The Rich Mans Wife

Victor Sonjes had the look of a corporate chief executive, or perhaps, even a Wall Street banker. He was neither, but he was a powerbroker in his own right. He was a ruggedly handsome man of fifty-three, very tall, and leanly built, with neatly cropped sandy hair and steely gray eyes that could see little beyond his gold. He was charismatic, bright and shrewd, and outwardly magnanimous when the situation called for it. There was also cruelty in him. Deeply-rooted, and it reared its head most often with those closest to him, and those he held profound contempt for.

He leaned awkwardly against the edge of the big sturdy desk in the dim light of his vast study. He used one hand to steady himself. The other rested at the back of the head of an average-looking, but heavily buxom, young blond, who knelt topless between his parted legs. He used the hand to rock the woman’s stuffed mouth up and down his spike-hard cock. There was the glint of smugness and satisfaction on his face as he stared down at the woman who struggled to keep up with the pace set by his pushing hand. She pounded anxiously at his scrawny thighs with small fists, but her anxiety went ignored. The tears of deep humiliation fell silently from her eyes.

Sonjes threw his head back suddenly. His mouth fell open, and he panted erratically several times as his orgasm built steadily. He finally clenched his perfect white teeth, and grunted deeply from his tautly, muscled stomach, as his warm oily seed spurted like pulsing globs of lava from the head of his jerking cock. He pushed his hips violently two times, thrusting the fleshy lance deeper into the young woman’s helpless mouth.

The woman stopped her fight, and concentrated solely on swallowing the sticky fluid as fast as she could. Sonjes forced her head down farther, maliciously, causing her to lose her rhythm. She gagged violently, spitting the seed from mouth and nose. It ran from the corner of her mouth, and down her chin, dripping onto the polished wood floor between her spread knees.

The wealthy man relaxed his grip, letting the blond fall away from his spent crotch. He began to chuckle as he tucked his cock away and zipped his pants. It rose softly from his chest to a deep and taunting kind of laughter that filled the enormous room. The woman just hovered on her hands and knees, unable to speak or catch her breath, as she tried to cough the remaining clots of the thick liquid from her throat.

He caught a suddenly glimpse of movement in the study doorway, and his eyes rolled casually in that direction. His pretty wife stood staring at him. She did not utter a word. There was no surprise or hurt in her eyes, only the blank stare of disillusionment.

Morgan Sonjes was tall, and elegantly attractive. She was forty-four. Her build was slender. She had luxuriously thick auburn hair that was cropped neatly around her face. There was nothing particularly exceptional about her face, but crystal clear sea-green-colored eyes, a perfectly straight nose, delicate cheekbones and soft thin lips worked together to create a picture of beauty and grace.

Sonjes gave his stunned wife an impish little grin, and then watched as she turned slowly and walked away. When she disappeared from his view, he looked down at the young blond again. His grin faded quickly, and the unmistakable glare of distain rose to replace it in his narrow gray eyes.

“Get your clothes on, and get the fuck out of here,” he spat pitilessly at the young blond, almost under his breath.

~~

“Mr. Sonjes won’t like this, ma’am,” the raspy, concerned voice echoed in her head. “This is going to make him crazy.”

Morgan Sonjes smiled ironically through the steady stream of tears that poured from her big green eyes. She dabbed at the tears with a handkerchief, and then wiped carelessly at her nose. She nodded slightly in recognition, certain that she was being watched from the front seat of the limousine, but the words meant nothing to her.

“…He’ll spare no expense to find you,” the driver continued to reason. “You know that better than anyone.”

She looked down at the angry circular mass of skin on the back of an otherwise delicate and pretty hand. She rubbed at the mark carefully with her thumb, surprised that she felt no pain.

~~

“When does my opinion matter then, Victor?” the attractive woman questioned angrily as she sat next to her husband in the back seat of their limousine. “I’m your wife.”

Victor Sonjes flicked the ashy tip of his big cigar into the ashtray in the car door, and then he looked over at his wife. The ire in his narrow eyes told her that he was near to exploding, but that didn’t matter to her. This was a fight she would see through to its outcome.

“Tell me, Victor,” she prodded.

“Nothing you do or say matters, Morgan,” he said in a measured tone. “You’re along for the ride. Do you understand? Keep your mouth shut, and enjoy it.”

