Power Couple

by Allison Hobbs

  But let me get back to Ida. Ida didn’t have thick lips, but she had something that none of the other gals had. According to rumor, Mr. Wallach damn near lost his mind when Ida introduced him to sliding his dick in and out of that space between her teeth while she massaged the head with the tip of her tongue.

  I’d seen and heard of some crazy goings-on in my lifetime, but I like to died laughing when I heard that bullshit.

  Word got out, and suddenly white men were lining up for skinny Ida instead of beautiful Sophronia. They didn’t give a damn that by insisting upon seeing Ida, they were admitting they weren’t packing much of anything.

  Mr. Wallach wasn’t thrilled about sharing Ida with a gaggle of other men, and so he did something that was pretty damn farfetched in those days. Heck, what he did would be considered a radical move, even today. Mr. Wallach walked out on his wife and three kids. He left them in the nice, ranch-style home they’d lived in when he’d only owned the mom-and-pop operation, but he used his newfound wealth from the supermarket to buy a sprawling mansion, which he and Ida moved into and set up housekeeping.

  Mr. Wallach told folks that Ida was his maid, and the whites seemed to go for that bold-faced lie, but all the coloreds knew the real story. Heck, if Ida was the maid, then why was Tilda Fowler traveling ten miles by bus every day to clean that big ol’ palace? The other domestics who rode the bus with Tilda got an earful of the goings-on in that mansion. That’s how word spread through our community that Ida wasn’t cleaning a damn thing in that house. She may have been polishing the head of Mr. Wallach’s knob with her tongue, but that’s about it.

  So, while an ugly duckling whore was being treated like royalty and sitting around with her feet up all day, pretty-faced Sophronia was still spreading her legs for up to twelve or more tricks a day. Goes to show you that looks don’t mean a damn thing. When it comes to hooking a man for good, a woman better have some superior bedroom skills. Good sex is the only thing that matters in this world. And you can quote me on that. As a former madam, I believe I know a thing or two about the bizarre yearnings of men.

  • • •

  Those old audio recordings Grandma Eula Mae had left behind were a roadmap on how to keep my man happy and satisfied, but I’d been too self-absorbed to realize it. Although I preferred to have a normal sex life without indulging too much freakiness into my bedroom, I could pretend to be a freak. I still refused to allow Maverick to mangle my flesh like a pit bull, but I’d think of something that was perverted enough to keep him content with being with me, only.

  CHAPTER 17

  I was dressed in a flowing Robert Cavalli silk caftan, but Maverick was downright sloppy in basketball shorts and a T-shirt. We paid a lot of money to have a chef prepare and serve our meals, and the least Maverick could have done was dress properly for dinner.

  Usually, we sat closer to each other during our meals, but tonight, Maverick sat at one end of our formal dining table and I sat at the other. There was no conversation, only the sounds of clinking cutlery as we dined on nut roast.

  The vegetarian nut roast was incredible. I could taste a variety of nuts, mushrooms, quinoa, squash, dried apricots and cranberries, heavy spices, and a hint of onion and garlic. Tamara served the nut roast with a spicy tomato sauce. Side dishes of braised mixed greens and grilled asparagus with an Indian spice mixture completed the meal. It was truly a feast to the eyes and palate.

  I wanted to discuss the wonderful components of the meal with my husband, but he was being antisocial. I also would have liked to ask Tamara for her nut roast recipe, but it would have gone to her head for a chef of my caliber to inquire about one of her creations, so I merely commented that the meal was tasty as she poured our wine.

  Head lowered while looking down at his tablet, Maverick only grunted his approval of the divine meal without bothering to look up.

  Tamara cleared the table and soon after, she brought us dessert. The servings of strawberry shortcake that she placed before us were so artfully presented, they deserved to be photographed.

  “Oh, this looks yummy, Tamara,” I complimented.

  “Thank you. Would you like coffee to go with your dessert?”

  “No, I’m fine. What about you, Mav? Would you like a cup of coffee?” I asked sweetly, giving the impression that Maverick and I were on good terms.

