Filed to story: The Husband Sitter by Jessa Kane
One year later
It’s girls’ night out.
I smile as I climb out of the limousine and shoulder my overnight bag. As usual, the chauffer was sent to pick me up at my apartment in Beverly Hills, taking me to the Black residence. I’ve been living in my gorgeous penthouse for some time now. After my first three magical nights with the couples, Mrs. Black got in touch with the best realtor in Los Angeles and each couple contributed funds to buy me the penthouse. I couldn’t believe their generosity. I still can’t.
I’m living a fairy tale.
Every Sunday night, Mrs. Red calls me with the weekly schedule. A calendar organized into which husband I’ll “sit” for on what nights. I like how it constantly changes. Sometimes Mr. Black needs me more than usual, because Mrs. Black is out of town. Those weeks, I’m usually thrown up against the door as I soon as I walk inside, my ripped panties pressed to his nose while he takes me in a fury, whether or not the maids are watching. Sometimes I think he even prefers having them observe. Yes, Mr. Black is definitely my most arrogant lover.
Mr. and Mrs. Blue like their visits more spaced out. Sometimes Mrs. Blue likes to catch us in an upscale hotel room. Or in the backseat of Mr. Blue’s car, fogging up the windows in the Hollywood Hills. Other times, she just likes me to spend the night between them in their bed, watching with a smile on her face and busy fingers between her legs as I ride Mr. Blue and tell him how magnificent he is—and I’m never lying.
Mr. Red is my Daddy. I save a little something special inside me for him, even though I love all of the husbands equally. My favorite is whomever I’m with. Still, I pulse all over thinking of Mr. Red relieving his stress during one of our little “talks.” The rigid man I met that first night has learned to smile more. His relationship with Mrs. Red has visibly improved and she’s started participating more in the game. Just last week, she told Mr. Red I needed swimming lessons and suggested he teach me. He brought home several swimsuits for me to try on. While Mrs. Red waited outside the bathroom, he came inside to help me tie the itty bitty top and he took me against the bathroom sink while reassuring his wife through the door that we’d be right out.
I stop outside the front door of the Black residence and press a hand to my flaming cheeks. One year and this arrangement has not only shown zero signs of losing its incredible shine, its perfection seems to be enhanced with every visit. I’m in love with love, even more than I always was, because I’m now in deep, enduring love with six individuals. The wives, the husbands. And they love me back.
There are two free nights per week that I spend on my own, walking the bright, boisterous streets of Los Angeles, letting the emotions of those around me catch and take hold. I learn through walking in the shoes of others and I bring those experiences to my relationships with the Blacks, Blues and Reds.
Someday I’ll visit the compound and tell my parents about the marriages I’ve become an integral part of. My lips twitch. I’m just not sure when I’ll be able to fit a vacation into my very demanding schedule. I’ve just had two nights off in a row and the energy pouring from the house tells me I’ve been missed.
Before I can even knock, the door swings open and not one, not two, but three husbands fill the doorway. Girls’ night out is a rarity, but when it rolls around, I husband sit for all three men while the wives go out on the town.
I have to admit, it’s better than any holiday. Even if the excess of testosterone and lust usually causes me to black out afterward. Worth it.
Mr. Blue snags my wrist and drags me inside, up against his impressive body. While his mouth works over mine in a passionate kiss, Mr. Black crowds me from behind, moaning into my hair and grinding his erection against my backside. As always, Mr. Red stands to the side with a glass of whiskey in his hand and waits for me to acknowledge him separately. And I do. As soon as Mr. Blue lets me come up for air, I flutter my eyelashes at Mr. Red. “Hi, Daddy,” I mouth, for his eyes alone.
His cheek ticks in response. Then he winks.
I’m spun around to encounter a rough, demanding kiss from Mr. Black. He guides my hand to his erection, urging me to stroke him off without words. Cool air glides over my buttocks and I sense my skirt has been dragged down. That theory is confirmed when I hear Mr. Blue’s knees hit the floor and feel his tongue dragging up the center of my bottom.
“Good Lord,” Mrs. Blue singsongs as she enters the room. “They can’t even wait until we get out the door.”
Mrs. Black snorts. “Don’t mind us, gentlemen.”
Mr. Black breaks the kiss, his mouth twisting in a smirk. And then Mr. Red steps into his place, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Whatever happens tonight, just remember that I’m allowing it, young lady.”
Knowing what this man—what all of these men need—to be satisfied, I nod dutifully. “Thank you, Daddy,” I mouth. “I love you.”
He reaches around to squeeze and give a light slap to my backside, which Mr. Blue is still hard at work on with his wicked tongue. “Good girl.”
The front door opens, and I wave goodbye to the laughing wives in a daze, security and love surrounding me like a heat wave. Then I’m too lost in sensation to think. I’m carried to a bedroom and feasted on for hours by my three men, their growls of rapture echoing off the walls of the house. Later, they hold me close and kiss every inch of my fevered skin like I belong to them.
I do. I’ll belong to them forever.
Their devoted husband sitter.
THE END