Journey to Another Life

Another Saturday, another shopping trip. This time, Ed sat in his customary chair as Nikki went on a serial swimsuit spree.

She came out in a red one-piece with French-cut legs. The front of the suit revealed so much cleavage, Ed could barely believe any woman would have the guts to wear it in public. Neither he nor Nikki were big fans of red—too blatant—but every so often, it made its point like no other color could. This was one of those cases.

"This one's cut like that famous Jennifer Lopez dress from the Grammy Awards!" Nikki said, laughing as she admired herself in the mirror.

Ignoring his stirring cock, he gave his fiancée a long, appreciative once-over. "And look what it did for her career," he commented.

She looked at him and then looked back at the mirror. "Hmmm. True, but I can do even better. This look is so 2000," she said with a giggle, winking and returning to the fitting room.

She came out a few minutes later in a black one that they both decided looked to old for her. Ed had his money on the white one he'd seen her take in and sure enough, when she came out wearing it, an enormous smile crossed his face.

"Now that's hot," he said, hearing the rasp in his voice.

It had to be the world's smallest bikini. Tiny triangles covered her nipples and formed a garment through a series of strategically placed strings. The g-string left all of her ass on display and a one-inch wide strip in the front covered her carefully manicured pubic mound.

"And this is why I spend money on Brazilian waxes," she said, noticing that his eyes were glued to the miniscule covering at her crotch. "Think it'll be a scene-stealer for our hornymoon?" she asked, seating herself on his lap and slipping her arms around his neck. "Every guy will be looking at me in this, don't you think?"

Although it was, without question, an outfit he would never grow tired of seeing on her, the notion of having every other man ogling her on their honeymoon was unsettling. He wasn't sure how to say no, however. And suddenly, he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

"Nikki, you've got to be kidding. This swimsuit is indecent!"

The heat of her pussy felt soothing on his thigh. Her breath warmed his ear. "But I think you like guys checking me out, don't you?" she whispered.

"I like knowing my girl is wanted, yes, but an outfit like this implies something I'm sure you're ready to deliver!" He knew that if he saw a woman in a bikini like this, he'd assume she was either a total ice princess or a complete slut. Nikki was neither.

She got to her feet and looked down at him as if preparing to make him her next meal. "I got news for you. I plan to wear even less than this on our hornymoon."

He knew that she meant when she was alone with him, and he appreciated the sentiment. Nevertheless, her promise didn't address the bikini and whether she intended to own it.

"You will cause a riot," he warned.

"And would you expect anything less?"

"No," he said, chuckling.

"Would you want anything less?"

"Nikki, please, now..."

"I'll have you to protect me from the bad guys. No matter how much they salivate, you'll keep them away from me. Why should I worry?" She ruffled his hair. All this banter was designed not to get his permission but to explain her intentions. He understood his protests provided little more than entertainment value to her. Yet, if he truly objected, she'd relent and give up the idea of buying the bikini.

"Anyway," she continued, "I think you like them looking at me so much you won't even try to hold back the tide of men who'll want me!"

Nikki understood men very well, including the one she was engaged to marry.

At Ed's request, she modeled the bikini for him again when they returned to his penthouse. He'd been hard the whole cab ride home and they both knew it, yet with uncharacteristic restraint, Nikki didn't cup his balls or rub him through his pants. Her reserve only burned the image of her in that bikini more permanently into his brain, making it absolutely necessary for him to see her in it again when they were alone. Smiling, she stripped for him right there in the middle of the living room and donned the bikini with her back to him.

When she turned around to face him, he greeted her with a nod of his cock, which was free of his trousers and out for a breath of fresh air. It was the first thing she noticed.

"Ah," she said in an exhalation. "That's my man!"

He smiled and stroked himself. "I want to masturbate while I watch you walk around in that wicked little thing," he told her. "I want to show you how fast you can make me come without even touching me."

She was the pinup girl of his dreams. How could he ever explain to her that he was masturbating to her even before he'd met her?

Naturally, she loved his idea. She loved it so much that she put on a jazz compilation CD and moved about the room in time to the seductive beat. She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. So enthralled was he with her dancing that he didn't even notice when his pants fell down around his ankles.

