It was a Monday. I know because I was happy to be bombarded with a barrage of meaningless questions to help me forget another weekend without a tingle.
For months my sex drive had been on-again off-again, but that last weekend I tried to jump start her. Marcellus was understanding as always but I could tell that we needed to catch up on some physical adventures. We'd been through droughts before but there was always an obvious reason that blocked our love life - kids, health, work. Something we could point to and get beyond.
But we had gone nearly two months and I hadn't had a single urge to satisfy myself or him. Looking back, the two months before those months were a chore. I had fallen off and didn't realize it until the bike was halfway down the street without me.
I knew he was masturbating behind my back so I wouldn't feel guilty about it because he wasn't masturbating ON me like normal. At least once a week he would corner me like an animal because he caught a glimpse of me getting dressed. He was a horn dog that came every other day whether we were having sex or not. But when I lost interest, he kept it to himself.
So that Monday I coward behind my desk in my glass office as I watched all of the business around me. I tried to let it drown me. I needed meetings and phone calls and email and analytics to absolve me from whatever I wasn't feeling at home.
Unfortunately every encounter I had that Monday morning resulted in my imagination sensing that every other employee in the building had spent their weekend fucking somebody - even if it was just themselves. Their smug looks of satisfaction oozed from every syllable they uttered.
So I shut the door and bit my lip. When I needed a solution to a problem I would press my teeth into my upper lip and focus. Yes, CFO of a fucking $10B company and my go-to strategy is from my kindergarten plan of attack.
My assistants could see me in my glass office so they held all my calls and pushed back all of my meetings. This wasn't new to them, but they had no idea that the problem I was looking to solve involved my pussy.
As I prepared a mental checklist of all of my options - drugs, counseling, exercise, strip club, diet, shopping, escort - my personal phone began to vibrate. It was Marcellus and I knew he wanted me to know that everything was okay. It wasn't fucking okay, but he's fucking brilliant.
Pulling my teeth from my engraved lip, I picked up my phone to read, 'Jennifer, are you there?'
I was confused because he never calls me 'Jennifer' nor asks if I'm 'there', so I sarcastically replied 'Here?'
Almost immediately a response fills my message box with:
'No time to explain. This is Rosa. In 20 min tell Marcellus to meet you in room 2245 at the Royale at 3. Be here by 2:30 and I'll explain. Deleting this text before he realizes his phone is missing.'
'Who is this?' I typed and began to reread the message. But there was no response. On instinct I snapped a photo of my screen as I waited. I began to type again but realized the previous text had disappeared.
'Royale?' I typed as I reached for my work phone to call Marcellus.
'Me silly downtown why' buzzed a response. This was Marcellus typing now.
I began biting my lip. '3 o'clock. Room 2245' I typed and then waited.
'Super busy with photoshoot but try to break free 4 a minut' he replied.
At that point my top-lip was on lockdown. I began searching for women in fashion named Rosa and Room 2245 at the Royale.
The rabbit hole was deep but I felt I had less answers three hours later. That, however, was not going to keep me from jumping in my car and heading downtown.
As the valet took my keys, she asked, "Room number?"
"2245," I responded with a smirk as I headed for the lobby.
"Wait, Miss!" she shouted to stop me in my tracks. "You must use the service elevator for 2245. To your left."
I smiled my appreciation and changed my trajectory to a black doored elevator just around the corner. My high heels echoed in the hallway with each step. As I began to search for the elevator call button, a loud ding announced the arrival of the elevator as the attendant manually opened the door to release a beautiful couple that dripped of that honeymoon period. They appeared to be in love and looked as though they had just gotten away with something. And as the elevator door began to close I watched them walk seperate ways into the parking lot. I felt my pussy moisten as I announced "2245, please" to the hulking attendant - part bouncer, part butler.
As the elevator ascended I asked the stately gentleman, "What exactly will I find in 2245?"
He looked me up and down as though I'd asked him what designer and season my outfit was from. "For you, not quite sure," he stated flatly. "Not the usual type."
But before I could ask my obvious follow up question a low buzzing sound indicated our arrival.
