It's Better This Way

As I rode my young fuck buddy, each minute we moaned, swore, and profusely sweat more. I had my thighs clamped to his sides while he massaged one of my tits with one hand and tried his best to finger my clit with the other. As his girthy cock reciprocated in my little cunt, made even tighter by the butt plug up my ass, increasingly intense pulses were being sent throughout my entire nervous system. When he came in me it felt like a Roman candle exploding. Just before my euphoria rendered me comatose I heard him moan "You are one great fuck, Justine!"

I was brought up by a doting, though chauvinistic, filthy rich father, George, and a socialite mother, Grace, to believe that marriage was a noble goal. Actually not just "noble," but, for a woman of class, "essential." Of course it had to be to someone that my parents considered in their class – meaning that he had to be from an "established" family with big bucks.

My mother was gorgeous, in part because she had had plastic surgery on her nose when she was a teenager, and because she had had a top-of-the-line boob job. From the pre-enhancement photographs that she had squirreled away, in my mind she was awesome looking even before the cosmetic work. My father was just OK looking, but in their circle that was fine. The husband had the dough, the wife had the looks.

I got some of my mother's best features and few of my father's bad ones so I was always decent looking in my teenage years and young adulthood. However, I did get a less-that-fantastic nose, somewhere between my mother's real one and her plastic surgery one. Most people considered me "cute," with maybe a "nine" body; no one considered me beautiful. "Justine, I don't know why you won't get a nose job. The refined boys would like you so much more," was my mother's monthly refrain starting when I was about twelve.

Growing up I often wondered if George and Grace were my real parents, not because of appearance, but because of their values. I guess that since I was primarily raised by a wonderful nanny, named Hanna Himler, instead of them, that I grew up much less materialistic and more humane than they were. The problem was that my older brother, Kent, was also raised by Hanna and he turned out to be only a little better than my parents.

My parents, especially Grace, treated people that weren't in their social class either like they were invisible, or like shit. I swear that none of George, Grace, or Kent knew Hanna's last name. That was despite the fact that, out of respect, when we were in public I would refer to Hanna as "Mrs. Himler." While that is not the reason I did it there were advantages to it. It let everyone know that I was polite and cared for other people. I was beloved by every nanny that we ever came into contact with, and Hanna would have given up her life for me.

I treated everyone else with dignity too. For example we had a horse farm with two low skill employees named Joe Jacobs and Sam Crown. It was managed by a jerk named John Tipton. As with Hanna, no one else in my family except me knew Joe's and Sam's last names. They were about ten years older than I was and even though I started calling them "Mr. Jacobs" and "Mr. Crown" they insisted that I call them "Joe" and "Sam." I insisted that they call me "Justine," not "Miss Morgenthau."

Again, without trying to endear myself to them, I became someone that they'd give their life for. Although they always liked me one day that "like" turned into devotion.

I was fourteen when on a Thursday afternoon right after school I brought my horse, Barbosa, back to the barn after a ride. I found both Joe and Sam in back of the barn tossing their cookies. They apparently had gotten food poisoning from the lunch that they shared.

Seeing their condition I told them that they should stop work for the day.

"We can't, Justine, because we have to finish our work today," Joe said between gags.

"Yeah," Sam continued, trying to act OK when he obviously wasn't, "If we haven't cooled and brushed Barbosa, fed the other five horses, and shoveled the stalls by the time that Mr. Tipton comes by at seven, we'll have our pay docked."

"I don't have any homework tonight," I said smiling, "you go lie down and I'll take care of it."

"We can't let you do that!" Sam exclaimed with one of the most shocked expressions I'd ever seen.

"You not only can, but will," I said as I gently swatted their butts with my riding crop while saying "shoo, shoo."

They offered a little more resistance but I could tell that they really felt horrible so they left.

By 6:30 I had done about ninety percent of what needed to be done, but I wasn't sure that I could finish in time when both Sam and Joe came back to the barn. They looked a little better.