“You cold bastard,” she said in disbelief. “I won’t live like this.”

The man’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits, and his anger raged forth. He reached for her with the quickness of a striking snake. His fingers gripped her wrist, their tips dug deeply into the flesh. The woman winced and tried to pull free. Her husband dug his fingertips in even deeper, forcing his wife cease her defiant struggle. Sonjes tugs roughly at the wrist, pulling until her face was a mere inch from his. She could feel his heated breath on her.

“You’ll live any way I decide, Morgan,” he said angrily. “You belong to me.”

When the pretty woman shook her head in adamant defiance, the man slammed her palm down on his thigh, and held on firmly. He pressed the tip of the burning cigar into the back of her hand without warning, and she screamed out in agonizing pain. He released her wrist, and calmly took another puff on the cigar. The pretty woman said nothing more. She almost cowered on the seat next to him. She cradled her wounded hand close to her breast, and she began to sob in silence.

“You and I will not have this discussion again,” he said calmly. “Try to remember.”

~~

The burn had healed, but her husband had intended it to be a constant reminder to her. He had succeeded. She knew then that she should have walked away from him, but she had lacked the strength and courage. Now, she just felt foolish, and deeply disappointed that she had let herself be used for so long.

“… …Mrs. Sonjes…,” the voice called again a few moments later.

“Then, he’ll find me, Bobby,” she replied resolutely. “…But, it won’t be today, and it won’t be tomorrow…, maybe it won’t even be next week. I can’t do this anymore. It has to stop.”

“…Yes, ma’am,” the voice replied in solemn surrender.

The pretty woman went back to staring out of the car window. None of the scenery looked familiar to her. Her life had felt much the same way for a very long time. She had to put an end to her pain, or else the good that had once lived inside her, her hopes, her creativity, her beliefs, would die forever.

“Stop the car!” She shouted suddenly. “Bobby!!”

When the car stopped, she gathered her purse and coat quickly, and looked at the dark glass that served as a partition between the two seats.

“I can make it from here,” she smiled.

“Ah, think about what you’re doing, honey,” the voice reasoned desperately. “What are you gonna do out here alone?”

“I have thought about it,” the attractive woman replied quickly. “Right now, the freedom to make my own choices again means everything.”

“…I wouldn’t have told, Mrs. Sonjes,” the voice said. “I swear it.”

“I know,” she said, with a soft tone of fondness in her voice. “Goodbye, Bobby.”

~~

Morgan Sonjes awakened with a start, and sat up rigidly in her bed, panicked eyes darting nervously. Sweat soaked her night clothes, and her breathing was frantic. She calmed as she began to recognize the new surroundings of her loft apartment. She edged to the side of her big bed, swung her shapely legs over, and sat a few moments to collect her thoughts.

She had run only as far as the city. She hoped that it would be the last place that her husband thought to look. She leased a roomy loft apartment in a redevelopment project underway in the old business district downtown. The area had been reclaimed from the bums and street people who had inhabited it, and after extensive renovation it had become a new haven for young yuppie types and business executives who worked nearby.

Morgan Sonjes had fallen in love with the apartment the moment she set foot in it. In addition to its layout and size, it had three enormous bay windows that stretched across the entire front side of the apartment. They rose nearly to the ceiling, and they captured the morning sunlight perfectly. She had decorated the apartment carefully to her own taste. It was sparingly furnished with a comfortable couch, matching easy chairs and coffee table. In the dining room, there was a modern glass and chrome dinner table with two chairs. There were photographs, and lush clinging green plants everywhere. She had even set up an area that she used as a dark room.

She finally felt steady enough to rise to her feet. She stretched slowly as the short blue nightie fell down and settled around her sleek bare thighs, and then she headed downstairs to tinker in her dark room. She often worked in the dead of night when her fears were greatest, and she couldn’t sleep because of them. Sometimes, she even thought that she was more creative during those times. Whatever the case was, her photography always calmed her.

Great shards of the moonlit night flooded in through the bay windows, causing a dim, but luminous shadow that lit her way. The pretty woman walked the path through the loft from memory though, stopping at the refrigerator for a big bottle of spring water. She closed the refrigerator door, enfolding herself in darkness again. She twisted the cap from the bottle, and took a long sip. She seemed to think for a moment, and then she walked back across the room to her camera case. She took three rolls of film from the case, and walked toward the dark room that she had set up just off the kitchen.

