by D. B. Story
I stroke them and hold them and tweak, tug, twist, and torment her nipples just enough to keep both of us at a high simmer. It never grows old. And then I lick and suck and bite them none too gently, which she loves as much as Star ever did. Unlike what she can do to me, however, I can't wear Helen out to the point where she can't take another orgasm.
As Helen has often pointed out to me, she knows I'm not doing this just for her. I'm really into boobs. So why can't she be fascinated by penises as well? When she puts it that way, there's no reason I can think of why not.
That soon resulted in dividing our sex life into two distinct areas. If I start on her with the slow massage she loves so much because it makes Love to her entire body, I'll soon enough have her Kegel muscles squeezing my most male part so tightly I don't think she ever wants me to pull out of her. Even if I get to her boobs first otherwise, this is usually the eventual result.
But if she can get her soft hands or mouth to my manhood before I've gotten her too distracted otherwise, I'm lost. All I can do after that is stroke her neck and back, or reach around to grab her breasts, and wait until she has had her way with me.
As Helen became more comfortable with herself, a playful side emerged. Soon I didn't know if Helen—or Star—would be greeting me in the bedroom, or taking me out on the town tonight. And it wasn't just in the bedroom. I could be sexually ambushed at any time.
What I did know is that Helen/Star knew without a doubt who I really loved. It is that certainty she often told me that makes her comfortable and secure sleeping in my arms each night. Because of that knowledge, Helen quickly became at ease making herself up as Helen-pretending-to-be-Star for me. And that is the very best of both worlds.
With the spending limits now in place, I became the official arbiter of which of her work outfits were still good, and which needed to be retired and replaced. Star modeled every dress, wig, and pair of shoes in her Imelda Marcos-sized inventory, and accepted my judgment without reservation of what looked Hot! This is easy for me. I'm a man. Knowing when a woman looks Hot comes naturally.
With both of us willing to cook (I do it to relax after the too many restaurant meals that come with working on location), we cut way back on meal expenses. And a night out on the town in Las Vegas doesn't have to be expensive. Especially when the main attraction is the person holding your hand. Besides, Star had a lot of favors she could call in, and often did.
Let me take an additional moment to say that going out with Helen is a different kind of experience. She seems to have a mind like a steel trap for people she's known professionally. I can't think of a single time out where she didn't point out one, if not several, former and current customers of hers. She knew by now I find this very amusing. It's amusing because of two things. First, I knew who she'd be going home with tonight, and it wasn't any of them. And second, none of them ever recognized her, even when we occasionally sat at the same tables.
By now, Helen had enough in the bank to put a proper down payment on a house far more suited to her. We looked during the weeks before her lease ran out, and found just the right one. It's smaller, yet offers everything she really wants in a home. I call it comfortably intimate, and it even has the same view of The Strip in the distance, which neither of us ever tires of watching at night. To top it off, payments on a fifteen-year mortgage are less than what she's paying in rent now. And that's before deducting the interest on her tax returns!
As I sat there holding her hand while she signed the loan papers, I learned the real reason she hadn't taken this step before. Helen dreaded revealing the real details of her income necessary to get a mortgage. This fear had led her to sabotaging her ability to ever save for a proper down payment.
But the bank took it in stride. They are a Las Vegas based institution, and they know their territory—and customers.
I expected to help out with the payments when we moved in. After all, my company had made the deal to either put me up in a good hotel, or give me a generous housing allowance to setup my own accommodations. I took the allowance of course, but Helen wouldn't touch a dime of it. She made me bank it, along with all the other money I wasn't spending. She wasn't the only one now with a nicely growing bank account.
* * * *
As our first year together came to a close, my company made a substantial offer if I would relocate out here permanently. Helen and I talked it over in bed that night, and I accepted the next day.
Soon after that Helen told me she was cutting down on her hours out at work.
"It won't impact my income much, if at all," she assured me. "I'll just be more selective in the assignments I take."
"Why the change?" I asked, already suspecting the answer, and knowing this was a surprise she really wanted to spring on me.
"I've been accepted back at UNLV. I want to finish getting my degree."
I couldn't have been happier to hear that.
Helen worked diligently, and graduated eighteen months later. I took us on a two-week hiking and outdoors vacation through the Pacific Northwest to celebrate. Helen sunbathed nude in every secluded location we found. Some lucky hikers got more than they expected when they came across us.
It was during this time that Helen started seriously talking about children, not that the subject hadn't come up before. But there were obstacles.
