They’re facing the wall, so they have no clue I’ve even come in. I’m going to teach this mother fucker a lesson.
Reaching back to my right hip, I grab my Smith & Wesson M&P 9mm pistol from my concealed holster.
“What the fuck is going on in here?” I ask as I pull the slide back, making the unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered. I have no intention of shooting this kid, but I definitely want to ruin the sexual experience that he’s having in my bed with my girlfriend.
“Oh shit,” he yells as he slides out of her and off the bed in one quick motion. “I’m sorry, please don’t shoot me.”
He is scrambling, trying to find his clothes while also trying to keep his eyes on me. I crack a smile as I watch him physically begin to shake. There’s a part of me wondering whether or not he’s about to piss himself.
“I wouldn’t be worrying about getting those clothes on, boy,” I yell at him. At this point, I’m just fucking with him as much as I can. “The way I see it, you’ve got about ten seconds to get out of my house before I pull this trigger because I had no idea you weren’t assaulting my whore of a girlfriend here.”
“No, please don’t. I’m leaving!”
He quickly scoops his clothes up off the floor and runs straight from the bedroom and right out the front door, his pale, naked ass on display for anyone to see.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” I ask Katrina as she puts on her panties and lights up a cigarette.
I can’t believe how calm she is. I’m seeing red, and she’s casually puffing on her cigarette while sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Hello?” I ask sarcastically, getting in her face. “I believe I asked you a question. How the fuck could you do this to me?”
“Oh, give it a rest, Brandon,” she scoffs. “We both know that you don’t give two fucks about me. The only reason you’re with me is because I’m a hot piece of ass that you can show off in public, and I do all the things you like in private.”
She speaks the truth about doing most of the things that I like in private, but who the fuck does she think she is? We’ve never had an ‘intimate’ relationship in terms of feelings or emotions, but I think I’ve taken pretty damn good care of her, and this is a slap in my face.
“That’s not the point, and you know it,” I step away from her to give myself some distance between us before I do something I’ll regret. I’ve never hit a woman, but nobody has ever betrayed me like this.
“Isn’t it, though? Let me ask you something. Do you love me?” She asks, blowing out a cloud of smoke in my face. Her calm, nonchalant demeanor takes some balls. She’s acting as if I caught her flirting with a pool boy and not fucking some dude in my bedroom.
“You can’t ask me that,” I say, lowering my voice to a small growl. She knows the dynamics of our relationship; the unwritten agreement that we’ve both come to understand. Katrina isn’t the ‘housewife’ type, and I’m not the ‘husband’ type. She moved in with me because I let her since it was easier for both of us and helped lend me the appearance of having a ‘stable’ relationship for social events. But our relationship doesn’t go much deeper than that.
“Why not? It’s a legitimate question. It’s rhetorical because I already know the answer, but I’d love to hear it come out of your mouth,” she smirks.
“Our relationship isn’t about love. I don’t do love.”
“Exactly, you don’t love me, and I made sure not to fall in love with you. Since we don’t love each other, what do you care who I fuck on the side?” She casually extinguishes her cigarette in the black ashtray on the nightstand like none of this bothers her.
Even though she’s making a point, I’m only getting angrier and angrier with every word that’s coming out of her mouth. Deep inside, I know she’s right. I don’t love her. I don’t love her even a little bit. Hell, I don’t even like her all that much, but we get along, we have great sex, and she always accompanies me to events. In turn, she gets to live in the lap of luxury, go on shopping sprees, and live a spoiled life.
I’ve known that I’m incapable of love for quite some time now, and I certainly don’t expect her to love me, but I’ve given her a shitload of my money, and, for that reason alone, I expect her to provide me with complete and total respect. I pay for her so she should belong to me, and not be fucking some other guy in the house that I paid for.
“You know what, Katrina? I’ve heard enough bullshit from you. You want to disrespect me in my own house and be condescending when I talk to you about it? Just get the fuck out. I don’t want to see your face again.”
Katrina rolls her eyes and heads to the closet to gather some of her things.
“Whatever you say. We both know you can’t get enough of me. You’ll be crawling back to me by the time the weekend’s over,” she laughs, tossing some of her evening gowns onto the bed.
I leave the room while she finishes packing because I can’t stand to be around her, her words still echoing in my ears. I laugh at the fact that she thinks I’ll come crawling back to her. I crawl for no woman. I know that she’ll never step foot in my house again, and if I see her out in public, I’ll act like I’ve never met her before in my life. Girls like her are a dime a dozen. The only thing she’s right about is the fact that I don’t love her.
My dealings with women are becoming exhausting. I’m tired of the never-ending cycle that continuously repeats itself with them. It always happens the exact same way. I meet a woman and impress her with my money. Things go great for a while. She stays loyal to all of my wants and makes sure all of my sexual needs and desires are met. As time goes on, the relationship dynamic changes. She ends up wanting more than just a sexual relationship. She wants love and romance and flowers and all that shit. When I reiterate the fact that it’s not going to happen, she usually ends up fucking some other dude who, might I add, is also not going to give her what she wants. She can always leave if she isn’t happy, but they never do. The lifestyle is too addictive.
