Sex Every Day, Volume 1: 7 Single Serving Fantasies

by Lexi Maxxwell

  Then again, maybe it had nothing to do with Amy at all. Maybe it was all Meredith’s fault, and the fact that she was such a lying, cheating, cunt of a wife, I was left with no other choice but to pour my honey in another woman’s jar.

  I was happily married, until I wasn’t. And from the outside looking in, I don’t think anyone would have ever known anything differently, even those closest to me. Meredith worked her high-profile job as personal assistant to Senator Kyle, and she loved her position enough to keep us from entertaining the idea of having children, at least for the next four years. I worked from home as an editor for the National Writer’s Guild magazine, while working on my novel on the side. After two years, it was nearly finished.

  I’d always valued my alone time, but eventually, with the stress of Meredith’s job, the fact that she was almost never home, her endless bitching on the rare evenings when she was, and me trying to polish my novel, life was starting to get lonely.

  It wasn’t lonely because I had the house to myself; I loved that. It was lonely in the same way men have been lonely since back when we were just dudes in our caves. Men have needs, and they find it ideal when a woman is around to tend to their throbbing cocks.

  Though Meredith was there and then some in all the many years before we said, “I do,” she certainly hadn’t been for a while. Her absence equaled my unhappiness.

  My daily routine grew so repetitive, it dropped permanent anchor in boredom’s harbor. I’d wake up, rub one out, lift weights, take a shower, make coffee, start my computer, work until 3 p.m., hop into the car, and head downtown to meet with Greg — one of the Writer’s Guild guys — for a cup of overpriced coffee and bullshit; I’d plan out pages of motivational tips, writing starters, and stories to place in the magazine, go back home, run on the treadmill for 20 minutes, two miles, or until Meredith stormed through the door bitching about work.

  She would start cooking dinner while continuing to bitch, then we’d eat either in silence or a symphony of complaints. Meredith never, ever wanted to hear about my day. Writing was exciting when we met, but had been boring her to bitchy tears for at least a couple of years.

  After dinner, she’d chase her glass of wine with a cocktail; I’d have a beer to go with another 90 minutes of writing, followed by another shower — ending with a shock of cum spattering the white tile — then off to bed, where Meredith was usually snoring before I peeled the clothes from my body.

  Times have sure as hell changed.

  Once upon a not-too-long-ago time, Meredith and I fucked like how marathoners run; hard, fast, and nearly everywhere we went. She used to race home from the office, so stressed her skin was humming. She was always ready for me.

  I’d grab her as she crashed through the door, and pin her against the wall the second her bags hit the floor. The static between us was a live wire slapping the wet ground.

  Eventually, and without warning, someone cut the current at the source. It happened a few months back, suddenly and all at once. It was especially tragic since we’d only been married a pair of years. Two was five shy of the seven-year itch, and surely not long enough for our sex to fizzle to obligatory fuck sessions the way it had.

  I suspected Meredith had another man — hell, I knew it. But in the interest of maintaining my sanity and keeping my life as normal as possible, I ignored it. Maybe I’m passive-aggressive or a dumb shit or whatever, but blind eyes helped the rest of me cope.

  When Meredith came home late from her “meetings,” I greeted her with a smile, then turned to the comfort of my computer, where I could write a story about the main character fucking his wife hard in the ass, or wherever the hell he wants, while she’s begging him for more.

  Sad but true. This was my best release, until Amy Singleton stumbled onto my door step when Meredith was out of town.

  Meredith hit me with a courtesy call at 8:30 p.m., letting me know she was taking a red-eye to fuck someone in Washington. That’s not what she said — only that she was catching a last-minute flight to D.C. so she could be at an early morning meeting. I knew that meant some other man’s cock was getting sucked dry by my wife in some hotel room if not on the actual plane.

  I was batshit pissed and writing up a storm. The unexpected knock on my door – interrupting my smoking-hot workaholic character getting a twelve-inch cock rammed hard in her ass — didn’t help.

  Flames shot from my eyes as I opened the door, but immediately fizzled to ash as they met a sullen Amy Singleton standing on the porch.

