“Funny you should mention that,” he sang, clicking his tongue with a wink.
“You’ve done that, too,” I stated. “Let me guess, you’ve done a lot of things.”
“I have, but I always teach from August twenty-something to May twenty-something. I’m going to go get this boat on the road—water,” he corrected, leaving me to the dark waters, cool morning, and I didn’t know what mood now.
I stared after him walking away. Good. I didn’t want to deal with his cheerfulness, and then I wished he hadn’t left. Wondering if the song was for me, I listened to the tune coming through the yacht’s speakers, something about being cold as ice. I made a mental note to look up the name Foreigner when the radio host informed me of the classic rock song, coming at me from 1977.
Sam came back a few minutes later, poured himself another cup of coffee, and sat beside me while we headed out to sea, magically drifting toward the red skyline. I rolled my eyes when he started talking about a descriptive writing assignment he gave his second graders once.
“Does a second grader even know what that means?” I asked, interrupting. Jesus this guy talked a lot.
“Seven-year-olds can know what anything means if you take the time to teach them. Anyway, as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted,” he teased, batting his eyelashes playfully. And once again I laughed at him. “The assignment was about the sunrise. They had to write one paragraph describing it. Let’s do it.”
“Do what?”
“Describe the sunrise after we watch it.”
“You’re sort of eccentric, you know?”
“No. I’m just weird. I’m too poor to be eccentric. You’re eccentric.”
“I am not,” I protested.
“You are. Shhh. It’s no fun unless you hear it.”
“Hear it?”
“Yes. Quiet,” Sam whispered, placing a finger over his lips and then pointing toward the end of the ocean with the same finger and a stern look.
I smiled at him and sat up straighter, placing my elbows on the table in front of us. The contact from the chair added more sensations to the building between my legs. Trying to keep them at bay, I listened. He was right. The sun made its appearance, vibrant and alive. The sound of the waves passing beneath us, dramatically changed the way I saw it.
I was speechless. I’m sure I’ve seen many sunrises, but this one was different. This one was magical. I’m sure it was only minutes, but the exhibition seemed to take hours. Time stood still. The sun itself was just peeking out of the horizon, and its brilliant rays already shined brightly and began to warm the air. I marveled at the glistening reflection of the sun on the ocean and a thrilling sensation of awe swept over me.
“Tell me what you saw,” Sam requested in low, serious tone.
I looked into his eyes, noticing for the first time they were green. Did I even know what color Garrison’s eyes were? He never looked at me like this, like he was searching my soul.
“Tell me,” he whispered again.
“I saw a breathtaking display of radiant colors. Bright streaks of red, pink, and orange slowly overcame the dark blue and purple of the twilight sky. The sky resembled a prism with all the colors blended perfectly into each other, and now I can feel the heat warming my skin,” I answered in a melodramatic tone while our eyes stayed fixed on each other’s.
“You’re way better at this than second graders.” He smiled and I giggled. I didn’t know what was going on with me, but this guy brought something out in me that I had never felt before. It was so unfamiliar, so foreign, but yet welcoming.
“I’m hungry,” I said, needing the ice between us. Whoa. What was I doing?
“Me, too. Let’s go make eggs.”
“You make eggs. That’s what you’re getting paid to do.”
“Actually, it’s not,” Sam said, taking my arm by the wrist. “I’m getting paid to drive your spoiled ass around the ocean, not cook for you. Come on. You scramble eggs and I’ll clean some fresh fruit.”
“Sam,” I protested by posting my feet.
“What?”
“I can’t scramble eggs.”
“Why?”
“I don’t do that stuff. I have someone to do it for me.”
Sam’s sucked in lips didn’t go unnoticed. He was making fun of me. “You don’t know how to make an egg?”
“Shut up. I’m not doing that. I don’t have to do that,” I defensively assured him. Asshole. I turned on my heels, back to my chair, but Sam turned me back. Holding onto my shoulders, he guided me toward the cabin.
“I’ll show you. Don’t be like that. We have hours out here alone, just you and me. Let’s have fun.”
