Sparing

I stood silently next to my mother as yet another unidentified relative came up, faux tears dripping into a dry hanky, insincere platitudes wreathing my mother. I couldn't understand how she was able to withstand it. More than one woman in this room had probably slept with my father during their 35-year marriage and everyone knew it. They all wanted to see how my mother would handle herself.

It was an open secret my parents hadn't shared a bed nearly as long as I've been alive. The reason behind the separate bedrooms was probably the only thing the gossips in this town didn't know. There were plenty of theories, but none were ever proven.

The tension vibrating through my mother transmitted itself to me and I put a hand to her shoulder. I felt the immediate withdrawal, though her body didn't move an inch. It had always been this way. Mother, never Mom or Mama, could never bring herself to embrace me as I'd seen other women do for their children. She wasn't the type to kiss booboos or bake cookies to make me feel better.

No, instead, it'd been my father I'd run to for everything. He'd been the one to buy my first tampon, the one who held me after my first broken heart, and the one who'd told me I could do anything. Of course, as I grew older and began making noises about wanting to be something other than a lawyer, the teeth behind the previously sheepish wolf smile came out.

By the time I was 18, I was persona non grata in my own home. Neither parent was willing to love me unconditionally, so I decided to make my own way. My grades were tip top and so I got into the university of my choice with a full ride, with no need to ask for anything from them.

I believe it was my need for a loving person in my life that led me to Barry. Oh, god, Barry. His name probably conjures up images of a nervous balding suited man who works for the IRS. In reality, he'd been a fun-loving rogue with an impish smile and dangerous fingers. He swept me off my big feet and into his impossibly large bed.

We'd met through my boss; by that time I'd graduated with a Masters in Linguistic (my way of sticking it to my father) and discovered no one needed an overly educated English major with no real desire to enter that particular world.

I'd answered an ad in the paper for an executive assistant and was with the ad company for nearly three years when Barry became our client.

You've probably heard the ad line "Diapers that only babies could love." It was cheesy, but Furbur Baby's Diapers loved it and so my boss Mr. Browning became their adman. Barry was the go to guy and man, did I go to him.

Within weeks of meeting him at the office, I found myself ensconced in his bed, his new beck and call girl. Of course looking back at it now, I can understand the motive. Despite my education, I was sadly lacking in the male companionship department. I was ripe for the picking and desperately hungry for someone, anyone, to notice me beyond, "Penny get me some coffee" or "Penny, bring me the Liederman file."

I had spent a fortune in intimate toys, so I wasn't completely naive, I just didn't have the experience necessary. Barry took my virginity (though not the hymen for I'd lost that to a 9 inch dildo some years before) in a rush of passion after an especially intense negotiation for his company.

We'd met for a late "working" dinner that night and an hour later I found myself lying face down on his comforter, my arms tied behind my back with my lacy stockings and my panties stuffed in my mouth.

I can still feel his hands, brutal against my skin, as he bent me over the bed and slapped my ass. When I whimpered, he allowed his greater body weight to push me down into the soft confines of his bed. He bit me hard on the shoulder, telling me "stay still when I tell you to."

Having never allowed any man to dominate me since my father, I was surprised by the rush of pleasure that coursed through my body originating from the bite mark. I could sense his satisfaction as he slid his thick cock into my very slick passage. Due to many years of ramming myself with anything faintly phallic, there was only minimal discomfort at his invasion. He fucked as if he were a starving man given a feast.

That first time I had no pleasure as he told me later after his roaring come, I was his bitch and would only get it when he allowed me to. He laughed as I squirmed beside him, my pussy hungry for the denied orgasm. When I begged for it, he asked if I'd do anything. At my consent, he kneeled over me and forced my lips back so he could plunge his hard cock into my mouth. He face-fucked me for a while before letting me finally up for air.

After several minutes of taunting me by sliding up and down my streaming pussy, he finally fucked me into oblivion. I came so hard I bit my lip bloody. He licked up the blood with a strange light in his eyes and we both knew my body belonged to him.

For 6 glorious months, I was in heaven, imaging our affair would extend indefinitely, perhaps even into something more permanent.

Of course I ignored the small voices that pointed out he never took me places people we know would see us together nor did he introduce me to anyone of importance (i.e. his friends or family). We hid our passion for one another because "what we had was special and couldn't be shared with the outside world yet." I, being the stupid fool I was, swallowed that hook line and sinker until the day I went to an office meeting and met Mrs. Barry.

She was exactly the opposite of me. A slim athletic heiress whose daddy owned the company Barry worked for. She had him by the balls and everyone knew it; once her father died, they'd be entitled to a multi-million dollar company. What is sex compared to the lure of cold hard coin?

When I confronted him, he'd smiled and gently patted my shoulder. He was genuinely surprised by my aspirations, especially given I wasn't exactly gifted in the looks department. When I asked, "why me?" he responded "because you let me fuck you in ways a real lady wouldn't."

Fortunately my upbringing in a cold emotionless house served me well. He may have scorched my pride and made me question my sexuality, but damn if I'd let him know that! Of course, I couldn't let him off lightly so I kicked him where he would hurt the most -- his bank account. Despite the embarrassment knowing what a fool I'd been, I revealed our affair to his wife, complete with pictures he talked me into letting him take.

The shot of his tongue buried deep in my ass (he'd rigged a camera to hang down from the ceiling) was the clincher I think. Of course, I suspect it was also the fact she's an incredibly sexy and good looking woman and he cheated on her with me.

For her it was probably the similar feeling Elizabeth Hurley had when Hugh Grant cheated with the prostitute Divine Brown. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not dog-ugly or anything, but I'm just another one of those faceless, nameless women you see every day and forget before you even turn away.

Fortunately, the details of their marriage's decline weren't known by many. I know Mr. Browning was suspicious of the late hours I spent "working" with Barry, but he never said anything and I was able to retain my job, if not my dignity.

I shook my head to loose those bad memories and turned my eyes to the rest of the room. Despite my father's success as an attorney, my family didn't live high on the hog. As a result, the living room was of a modest size and couldn't hold the many that came.

A hand to my forearm brought back a vivid memory of the stranger who'd touched me earlier. I wondered briefly who he was, but erased that thought immediately as I knew it wasn't the time or place. The images from my prior encounter would be fodder for my ever hungry pussy. I glanced at my mother, unnerved by her touch, but willingly following her lead.

I looked up into the laughing green eyes of the stranger.