Filed to story: The Husband Sitter by Jessa Kane
Mr. Black
I spent last night in one of Mrs. Black’s guest rooms, surrounding in comfort. The four-poster bed is the largest one I’ve ever seen and covered in fluffy goose feather pillows. I never wanted to leave, even if I felt a little guilty being so indulgent. Back at the compound, I would have been up at the crack of dawn milking cows, spreading seed for the chickens and gathering eggs for breakfast.
After a breakfast of French toast and coffee was delivered by a maid, another maid arrived with a garment bag and instructions to bathe and get dressed. Assuming I was meant to don the contents of the garment bag, I unzipped it to find a white, lace bra and panty set dangling from a hanger, complete with thigh-high stockings. In the bottom of the bag sat red stilettos with a five-inch heel. I teeter in them now as I pace my bedroom, practicing in the unconventional footwear so I won’t embarrass myself when I leave the room.
The door opens and Mrs. Black sweeps in, laughing under her breath and shaking her head. “Mr. Black isn’t going to know what hit him,” she drawls. “You’re something out of a very naughty fantasy, Astrid.”
Just like yesterday, the presence of Mrs. Black’s sexual energy tickles me in secret places, heating my body. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
“Oh, it is.” She frowns a little. “I have to warn you, it might take some convincing for Mr. Black to see the wisdom of this plan. He’s very devoted to me. We’ll need to work as a team and improvise if needed.”
I nod, but I’m confused. “He doesn’t know I’m coming.”
“No, I thought a sneak attack would be most effective.” She looks me over head to toe again and gives a low whistle. “If you can’t crumble his defenses, nobody will. Follow me, dear.”
We walk down a long stretch of hallway and down the stairs, taking a left at the bottom and veering toward the back of the house. There’s a low baseline of music that grows louder as we approach a closed door. I’m not sure what I expect to see when Mrs. Black opens the door, but I’m not prepared for the sight of Mr. Black.
I’ve grown up around all different kinds of men. Because of the relaxed atmosphere of the compound, I’ve seen them in various states of undress. Shirtless or in underwear. None of those men made me tingle between my legs at the sight of them. Mr. Black wears nothing but perspiration-soaked sweatpants. He’s boxing. He wails on a red punching bag with tape-wrapped hands, his lips peeled back in a growl as he pummels it. The muscles in his torso ripple and bunch, those sweatpants slipping lower and lower on his hips until he stops and tugs them up with a superior sniff. Yes, superior. This man’s arrogance is heavy in the air, ripe as summer fruit.
“This is what he does to burn off the excess…stamina.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “It stopped working a while ago. He’s like a caged animal, poor man.”
I shift in my heels. “If you don’t mind me saying so…you seem like you could do just about anything. Especially help him burn off his…um…”
“Oh, I can and do satisfy him. It’s merely a time crunch issue.” She laughs quietly. “Today alone, I have meetings beginning at noon until seven, then I’m flying to Nova Scotia to pick out tile for a pop star’s guest bathroom. From there, I’ll travel to Rome for two nights because there’s an heiress in Beverly Hills who simply must have Italian marble. Then back to Los Angeles for another endless round of meetings. When I said I’m busy, I meant it.” She nods at her husband. “Meanwhile his physical needs go unmet. I’ll be much happier knowing he’s not ready to snap.”
Ready to snap.
Those words bring my nipples to tight peaks.
Mr. Black is young. Maybe in his early twenties, only a few years older than me—and his face and body remind me of a sculpture, almost too symmetrical and handsome with high cheekbones and golden hair that curls over his ears. Sweat drips from his body and makes his tan skin shine. He’s compelling and…gorgeous.
“Hello, darling,” croons Mrs. Black.
Mr. Black steadies the punching bag and turns with a predatory expression. Ready to pounce. When he sees me, his feral smile fades and the arrogance I felt in the air before wavers. “What is this?” Is that a French accent? I think so. It’s hard to tell when there’s so much bite in it. He takes a step in our direction and stops, making a visible effort not to look at me. “Who is she?”