As the doors opened and I stepped out of the elevator, my eyes worked to absorb the massive room shaded in curtains. The details began to disappear as the elevator doors behind me began to close, cutting off most of the light until I could only see the structures.
This was a giant apartment/loft with furniture loosely placed in no apparent order. I could see a large open kitchen and what appeared to be a bathroom, but it was as open as the kitchen. It was as though this was an enormous house with no walls.
I could hear two sets of footsteps coming near but could not see where they were coming from. I was nervous but not scared. The footsteps ended and I could overhear a conversation in Spanish. I tried to translate but they weren't heading to the 'bibliotheca' so I gave up. Soon, one set of footsteps headed toward me.
As her petite but curvy frame came closer I felt relieved as she smiled up at me in heels, jeans and a white T-shirt. It was dark but I could see that she was strikingly beautiful.
"Jennifer," she said with a Domican accent that was too sexy for words, "I've been waiting 12 years to meet you."
Though I was smiling, my relief had disappeared as I wondered aloud, "12 years?" I'd met most of Marcellus' long term clients but that list was long. I'd forgotten more names than I could recall and I'd long given up on the social circles of his work. Not my thing. But her tone was unusual.
She pulled my hand to sit on a long burgundy chaise in the center of the room. "I've watched your husband mentor all of my staff - the photographers, the models, the designers - with a care of a good man. A nice man. An honest man. Whenever I needed sound advice, he was there." Then she shook her head with a naughty smile. "Naturally, at some point, I wanted to fuck him."
At that intersection I expected myself to cut to the chase of whether she did or didn't fuck him so I could determine how I would kill them both. Instead my mind wondered how she might have actually fucked him. It was the dark room and her accent. I clearly wasn't thinking straight.
"But he never had any interest in fucking me or any of my talent," she exclaimed as she grabbed my hands. "He simply talked about you and your kids all of the fucking time. I don't think he had any clue that we were even flirting with him."
Yeah, that was Marcellus. Since the first day we met he was mine. All mine. I never worried about him. Ever. I realized as she spoke that the thought of him cheating would not have hurt me as much as it would have shocked me. Sure, most women would be surprised to find out that their man was cheating, but everyone who knew Marcellus knew that he was an open book with no secrets. None.
We were in a winery outside of San Francisco years ago and a few of us stayed out drinking. We were friends with some of the guests but others were complete strangers. At one point I heard several folks howling in laughter at something Marcellus had said.
"Last Tuesday to a video of you in the shower because you were working late," my friend Preah explained with tears rolling down her eyes. I rightfully assumed two things at that point. First, Marcellus shared the last time he masturbated and he was the only one not drinking.
Open book.
"Jennifer, my name is Rosa," this petite woman with oversized curly locs thoughtfully explained as she held my hands in hers. "While my talent has embarrassingly thrown themselves at your husband only to be shunned one by one and sometimes two by two, I have waited for the proper opportunity."
As she spoke I could feel my panties begin to moisten as I watched her accented words drip from her lips.
"I don't have to tell you that I am not your husband's type," Rosa continued. She was correct from what I could see in the dark. Marcellus was unapologetic about his preference for tall, thin, dark complexion, nerdy, short haired, small tits, big ass, athletic, energetic, funny, intelligent women. I was 9 out of 12, but he always joked that he'd leave me for a 12 out of 12 without blinking.
But Rosa would have to cut the hair that was resting quietly on her breasts to even reach 4 out 12.
"So I asked him a question that he couldn't answer," Rosa continued. "I asked him if you, Jennifer, would be interested in a threesome."
Her voice and hands were melting me as she talked about Marcellus. It's not that I found her attractive, but hearing about my husband from her mouth was simply hot as fuck. I should have been at least been mildly offended. But I was actually turned on. I tried to appear calm but my being there was already a sign that I was far from scared off by her words.
"Now, of course, he laughed it off," she said as she saw that my nipples were listening intently. "So I asked him if you would mind if I simply watched the two of you up close."
I don't think I blinked as awaited his answer during her pause. I could feel myself breathing as my heels began to drop from my feet.
"And he said what I expected him to say," Rosa softly laughed. "He said that you would probably say yes just because he asked, but he wouldn't feel right putting you in that position."