“No, you’re making fun of me,” I pouted.
“I am, but it’s all in fun. I’ve never met a grown woman that couldn’t scramble an egg. You’re probably eligible for the Guinness World Records or something.”
“I’m not going,” I tried again. Sam wouldn’t let me turn back.
“I’m joking. Get the stick out of your ass and let me domesticate you.”
“I don’t need to be domesticated,” I argued, but not too much. I still let him guide me to the small but sufficient kitchen. I felt like a second grader. I literally didn’t even know how to turn the damned stove eye on.
“These are eggs.”
Dropping my shoulders, I gave him a warning look with a head tilt.
“I’m joking. I’m joking. You make it so easy,” he taunted.
My breath caught in my lungs when he moved behind me, directing me on how to do the little task that most girls knew by the time they were ten. “Didn’t you take home economics in school?” he asked, cracking the egg on the side of the pan.
“No. Girls like me didn’t belong in a kitchen. We didn’t need to be taught that,” I answered in a voice that wasn’t mine. This man was doing something to me. Why?
“What happens if we have a zombie apocalypse and you need to survive?” he asked, cracking the next egg from behind me.
I laughed. “I can do it now,” I said, taking the next egg from his hand. I needed him to back up. The undaunted urge to grind my ass into his crotch was getting stronger and stronger by the second. The wetness between my legs and the throbbing sensation gained just as much strength.
Sam stayed put until I cracked two more eggs. Four should be plenty. I smiled when he handed me three more, explaining how he was a growing boy. I stirred my first ever domesticated meal, trying to control the urges searing between my legs, and between the two of us. I didn’t understand it. Something was going on that had never gone on before, not with me anyway. I didn’t have emotions. Emotions were a sign of weakness. I was far from weak.
Sam whistled while doing his task. I never heard anyone do that before, not in real life. I heard it in songs, and movies, and television, but not like this. It was—hmmm, calming. I could do it, but I didn’t. I learned from Carlos, our gardener one year. He taught me, but Adriana made me stop when I tried to show my dad what I learned. I was so proud of my new ability.
“Dad, look what I learned,” I exclaimed once he joined us at the dinner table. I barely got out two blows before I was stopped by my lovely stepmother.
“Ladies, don’t whistle. I don’t want to hear that again. Do you understand?” she asked, deflating my excitement. Looking to my dad for support, his eyes never left the stocks in the newspaper. Of course, I got a spanking later that night for my excited outburst.
Looking over my shoulder, I wondered if I could still do it. I hadn’t tried in years. Sam cut the ends off the strawberries, whistling a slow theatrical tune. My heart fluttered a little when he smiled and winked. Now what the hell was that? I was getting sick. That had to be it.
“What is that you’re whistling?” I asked, needing something to think about.
“It’s an oldie. Tanya Tucker.”
Holy Fuck Balls! What the hell was happening to me? I felt faint when Sam started singing the words, “Without you, what
do I do with me.” I smiled and shifted my eyes back to the eggs in my pan.
Getting through breakfast without thinking about the dance going on in my pants was difficult. Sam kept my mind occupied by trivial talk. It helped some, but not enough.
“See, you’re a tiny bit there,” he teased, biting my eggs.
“A tiny bit where?”
“Domesticated.”
“You’re still a dick. I’m going to the bathroom. Clean this up,” I ordered, smiling from the laughter behind me. I was being serious.
My bladder was full of coffee and I could only think about one thing. I unsnapped my shorts and moaned, instantly feeling the pleasure my fingers brought to my awaiting pussy. I’ve heard love described like a horrible drug addiction. That’s how I felt when I finally touched myself. It was a relief beyond explanation.
I was so wet, more so than normal. Sliding my shorts down just below my ass, I slid the front of my bikini down—a red one today. I spread my lips, displaying my swollen clitoris while I watched in the little round mirror until I was at the point of no return. I bit into my bottom lip as I felt the first wave of electric shock, deep in the walls of my throbbing sex.