“Your date for the morning.”
There’s a guarded rise of heat in his expression, but he swallows and turns away, levering a punch at the bag. Another. Another. “I knew you were planning something. All this sneaking around.” He stops and plants his hands on his hips. “I know you’ve been worried about me needing more from you. But this? It’s not happening. I won’t do it.”
Mrs. Black laces her fingers with mine and guides me into the room, even though I feel terribly out of place. Even if I wasn’t wearing underwear and high heels in a home gym, Mr. Black clearly doesn’t want me here and the last thing I want is to go closer to him. To feel his disdain.
“Darling, I’m only going to get busier. And you are only going to get more miserable.” She trails a finger down the sweating slope of his back. “I’d rather be in control of an arrangement. To know and trust who you’re with, rather than you losing patience and seeking pleasure elsewh—”
“I would never!” Mr. Black pins her with a fierce look. “I would never be unfaithful. No matter how badly I…” He accidentally looks at me, his gaze sliding over my breasts. His pupils dilate, blocking out the gold of his eyes. “I wouldn’t,” he finishes hoarsely.
“I know.” She threads her fingers through her husband’s hair. “When I found you, darling, you were an escort in Paris. Not because you needed money, but because you enjoyed giving pleasure. It’s one of the things you’re built to do. You’re withering without an outlet. I’m giving you one.”
“Please no—”
“She’s a virgin.”
Mr. Black’s eyes flare and he makes a rough sound, turning his head away from me, his fists shaking at his sides.
“Imagine if someone without your skill and care made the first time terrible for her,” she murmurs. “We can’t have that. Look at her, darling. She’s beautiful.”
“I saw her,” he snaps, that arrogance whipping back into place.
“I’m giving her to you.”
Mr. Black’s resistance remains obvious. I truly don’t think Mrs. Black’s plan is going to work, even though his lust is a fire-breathing dragon in the room. The front of his sweatpants is a thick bulge and his stomach shudders, hollowing, rising. He wants. He wants so bad and that same desire invades me now, rolling into me like army tanks, making my sex heavier and heavier. It’s like he smells the change in me, because his head turns slowly, his nostrils flared.
I begin to pant. I’m probably embarrassing myself, but I can’t help it. Sexual frustration reaches out from him and cradles me, heating me, dragging me under. My gift is transferring his pain to me and it’s intense.
“Where did you find her?”
Mrs. Black laughs quietly. “Believe it or not, she came to us.” She drops her hand from Mr. Black’s hair and traces a finger along the lacy cup of my bra, making me whimper. “Tell me this creature wouldn’t please you.”
His breaths begin to match mine. That bulge at the front of his pants grows, grows, until the head of his erection pushes up through the waistband. “I can’t,” he growls. “I can’t do this.”
“Why don’t we make it a game this first time?” Mrs. Black suggests. “If I remember correctly, darling, your clients liked to paint their fantasy scenarios. They would ask you to fulfill them. Am I right?”
“Yes,” he responds tightly, licking his lips. “On the rare occasion I wasn’t enough of a fantasy.”
“Let’s take a page from their book.” Slowly, Mrs. Black urges my body closer to Mr. Black. Closer. Until my belly is grazing his distended manhood. “I hope you don’t mind…” She winks. “If I go for broke and make this scenario quite naughty.”
Neither one of us says anything. My mouth can’t move when he’s staring at it like a starved wolf with a rabbit in his sights. There’s a mixture of guilt and starvation and wonder that makes me want to press against him shamelessly, but I manage to hold off, letting the story weave around us.
“I’m not your wife right now, I’m your…mother,” she purrs in Mr. Black’s ear. When he rolls his magnificent eyes, she smiles. “Stay with me. I recently married her oh-so-rich father, inheriting Astrid here as a stepdaughter, which makes her your…”
“Stepsister,” he rasps, still not impressed. “Very original.”
“Give me some credit,” Mrs. Black continues, studying her nails. “It seems her father has tired of me and is considering trading me in for a younger wife, but I’ve signed a prenup, so a divorce would leave us broke, darling. Unless we find some way to connect this girl and her father to us for a very…long…time.”
