So yeah, we’ve been going at it regularly now days and nights, and it’s elevated our game, made us into the most disgusting pair living in New York, our sex fluid everywhere, going at each other non-stop. And I love it, I absolutely love being his fuck doll, taking him as he took me, finding ecstasy in each other’s arms.
Take last week for example. After a particularly hot session, he’d collapsed on me, his big body practically burying me in the bed.
“Ooph!” I’d cried, my voice muffled in the sheets. “You’re heavy.”
“Sorry baby,” he’d rasped, not shifting an inch. “You’ve literally worn me out, drained me of every drop, I can’t move, you’re just going to have to live with it.”
And I’d giggled from under him, slapping his bicep with a small hand. Truth was, I didn’t want him to move just yet, didn’t want him to pull out, his hot dick felt so good inside.
“Mmm,” I moaned into the sheets, gyrating my hips slightly. “That’s true, you feel hard still, big boy.”
And the big man had just laughed into my shoulder, his massive body shaking with tremors on top of mine.
“You’re such a slut, you know that? With such a slutty cunt.”
Mmm, I loved when he talked nasty to me, it made me burn, my insides churning with lust. So I just smiled back and purred, “But it’s your slutty cunt, this slutty cunt’s all yours.”
And his eyes immediately flared again, hot streaks appearing across his cheeks although it was close to morning and we’d been going at it tirelessly, stopping only to catch our breaths before tearing up the sheets once more.
“That’s true, isn’t it?” he murmured into my neck, his hand wandering down to stroke my snatch, the fat lips still surrounding his cock, gripping it like it was the best candy. “This is my beautiful pussy, I own it.”
And I just moaned against him, stretching, before placing a deep kiss onto his mouth, a soulful exchange that had both of us panting and gasping for more. I felt like my heart was about to explode from my chest, showing him with my kisses, my actions, that he meant so much to me, that I loved being with him.
So it was with excitement that I padded down the hall to Mr. Martin’s apartment later that day. I knew beyond a doubt that we’d be locked in each other’s arms in a nano-second, my clothes off and his dick in, making me shudder and scream with pleasure.
Except something was off, my senses on high alert as I drew closer. I’d gotten back a little early today and had decided to come by his apartment early as well, before our usual time of 10 or so. Surely, an hour or two extra of hot sex was right up his alley?
I stopped before the door, my hand up to knock but something made me pause, my spidey sense tingling. What was it exactly? The scent of some heady fruit, like citrus, or pineapple, or coconut, I wasn’t sure what. But Nick definitely didn’t use cologne or aftershave that smelled like that, his stuff was woodsy, all man.
And sure enough, a woman’s voice rang out from inside.
“Mr. Martin,” it purred, “I had no idea you were so bad.”
And what followed was a muffled shriek, a small bang against the wall and then Nick’s unmistakable low growl.
“You’re a fucking slut,” he rumbled through the door. “A fucking slut.”
And the woman let out a low whine then, her pleasure maximized as she panted heavily.
“I’m a slut but you love it,” she breathed in return. “You fucking love it.”
And I stood completely still in disbelief, my hand still raised to knock, dressed in nothing but the flimsiest of outfits outside the door. Was this really happening? My pulse fluttered wildly, beating at a million miles a minute as my stomach dropped like a lead weight, a sudden wave of nausea overcoming me.
Because was it possible? Was it possible that Nick was sleeping with multiple women, that I wasn’t his one and only? Was it possible that I was nothing to him, merely a typist for hire, a faceless girl among the millions that he regularly banged?
And my face flamed, my mouth snapping shut with a click. Of course. I was no one, had never been anyone. An eligible bachelor for decades, Nick probably had a black book as thick as an encyclopedia and I’d been the flavor du jour, nothing more. And when he got bored all it took was a phone call, a few words, and another woman was at the ready.
My face flamed, shame and humiliation coursing through my body. My hand dropped limply to my side and I backed away from the door like it was a nuclear waste site, filled with toxic materials and leaking fumes. My chin trembled and to my utter shock, hot tears began coursing down my cheeks, my nose starting to run as my mouth blubbered silently.