We both agreed that one's children are the only lasting legacy you'll ever pass along to the future. We also agreed that children should only be born into a committed stable marriage.
We'd talked at length many times on how marriage changes everything, and the hard truth is that we could never be married—or even engaged—while Star continues in her present profession. It has nothing to do with the very deep love and trust we have for each other, or even my ability to become our sole breadwinner, which I could easily handle by now. And our sex life seems to only get better. We are now living a simpler—yet much richer—life than either of us had ever managed in the past.
Marriage, however, is more than a piece of paper and a kiss on the lips given to no one else. Star would have to hang up her high-heels before I would propose. And I would never ask that of her. This would have to be her decision alone when it happened, and I would stay with her until she made it.
* * * *
Our wedding was attended by more people than I believed we could possibly ever have met. And it didn't cost us a cent! Star's friends and employer threw it for us.
I had more men than I could count shaking my hand and congratulating me on being such a "Lucky Bastard." And they didn't know the half of it!
Instead of tossing her garter, Helen gave me the dress she'd worn on her last day at work as Star. The fortunate catcher of this was immediately engulfed in a bidding war for it. Given the prices I was hearing being offered, we need to put the rest of her outfits up for auction soon. Except, that is, the one that we'll always save just for ourselves to use in private.
Helen is not out of work by any means. The moment we returned from our honeymoon trip around the world (again, pardon the pun), she started as a publicity consultant to a couple of major hotel-casino companies. From the interest others have shown in getting her services as well, she need not worry about work for a long time to come. And the money isn't bad either.
"You mean I could have been making this all along?" she said wonderingly when she showed me the first offer they made her.
"No," I replied bluntly. "You couldn't make that until you started believing in yourself."
That got me a hug and kiss that I still remember.
* * * *
Helen is pregnant now with our first daughter, whom I hope inherits everything that's so great about her mother. And sex during pregnancy is wonderful. A happy, pregnant woman is stunning. And now her swelling breasts are going to serve their finest function ever. They very much seem up to the task. For now at least, Helen has her wish for the bigger pair she once thought she wanted.
This is all part of the great future I
now have to look forward to. Las Vegas is the fastest growing area in the country, and opportunities are everywhere. Helen and I agree that we want three children soon, and there's only one way we're going to accomplish that.
Any last words on my part? Maybe just these.
There's perfect, and there's real. Know how to tell the difference, and which is the only one that will ever last.
The End
ABOUT D. B. STORY
D. B. Story is a writer living in the southwestern United States. While that territory can cover anywhere from New Mexico to Hawaii he declines to be more specific at this time. His use of the time-honored artifice of writing under a pseudonym comes from the necessity to still maintain a day job and the habit of employers to Google new applicants to discover what stupid things said applicant is willing to foolishly do, and then doubly foolishly post for the world to see afterwards. Such invasions of one’s personal life become an unnecessary distraction. D. B. Story has long had interests in both Science Fiction (since first discovering his mother’s secret cache of Ace Doublebooks stashed under her bed) and writing. In fact, anything he has enjoyed participating in he eventually has a desire to create as well. He seriously began writing (although not selling) stories ten years ago due to a dissatisfaction with what he was reading at the time and the belief that he could do it better. He started out with the interaction between humans and the sexy robots they would inevitably create and later branched out to other erotic Fantasy and SF genres. During that time he has written everything from flash fiction to a 402,000 word novel and a screenplay based on his other writings, as yet unsold. Whether his writing is actually “better” he admits he must leave to his readers to decide, but he likes his stuff a lot. He has often said that, “Writing time is always good time.” He also says that with the advent of cheap computers, word processors, eBooks, and the Internet that times have never been better for a diversity of writers to be heard.
If you enjoyed HOOKER, WIFE, FOR LIFE, you might also enjoy:
TWO DOLLS LOST
By D. B. Story
Marshall Ian Key’s excellent novel Living Dolls introduced us to a pair of dolls, which with a few minor limitations, could become any willing woman you could name. While the doll’s origins remain a mystery for now, those dolls weren’t the only pair of them out in the world. Two Dolls Lost tells the story of dolls Peggy and Linda, accidentally discarded by their owner and left to fend for themselves. While they have their abilities as Living Dolls available to them now to use as they see fit, Peggy and Linda also have the problems of being naïve teenagers alone out in the world. How they use their abilities to create their own lives, while affecting the lives around them, will make you wish for a pair of dolls like them for your very own.