The pain my teeth brought to my lip helped with the scream that wanted to escape while I got my fix. “Aahh, fuck. Hmmm, yes, baby right there,” I coached my reflection as I came—hard. Dropping my head, closing my eyes, and relaxing my breathing, I massaged the remains around my pussy, riding out every last rhythm.
“You okay? You look a little flushed.”
“I’m a lot flushed, but I’m still not cleaning this up. I am paying you.”
“You’re not paying me enough to be your bitch. Get the cups,” Sam ordered, taking our plates and walking away. “Why are you flushed?”
“Never mind,” I said, standing in a stupor. What if I did pay him enough? What if I could get Sam to really domesticate me, do all the things I only watched other people do? Would he do it? Could I even suggest it?
“Fine, let’s clean up. You probably have a tan to catch.”
That wasn’t so bad. I washed while Sam rinsed, filling the room with chatter about second graders. I didn’t pay close attention, though. I couldn’t get the thought of him dominating me, spanking me, and going down there on me. I never had that. I’m sure it was a lot more hype than it really was, but I wanted to find out for myself.
No. Just stop. This was crazy.
Wasn’t it?
Sam stayed glued to my mind. I couldn’t shake the thought of him doing things to me that I desired. Sam didn’t let me be the snobby bitch I was bred to be. He barely left me alone. The following day was much of the same. We made omelets together and then grilled cheese of all things. I didn’t really eat grilled cheese, but they were so good. Not just any grilled cheese, these were Sam and Kendra’s special grilled cheese with four different cheeses. They were amazing.
I laughed more than I ever have when Sam taught me how to whistle some tune by the Bangles. I didn’t really know who they were, but I had heard the tune “Walk like an Egyptian” before. It actually sounded pretty cool and we were somewhat in tune with each other.
Although I knew things were spiraling out of control with Sam, I spent every day on the yacht with him, being silly and having fun with one thing consuming my mind. I went through the speech in my head over and over, trying to get the nerve to ask. What the hell did you say for something like this? Surely, I wasn’t the first person who wanted to pay a hot guy to do dirty things to them. I just watched a 48 Hours special the other night about a new website where sugar daddies paid sugar babies to escort. It wasn’t unheard of, was it?
“What is wrong with you?”
“Who me?” I asked, being reverted back to reality.
“No, I was talking to the other girl on this yacht with us. Do you want wine?” he asked again, holding the two empty glasses.
“Yes, I think I’ll take it up on the top deck and lay out for a while.”
“Okay, I’m going to go play with the controls, set this thing up to get us back to shore.”
I walked away swaying my ass. I didn’t care if he was watching. He was watching in my mind and that’s all that mattered. He was doing many other things in my mind, too—things I wanted to pay him to do. He already told me he was too poor to be eccentric. He needed the money. I would be doing him a favor and he would be returning it.
I didn’t sip my wine. I swallowed it in two quaffs, closed my eyes, and tried to get the ridiculous idea out of my head. I couldn’t. No matter how much I tried, I saw myself lying across Sam’s lap while he spanked me, right here in the open sea. And those thoughts landed a desire between my legs that wouldn’t stop. I moved my chair so I could see Sam before he saw me.
Sliding my bottoms to the side first, I looked at myself and slid the wetness up to the spot, needing the stimulation. Normally, I didn’t waste time like this. I mean, I tended to always watch myself for whatever reason. It turned me on more. I liked watching down there. However, I did a bad thing. I thought maybe I could use it for ammunition later. I saw his eyes barely above the ladder. He was watching me. That turned me on more than me watching me.
I even moved my bikini over more for him see. I doubt that he could from where he was, but the thought of him seeing my pussy was overbearing. Nobody ever did that before. Garrison and I had been married for almost five years and he never saw it. I tried to get him to once. It was the only time we ever had oral. Wait. I had oral. He wouldn’t do it and then the bastard told his father about it.
It was right after a New Year’s Eve party at his company. I was intoxicated and horny as hell, not that the alcohol had anything to do with that, but still.