I ran the rest of the way down the hall, back to the safety of my own apartment. I couldn’t stay at the Meridien anymore, I had to find another place even if it meant moving back to the Bronx, my old neighborhood with the high crime and shady neighbors. I didn’t care what it cost me, this job, this apartment, my future, I just had to get out, the pain unbearable.
But as I fumbled for my key, the door to Nick’s apartment opened and Jeanette pranced out, her hair a mess, clothes askew, her red lipstick smudged like she’d just sucked a dick. I ducked behind a pillar, not breathing, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t see me.
And evidently she was so delirious with her orgasm that she wobbled on her heels, giving the man inside a small wave.
“Bye big guy,” she purred, licking her lips lasciviously, making that red pout positively glisten in the low lights of the hall. “See you tomorrow.”
And slowly she turned and walked down the hall to the elevators unsteadily, even pausing to brace herself against the wall as if her cunt was sore, achy from a pounding sex session.
Without uttering a peep, I waited until she was gone before letting myself into my apartment. Oh my god, what had I just witnessed? Jeanette? Really, Jeanette? That woman was the opposite of me, tall, blonde and nasty, always shooting dirty looks at anyone who took a moment of her boss’s time. What did she have that I didn’t?
But the little voice in my head spoke then. She has a ton that you don’t, it said. You were just a momentary distraction. Jeanette’s been with Nick for years now, he’s been trashing her pussy for years. And now that he’s tired of you, it’s back to his number one girl … the blonde. Not you, her.
And I collapsed limply on the couch, blind to my luxurious surroundings, blind to the beautiful orchid on the coffee table, the original watercolors that hung on the walls. Because it all belonged to Nick … and I couldn’t stay here anymore, not when my heart was breaking.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tammy
I rolled out of bed, my head pounding, my body aching like I’d been buried alive under two tons of dirt instead of sleeping in a comfy feather bed. Heaving myself up, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My skin was dull, my curls oddly limp, a lifeless expression in my eyes.
Because sure, I’d spent eight hours lying in bed but hadn’t caught a wink of sleep. Instead, I’d tossed and turned, my skin alternately flaming and then going coldly clammy, the shock hitting me again and again. How was it possible that Nick didn’t love me? That I was nothing more than a fuck toy to him, one of a few women in rotation?
But that’s the thing. Even I’d repeatedly referred to myself as a fuck toy, his sex doll, his slave willing to do anything, get on my knees and worship at the altar of the billionaire. So I’d brought it on myself. I’d asked for it, treated myself like nothing more than a fuck toy, was it so odd that he treated me that way as well?
I shook my head, miserable. There were no answers, I had no answers. Instead, I put on a drab shirt and skirt, not caring that the clothes were slightly wrinkled and stepped into a pair of shabby flats. Since moving to headquarters I’d tried to do better with myself, wearing heels, doing my make-up carefully each morning, styling my hair so it was a gleaming mass on my shoulders.
But it didn’t matter anymore. I was nothing, a piece of garbage only, and so I grabbed my hair and p
ulled it into a low ponytail, snapping the rubber band harshly around the curls. My face looked wan and ghastly, dark circles under my eyes, the lids puffy and swollen but I didn’t care. I hurt and couldn’t be bothered anymore.
Slipping a pair of sunglasses on, I stumbled downstairs through the lobby and onto the sidewalk. As usual, Max the chauffeur waited.
“Miss,” he said, gesturing to the car behind him with a white-gloved hand. “At your service.”
And I shook my head slowly.
“No, not today Max,” I said. I would be damned before I took another thing from the billionaire, I was getting to work and logging onto Craigslist immediately to find a new apartment, a new roommate, a new job. I wasn’t getting in Nick’s car, no way no how. So I turned resolutely and started walking. It wasn’t bad, the apartment complex was just on the other side of Midtown, the walk would be thirty minutes at most.