  What the fuck?

  “Oh, hey, Ames,” I mumbled, trying to muffle the confusion in my voice. Amy smelled like she’d just dried off from a tequila bath.

  “Hey Seth,” she slurred. “Where’s Mer?” Everyone had nicknames but me. No real way of shortening Seth.

  “She’s off to one of her high-profile meetings in Washington.” Distain buttered my voice.

  “Good.” Amy surprised me. “I need to talk to you anyway.”

  Well, this is fucking weird.

  “Sure,” I said, opening the door wider. “Come on in. Want a drink?” I nodded to the bar, wondering if a yes might lead to alcohol poisoning.

  “Sure,” she answered. “I’d love one. You have stuff to make a Santa Carla?”

  “Of course.” I smiled. Santa Carlas were one of my go-to drinks. Amy loved when I made them for her during our back-porch barbecues.

  I headed toward the bar and Amy shut the door behind her.

  Amy and I had grown closer in the last six months, ever since IBM started letting her work from home rather than leasing office space she didn’t want to drive to anyway. With both of us home all day, and only a wall between us, proximity bred familiarity.

  For two years, Meredith and I had heard every domestic squabble the Singletons had ever had, along with the make-up sex that always followed. Sometimes, when quiet, we could even hear their toilet flush. And, of course, I was sure they could hear our side of the story, too.

  I poured a pair of tequila shots, then added lemons, grapefruit bitters, and sparkling water before measuring the syrup. I plunked three ice cubes into each glass and stole a look at Amy, who was still standing by the door. Garnish seemed silly in the moment, so I excluded the mint.

  I went to Amy and handed her the glass. “Wanna sit?” I asked, still with no idea why she was there.

  Amy nodded, then crossed the room and plopped her tight, tiny ass on my comfortable couch. I’ll admit I watched her hips sway a little too closely as I followed behind, but with her in those tight gray sweatpants, I’d have to surrender my dick if I didn’t.

  I sat across from Amy, sipping from my glass as I watched her swallow, then waited patiently as she stared past the bottom of her glass. She didn’t look up when she spoke.

  “Do you know where Jay is?”

  “I haven’t seen him in a few days,” I said, surprised by the question, and treading lightly with my answer. “Has he not been home?”

  Jason, like Meredith, worked in close contact with Senator Kyle, but as a liaison between the senator and the rest of the Republican Party.

  Her eyes fell on mine, bloodshot and rimmed with anger. “Yes, but he had to go out of town … for business.” She mocked her husband with air quotes.

  I twisted my face, brow furrowed. “Oh?” My voice lifted higher. “Where to?”

  Anger was an aurora borealis in Amy’s bright blue eyes. “Washington.”

  The word’s clear meaning didn’t click until I finally registered the pain in Amy’s eyes. Whether it was shock or suspicions confirmed which slapped me in the face, I was reeling.

  I had no words, and couldn’t have arranged them into a sentence even if I did.

  I stared into the bottom of my glass as Amy condemned me with her stare. I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to apologize — it wasn’t like I was the one fucking her husband. Yet, we were both assuming Meredith was, which definitely made it my problem.

  Anger rolled deep in the depths of my g
ut before boiling up and inside my chest. “I’m not sure what the fuck you’d like me to do about this, Ames. It’s not like I told her to spread her legs for the entire neighborhood!”

  “I never said it was your fault, Seth,” she whispered, realizing I wasn’t oblivious to my wife’s cheating. “You just hadn’t said anything to me and—”

  “What in the hell did you want me to say, Amy?” I was almost shouting. “‘Hey, Amy, just thought you’d like to know my wife has turned into a colossal cheating cunt! You should probably watch her when she’s around Jay!’ Yeah, Ames, that would’ve been a helluva conversation starter!”

  Amy flushed — from anger or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell. And I didn’t really care. The cork was popped, and rage poured from my body.

  Amy was quiet for several minutes as I sat in my chair, heaving. Neither of us said a word, until Amy finally cut into the silence. “We should join them.”

  “In Washington?”