I don’t understand why a woman can’t simply be happy with a sexual relationship. That’s all I want, and I need someone who is willing to stick with the arrangement that we initially agree upon. I make it clear upfront that I’m not looking for love, just some companionship and a good time. What’s the point of making the arrangement in the first place if that’s not what they really want? I’ll spoil her financially and make sure she has anything she could ever want. I have no problem with that whatsoever, but that’s never enough. I always end up with a woman who needs commitment and love.
Maybe I’ve been going at this wrong the entire time. Perhaps what I need isn’t a female that I can spoil in order to fuck precisely how I desire. Maybe what I actually need is a sex slave. A sex slave would have no other choice but to be loyal to me and give me every sexual desire that I crave so badly.
If only I could find this woman, then my life would indeed be perfect.
I collapse onto the couch and fantasize about what this perfect sex slave would be like. First of all, she’d be younger than me. I’m 37, but I have the sex drive of a teenager. I’m going to need someone who can keep up. I’ve also had enough of the blondes, so this girl is going to be a brunette with a sexy body that has curves in all the right places.
Even though she isn’t even real, thinking of this fantasy woman is turning me on. I lay back on the couch, pull out my cock, close my eyes, and begin to pleasure myself while I think about brutally fucking a woman the way I want to revenge fuck my ex right now. One way or another, I’m going to turn this fantasy into a reality.
Chapter 3
Chloe
I’m excited just thinking about seeing that little vein in my dad’s forehead start to pulsate when he sees what I picked up for the masquerade ball this evening. It’s a short black and silver lace dress. It’s strapless and low cut, showing off my best features. If seeing me in this dress isn’t enough to give him a coronary, getting the $2,600 charge on his credit card might just
do the trick. He did tell me that I could pick up anything I wanted. Since it’s a masquerade, I also bought a black mask to go along with it.
The dress I chose is sexy; a little on the slutty side, and that wasn’t by accident. I went into the boutique to seek out something slutty while still being a bit classy. This dress fits the bill and not only will it piss my father off, but it may also attract a little unwanted attention that could potentially get me invited to sit with some of the most prominent men who I’d love to find out more about so I can see what they’re up to.
I made a decision not to get dressed until the last possible minute so my dad wouldn’t be able to see my dress before it was too late to have me change it. There’s no way he would let me wear this if there was enough time for me to change. At these events, his only goal is to show off his perfect, happy family while we smile and wave when we’re introduced. I can’t have that. Not tonight. Not after he took away the most important thing in my life. I would love to be able to embarrass my father tonight while trying to further my journalism career by any means necessary.
“The limo is here, try to hurry up,” my dad yells from the front of the house.
“I just need about ten minutes,” I tell him, peeking my head out the door.
Both of my parents are dressed far more conservatively than I will be. My father is wearing a sharp, black suit, and my mother is in an elegant, full-length purple ball gown. When it comes time to take pictures, I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb in comparison to them. This is going to be epic!
Once I hear the door close behind my parents, I slip my dress on over my head, being extra careful not to mess up my hair. My makeup is nearly done. I quickly apply a coat of red lipstick, put on my mask, and make my way out the front door and into the limo waiting outside.
Both of my parents are staring down at their phones when I get in. Looking up at the same time, both of their eyes grow wide when they see what I’m wearing. Although he probably doesn’t realize it, my father let out an audible groan but didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to because his expression says it all with the scowl on his face. He knows that it’s too late for me to change, especially since I purposely made them wait an extra few minutes. I didn’t have anything else to wear anyway. Not for an event like this.
The limo ride to the event is silent and extremely awkward. My mother doesn’t speak a single word and spends the entire trip staring out the window. I’m not sure what’s going on with her, but whatever it is, it’s been going on for a while now.
“So, are you excited about tonight, Chloe?” My dad asks in an attempt to break the negative energy in the car.
I hear him, but I ignore his question. I’m focused on my mom. Bluntly, I decide to just come out and ask the question that’s been on my mind for months.
“Mom, why are you still married to dad?”
My dad’s mouth drops open, and my mom stops looking out the window. She is looking at me, but it feels more like she’s looking right through me. The look on her face is blank and emotionless.
“Come on, mom. It’s a serious question,” I continue. “Why are you still married to dad when you clearly hate the entire family?” She might be here now and has always been here, but she’s always been so distant. It makes me wonder why she’s stuck around all this time. What kept her here? Why didn’t she leave years ago? She could’ve left my dad and me or taken me with her instead of living a lonely, miserable life while my dad ran all over.
“Chloe, what in the hell is the matter with you?” My father snaps. “You can’t talk to your mother like that!” The vein in his forehead begins to bulge, and it brings me satisfaction knowing that I’ve just set him off. I inwardly smile at myself. Well done, Chloe.