But a horn tooted behind me and Max leaned out of the window, his jaunty cap askew.
“Miss Jones, please get in,” he pleaded in his vague Eastern European accent. “Please.”
I kept walking, ignoring him. I wasn’t taking another thing from Nick Martin under any circumstances.
But Max was insistent.
“Miss Jones, I’m going to be in big trouble if you don’t get in,” he pleaded, still trailing me in the black car. “Please, Miss.”
And at that, I stopped. I didn’t want someone else to suffer because I’d been a dunce. It wasn’t his fault he worked for Nick, he was just trying to do his job, make a living and support his family. And so I sighed, slowly backtracking.
“Thank you Miss Jones,” said the chauffeur once the door slammed shut behind me. “Thank you for understanding. Why didn’t you want to drive today?” he asked. “The weather’s not so nice.”
That was true, it was overcast with quite a few clouds in the sky and I didn’t have an umbrella just in case.
“It’s nothing,” I said quietly. “Just thought I’d get some exercise.”
Max’s eyebrows flew off his forehead. A thirty minute walk through Midtown wasn’t exactly the nicest walk, I’d be dodging piles of garbage bags on the sidewalk, dog poo left by lazy owners, not to mention the ominous weather. But the old man didn’t say anything, merely went back to driving, navigating the crowded streets.
Suddenly, I had an idea.
“Max,” I said. “How many people do you drive?” I asked, sitting up on the seat. Surely he was escorting several of Nick’s women around, chauffeuring them to various events.
But Max was puzzled.
“Just yourself and Mr. Martin,” he said, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “But I don’t see much of Mr. Martin, he takes the SUV with Walter sometimes, or even his helicopter.”
And I sat back, perplexed. That wasn’t the answer I’d expected, I thought he’d say “Oh, I drive you and Amanda, Tiffany, Brandy, and Renee,” if not more. But maybe I wasn’t being crafty enough.
“Max,” I tried again. “Have you driven women for Mr. Martin in the past?”
And the old chauffeur just smiled at me, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror, his gaze kind.
“Miss Jones, I know what you’re getting at. You’re trying to find out if Mr. Martin is seeing other women and the answer is that I can’t tell you. It’s not my business, it’s not your business, it’s not anyone’s business but the boss’s. I’m so sorry I can’t help,” he added, slightly reproving.
And I sat back, ashamed of myself. I’d tried to trick Max into telling me information that he shouldn’t, the elderly man could lose his job if he blabbed. And so I colored, apologizing.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “You’re right, I was on a fishing expedition and it won’t happen again. I just feel … I dunno,” I said unhappily. “I just don’t know,” I finished with a soft, sad smile.
And Max hummed gently, looking back at the road, his hands on the wheel, saying nothing.
But as we pulled up in front of Luxor Corp., the old man jumped out to open my door, sprightly despite his advanced years. And as I maneuvered myself out the car, he leaned in to whisper.
“But I will say that I’ve never seen Mr. Martin so happy,” he said with a wink. “I’ve known Mr. Martin since he was a young man, and the boss is happy with you. So take that for what it’s worth.”
And I smiled ruefully again, arranging my crumpled clothes as best I could.
“Thanks Max, but Nick Martin does what he wants,” I said quietly. “Even if he’s happy, there’s always more happiness out there, you know what I mean? The on-going pursuit of more and more and more,” I added with another sad smile. “Thanks for the ride.”
And with that, I walked slowly into the huge building, dread filling my stomach, making my insides churn.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tammy
Except it didn’t quite go as planned. Instead of getting an email from “Nick Smith” and secretly tiptoeing through the secret passageway, I was actually summoned to Nick’s office by the queen herself.
“Go right in,” sang Jeanette sweetly, looking me up and down and smiling that red smile. “Mr. Martin’s been held up a bit but he said to go right in.”
I knew what she saw. A drab, frumpy, pudgy girl, one who wore not a scrap of make-up, my hair pulled back from my forehead painfully tight, the curls ruthlessly smooth.