"Thank you so much, Justine," they said in unison as they surveyed my work. They couldn't believe that I had done as much as I had, but I had really worked hard. Now they were the ones telling me to "shoo," saying that they were well enough to finish. When I saw them the next day they told me that they had finished by the time that Tipton arrived, and I had made two friends for life.

I never liked Tipton because he seemed lazy and didn't treat Sam and Joe nicely. For some reason, though, my father thought that he was great. When I was sixteen I began to hate Tipton because he started to make suggestive remarks and at one point swatted my ass.

I was bowled over when my father didn't believe me when I told him about Tipton's comments and action. "You must have misinterpreted something," George said. "I know that you don't like John Tipton because he makes the lazy staff toe the line, but he's a fine man."

This was long before iPhones with recording apps, the Internet, or readily available high tech bugs. However on my next trip into town, using some of my obscene allowance which I normally mostly gave away, I bought a small tape recorder that had just come out on the market. The next time I was alone with Tipton at the barn I recorded his comments which this time bordered on gross, including a comment about me having a fine ass.

That night I played the recording for my father. He didn't like it but he was still hemming and hawing about what to do. For the first time in my life I blew up at him. "Either you fire that asshole or I take off."

"Now, Justine..." he started to say.

"Fuck you," I screamed.

"You can't talk to me like that," he yelled once he got over the shock, but by then I was out the door. At that particular point I was glad that I was a little rich girl because I hopped into the Mustang that I had gotten for my sixteenth birthday and sped off to my Aunt Claire's house. She was my dad's divorced younger sister, and the only one of my parent's relatives that I could really identify with. She lived about fifteen minutes away and was happy to take me in.

By the next day, a Saturday, my father had figured out where I had gone and when I refused to talk to him on the phone made time in his busy schedule – which he reminded me of the second that he arrived at Aunt Claire's house – to see me.

I shocked him again when my first words to him were "I don't care about your busy schedule. Did you fire that asshole Tipton?"

"Well, honey..." he started out. Aunt Claire didn't let him finish.

"I heard the tape George. Don't be a fucking moron. Fire the son-of-a-bitch now!"

Aunt Claire was one of the few people in life that my dad had no stomach for messing with; something from their childhood which I was never privy to.

"All right! Will you come home now, Justine?" George said.

"I'm going to hire the new horse farm manager," I stated with my arms crossed and a stern look on my face.

"Ha, ha, honey you're only sixteen and don't know anything about business," he said patronizingly.

"Maybe not, but I know more about people than you'll ever know," I challenged. Then I looked up at Aunt Claire and asked "Can I live here until I graduate High School, Aunt Claire?"

"Of course you can, Justine," was her smiling response.

George tried to stare Claire and me down but couldn't. I don't know if it was because he loved me, because he saw potential in me, because he wanted to keep me away from Claire, or because he would be embarrassed when his friends found out that his daughter had run away, but he relented.

After interviewing a number of people I hired Rita Santos, a forty year old Hispanic woman, as the farm manager. George was none too happy about it until after three months he realized that the horse farm was running better than ever, at less cost, since his buddy Tipton had been stealing from him. He indirectly apologized to me, which was the best that he was capable of.

After graduating High School, with few other significant issues with my parents, although hundreds of minor ones, I got into an elite university. Although I had decent grades I was no super-star like most of my classmates. However, George had money and influence so it was a foregone conclusion that I would get in. "You have to meet the right type of gentlemen to get a proper husband, Justine," was the way my mother put the need for me to attend a prestigious university.

There was a small amount of diversity at my college. I particularly liked one "diverse" guy named Jason. He was totally outrageous, on scholarship, and from a middle class family. He was very bright and wanted to be a divorce lawyer; I guess they call it "Family Law." He had a different view on marriage than my parents; he thought that it sucked.

"So, in other words, if you asked me out it wouldn't be with the intention of perhaps ultimately marrying me, huh, Jason?" I once asked him when we were having a heated discussion on the subject.

"Hell no, Justine!" was his response. "If I asked you out it would be with the hope of fucking you as often as I could, but certainly not with any intention of ultimately marrying you."

