An Unwilling Affair

What the hell was he doing? The thought throbbed in his head, numbing his mind to the fact he was once again driving to the Hilton, while Sabra waited for him at home. Sabra. Just over six feet in height, a bodacious blonde that fired every man's fantasy. They had suffered a lot over the last twenty years as an interracial couple. Pregnant in high school, they had married, graduated, and went to college. When his leg snapped in two places during the playoffs, he'd finished law school, passed the bar, and they moved home to Eastern North Carolina. They were rich. They were beautiful. They overcame the odds. And here he was, driving to the Hilton…again.

Cal had heard about the new legal assistant. A Midwestern girl that was sharp as a tack and ploughed through the work of three assistants. She had a mouth, and an opinion on everything. Word was, don't ask, and she won't tell. Cal wanted to entice her from the pool directly onto his team. He had had good reports on her from all of his team, including his territorial secretary, Charlene. Rounding the corner to the third floor office, Cal slowed his step. He had surely walked onto a forties movie lot. The long skirt and jacket, the high heeled pumps, the dark, curling, russet hair with hints of red and gold and blonde. Glasses, attached to a unique chain, perched on her nose as she absently drank coffee, pacing slowly, and reading the brief in her opposite hand. Without the heels, Cal bet she stood no more than 5'2" or 5'3". She was svelte, except for the bust line. It swelled to proportions that were more than just attention grabbing. They were almost obscene in their girth.

"I could have them reduced, but I figure, "What the hell. They're just tits," a low throated voice conveyed with a hint of suppressed laughter.

Cal slipped his card into the door, entering the room quickly. It wasn't that he was so much afraid of being seen, as he was afraid of what anybody walking by might see. Jasmine, of Junction City, North Dakota, had tapped into his psyche and found the voyeur in him. He questioned her about all the sex she had. Didn't she ever feel used or degraded or just plain dirty? She had laughed, kissed him sweetly on the lips, and told him there were not a lot of entertainment features to be found in Junction City outside of fucking. Where she came from, people understood the difference between recreational fucking and making love, or, for that matter, fucking your partner.

Melanie Caruthers, the very tall, very blonde, and very pregnant trophy wife of senior partner Malcolm Caruthers, was naked, pressed up against the windows, and her pussy was being greedily suckled by Amanda Spires Caruthers, the very tall, very muscled, ebony haired daughter of Malcolm Caruthers. Melanie and Amanda had been college roommates, and Cal now suspected they had been a lot more. How the hell Jasmine summed up everyone's weakness or buried desires he didn't know. Melanie began to slap her hands on the window, her legs wrapped tightly around Amanda's shoulders. "That's right, you fucking dyke!" Melanie screamed, her hands now making fists in Amanda's hair. Amanda's rhythm never changed, her face fucking and sucking lover's pussy in a steady, hard, rhythm, while her man sized right hand fisted the wispy pregnant woman's ass with loud, popping sounds. "Fuck me! Fuck Me! FUCK ME!" Melanie screamed, a sob catching in her throat.

Melanie began a litany of moaning, and Cal felt a mouth encompass his engorged prick. He threw his head back and moaned with Melanie. He dropped his briefcase and jacket, and reached out to the head attached to the mouth that was servicing his cock. He felt the curls, and a little part of him let go a little bit more. With Jasmine, he never knew with whom he would be naked. Melanie screamed, "That's right cunt! That's right, you fucking dyke cunt! Fuck me harder! Fuck me HARDER, damn it!" And then Melanie moaned with such an intensity of feeling, Cal felt himself hardening more. Wrapping his hands in Jasmine's curls, he began to slam his prick into her mouth. He slammed her mouth over and over again, hoping he choked her to death on his 10" of thick, black meat. As Melanie screamed,

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Cal felt himself throbbing a relief equal to Melanie's as he spewed down Jasmine's throat. With weak legs, he pulled Jasmine up, and kissed her on the lips, tasting his own saltiness. She smiled quietly at him before leading him to the king size bed where Melanie and Amanda were already snuggling.

It was surreal, the way Jasmine, the eternal hostess, made formal introductions and how they all responded with the propriety of people meeting for the first time at a social gathering though they were all buck naked and lounging against one another on the king size bed.

"Cal," Jasmine said, absently pinching Amanda's purple-colored nipples, "the girls are going to need a lawyer they can trust after Malcolm dies. They were planning on six children. However, it looks like Cal may not make it beyond this one and the next. Or, is it this one and two more?"

Amanda answered disparagingly, "I say we freeze the sperm. Unfreeze them every two years."

"Despite your disregard for your father, Malcolm is not a stupid man, Amanda," Melanie said tiredly, bending over to kiss her partner and take a bit of the sting out of her words. "Now, I want you to let Jasmine do some lovely things to your body, and Cal and I will map out strategy." And with that, Cal buckled his pants and walked out to the sitting room with Melanie.