it was clear as day: Todd.

  He stood in that doorway for a lifetime, his strong arms resting calmly at his sides, his legs spread wide. A handsome man. A dangerous man. The shape was just a shape. Just a black, man-shaped hole in my world. But through the rapidly approaching waves of my orgasm, I could recognize him anywhere. I knew his form. I knew that attitude. And in the darkness, he looked back at me.

  He watched me being fucked.

  Here it was, raw and real and obvious as it would ever be: I was a cheating whore of a wife and I had opened my legs for this random stranger, and let him screw me at the back of a kitchen in the darkness, and I was fucking enjoying myself. He watched me. And I watched him watching me. He didn’t move. He just looked on. The kitchen boy kept going, unawares.

  I threw my hair back and gave a long, theatrical moan. Let him see. Let him see me coming down hard, clenching all around another man’s dick. Let him see just how much pleasure someone else could give me. In no time, I felt something deep inside me shiver and soon I was bucking and orgasming hard, my hips knocking into the corrugated iron behind me, the waiter clasped all around me as he, too, collapsed into a hot, thundering orgasm.

  I yelped and gasped out loud. All at once, the waiter seemed to sense the change in light behind me and turned to see the imposing shadow. He yanked out of me and pulled up his pants with lightning speed, fumbling half apologies to me or to nobody, then scurried off, hiding his face, his bow tie sideways.

  It was just me and the shadow. Knees weak, I leaned against the cool iron door and stared at him. I couldn’t make out his eyes, or his mouth, or any part of his expression. But I could feel it. It had finally happened. What I had wanted, in one sick way or another, had finally happened. I had been discovered.

  Now he knew without a doubt. Now he couldn’t ignore me any longer. Fuck him.

  My thighs were wet. My heart was still beating. My dress was scrunched up to reveal my bare little pussy. He took one step, then two, down the staircase and walked deliberately down to me. I squeezed my legs together and found one last flutter from my orgasm. My body twitched. Good. Let him see. Let him see how little I cared.

  He stood in front of me, his features finally coming into view. Todd. My husband. There was no more information in that face than when he was veiled in shadows. He was calm. As per fucking usual. He looked down at my body, then back up into my face.

  There was no contempt. No anger. I felt a sick twinge of panic. But I felt something else too: I wanted more. I wasn’t even done yet. No sooner had the last pulses of my orgasm faded did a new hunger spring up in me.

  I had a wild vision of him throwing me against the steel and fucking me himself, hard, as a punishment. Of his hand round my throat, as he claimed me back, told me to behave, told me that I was dirty and needed some discipline.

  But he didn’t. He stared down at my quivering body, as if he knew how hot and hungry I was right then, but he remained cool and calm. His jaw tightened and I thought I saw something flash in his eyes, but then he said simply, in the most unremarkable of voices, “get your things, we’re leaving.”

  Waves of humiliation washed over me. I looked hard at him, trying to find something in those stony features. Anything. Any hint of emotion. He turned to leave but I swear I could feel it. I swear that I saw it: a moment of weakness. A moment where he wasn’t in complete control. It wasn’t a word or a facial feature. But I felt it somehow. In my body.

  He wasn’t angry. He was turned on.

  Chapter 5 - Todd

  “It will likely only be next month we can catch him again, though,” she said. “He’s going to be in China for basically the next few weeks after th
is.”

  “That’s fine. Cancel anyway,” I said.

  “But what I’m saying is that if you don’t get everyone in a meeting tomorrow, it won’t happen again for at least a month.”

  “Anne, I’m aware of that. I want you to cancel anyway.”

  She heard the tension in my voice and dropped the issue. I didn’t care who would be left waiting and for how long – I wasn’t going in to work today, and I wouldn’t be joining the partners in Switzerland tomorrow, end of story. I had other business to tend to. I hung up.

  My secretary Gilly is a sweet girl, smart, if a little bit of a pushover. I could probably fuck her, if I wanted to, and given enough time. But I wouldn’t. Ever. Because that’s not who I am. Cheating is for …I don’t even have the right words to describe what I feel about those who deliberately lie and deceive others. Even the idea of it shuts my brain down.

  I picked up one of Natasha’s trashy magazines and flipped through it. Grainy photos and screaming headlines. This one is sleeping with that one, this one may be pregnant. Candid shots of famous cellulite. Make up. Trash. I threw it down again. The house was rather pleasant during the days. Without me in it.

  Sitting in the conservatory, French windows opening out onto the pools, I can’t imagine how anybody could be so unhappy here. But Natasha found a way.

  I leaned back in my wicker seat and watched the fountains flicking into the air and splashing back into the cool green water. Blue skies. Crisp, clean air. Birdsong and expensive white linen curtains blowing in the wind. It was a perfect day. And I was ready for a show down.

  I looked at my watch. It was already 10 am. When the fuck did she ever wake up? I was just about to change up my plan when I heard soft footsteps and saw her. She was naked, groggy, hair looking as disheveled as it always did. She padded on bare feet into the tiled conservatory and made her way to the pool, without noticing me. For a few moments, I was struck by just how beautiful she was. For a woman that lived on booze, coffee and Pop Tarts, she had an unbelievable figure.