  “No.” She shook her head, a smile swallowing her anger and replacing it with something I was still seconds away from understanding. “Infidelity.”

  I wondered if my face showed the shock that I felt. I pictured my jaw dropping to the floor and my tongue rolling out across the hardwood like a Looney Toon.

  I stared at Amy, speechless. She was a fucking knock-out, and yeah, I’d take a good look whenever it wasn’t too obvious; I’d even fashioned a couple of characters around her in the smutty throwaway stories I write to vent frustration with Meredith. I’d even had a certain writer character fuck a certain neighbor girl’s mouth until he came down her throat. But I’d never really pictured a day when actually fucking Amy would be possible, let alone with such a forward invitation.

  My mind started sorting possibilities, wondering if this were some elaborate setup between her and Meredith, some sick joke set up by Jason, or the unthinkable: that the offer was far from impromptu; something Amy had been slowly gathering the courage to deliver ever since discovering my wife was sleeping with her husband.

  “Amy, you’re one of my best friends in the world, but you’re drunk. I think we should think about this,” I said, patting myself on the back for maintaining control over my quickly stiffening cock.

  I wondered if she could see it pulsing through my sweats.

  Amy’s eyes were several shades brighter as she grinned, looking me up and down like I was a plate on the table. “Finish your drink, Seth.”

  I followed her order, smiling as I drained the last of the liquid from around the ice cubes with a slurp. We sat, staring, until I finished my drink.

  “Another?” I offered.

  “Fix yourself one. I’ve had enough,” she said, nursing her drink a sip at a time and licking her lips with every sip.

  I was losing my fucking mind.

  No way this wasn’t a huge joke they were playing on me. I wanted to stay in my old world where I pretended my wife wasn’t a whore, where I didn’t know my smoking-hot neighbor secretly wanted to revenge-fuck my brains out.

  I slowly approached the bar and made myself another drink, dousing a double shot of tequila over the waiting ice at the bottom. I watched as the tequila ate at the ice cubes, making them smaller, then took a pull straight from the bottle.

  Classy, Seth. Real fucking classy.

  I shivered as the liquor’s numbing heat drained from my mouth into my nearly empty stomach. I needed something to eat. Ignoring the hunger radiating from both my throbbing cock and aching stomach, I made another Santa Clara. I could feel the liquor starting its work on my body, and the flush it sent to my cheeks. In college, I had been a rock star — a drinking champ at my fraternity. Now, I couldn’t hold liquor for shit.

  After two large swallows of my Santa Clara, I turned to Amy. Her cup was on the table, her legs sprawled on the couch. Her eyes were closed when I rounded the couch, but popped open the second I sat my glass on the table.

  “Look, Seth, I’m sorry. I should never have said that, but Jason and I haven’t had sex since I figured out what was happening … and I’ve been imagining what your dick would feel like inside me for over a year. I’m not trying to convince you to do anything you don’t want to….” She trailed off, trying to hide her embarrassment.

  I shifted on my feet, unsure of whether I should sit, waiting for her to continue.

  “I know I’m not exactly your type….”

  Not my type?! What hot-blooded man doesn’t dream about your “type”?! Wait … you’ve been thinking about this for a fucking YEAR?

  “But I thought it might be good for both of us,” Amy continued. “Hell, in my mind, we could save each other from this misery. It’s easy enough to justify our actions since they’re banging each other’s brains out right now while out of town. Why can’t we do the same together? Sounds like fair play to me…. I honestly can’t think of any reason why we shouldn’t, or wouldn’t. The situation sucks. And I want you.”

  Oh.

  She stood from the sofa and added in a purr, “And that bulge in your pants tells me it’s not that you don’t want me — you’re just having some ridiculous moral dilemma over there inside your over-thinking writer’s head.”

  Amy was rambling and slurring her words slightly, clearly embarrassed that she had thrown herself at me only to have me tell her she was one of my best friends.

  Fucking genius, Seth.

  “Amy, I—”

  She cut me off by holding up her hand, “It’s okay, Seth. I get it.” She looked one bad second from tears. I thought she might have a breakdown in my living room.