With every step she took away from him, he stared at her jiggling ass cheeks. He loved the way the supple flesh, always firm, yielded just enough to demonstrate how touchable it was. She swept up her long, dark hair and held it on top of her head with her forearms to make her look more glamorous. And when she walked toward him, the glorious bounce of her breasts made him breathless.

To Dave Brubeck's "Take Five," she began to run her hands along her body, just as he wished he could. She metamorphosed from pinup girl to striptease artist, posing and moving in ways that reflected his own thoughts back to him. Come fuck me, said her wiggling derriere. Lick these! announced her buoyant titties. And her roaming hands became his own, savoring her delicious softness.

In his hand, his cock ached with fullness. He jerked it raw, just like he had as an adolescent. Every upward pull pushed him closer to release and so, every few strokes, he paused to squeeze the base so he could prolong the show just a little longer. If he came, she'd stop modeling and if she stopped modeling, this memorable scene would come to an end.

But he was losing the battle and he knew it. Just as he knew an eruption was imminent, she sauntered up to him, maneuvered him into his favorite chair (which wasn't easy with his pants keeping his ankles together), and the moment he was in it, she straddled him. The element of surprise forestalled his orgasm, but with her steaming hot cunt so close to his dick, he didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

With one finger, she moved the g-string aside to create unimpeded access to her wetness. He wanted to touch her but had promised he wouldn't. And as it turned out, there was no need—even before she lowered herself onto his meat, he spurted a full load of jizz, spraying her pussy with uneven globs of the stuff.

But his seemingly premature release didn't put a damper on her plans. She grinned at his sheepish face as she stuffed him inside her. She knew, as he did, that he rarely went flaccid after an ejaculation, especially if she continued to fuck him.

He was deep inside her now and as she rose and fell on him, their juices mingling to create a sweet-smelling mess that spread to her thighs and his balls. Now that he'd come and shown her that the mere sight of her was enough to do it, he was free to touch her. He scooped her breasts out from their flimsy halter and sucked on a nipple while he tweaked the other with his fingers. She liked the sensation and showed him by slamming down harder on his cock. When she moved that way, her breasts bounced against his face and he sucked more diligently to keep the nipple in his mouth.

And she liked that, too. His hard but spent cock felt her spasms massage him, smelled the scent of her pussy intensify, and heard her moans turn into shouts. He reluctantly let go of her nipples to look up and watch her face prepare for the ecstasy her body would soon experience. She bucked forward then back as the tremors consumed her for close to a minute. Wordlessly, she held his head against her breasts while he listened to her heartbeat wind down from racing to normal.

"I'm nuts about you, Nikki," he said into her right breast.

"I'm nuts about you, Ed. I'm so happy I turn you on so much."

"I've never known anything like it," he admitted, floored but delighted by his infatuation with her.

As usual, she kept him inside her rather than disengaging from him. "Mr. Happy should leave when he's good and ready," she'd told him early in their relationship. His little naturalist, he thought, smiling to himself.

"But tell me something," she said quietly, now looking directly into his eyes. "Do you really get turned on by watching me flirt with other guys or do you just like it when they notice me wearing something sexy?"

Although it was an odd question, and perhaps even out of place given the moment, it wasn't one he hadn't already turned over in his mind more than once in the past few weeks. So, he didn't have to think long about his answer.

"Both, really, though I don't think about it that much." And that was true enough—the thought only came into his head when Nikki was being particularly sexy in public or trying to attract attention.

"I kind of like that you think about it at all," she said with that mischievous look he loved so much. "It's taking our sex life to new heights!"

He laughed. "I can't really argue with you there, sweetheart."

"If you have any other fantasies, let me know. I love making you happy!"

He held her close and she purred in his arms.

Long after Ed fell asleep, Nikki remembered an important item she'd neglected to tell the florist. She lay in bed, obsessing about it, hoping she wouldn't forget to call them the next day. If I think about it long and hard enough, she thought, I'll remember these details in the daylight hours. But she knew herself too well—she would forget.