“Thanks,” I said listlessly. I was clearly no competition for the blonde with her perfectly manicured nails, chic updo and tailored clothes. I wish I could say that I wanted to smack the smile off her face but the fight had already gone out of me. I just wanted to be gone from Luxor, from this hateful place.
So I let myself into the spacious office, the door snicking shut behind me, and took a deep breath, one last look around. This would be my last time here with the floor to ceiling windows, the modern Scandinavian deco, the private bathroom off to the side.
I wandered around, trailing my fingers on the blonde furniture, the glass tops, even touching some of the artwork. It would be my last time and I wanted to absorb everything, let it flow into my pores before I went back to my old life in the Bronx, a life of hurried microwave meals, scrimping for quarters, scrambling to pay bills as I attended school and worked full-time.
Except I didn’t have a new job yet. Well, that would come with time. For now, I just wanted to breathe in the luxurious surroundings, envelop myself in opulence once more.
So slowly I drifted, circling the office, breathing deeply. And as I came to Nick’s closet, I noticed it was ajar, his blue blazer hanging, waiting for its owner to reappear. On a whim, I pushed the door open and caught the garment to my nose, inhaling the big man’s distinctive scent, the woodsy masculinity making tears spring to my eyes once again. And as I blinked, trying to get my bearings, I noticed something in the pocket.
Slowly, I reached in and pulled it out. It was a pair of panties, lacy and red, flirty and musky with the scent of female cream.
Except they weren’t mine.
They were someone else’s.
And like a hot potato, I dropped the offending cloth, my cheeks flushing again, my whole body on fire as I realized what I’d just touched.
Oh my god. He’d been with another woman recently and I had the evidence right here. If seeing Jeanette leave his apartment last night hadn’t been enough, then this was iron-clad proof that Nick was a manwhore, that he was sleeping around with multiple women, secreting their panties away in all sorts of nooks and crannies, keeping them as souvenirs.
And I thought back to our first time together. What had happened to my panties then? Hadn’t he slipped them into his pocket? This was some kind of sick hobby for him, like notches on his bedpost or a hunter collecting skulls, evidence of his conquests, some type of disgusting ritual that pumped up his testosterone. I literally felt sick to my stomach, bending over with nausea.
Except that Nick entered the office at that moment, when I was least prepared, my emotions on high. And I launched
myself at him, kicking, screaming, my small fists flying at his face, his shoulders, his chest, anywhere I could reach.
“How could you?” I screamed. “How the fuck could you? You’re such a fucking asshole, fucking women right and left.”
He held me off, my aggression no match for his superior weight and power.
“What the fuck?” he growled. “Tammy, get a hold of yourself.”
But I couldn’t be stopped, I was too angry.
“Look at that shit on the floor,” I screeched. “What the fuck is that?”
And Nick’s eyes dropped for a moment, bewildered when they saw the crumpled fabric.
“Baby,” he said, shaking his head perplexed, “aren’t those yours?”
And that only made my temperature zoom, turning me into Mount Vesuvius.
“What the fuck, can’t keep your women straight? No, those aren’t my panties, those belong to another one of your sluts!” I shrieked, practically spitting now, tears rolling down my cheeks. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
But Nick just shook his head again, his big body still holding me off.
“Baby, I haven’t been with anyone but you,” he growled. “Listen to me, listen to me,” he shook my shoulders. “There’s been no one but you.”
But I was in no mood for compromise. With two pieces of evidence pointing to his cheating ways, I only screamed louder and kicked harder, this time landing a good one on his shin.
“Oww,” he roared, gripping his leg, letting go for a moment. And that was enough for me to scramble free. I snatched up my purse and dashed out of the office, my face flaming, tears streaming as my breath came in pants and sobs. I wish I could say that no one witnessed it, that I was all alone in my pain, but of course Jeanette saw it all.
“Bye now,” she called after me silkily, her voice pure poison. “We’ll deliver your things to you.”
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