"Hon, just a reminder, I'm gonna be out with Tasha tonight," called out Stacy, a blonde haired, blue eyed businesswoman in her late 20s, as she headed towards the shower.
"Ok babe, food's out on the counter," responded James, her stay at home husband, (late 20s as well) before lighting a joint and starting up his PS5.
The pungent aroma of marijuana wafted through the house.
James lost his job because of misconduct allegations so the couple had to adjust to a new normal. James now took care of the housework, while Stacy took care of the money. The pasta marinara made with store-bought marinara sauce, meat of varying textures, and undercooked unsalted pasta told of the arrangement's instability.
Stacy was a good wife, and she knew it. She stood by her and supported her man despite numerous women saying terrible things about her. She stayed strong for her husband and their marriage and found ways to adapt. She wished her husband could say the same.
James lost his chiseled six pack, his confident stride, and now sat cooped in the house all day and night all night either gaming or something else as the stench of marijuana permeated the house. Stacy didn't want to know what he was up to that late into the night.
Stepping into the bathroom, Stacy took a deep breath. She didn't want to blame her husband, she wanted to empathize with him. But, watching the man she loved grow self medicate rather than seek help took a toll on her. She'd wanted to preserve an image of the man who made Stacy say yes, but the man her husband now was, made it difficult.
Ignoring the effects of a secondhand high would be difficult if she didn't get moving, so she stepped into the shower and let the water drip down her naked body.
Her toned glutes and quads ached following the intense regiment her trainer put her through. He was a rough man who took pleasure in leaving her in a puddle of sweat. Yet, a smile covered her plump lips as she basked in a post workout afterglow. Something about the pain, pushing her limits, especially when there were so many limits placed on her, made her feel alive.
Not to mention, as she caught a glimpse of it in the mirror, a firm ass came with its own rewards.
A groan escaped her lips as she let her legs stretch in the shower. The noticeable shift in posture as men worked to manage their arousal, the way they looked down if she made eye contact, men became playdough. Sure, she was loyal to her husband but she was now the breadwinner. So, she was obligated to use every weapon in her arsenal to bring money.
She soaped up her D cup tits and slowly massaged them as she thought to herseIf, 'These assets of mine ought to be used for something right?'
It was only when she felt her fingers brush against a hard nipple that Stacy realized the silliness of what she was saying, as well as how the stink of marijuana had made it into the bathroom.
She exited the shower and dried off her face and body. She needed to move quickly if she wanted to make it out of the house sober. Stepping up to the bathroom mirror, she began applying makeup, defining her natural cheekbones, adding volume to her big blue eyes and highlighting her eyebrows to create a mesmerizing visage.
Pursing her lips, she finished the look with a pale lip balm before stepping back to admire her reflection. A vogue cover girl stared back at her. Her father used to tell her prettiness was God given, but beauty was earned. And, while her slim body and big eyes drew the envy of many and was something to be thankful for, it was worthless if not presented well. Her father was a misogynist, but she always thought there was truth to his words. That is until she met Tasha.
"Sexiness that's more than skin deep baby, that's how you get ahead in a world of dicks and cunts," Tasha explained, "if God gave you gifts, it's on you to make the most of them."
Tasha wore makeup well too, but that wasn't why everyone at the office fawned over her. Her every movement and action, acknowledged and seemed to accentuate the physical assets Tasha was born with. There were arguably prettier women than Tasha, but none were given the pull, power, and influence Tasha was. None were as beautiful.
She put the final touches on her makeup and added curls to her hair. Stacy then found a particularly revealing dress that accentuated her figure and revealed some cleavage. It was a little slutty but tastefully so. The outfit was meant help reinvigorate her marriage's sex life as her husband avoided sex after losing his job. It didn't.
She finished the outfit out with some 3 inch platform heels and checked herself in the mirror. She looked sexy. Hopefully Tasha would appreciate her effort.
She felt her stomach grumble but decided to ignore it. The last thing she wanted to stomach was bad pasta marinara feeling as good as she did. Not to mention that the amount of weed polluting the air would make it difficult to drive if she hung around much longer.
"I'm heading out now," Stacy called out as she strutted through the front hallway.
James mumbled a response as his wife got ready to leave. Stacy paused and gave him a glance but kept walking. Right as the door closed, James got up, turned off his PS5 and rolled another joint. Grabbing some tissues and moisturizer from his desk, he booted up his PC, unzipped his pants and freed his cock.
-
Driving over to Tasha's, Stacy played some jazz. The breath of the trumpet players vibrated against her eardrums with the sounds of their passion as James's habits magnified their presence in the car with her.
Tall trumpet players played possessed by the music, thrusting their bodies and letting sweat dribble from their skin. Their unapologetic passion embodied in every note they played. And Stacy let their essence penetrate her. Safe in her car, she experienced the confident decadence of the music: the nervous excitement of a night out. The weight she carried when she was at home felt as light as a feather, if only for a night. Part of her wished she could enjoy this with her husband, but another part questioned that.
Stacy's head was still feeling the phantoms in her car when she rang Tasha's doorbell. She was sobering up but their smooth vibrations still echoed in her ear. But, they were harshly displaced as the door opened by the sounds of blaring hip hop.
Stacy almost lost her footing.
"Girl, are you good?" A voice called out to her with concern.
Stacy felt her face turn red as she steadied herself and looked up, passed a pair of marvelous E-cup tits to meet a pair of stunning hazel eyes, full red lips, and beautiful brunette curls. Tasha was dressed in a beautiful sequin dress that hugged her voluptuous Kardashian figure. Her posture let the outfit grip her curves reflecting particles of dazzling light. She looked beautiful. Stacy was at a loss for words.
Tasha then sniffed the air and smiled, "Oh I see you started pregaming this night already."
"Ah no wait it's actually-" Stacy tried to orient herself and explain she didn't normally smoke weed because it was against company policy. That it was her husband's weed, but Tasha just smiled and raised a placating hand.
"My girlfriend was actually just about to roll a little something before for the club," she explained and beckoned her inside. Stacy felt unsure but followed.
-
Inside the living room sat a thick boned, raven haired, green eyed woman. She was dressed in stark contrast to the other two women wearing gorgeous dresses. She wore a hoodie and sweatpants. But, more importantly, her hands held what looked like the aforementioned "little something". Stacy made eye contact with the woman and she gave her an easy smile.
"Oh you must be Natasha's coworker, pleased to meet you, my name is Tanya."
Tasha sat on the large couch in the spot furthest from Tanya and beckoned Stacy to sit next to her, "Tani here is going to be our D.D. for the night. By that I mean the designated driver, her tits are in fact bigger than DDs," she finished with a laugh.
Stacy sat down in between the two women unsure of what to say in response and let the hip hop music vibrating through the couch speak for her.