  I didn’t say a word, I didn’t think — hell, I didn’t even know I was moving until I fell on the couch and shoved my lips onto hers with a hard kiss.

  A tiny moan fell from her soft, parted lips as I caressed her tongue with mine. Her muscular thighs spread in a V as my hand slid from her throat to her chest, then further south to a surprising soak between her legs.

  That was it.

  Feeling Amy’s soaking wet pussy stripped me of any control I might’ve had left. Vengeance swept through my body. I ripped my lips from hers, slid the gray sweatpants down her tight thighs, and knew for certain she’d knocked on my door with intent.

  No panties covered her taut ass and swollen sex.

  A devilish smile crept onto my face. She pulled away from me, just long enough to rip the long-sleeved shirt over her head, and reveal a cream-colored silk bra. I wrapped my arms around her, freeing her tits from their restraints, then covering them with my panting mouth as I leaned forward and pulled a hardened nipple inside.

  I knelt in front of her and sucked hard, arching her back and sucking her nipple deeper into my mouth. I twisted the other with my left hand while my right held her steady at the base of her back. I switched nipples and continued to suck until Amy’s panting matched mine, then set a trail of kisses down her tight stomach until I was on my knees, flicking my stiff tongue in hard strokes against her clit.

  Pleasure poured from Amy’s mouth in deep, guttural moans as her hips lifted toward me, giving my mouth a better angle to lips spreading wide before me. My mouth watered at the sight of her slit, slick and sweet-smelling. I circled her clit with my tongue, then plunged it deep into her dripping wet sex.

  Amy gasped and shivered as my arms locked tighter around her thighs and pinned her harder against my face. Her wild moans escaped as my tongue grazed between her clit and opening, stroking her sweet spot with tight, hard circles before claiming it between my lips, sucking it into my mouth, then driving my tongue deeper into the soft inner walls beyond.

  Amy crashed into a shattering release, her pussy gushing on my tongue with trembling spasms. Her body shook as I pushed her back into the plush couch cushions. Her eyes rolled forward, making her look wild and crazed, like a predator feasting on prey after tracking for days.

  She leapt up from the couch, licked my mouth clean of her sweet juices, then took my bottom lip into her mouth and nibbled from corner to corner. A massive wave
of desire rolled through my body, making my already-throbbing cock thicken painfully.

  Slim fingers hooked under my elastic waistband and lowered my pants to the floor in a single, swift motion. Amy’s eyes went wide as all nine inches of my cock sprang from the covering. She looked up at me with doe eyes, singing silent praises to the only good thing my father ever gave me, before capturing my thick length between her lips, mouthing for the prize inside.

  My head fell backward and a deep groan creaked from my mouth as her furious, drunken strokes slurped from tip to cum-filled base. I willed myself to think of anything but this beautiful woman, who willingly sucked cock like a goddess, unlike my bitch of a cheating wife.

  Amy slipped my dick from her mouth and stood over me, her soft tuft of curly black hair nearly at my nose, its tantalizing scent commanding my senses. Her hands clasped to either side of my face, then lifted it until I was staring up into her pleading eyes.

  “I want you to fuck me in the ass,” she said breathlessly. “It’s the only thing I’ve never let Jay have, and I want you to own it. I want you to own me, so he can’t.”

  I was the sudden puppet of some savage side of me — a part of me I hadn’t known existed until my hands were on her hips and I was turning her toward the couch. My heavy hand pushed her head to the cushions and I stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed at my prize.

  Amy’s tight opening flexed as I spread her ass apart.

  I spit into the top of her crack, waited until it rolled to a pool in her ass, then rubbed it in with my thumb as she moaned.

  Amy continued moaning as my thumb wiggled deeper inside, waiting for her inner walls to relax as I softly stroked in tiny circles, slowly opening her wider, readying her to accept my still-thickening dick.

  I inched my head inside, breath catching in my throat at the tightness of the hole that belonged entirely to me — at least for the moment. I thought of Meredith, and how every hole in her body had been previously claimed by another cock.

  The thought sent inner savage deeper in his mission.