“Maybe we should just have the limo turn around and take me home. It’s not like I had any choice in coming to this stupid event anyway,” I shrug, thinking about the movie night that I had hoped for instead of going to a stupid political event.
“That’s not going to happen. We are a family and damn it, you need to start acting like it!”
“I’m not the only one,” I retort, pulling my phone out of my purse and pretending to text a friend.
I honestly don’t care what my dad thinks about what I have to say. The truth always hurts, and I guess he can’t handle it. He’s used to being surrounded by his yes men who tell him anything he wants to hear. I’m not that person, and I’m not going to sugar coat how I feel just to appease him.
In fact, I really don’t care what either of my parents think anymore. I’ve tried so hard to be supportive of my mom for years. I can tell she’s so unhappy, but she stays by his side year after year. No matter how much he neglects her, she always stands up for him, even when he’s in the wrong. That’s being a good wife in most circumstances, but she also sides with him when he’s being irrational with things like depriving me of my college education.
I’ve tried to stick it out because I have always believed that family comes first and that blood is thicker than water, but how long are you supposed to believe that when the members of your family don’t follow the same logic? I’m very close to saying the hell with the trust fund and leaving both of my parents for good. It’s to the point where I can’t stand to be around either of them any longer.
We spend the rest of the ride in silence, and I’m okay with that. My dad doesn’t have a word to say to my mother or me until the limo pulls up to a huge house that is absolutely gorgeous. It appears to be a mini-mansion with decorative lights tastefully strung in the trees, and guests are lined up in perfect rows as they file into the house. All that’s missing is the red carpet and black velvet ropes.
“I know that all of our tensions are running high right now, but we can deal with that later. Right now, put on your happy faces and smile while we go inside.”
My mother and father hold hands as they walk inside with me following close behind them. We make our way toward the ballroom as we pass through the grand entrance of the home, and I can tell that no expenses have been spared. I’ve always found it amusing that events designed to raise funds are held at such posh locations that are obviously not cheap. The irony isn’t lost on me.
The flickering lights immediately grab my attention as we draw closer to the party, making me feel a bit disoriented. There’s a massive backdrop that we have to take pictures in front of, but walking over to it makes me feel a bit dizzy. I have a sneaking suspicion that they take these types of photographs in an attempt to get the worst photos of people as possible so they can accompany any negative news articles that may pop up in the future. Once we get in front of the event banner, we stop and pose for pictures, smiling as though we are the happiest family on the planet. If these people only knew how dysfunctional we really are.
Once the posing is done and all the pictures have been taken, I rush away from my parents and make my way into the sea of people. I have no intention of mingling and talking to people, at least not at first. My goal is to find a seat and listen to the conversations happening around me. With a little luck, I might get some juicy gossip that can be turned into a good story.
Grabbing a bottle of water, I take a seat at the table closest to the open area where politicians and dignitaries are walking around, sipping on their drinks, and talking about God knows what. I’m in my seat less than five minutes before I feel someone slide into the seat next to me. I turn to look and find a man just inches from me, but since he’s wearing a mask, I have no idea who he is. That’s not to say I’d know him without it. The man is sitting uncomfortably close to me, and I can feel the warmth of his whiskey-tinged breath when he speaks to me.
“Hello there, I saw you sitting here all alone from across the room, and I had to be the first to come over and tell you how beautiful you look tonight,” he said, laying it on thick from the very beginning.
“Yeah? You really think so,” I sarcastically reply. “Let me just point out that I’m wearing a mask. Believe it or not, my fac
e doesn’t actually look like this.” Taking a swig of my water, I roll my eyes at him so he doesn’t think I’m some kind of dumb floozy who will gush over all of his compliments.
“Ah yes, the masks of the masquerade. I don’t have to see what’s under the mask. I have a sense for beauty, and I can tell you that you’re lovely all the same.”
Holy shit, this guy thinks he’s as smooth as butter. The fact that he’s hitting on me when I really just want to be left alone is annoying as hell, but I’m not annoyed enough to leave my seat––not yet, anyway. I have to remind myself that I have some investigating to do, and I have to put that above everything else. What I need is information, and a man who is showing interest in me may be the best person to help me get it.
“So, what’s your name?” I ask, toning down the amount of snark in my voice.
“I’m Brandon Sutter,” he replies, reaching out his hand to shake mine.
I immediately recognize the name and looking at him, I now know exactly who I’m talking to. Brandon is well-known to my family. In fact, he’s my father’s accountant.
“Brandon, I know your name. Are you an accountant?” I ask, intentionally not letting on that he works for my father since that would identify who I am.
“I am. How do you know that?” Even with his mask, I can see the burning question in his eye: How does she know who I am?
“You know how these things are. People talk. I’ve heard excellent things about your work,” I say even though it’s not true, but I’ll say whatever I have to if it means getting closer to my cause.
“Oh, really? What have you heard?” He asks, scooting closer to me.
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