  “I’m good,” he mumbled, slouched over, eyes still glued to the screen.

  Unlike me, Maverick continued to be distant, proving there was trouble in paradise. He didn’t have the decency to pretend that our marriage was as strong as ever. I found it embarrassing that Maverick was being so obnoxious in front of the help. Not wanting our chef to be privy to any other signs of marital strife in our home, I offered to clean up after dessert and dismissed her for the evening.

  “Are you sure?” Tamara asked.

  “Yes, absolutely,” I responded with a strained smile.

  As Tamara turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of her reflection in a mirror on the wall. There was a trace of a smirk on her face. Engaged or not, that bitch had the hots for my husband and she was jubilant that our marriage was falling apart. No doubt, Tamara would trade in her fiancé in a hot minute for a wealthy TV star like Maverick. She probably fantasized about her and Maverick double-dating with Kevin and his wife and attending red carpet events. Fuck if I would ever let that shit happen.

  I suddenly got a wonderful idea that would throw Tamara off track about the state of my marriage. I also wanted to punish her for that smug smile and for lusting after my husband.

  “Tamara!”

  She turned around. “Yes, Cori?”

  “I’ve had a change of heart. Sorry, but you won’t be able to leave early after all. It suddenly occurred to me that I’d like a veggie omelet in the morning. Would you prepare one for me, please? Load it with an assortment of vegetables. Oh, yeah….put it in a microwavable container so I can reheat it in the morning.”

  Having in-house chefs at my disposal at the studio who could whip up an omelet for me at the snap of my fingers, I was merely fucking with Tamara for the hell of it. She was aware of it and shot a glance at Maverick. The look in her eyes beseeched him to intervene on her behalf.

  I glared at him. The fury in my eyes told him I was about to black the fuck out if he as much as made eye contact with Tamara. As insufferable a bastard as he was, Maverick wasn’t crazy enough to go against me and defend our chef.

  Feeling triumphant, I said with chortling laughter, “Thanks, Tamara. I don’t know what I’d do without such a dedicated servant like you.”

  Tamara flinched, visibly irritated at being called a servant. She referred to herself as a personal chef, but to me, she was nothing more than a glorified servant.

  Maverick sent a reproachful glance in my direction, silently telling me that that I was being mean and petty.

  I didn’t care. Mean and petty was exactly what I was going for. Tamara would think twice about smirking in my presence in the future.

  Maverick had to be nuts if he thought I was going to sit back and let a smirking bitch disrespect me in my own home, and he had to be even crazier if he thought I was going to quietly wait while our marriage imploded. I’d had quite enough of his sullenness and silent contempt, and I refused to take it for another fucking second.

  Grandma Eula Mae had left far too much information on how to deal with men for me to allow a lowdown Russian cunt like Katya or a lowly chef like Tamara to lure my sexual deviant husband away from me. That whore, Katya was only pretending that she liked getting bitten. No one in their right mind would derive pleasure in some shit like that. But those Russian hoes were about their money, and she was willing to endure all those bite marks as long as she got what she wanted. And what she wanted was my multimillion-dollar man. In Maverick Brown, Katya and whory bitches like her saw dollar signs and a glamorous lifestyle.

  It would be
over my dead body that I let any bitch steal my husband from me. I had a plan in mind and was about to put it in motion, but was distracted by the amount of noise Tamara was making as she rattled around in the kitchen. I supposed she was taking out her frustration on the pots and pans. I mentally blocked out the racket, gathered my thoughts, and then cleared my throat as I prepared to speak.

  “Dinner was exceptionally good,” I said in a contrived pleasant voice.

  Maverick nodded.

  “That nut loaf was awesome. It was a perfect meat substitute. I liked it so much, I think Tamara should start using packaged meat substitutes as the main course every now and then.”

  Maverick looked up at me; confusion clouded his face. “You’re the one who made me aware that mock meat is full of preservatives. Why would you want to add something unhealthy to our diet?”