On the way, she spotted something that piqued her interest. She took a slight detour, stopping before one of the great windows. She stared out at a dimly lit room in the hotel just across the street from her apartment. The young couple there, newly-weds she guessed, were in the midst of a wildly passionate lovemaking session.

The young man’s body was hard and rippled with muscles that strained to capacity in passion. The woman’s body was slight, finely toned, and insatiable. She rode the long hard body of her lover like it was a great and powerful stead on a long and hard gallop. Her fingers dug into the tight flesh of his broad shoulders. Her big eyes stared without seeing.

Suddenly, her slight naked body tensed, and her head fell forward. She hung on the brink of sexual fulfillment for a long excruciating moment, and then, she began a final urgent ride, rhythmically hunching of her hips. Her mouth fell open, as if she intended to scream. She lurched forward violently, and bared tightly clenched teeth.

Morgan Sonjes had never watched sex before. The faint voice of her conscious told her to walk away, to leave such matters to privacy. Her body reacted on its own, independently and instinctively, remembering the intensity of sexual passion. It tingled incessantly, and flashes of heat radiated. She recognized the little groan, and the soft jagged burst of breathing that came behind it, as her own. Suddenly, she reached desperately for the edge of the window sill, as her body began to tremble without warning. Seconds later, she leaned into it hard as a savage orgasm erupted within, and rumbled through her body.

It was like a battering ram, bursting through the gates that held her sexual desires at bay. The pretty woman climbed weakly up next to the window, raised her feet onto the sill, and tucked her knees beneath her short flimsy nightie. She turned her eyes back to the hotel room and watched intently without blinking. She could not turn her eyes away, nor could she stop the little orgasmic tremors that quaked through her body at will.

The young woman in the hotel room sprang hurriedly from the rigid staff that had been buried inside her. It glistened with her cum and feminine lubricant. The young man flinched and stiffened. His cock jerked wildly, and the first thick stream of semen bounded into the air, and landed on his quivering stomach.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Morgan Sonjes moaned softly.

The young woman bent quickly beside her lover, and engulfed the spitting head of his cock. Her head bobbed slowly as she sucked and swallowed the pouring cum. She enclosed the jerking staff in her fist, and pumped it in the same rhythm as her head bobbed.

“Oooooooooooooooooo, g-g-god!” Morgan Sonjes groaned out, and panted her way roughly through yet another orgasm.

When the final orgasmic wave ebbed away to calm, she slumped heavily in the window bay, physically spent, and unable to move a single muscle. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

*****

Morgan Sonjes aroused to the chill of the morning air, and a distant roar in her ears that was constant. She soon realized that the annoying roar was the sound of rush-hour traffic on the busy street below. On the heels of that, she realized that she was still on the window sill. She sat up, turned slightly, and looked out the big window. The curtains of the hotel room had been drawn closed. She felt immediate embarrassment at her shameful behavior, and she silently hoped that she had not been noticed.

As she was about to climb down from the sill, she saw him. The tall, strikingly handsome black man stared down from a window in the hotel, three floors above and two rooms to the right of the one she had spied upon. He did not move or turn away when it became clear that she had noticed him. That was instantly unnerving to her.

She raised her arms slowly, and crossed them over the skimpy nightie at her breasts, instinctively covering herself. Fear crept into her, and suddenly, she was unable to move or even breathe. The black man just smiled at her. It came easily to him, and it was attractive. He saluted playfully, and stepped away from the window. The tension in her faded away stubbornly, and she stared up at the empty hotel window until it did.

*****

When the woman returned from a short outing three days later, there was a large manila envelope on her doorstep. There was no address of any kind on it, and she could only ponder the conclusion of her short-lived freedom as she stared down at it for a long moment. Finally, she scooped it up, and let herself into the apartment, latching the four door locks when she was safe inside.

She moved to the couch, opened the envelope hastily, and pulled the contents from it. She had not expected photographs, but that’s exactly what they were. A grim sense of panic overtook her as she rifled through the prints hurriedly. There were seven 8x10 black & whites in total. All of them of her, and all had been shot from the same high vantage point through one of the big windows of her loft. She knew immediately, from the angle, who had taken them, and her ire surged instantly. She felt violated. There was a neatly printed note taped to the last photograph. It read:

Who is this woman, really? I would love to know.