She and Ed kept duplicate wedding details, thanks to some wedding-planning software and a clever friend with networking skills. So, if she needed to make some notes, she could do it on Ed's computer. Thank goodness for technology, she thought to herself as she got quietly out of bed and headed for Ed's office.

He never logged off—despite all admonitions from friends and colleagues—so she got to his file folders easily. In scanning his list, she scrolled down to "Wedding" but couldn't help but notice that the next folder was labeled "Wife."

She paused. What secrets might be hidden there? Would she discover gifts he planned to give her? Photos of her? Or perhaps records indicating a previous spouse??

She shouldn't look. That wouldn't be right. But just a quick peek couldn't hurt, could it? Anyway, she knew Ed had no real secrets from her. And as soon as she discovered what was in the folder, she'd go right back to "Wedding" and record her notes about the florist.

The double-click on "Wife" opened a series of documents—fifty-seven of them in total. She knew this not because she counted them but because their file names were numbers. No clue to what's inside, she thought, frowning. There was no way to know what was inside unless she opened the file. Her curiosity now overtook her conscience and she opened file 3.

"Wifey Takes All" was the title of what appeared to be a story. Lynette kissed her husband goodbye that morning and waited until the car left the driveway and disappeared down the street before she called her latest lover.

Nikki panicked and closed the file, as if reading any more might hurt her somehow. What on earth had she stumbled upon? Surely that was some sort of aberration, a story about a cheating wife. To be certain, she randomly clicked on file 24.

"Naughty in His Absence" was only slightly different. Deborah both loved and hated Joel's business trips. The empty space in the bed when she awoke each morning made her feel lonely, but she knew that by noon, her pussy would be getting more attention than it ever got while he was home. Even now, it was wet with anticipation. Who would she find to satisfy her today? On her way to the shower, she decided the grocery store on 28th Street would be a good place to find out.

Nikki closed this file a little more slowly. So now I know who reads those stories on the Internet, she thought to herself, amazed not only by Ed's obvious interest in this topic but by his highly effective cover-up. Her head was a maelstrom of ideas, judgments, and fears. Had she just happened to choose the two stories that had to do with cheating wives or were all of them of that nature? She'd try one more, just for confirmation. Number 51 opened to reveal the title "Becky Loves Chocolate."

The men convened at the van to caucus. Steven sat silently as the other two waited for his decision with growing anxiety. Both of them knew the big man reacted badly to pressure, so they stayed quiet while he read his own mind. Finally, after a good three minutes of uninterrupted silence, Steven spoke.

"Yeah. Tonight. But only the first floor."

"Where'd you say the safe was?" Craig asked Kevin.

"First floor. Library."

"Great. Let's move."

At the house, Kevin deftly cut wires and flipped switches as the three hovered in the dark. In less than a minute, the men had dispersed throughout the house. Kevin led Craig to the safe while Steven combed the rooms for electronics out of habit. His bulk and strength allowed him to carry an exceptional amount of goods. Kevin and Craig once watched him balance a computer, stereo and television out to the van.

Five minutes into the job, a barely audible din snapped them to attention. They froze, trying to place its origin. Steven closed his eyes and concentrated. When he opened them, he pointed upstairs and mouthed "shower."

"Shit," Kevin hissed, gathering his loot into his bag. Steven reached across Craig and touched Kevin's arm. The unexpected contact made Kevin stiffen. Ignoring his discomfiture, Steven pointed to the array of photographs on the grand piano nearby. He gestured for Craig to shine the flashlight on them.

"Holy shit, boys," Steven exhaled as the light danced over the familiar face in most of the pictures. "That's little Miss Becky Rensaleere up in that shower."

"Or her husband!" Kevin added.

"No, no. It's her," Steven grinned. "Doesn't the taste of white meat sound good to you boys?" He said, placing the computer and camcorder he'd collected down on the plush carpet. He headed for the stairs, his face already adopting the cool, seductive expression that Kevin and Craig often referred to as "the pussy face." They followed him up the stairs.

Steven's imposing black frame swaggered smoothly toward the door with the strip of light underlining it. He turned the knob to the bathroom door while strains of her singing floated through the mist. "Stay here until I get her lubed." They all knew she'd paid for this but they wanted it to come off as lifelike a breaking-and-entering as possible.

