The tension in Rodney's hands was so intense that his knuckles ached. He stared at the garage door in front of him for what seemed like an eternity.
After taking several moments of focusing on nothing in particular, Rodney snapped out of his trance and realized how tight he was gripping the steering wheel of his vehicle. It's an involuntary response to all of the stress he'd been dealing with.
That's the life of the entrepreneur that no one wants to talk about.
Those lonely days bleed into lonely nights -- even if you've been around several people and had meetings all day. It's because few people understand the grind, the fear, and the level of uncertainty you have to push through to be worth a damn in such a rough business climate with no guarantees.
That loneliness had extended to his relationship with Priscilla for quite some time now.
Rodney and Priscilla have been married for 7 years, which is about the time that many people say you start to get that marital itch. The couple hadn't had sex in the longest, and the intimacy was bone dry.
It wasn't for a lack of effort. They just keep missing each other these days.
Rodney breathed a deep sigh, as though he knew he was walking into a battle that he just didn't have the energy for today. He hit the Start/Stop button next to the steering wheel, disabling the engine.
After a deep breath, Rodney stepped outside of his hard-earned blue BMW sedan and got out, putting one foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other -- the metaphorical story of exactly how Rodney has accomplished everything worth having in his life.
As Rodney trudged up the driveway, each step felt like eternal quicksand. His legs grew heavier the closer he got to the front door. His mind and body ached too much to even appreciate the beautiful Georgian architecture and warm colors built through his efforts and ingenuity.
After putting his key in the door, all Rodney could think about was a hot shower. Shit, maybe even a hot bath. His life was that type of day at the grind.
Rodney's home is an oasis just outside of the hottest part of town. The property quietly sits atop a hill -- a lush, green acre teeming with life and vibrance. Ever the man's man, Rodney cuts the grass himself, not wanting to lose touch with the inner working man that earned him his success.
It was that dog in Rodney that built this kingdom. Deep down, Rodney knew if he ever got stripped back down to noodles and sleeping on an inflatable mattress, he could get it all back.
That's the kind of power you only get through effort, sacrifice, and perseverance.
Inside the house, Rodney and his wife, Priscilla enjoy having a huge jetted tub in their master bathroom. Well, Priscilla enjoys it. Rodney hardly ever uses it. How could he when duty calls?
Basically, all of the comforts and luxuries of this home were built by the sweat of Rodney's brow for his family to enjoy and for him to rarely experience. Enjoying it a little too much would make him soft. Soft men don't build legacies.
A wave of relief mixed with guilt hit Rodney when he realized that his parents had taken the boys for the weekend. His boys, Eli and Addison had been dying to go on a camping trip with their grandfather.
It was all they had talked about for weeks. Rodney and Priscilla agreed to let the boys' grandparents pick them up from school that day so they could get the camping started as early as possible.
Rodney was relieved as soon as he remembered.
He gets to do some much-needed unwinding this weekend without worrying about his parental responsibilities. It'll be a nice breather.
Rodney felt guilt for the same reason. It's not easy to unwind knowing that so many people rely on you. It's hard for him to cut it on and off.
Rodney is self-sacrificing, sometimes to a fault, since this grind is about his family and their future, at the end of the day.
The house, nice cars, fancy linens... All of that is nice, but Rodney recognizes that all of those comforts are for the benefit of his wife Priscilla, and their sons. Women and children get to live lives of comfort. Men have to go out and chart their path.
But seeing his wife and kids doing well, kids in private school, a big backyard, and the whole nine -- it makes the work and sacrifice worthwhile.
The door swung open and Rodney took a deep breath inhaling the freshness of the place and the scenery of the palace infrastructure that his efforts made way for.
Rodney trudged up the spiral staircase and to the master bedroom.
Before he could even make it to the bathroom, Rodney found himself collapsing into the bed in sheer tiredness.
Darkness.
^ ^ ^
Suddenly, Rodney found himself in a ritzy hotel room. Judging by the decor and lighting options, it was definitely an executive-level suite.
A couple of feet below eye level, positioned at the perfect level, was the grandest sight -- a woman's curvy, plump, heart-shaped ass pointed skyward, exposed, and vulnerable. Rodney squinted, realizing his equilibrium was shaky. He had definitely had a few whiskeys.
His mind and body were completely relaxed, his breathing full -- the undeniable recipe for a rock-hard dick. He glanced down. Check.
Rodney smiled a cocky grin, since his dick was at full attention, engorged with volcanic blood from the tip, down the merry-go-round of his girthy shaft. His grin turned to a full-fledged belly laugh seeing his pipe aimed directly between the butt cheeks of his femme fatale for the night.
He took in her whole body -- her smooth, supple skin. Her sultry, fit, curvy figure. She's on all fours, arms, and hands spread in front of her palm down. Face down, in full submission and surrender, acknowledging that Rodney could have her however he wanted.
Make me your bitch, this position signaled to the king looking down at his subject.
Rodney slapped her hard on one of her ass cheeks as if to say "How dare you challenge me". A little bit of pain and light humiliation to let her know he was boss. She cooed as his palm roughly disciplined her for having the audacity to be so damn sexy.
"Oooh, daddy," she sang to Rodney from the depth of her being.
He loved seeing her squirm under his power. Rodney gripped a handful of her other ass cheek, and in one swift motion, rammed every inch of his rock inside of her, not giving a damn about her sensitive little pussy.
The roughness of his entry broke the woman down even further, the pleasure and pain sending her into a tizzy. She arched her back at its steepest possible slope and pushed her naked ass even further skyward as if to say here, take more of me.
His mistress slid her palms from in front of her to her sides, and all the way behind her back. She clasped her hands tightly at the wrist bones at her tailbone, right above her curve, like she was putting the cuffs on herself.
"Fuck my pussy, baby. It's yours," she said, losing full control.
Rodney obliged, stroking her from the depths of his hips, lifting the woman's knees off the mattress with each motion of his dicking. The unmistakable sweaty, sloppy sound of the femme fatale plaything getting pounded with no regard turned them both on at a fever pitch.
Rodney grabbed her around the neck with his other hand, pumping every ounce of his stress into her. The more he gave it to her the more she took it. The more he gave it to her, the more she wanted it.