A secret admirer

The pretty woman walked angrily to one of the big windows, and fiery eyes searched out the room. It was encased in shadow, but the glaring sunlight streaming into the loft made it impossible for her to tell if the black man was there watching.

She walked away from the window, and looked through the prints once more, slower this time. There was nothing explicitly sexual, or even offensive about them. They were a retrospective on her moods spanning the emotions of elation, sadness, humor, somberness, and longing. She read the note again, and after more thought, she found an admiring little smile for them. Perhaps the photos were meant to be just what they were, she thought. If so, then she was fairly certain that she had little to fear from her…admirer. She appreciated the creativity, and the work that had gone into what must have been a very difficult photo shoot.

*****

The woman viewed the photos again after dinner as she sat on the couch with a glass of wine. Curiosity had taken the place of the fear and apprehension she had felt earlier in the day, and it was curiosity that drew her to the big window once more. Inquisitive eyes searched out the room, but it was dark. She sighed softly, recognizing it as one of disappointment. The window lit up brightly as she was about to turn, and there he sat, in a comfortable high-back chair.

She wondered, instantly, how long he might have been there, watching her the way he was watching her now. Her eyes fell to the prints in her delicate hand nervously, and she made a hasty decision in that brief moment, one that she hoped she would not live to regret. She walked hurriedly back to the couch, and took the pen from the coffee table. She flipped one of the photos, and wrote quickly as she stepped back to the window. She held the white back of the 8x10 to the window and waited.

The black man leaned slightly to one side, and picked up his camera. He lifted it and pointed at her. After a moment, he lowered the camera, and smiled at her. He put the camera on the table beside him, and picked up the phone. He dialed the number from memory. Morgan Sonjes still jumped slightly when the telephone rang behind her. She looked back at it, stared up at him, and then, went to answer it.

“Are you stalking me?” Morgan Sonjes asked quietly.

“No, nothing like that,” he answered politely. “The option of saying ‘no’ is always yours.”

“It is…?” She questioned slowly. “Then…, you consider yourself a gentleman?”

“Well, I’m not so sure I’d go that far,“ the man replied with a soft chuckle. “But….”

“But…?” She asked.

“… …You do intrigue me,” he said plainly.

The tall woman walked back to the window listening closely. She hoisted herself onto the sill, and pulled her feet up. She felt a strange sense of kinship with the amiable voice on the other end of the line. Perhaps it the deep longing for intimacy, but she liked what he had said to this point, and she liked the way he sounded. The smooth deep voice, and its easy tone, did it for her. She leaned back, and rested her eyes on him.

“So, what is it you want to know?” She asked, mildly curious.

“How about starting with your name,” he replied pleasantly.

“It’s…Morgan…, Morgan Sonjes,” she said slowly.

“Mine is Travis Anders,” he said, his smile coming through even over the phone line.

“Mmmmmmm,” she replied, insinuating that perhaps she liked the name.

“Have dinner with me tomorrow night…,” the black man said calmly.

“Look, Mr. Anders…,” she began.

“Travis,” he corrected quickly.

“I’m…married,” she continued.

“Is that a ‘no’?” he asked, keeping the pleasant tone in his voice.

“No, but…, it’s complicated, and difficult to explain,” the woman replied carefully.

“Look, I find you extremely attractive, and I’d like to get to know you better,” the black man said calmly. “Let’s have one dinner together, and you can decide from there.”

“Why me?” she asked softly.

“… …Maybe I’ve never seen a woman so in need of a friend,” he said clearly. “…I’ll pick you up at 7:30.”

“… …Okay,” she said, trying to lift the tone of her voice.

“Good night, Morgan,” Travis Anders said.

The line went dead, and her eyes rose to the window. The tall rangy man rose from his chair, and disappeared into the room after a final smile and wave at her.

*****

Her night was a restless one, filled again with dreams of her husband’s cruelty. She awakened in panic twice. The second time, she got up, and went down to the lower level of the loft. The big window drew her like a magnet. The lamp still burned in his hotel room, but he was nowhere to be seen. She eyed the clock. It was almost 4 a.m. She stayed at the window until her anxiety passed, and then she went back up to bed. There was one final dream...one of the handsome black stranger, somewhere in the black abyss…making sweet slow love to her.