  He put down the tablet and I was elated that I’d finally gotten the son of a bitch’s undivided attention. “Tamara does a great job of keeping our menu flavorful and interesting; I don’t miss eating meat at all. By the way, Cori, please don’t invite me back to your show. That greasy food and the meat I put in my mouth and later spat out, had my stomach feeling queasy for days.”

  “You don’t miss meat at all, Mav?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I do,” I said and then forked up a bite-size of strawberry shortcake and swished it around the sauce that Tamara had decoratively swirled on the plate.

  “Mmm, this is good. Try it, Mav.”

  “In a moment. I’m checking out the stats of a young rookie I may want to interview.”

  Dismissing me, and not even glancing at his dessert, Maverick picked up the tablet and returned his attention to the screen. He crinkled his brows together as if trying to concentrate and also sending a message for me not to disturb him again.

  Checking out sports stats, my ass. He was probably on a porn site, viewing some type of sexual debauchery. If he wasn’t on a porn site, then he was perusing an escort site, selecting his next Russian fuck-mate. The next bitch would probably be named Mishka or some shit like that.

  I stood, picked up my dessert plate and sauntered over to Maverick. He looked up at me and quickly clicked off his tablet, preventing me from seeing what was on the screen.

  I wasn’t worried about whatever his nasty ass had been looking at because I had something so freaky in mind, I’d make him totally forget about cybersex and skinny Russian whores.

  Licking some of the whipped cream off my fork, I gave him a sultry look and said, “I wasn’t being completely honest with you. I don’t actually miss meat, and I don’t want a meat substitute. I miss the taste of your meat, Mav. Can I have a taste of you?”

  Thrown off guard, he uttered a sound of surprise. Without waiting for him to reply, I set the plate on the table and lowered myself down to my knees.

  “Oh, shit,” he groaned.

  Although he was still upset with me over the surrogate situation, his dick obviously wasn’t harboring any ill will toward me. It was bobbing up and down so excitedly inside his shorts, he quickly began tugging on the elastic waistband, lowering the nylon fabric, and freeing his eager, one-eyed beast.

  He held it out for me, expecting me to immediately take it in my mouth and calm it down. But I had other ideas. I held it delicately in my hand, and then, using a cheese spreader knife, I gently smoothed whipped cream and strawberry sauce onto his swollen dick.

  I slid the knife up and down, lightly caressing his dick with the edge, and creating an element of danger that had Maverick sucking in his breath.

  “Ooo, shit, baby. What are you doing?”

  “I’m adding extra sweetness to my meat before I tear it up.”

  “Eat it, baby,” he said, taking ahold of his dick and guiding it to my lips.

  Instead of pulling his strawberries-and-cream-covered dick inside my mouth, I slowly licked the sweetness off of him, causing him to softly groan and hump. “Stop playing, Cori. Eat the fucking meat.”

  I ignored his request and continued licking and murmuring, “Mmm. My husband has prime beef.” After I licked him clean, I proceeded to use the tip of the knife to pick up strawberry slices and carefully lined them along his erection. I placed my lips around the head of his dick and sucked one strawberry slice after another into my mouth. As I chewed the strawberries, Maverick was groaning and writhing, his voice rising to a pitch that drew Tamara from the kitchen.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked and then stopped dead in her tracks when she took in the erotic scene before her.

  I pulled Maverick’s burgeoning manhood out of my mouth and casually said to Tamara, “Bring me the can of whipped cream from the fridge. And more of your strawberry sauce.”

  “We don’t need that shit. Just suck my dick, Cori,” Maverick insisted. Then, he softened his tone and whimpered. “Please, Cori…please suck my dick.”

  Overcome with desire, he was unconcerned that Tamara was witnessing us in a very private moment. He didn’t care that our chef was privy to him grunting and groaning as he tried to stuff my mouth with penile meat.

  “Go get the whipped cream and strawberry sauce, Tamara,” I repeated sharply.

  “Uh, the whipped cream didn’t come from a can. It’s homemade,” Tamara explained in a shaky voice, and I enjoyed her discomfort.