Warnings: This title contains graphic language and sex including a brief f/f scene.
Excerpt From TWO DOLLS LOST:
“A proper doll should be life-size,” he sneered.
“Don’t they make life-sized Barbie dolls that are big?” Todd wondered.
“Those are called ‘My Size’ Barbies,” Amy said, with the superior air of knowing something the boys didn’t. She’d wanted a My Size Barbie for just about forever.
“Life Size,” Todd insisted, not wanting to admit that there was anything a girl could know, especially his sister, that he didn’t already know too. There was more than a simple sibling rivalry in their family, and he knew it was about to get very much worse for him, and was trying to hold on to any advantage he still had.
“My Size,” Amy insisted.
“Life Size,” Todd stubbornly persisted.
“My Size,” Amy wouldn’t give up.
Todd, embarrassed in front of his peers by this, went over to the pile of adult clothing treasures Amy’d piled up, making a move to push them over the side.
“Don’t do that!” Amy screamed.
“Then say ‘Life Size’,” he insisted.
When she didn’t, he drew his foot back, as though to kick the pile off the mound.
“Say it,” he warned, trying to keep is balance on only one leg.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Amy insisted, not believing her own words.
“Wouldn’t I?” Todd said, struggling to keep his balance as he drew his leg back even further.
“No,” Amy pleaded.
Todd, knowing he had to win this, swung his foot forward towards the pile.
“Life Size!” Amy shouted, trying to stop him, although it was already too late.
And suddenly, instead of a doll in her hand, there was a naked girl, maybe a year older than she was, standing right next to her.
* * * *
Amy screamed. It was the piercing tone of a surprised young girl’s scream. The kind that goes through your head like an ice pick from one ear to the other, on its way to shattering fine wine glasses.
A moment later, responding to Amy’s scream, the new girl screamed just as loudly. And then Megan screamed in sympathy, although not yet knowing why.
Distracted, Todd’s leg swung unstoppably through the pile of old clothes and shoes, causing him to lose his balance completely, and start tumbling down the slope.
Chris, startled by the new girl, Todd’s fall, and three women screaming, lost his balance and fell off the other side.
Megan’s eyes were as large as saucers, looking at what just had happened.
And the new girl stumbled a bit, as she took a step towards Amy.
“Get away! Get away from me!” Amy shrieked, sliding backwards herself in avoidance of the stranger. When the girl extended her hand in a possible gesture of friendship, or just to help keep the young girl from falling off completely, Amy pulled back even further. She didn’t know what was going on, and didn’t want to know. This had just gotten too weird for words. And Megan was still screaming.
“I’m yours,” the new girl said, as Amy’s shrieks paused to take another breath.
“I don’t want you!” she shouted. “Go away! Just please go away!”
With that, Amy tumbled backwards as well, sliding in a very undignified manner down the slope. In fact, only Megan made a properly decorous, albeit rapid, descent.
At the bottom, with all the screaming and other shrieking going on, Chris had already taken to his heels. If he got caught here again, his parents would ground him for a year, and he’d lose his place on the baseball team. And if his big sister found out first, he’d owe her more favors than any guy could ever hope to repay. She was always trying to fix him up with her dateless friends, and he still had one more year of high school to put up with her before she graduated. As for her friends, if they couldn’t get dates with anyone else, he sure didn’t want to be seen with any of them himself.
Todd, torn between waiting for his sister, and hightailing it after Chris, did the gallant thing. He waited just long enough to grab Amy’s arm and take off down the path Chris had already blazed. Only Amy’s protests, and the digging in of her little heels, slowed him down enough for Megan to catch up. Then they all ran without stopping all the way back to Todd’s house, throwing themselves under the big shade tree in the side yard when they arrived, panting as hard as they could.
Soon there was a giggle, followed by another, and then a brief laugh, until they were all laughing uncontrollably at their fright. Even so, nobody dared go back to see what had happened. Surely The Watchman had heard everything, and would catch all of them this time.
It was a full day later when Todd and Amy crept back at sunset, looking for her doll-or in Todd’s mind, the girl the doll had become. He’d finally remembered that she’d been naked, very naked, and had a nice start on all those things he’d yet to see-or touch-on any real girl yet. By then, a lot of new trash had arrived, changing everything, and they couldn’t find the doll-or the girl. Neither of them realized they’d be seeing the doll/girl, and her friend, again soon enough…
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