“Let’s have oral sex,” I blurted out, leaning into my not-so-drunk husband.
“No, we’re not that type. I can’t believe you got this drunk. You shouldn’t act like that around people, Kendra. I don’t like you like this.”
“Do you like me like this?” I slurred, removing my shirt. “Come on. I’ll put your dick in my mouth first.”
“Kendra! For God’s sake. Stop it,” Garrison protested, pushing me off of him.
I dropped to my knees and stroked him through his tuxedo. “See, he wants to go in my mouth. He’s already hard.”
“Kendra, you need to stop. This isn’t right.”
“Says who? Please, just let me try it, Garrison.”
“It’s dirty. We’re not trashy people.”
“I’m sure other rich men get their dicks sucked.”
“Not in our class. Get up.”
I didn’t move from my knees. I undid his belt and released him to my hand. Stroking him with my hand a couple times, I saw the clear pre-come bead at the end of his dick. He startled, pulling back on his hips when I cupped his balls. Those were also dirty and off limits. I let them go, afraid he wouldn’t let me go through with tasting his cock.
“Kendra, I think you should go to bed now.”
I stroked him again, extracting another bead of clear liquid and then licking it with my tongue, stringing it at least an inch from my organ to his. I knew Garrison wasn’t what you would call gifted in that area, but I thought he was an inch bigger than his normal six inches and a lot harder.
“Kendra,” Garrison tried, begging for mercy one more time before I took him to the back of my throat. He wasn’t stopping me after that. I made sure of it. I sucked him like a pro, like I’d been doing it for years on a daily basis. I’m sure I even heard a moan. I waited until I felt him shutter, what he always did when he was getting ready to come. I stopped. Knowing I had him as hot and horny as me, I came to my feet, frantically removing my clothes.
I spread myself wide on the bed, almost as wide as his eyes. “Lick it, Garrison,” I pleaded.
“I—I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” I assured him, writhing my hips into my fingers through my drenched slit. “Just do it. Please, Garrison,” I begged, opening my lips with my fingers. Garrison d
ropped to his knees and looked at my drenched sex. “Lick it, Garrison.”
He was acting like a boy scared of his own shadow. I had to tell him to lick it two more times before his tongue came in contact with my throbbing clitoris. “Do it again,” I coached when he licked once, and pulled back to look at it again. “Right here, suck me right here,” I instructed, exposing my little nub as much as possible. I got one more stroke before his freaked out demeanor won and he stood.
“Aahhhh,” I called below him, wildly, claiming the orgasm he couldn’t seem to extrude from me with my own fingers. “Fuck me, Garrison,” I cried, needing more.
“I’m going to sleep in the spare bedroom. I hope you don’t remember your behavior when you wake,” Garrison disdainfully said, leaving me spread eagle and wanting more.
I got more. I got more with one of my hidden toys while he was in the spare bedroom, jerking off, I was sure.
Mr. Ashby Senior sat me down and had the embarrassing talk the next day about my behavior, the distraction, and unneeded stress I caused my husband. I apologized with red cheeks, mortified that Garrison had told his dad. Garrison never mentioned the incident to me and I never brought it up again. That was the extent of my cock sucking in all my twenty-nine years.
I came again, visualizing Garrison, trying his damnedest to lick me, and knowing Sam was playing peeping tom. Shit. I really just did that. I raised my sunglasses in hopes that it was an illusion and I didn’t really do that. He wasn’t there. I didn’t see him at all. Maybe it was all my imagination. Maybe Sam didn’t see that after all.
Descending the latter, I went to Sam. I had to stop this nonsense before I lost my mind and crossed a line that I couldn’t uncross. “Can you take me back?”
“Back where?” Sam asked, puzzled.
“I want to go back to my house.”
“Why? I wanted to show you how to fish.”
“I don’t fish. Take me home,” I ordered, walking away. I had to. Sam was causing me to think things I didn’t think. Things that confused the hell out of me and dirty things, even more than what I did on my own. Jesus Christ, I was ready to proposition the man. He probably would have had me arrested for extortion or something.