Mrs. Black circles around behind me, working the snaps of my bra with her fingers, letting it fall to the floor. “You must get this little virgin pregnant, darling. We’ll either be paid hush money or stay connected to the family forever. It’s a matter of financial survival.” She reaches past me and takes her husband’s hand, guiding it to my breast. “Hurry. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Damn you,” Mr. Black groans, moisture building on his upper lip. He’s shaking now, his hot gaze locked on my breasts. “Are you really a virgin or is that part of this fucked up fantasy?”
“I really am,” I whisper, a tremor passing through me when he releases a closed-mouth moan. “I’ve been one since I was born.”
He huffs a laugh. “Are there any rules, Mrs. Black?”
“None.”
His eyes tick to her. “Are you staying to watch?”
“I have to make sure the job gets finished, don’t I?”
Mr. Black places a single finger on my shoulder and taps it, telling me without words to get on my knees. One time, I walked in on my neighbor and her husband. The husband’s back faced me, but my neighbor was on her knees and I could tell she was…using her mouth to give pleasure. Is that what Mr. Black wants me to do? I think that’s the case, but he follows me to the floor, bringing us both to kneeling positions on the soft, blue gymnasium mat.
“Get on your back, mon sucre d’orge.”
“What does that mean?”
Mr. Black crawls over me, a stray curl falling down the center of his forehead. “My little candy.” He hooks a finger in my white, lace panties and lowers them slowly, cursing at what he finds. “Because you’re going to be very little and very sweet, aren’t you? Mon Dieu.”
“We don’t have a lot of time before her daddy comes home,” drawls Mrs. Black from her lean against the wall. “You have to fuck her fast, darling.”
His energy smolders like a bonfire as he visibly disappears into the fantasy. His upper lip curls and that cockiness returns in spades. The finger hooked in my panties drags them the remaining distance down my legs, his right hand shoving my knees wide. I’m completely unprepared when Mr. Black drops his mouth to my private flesh and jiggles my clitoris with his tongue. He stays there until a scream builds in my throat, then licks long and deep straight up the center of my damp folds.
“You think I haven’t noticed your little crush on me, mon sucre d’orge?” He runs his tongue along his full, bottom lip, leaving it glossy. “Deny it if you want, but I can taste the lie. Tastes like wet virgin.”
This is the thing about my gift. I don’t have to be in front of someone to take on their emotions. Just like the mountain climber I channeled earlier for bravery. Mr. Black is putting me in the shoes of his stepsister. A stepsister with an innocent crush that’s about to be corrupted.
Mr. Black watches me with darkening eyes as he licks me repeatedly in a savoring manner, the tip of his tongue continually returning to my clit to flicker against the swollen nub. It’s the most divine, mind-blowing sensation I’ve ever experienced. Heat is fountaining inside of me, my muscles twisting and releasing. There is a man’s mouth between my legs. “I didn’t think you noticed,” I heave, seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. “My crush on you.”
Laughing darkly, Mr. Black traces a path up my belly with his tongue, continuing to my chest, where he drags it around each nipple, setting off sparks behind my eyes. “You’ve been shameful. Flaunting yourself. Making my cock hard against my will,” he mutters against my mouth, some reality threaded into those hoarse words. “Now you’ll suffer the consequences. Spread your thighs and let big brother rut you.”
If there wasn’t such immense need in Mr. Black’s eyes, I might have recoiled at the harshness in his words. But I feel his true intensions down to my marrow. The very real presence of his wife is in the room and he’s using animosity toward me to ease his guilt. He’s making it all right for himself to sleep with me within the bonds of his marriage and I have only sympathy, the increased need to ease his hunger.
I drop my thighs open and quietly show him my trust.
He falters, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. “Mon Dieu.” His head lowers, his breath warming my mouth. “You are unexpected.”