The bathroom, the size of at least twenty prison cells, gleamed in an expanse of white ceramic tile with sky blue trim and accents. Amidst this rather heavenly effect stood a large, circular wall-less shower area in the middle of the room. A massive showerhead hung from the ceiling and poured streams of water over Becky's naked, lathered body.

The contrast of Steven's midnight coloring against the virginal walls could not go unnoticed for long, he realized, and movement would only get him noticed sooner, so he sidled up to the plush vanity area in the corner. He leaned against it, facing Becky but separated by ten yards or so, and did not flinch as she finished showering.

She saw him as she reached for the long silver handle to stop the water flow. The steamy room masked his features, presenting him only as a monstrous dark hulk lurking in the corner.

The sheer mass of him stunned her into silence. She stood trembling in her luxurious shower, water now off, droplets rushing down her body toward the drain. He was even bigger than she'd hoped.

Steven appraised the slim, wet superstar. Very, very well maintained. Whether from fear or cold, her dark nipples stuck out like curious eyes, eager to take in the world. He felt his cock shift at the thought of tweaking those nipples between his big, black fingers.

Both of them stood glued to their spots. The only movement he made, other than flexing the tube steak in his pants, was the slow, subtle grin he let spread across his face. He was careful not to let himself leer; she wasn't the kind of woman who'd respond to lechery, even though she'd paid for it. He watched her with an expression of appreciation and hope. He'd mastered the look long ago when he learned it appealed to a woman's vanity.

"What do you want?" she asked with unexpected confidence.

"Well," he said, lifting his ass from its perch on the small table, "I was gonna steal from you." He paused and sauntered closer to her shivering body. Her brown yes, wide as saucers, followed his movements warily.

"And now?"

"Now that I see Becky Rensaleere naked, I just wanna pay my respects to one very beautiful lady."

He unfolded and draped the absorbent terrycloth over her diminutive shoulders. He led her from the shower back to the vanity. His eyes met hers so he could better gauge her level of receptivity. Through his hands, he felt her tension lessen somewhat. His eyes confirmed it.

"You won't hurt me?" She pleaded softly, delighting in the damsel role.

"Of course not," he uttered dismissively, as if the idea was ridiculous. And to him, it truly was. There was no thrill in hurting a woman to have sex with her. The real conquest came when you got her to surrender to you, made her cream in your hand, beg you for more cock.

"Let me worship you, baby," he said quietly, with just enough sincerity to cajole her back to compliance. He traced his thick, ebony fingers down her chest, between her sweet titties, over her stomach. Her breathing came in shorter intakes.

She didn't recoil or scream when he covered each of her milky white breasts with his wide palms. Instead, he watched her eyes close briefly in pleasure.

He seized the opportunity to lean his slick, bald head close to her face and touch his thick lips to her full, moist parted ones. He kissed her lightly, barely skimming her mouth. When she opened her eyes to look at him, he held her gaze, silently instilling trust, pulling surrender from her with one long, unwavering stroke.

He moved in again to kiss her, this time moving his lips on hers. He felt her confusion as she let his tongue slip in. In seconds, it was her tongue, not his, that probed with sensuous curiosity.

Still, he had to proceed with caution. One abrupt move could set him back. She pushed her damp, naked body into his and continued to explore his mouth.

He ran his hands up the length of her delicate back, then slid them down to her tight little ass. When she tilted her pelvis into his bulging crotch, he took hold of the cheeks in his hands and squeezed. She gasped and began to rub her mound against him.

He stopped kissing her and held her a few inches from his face. He knew what she wanted but he would make her say it to convince herself.

"What is it that you want, Becky?"

Modesty made her mute. She lowered her eyes. He unzipped his fly.

Still she was unable to reply. But her hand traveled to the opening he'd created in his pants and gingerly felt around for his member.

"I'll give you whatever makes you happy. You're my queen tonight," he cooed. "Tell me what you're dying to do."

She raised her eyes to his. "I want to suck your big, black cock."

He grinned proudly at her boldness. Then, he stepped back and stripped off his pants as she watched. He stood before her with a hard-on he hoped was bigger than any she'd ever seen. She stared at it breathlessly.