My mother would have been horrified by that comment. I just laughed and said "I hope that at least you supply the condoms," then left. I did let Jason fuck me twice, but only twice. It was nice physically, but since it was not what I was after emotionally, that was it. We did remain good friends, however.

Eventually I met a guy, Thomas (not Tommy or Tom) Carnegie, who was interested in marriage and who fit George and Grace's idea of a suitable husband. He went to the same elite university two years ahead of me, was from an old line family two suburbs over, and his parents belonged to the same country club as mine did. We had a very big and expensive wedding when I was twenty one, just out of college, and he was twenty three, just out of business graduate school.

Of course there had to be controversy about the wedding. My parents insisted on a blowout wedding and reception, and though I wanted something smaller I was willing to go along, as long as it wasn't "black tie." However, I insisted that Hanna, Joe, Sam, and Rita be invited even though Hanna was now working for another family (there was no need for a nanny since George and Grace had no small kids), and the horse farm had been sold a couple of years earlier, although Rita, Joe, and Sam remained there. My parents objected because "they're not in the same class as we are," as Grace succinctly put it. Also, Sam was black, and Rita Hispanic, further problems in my parents' eyes.

After the invitations had been printed I told George and Grace, in no uncertain terms, that either the four former employees were invited – and that they buy suits for Joe and Sam – or there would be no big wedding. "Call me when you come to a decision. If the decision is 'No' and you send out the invitations it will end up being your biggest social embarrassment ever," I told them.

I told Aunt Claire, who now had a boyfriend fifteen years her junior, about it and I know that she called George. She told me later that she said only one thing to George then hung up the phone. "George, Justine is dead serious about this. It's her fucking wedding, not yours. You either go along with it or I'll host a small gathering at my house, and I don't know if she'll be in the frame of mind to invite you and Grace. How embarrassing would that be to you? More embarrassing than having a black laborer attend your shindig, I'll bet!"

George and Grace not only relented, but they pretended that it was a great idea.

My friend Jason, who came to the wedding despite his distaste for marriage, called me as soon as he got his invitation to suggest a prenuptial agreement. He was in his first year of law school, chasing his dream. I would be coming into two trust funds when I turned twenty seven, both of them very substantial. I asked my father about it. I was surprised when he said "It would be an insult to Thomas' family to suggest one," so I let it slide despite Jason's admonition of "Bad call!"

The wedding was a nice affair, even if somewhat pretentious and over-the-top. There were a lot of people there that I actually cared about. With half of the guests George and Grace actually got kudos for inviting Joe, Sam, Hanna, and Rita. There was genuine applause when in my speech thanking everyone for everything that they had done for me over the years I profusely thanked Hanna. I also made sure to dance with each of Joe and Sam.

If I'm honest with myself I realize now, and probably would have then if I wasn't still under my parents' influence, that while I liked, and perhaps in some way actually loved, Thomas, I was not "in love" with him. I'm not sure that, to him, I was ever anything but a necessary fixture to further his career. The sex with him was good, though not Fourth-of-July Fireworks Display great, and we did get to go to nice parties.

My mother couldn't understand why I worked when I was married to Thomas since my parents – without me touching my trust funds – would have been willing to subsidize a life of leisure for me. However, I didn't think that I had gone to college just to go to lunch and charity balls. I wanted to contribute to society, so I worked as a pharmaceutical sales rep. I had the right mix of looks and brains to be more successful than most, though not stellar.

Thomas did not reach my level of success in his career. He was more social than hard working, and he didn't have a real intellect either. I ultimately found out that he barely got through graduate school.

After about four and a half years of marriage I started to suspect Thomas of cheating. Since this was also well before the days of readily available and unobtrusive HD cameras and sound recording devices it was harder to catch cheaters than today. However since Thomas wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and since I was smart, patient, and dedicated enough, a little old-fashioned investigation was all that I needed to be sure.