His praise makes me brave and I run fingertips down Mr. Black’s sculpted back, sucking in a breath when he begins to roll his hips, dragging the length of his erection through my slickness, the base of him continually prodding me right where I need it. And we moan into our first kiss, Mr. Black sucking in a surprised breath through his nose. I can taste his shock, but over what? I don’t know. I can simply lie there and let his tongue play with mine, moving my head to accommodate the rising intensity of the kiss.
When he pulls away, the grooves in his forehead are even deeper, his eyes shooting angry sparks at me. At first. Now he’s directing them at his wife. “Is this what you wanted?” He fists his huge erection and pushes home slowly, stretching me to full capacity. I’ve never been this close to another human being, and having one inside me is a rapid tumult of his feelings all at once. Lust, confusion, guilt, lust, lust, lust. Shock over the limited room inside me. “Is this what you wanted, wife?” Mr. Black grinds out. “To see me balls deep in this tight, little brat?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
And now I’m not only blanketed by Mr. Black’s emotions. Now his wife’s feelings roll over me in a wave and I’m not just desperate beyond belief for physical relief, I’m also worried. “Please. Don’t be angry with her,” I say to Mr. Black, clasping the sides of his face. “She only wants you to be happy. Needs it.” Ignoring the ripple of pain between my thighs, I wrap them around his hips and lift my ass, making him groan. “Show her your love and gratitude by accepting her gift. She needs this as much as you.”
“Merde,” he rasps, punching forward with a thrust and staring down into my eyes. “What are you?” His hands curl under my knees and lift them higher, higher, his drives turning frantic, his teeth baring themselves just above my face. “I can feel you in my head. All over my fucking body. Who is this creature you brought me, wife?”
“She’s magnificent, isn’t she, our beautiful Astrid?” Mrs. Black’s high heels rap on the floor until I can see them in my periphery, just beside my face. Standing over me while her husband mates me in an all-out frenzy on the floor. “How does she feel, darling?”
“Incredible, damn you. Her pussy…” He presses my knees to my shoulders, his hips pumping, pumping, pounding. “It’s like fucking the pinkie finger of a glove.”
“Now wouldn’t that feel nice a couple of times a week while I’m away?”
“Yes.”
I’m barely able to draw breath around the glorious sensations. There should be pain, because I’m a virgin, but there’s none. There is no negativity in this room or inside my mind and body. I’m a pleasure vessel, getting and giving, to me, to Mr. and Mrs. Black. “Her father just texted,” Mrs. Black murmurs, returning us to the game. “He’s in the driveway. Looking for his innocent, little girl.”
Mr. Black throws his head back on a moan. “Merde.”
“Fill her quick. We need her pregnant.” Mrs. Black crouches down. “Feel how ripe she is for a child. Give her your come. Now.”
“I will. I can’t help it.” His open mouth lands on my neck, biting, sucking. “Time to reap what you sow, baby sis.”
Every cell in my body is screaming in euphoria at having so much gratitude leveled in my direction. Mr. Black is abundantly grateful that I’m letting him partake in my body and that I’ve bridged a connection between him and his wife. Made this situation okay. Mrs. Black is thrilled and more than a little turned on, watching her husband attack my mouth in a desperate kiss and grind his hips down one final time—
My universe splinters apart. The pressure plaguing my body releases like the helium from a popped balloon, and I scream, my body arching of its own volition. Red and pink paint the space in front of my eyes, wave after wave of bliss drowning me and shooting me back to the surface. Mr. Black is riding the same tide, the pleasure somehow even more intense for him. He’s shouting, shoving my knees to the mat and bearing down, his flesh convulsing inside me, rivulets of his seed dripping down my inner thighs. I’m receiving the experience of this orgasm from two sides and I can’t take it. I can’t take…
My overloaded brain takes mercy on me and the room fades in and out. The last thing I remember is Mr. Black tucking me into my huge, four-poster bed upstairs, Mrs. Black watching anxiously behind him.
“She feels…everything,” he breathes. “And amplifies it.”
“Yes.” Her hand slides over his shoulder and he twines their fingers together, kissing her wrist tenderly. “She’s going to be good for all of us.”