  “Can’t you see this is an emergency? Go get whatever homemade shit you whipped up and hurry back with it!”

  Tamara dashed out of the dining room like an ER nurse running to get first aid essentials. Alone with my horny husband, I made sure he remained out of his mind and deliriously horny by nibbling the remnants of strawberries off his erection and telling him that he had the best dick meat any woman had ever been privileged to taste.

  I had been well aware of his weakness for Brazilian women and I realized how much he enjoyed our annual ménage à trois, but it was insane that I hadn’t understood what a twisted degenerate I was married to until recently. He was weak for any version of immoral, smutty sex, and now that I knew exactly what I was dealing with, I was confident I could keep my husband satisfied.

  I planned to replay Grandma Eula Mae’s tapes and learn all the tricks of the trade. I intended to reenact all the decadent fuckery that went on in her whorehouse back in the day.

  Tamara returned with two bowls, which she quickly set on the table and then tried to haul-ass out of the dining room. But I wasn’t having that. Since she had the gall to smirk and was probably flirting with Maverick behind my back, I expected her to pitch in and help me satisfy him.

  “Hand me the bowl of strawberry sauce,” I said to Tamara.

  Looking uncomfortable, she passed the bowl to me. Delirious with lust, Maverick was half on the chair and half off. “Help me with him,” I barked at Tamara.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Do you want to keep your high-paying position with my husband and me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But, nothing! Get over here and hold his dick while I put strawberry sauce on it.”

  Despite being half out of his mind, Maverick understood that I was giving Tamara permission to touch his privates, and the knowledge caused him to wind his waist and groan with desire. Then he began to thrust so wildly, he toppled himself out of the chair.

  With his shorts gathered around his legs, he was on the floor looking like he was having a seizure. I placed the bowls on the floor and beckoned Tamara to join me. She crouched down and gently grasped Maverick’s dick as if she were a nurse, tenderly caring for a patient in critical condition.

  As Tamara held Maverick’s throbbing dick in place, I spread on the strawberry sauce.

  “Baby, no! I don’t want any more of that shit on me. Just suck on it…or let me fuck you,” Maverick pleaded. Of course, I ignored his pleas. I topped the sauce off with the sliced strawberries I picked from his un
touched dessert, and then smoothed on the homemade whipped cream. His long brown dick was decorated to perfection and I had to have a picture of it.

  While Tamara held his dick firmly in her hand, I picked up my phone and began snapping pictures that would be mementos for Maverick and me to enjoy while snuggled in bed, reminiscing about the kinky good time we had tonight.

  Tamara gazed at the tasty treat in her hands and licked her lips. “Since you’re watching your weight, Cori, I can eat the dessert off Maverick if you want.” Tamara’s voice held a desperate ring. I glanced at her and she looked like she was ready to pounce on my husband’s dick and suck the shit out of it.

  I’d allowed too many bitches to suck my husband’s dick, and I wasn’t going down that road again. “No, that’s okay, Tamara. I got this.”

  “Come on, babe. Let her suck it,” Maverick interjected pitifully.

  “No, I got it.”

  Maverick made a whiny sound of protest and Tamara gnawed at her bottom lip as if pondering a way to get his dick inside her mouth.

  “Just hold it steady for me, Tamara. I’ll do the rest.”

  Tamara deliberately put a flimsy grasp on his dick.

  To mess with her head, I flicked my tongue against her strawberries and cream-coated fingers. She let out a soft moan as she slid her hand up and down Maverick’s shaft.

  I had both those motherfuckers—Maverick and Tamara—whimpering and writhing like two dogs in heat. As she gave my husband a handjob, I lifted up my caftan and then squatted over the gooey dick she was holding. I had pushed down only halfway when Maverick started twitching in a familiar way that told me he was already busting a nut.

  After he finished coming, I eased off Maverick and lay with my legs gapped open. I beckoned Tamara.

  At first she seemed resistant to eating my pussy, but then she came crawling over to me. Maverick’s dick sprang back to life as he watched Tamara slurping on my pussy.