I had one other thing going for me. Since I was naturally friendly to everyone, and Thomas was not, I had a better relationship with some of the women in his office than he did. Susan James, one of the account managers in his office, in particular. I had become quite friendly with Susan after meeting her at a few of Thomas' office functions. Susan and I had gone shopping together once, and another time to a movie when our husbands were out of town. I asked Susan to lunch.

After some pleasantries I got to the point. "Susan, I think that Thomas is cheating on me. What can you tell me?"

"Justine, I make it a point not to gossip or give information unless I have first-hand knowledge of what I'm talking about," Susan answered. Then with a big grin continued, "But I do honestly answer questions."

A sly smile came across my face; 'I knew that there was a reason that I liked this woman;, I said to myself. "Have you heard any gossip or rumors about Thomas having an affair with someone in the office?"

"Yes," Susan answered with a smile.

"You should be an attorney," I laughed. "OK, what were the rumors or gossip?"

"He's banging Carol Neill in Accounting on the third floor."

"Is Carol married?"

"No, divorced."

"Is there rumor or gossip about why she's divorced – and if 'yes' give it to me," I giggled.

"Because she cheated on her first husband."

"Does anyone claim to have information that supports the gossip or rumor?"

"Three people have seen Thomas and Carol come back from 'lunch' at the Marriott Suites two blocks from the office on three different occasions with their clothes rumpled, their hair messed up, or a clear 'just fucked' expression. One person says that she saw them kiss and grope each other in the stairwell between the third and fourth floors."

"Has Thomas's secretary, Lillian, ever said anything about it, or ever had a reaction when it is discussed in her presence?"

"She's never said anything about it, to my knowledge. However, in my presence when someone blatantly said she thought that Thomas and Carol are fucking Lillian said nothing, and refused to answer any questions about her opinion or knowledge. Her failure to defend Thomas said volumes since she does defend him when people question his competence or personality."

"When was the last time anyone says that they saw them at the Marriott?"

"Two days ago," Susan immediately replied.

'He was "too tired" for sex that night and immediately showered when he got home,' I said to myself.

"Thanks, Susan," I said with a smile, although I was torn up inside. Then I changed the subject.

That same afternoon I took off work and went to see Jason. He rearranged his schedule to see me. Jason had just made partner in the biggest Family Law firm in the city, quite a meteoric ride.

Jason immediately sprang into action. He had his favorite P. I. meet with me and started to do a financial analysis of Thomas and his family. "We have to be sure before we do anything," Jason cautioned me, "that you're not going to be taken to the cleaners because even though adultery has some sway in matters it isn't large, and if he doesn't have the trust fund he claims to have, or it is smaller than you were led to believe, you may end up subsidizing a cheater."

Two days later the P. I. had positive proof of a hotel room visit by Thomas and Carol, including recordings of moans taken from outside of the door to their room.

I went to my parents at their house to tell them about the affair and to tell them that I would be divorcing Thomas. Once again I was stunned to find out how different their morals were than mine.

I first met with my father. After I related the situation to him, though I did not identify the woman, he said, "Well, Justine, you know that guys are like that. I'm sure that he loves you and as long as he's discreet you shouldn't let it bother you."

"So in other words Mom can go around fucking other guys as long as she's discreet?" I cursed.

He turned completely red, then continued, "Listen, honey, talk with him about it and tell him it bothers you. I'm sure that he'll stop then."

I went storming out of the den. Once I exited, however, I wanted to yell at George one more time. When I turned to go back into the den I saw him turned to the side and picking up the phone to make a call. That made me suspicious.

I surreptitiously picked up the extension in the parlor just as the phone was ringing at the other end, so I'm sure that George didn't know that I was on the line. He was calling Thomas. What he said floored me even more.

I was so angry that I can't remember exactly what was said. However, the essence of it will never leave me. George told Thomas that I knew of an affair, advised him to beg my forgiveness, and then the coup de grace – "You need to be more discreet in the future, Thomas."

Although still seething I decided to still talk to my mother. Her response was even more remarkable. "Justine, it happens. Both your father and I have had affairs. Just have one yourself, you'll feel better. Fidelity is only for the middle class, not people like us."