Sitting on the floor by the fireplace sipping a glass of wine, I thought back to yesterday's events. She was an absolutely stunning bride. Everyone said so. And she took my breath away, just as she did the day I met her. I hear her coming down the hall into the room and I shudder with anticipation. She walks in and stops close by, allowing my eyes to take her all in. Dressed in a baby blue camisole with matching panties and high-heeled black pumps, she can be any guy's wet dream. But she's not a dream. She's real and she's all mine.
Kneeling down in front of me, she takes the wine glass from my hand, furtively takes a sip, and then puts it down. I run my fingers through her curly blonde hair and gently beckon her closer. I tilt her chin up with my index finger, bringing her mouth close to mine. And then I lean forward and kiss her cherry red lips. She responds, opening her mouth and allowing my tongue to dance with hers. Then she pulls away, looks down, and giggles at the tent in my robe. Slowly undoing my robe, she's licking her lips in anticipation.
Her pupils are dilated as she stares in wonder at my raging hard-on. She leans down and gently cups my balls with her right hand, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive me crazy. Then, with one of her finely manicured red fingernails, she slowly and teasingly runs her finger up the back of my rock hard cock, from the bottom to the top, stopping at the back of the head where it meets the shaft, and applying just a little more pressure to that spot. She repeats this several times, up and down, up and down. Then she places the palm of her hand on the head and rubs the pre-cum around and around, nearly driving me over the edge and back again.
Just when she knew I couldn't take any more, she stops and grips my cock tightly with her hand, while kissing my chest and brushing her other hand through my chest hair. She lowers her head and begins to take me into her warm and inviting mouth. Sucking the head ever so slowly, it's not enough pressure to make me cum, but just enough to hold me on the edge. She knows this, as she lets her mouth linger in that way for several minutes. Then she lowers her mouth farther and takes in my entire length, sucking and licking, slowly at first, and then faster and harder, faster and harder. Oh God, Candice, I Iove you. Suck that cock. That's it. That's it! A little faster. Ohhhh........
"....accident on the McDermott Freeway just east of exit 6A at the 375 loop and 16 spur. The Pan Am Expressway is clean and green at this time. But it's early yet, folks."
Nicholas shot up in bed with a bolt, and yelled out, "Fuck. Goddammit. Again! Why won't it fucking stop? This God damned fucking dream!"
He froze for a minute, staring into the morning sunshine as it came through his bedroom window.
The reporter on the radio continued to drone on. "And as for the weather today, well, what can I say? It's mid-August in Texas people. And it's hot. And speaking of hot, how about those San Antonio Tonitos under the management of Nicky Faggioli, battling it out for first place with the Shreveport Bayou Boys."
Quickly leaning over his bed with the right side of his body, he made a fist, and slammed it down on top of the clock radio. He sent pieces of the radio flying in all directions.
"Son of a bitch. That's the fourth fucking clock radio this month. Why do I keep dreaming about that night at the cabin the day after we got married? This God damned woman still haunts me after almost a year."
He then just sat there in his bed and cried, as he did every time. He cried for missing her; he cried for cursing her; he cried for her beauty; and he cried for the evil, heartless, and cruel thing she did to him.
He got out of bed that morning at 5 a.m., as he had done every day for years, and went out for a run, which varied between 3 and 5 miles depending on the weather or what was going on with the team. Nicholas immersed himself in his work as a means of distraction. Candice was ever present in his thoughts no matter what he did. But the activity helped to numb him a little. After breakfast, he would head out to the ballpark very early, watch game films and study statistics and scouting reports. He'd also catch up on any paperwork that had to be sent up to the franchise. By the afternoon, the catchers and coaches would arrive and go over a summary of what he saw on the films and in the scouting reports earlier that day.
On Fridays, he made lunch for his team right in the clubhouse...home made "pasta e fagioli," or what they called in Nicholas's old neighborhood, "pasta fazool." For those of you non-Italians out there, this is a thick tomato-based soup with small pieces of pasta, onions, and other Italian spices. He learned how to make this dish from Momma Manetta. The players really loved his cooking and looked forward to it each week. Cooking was also a distraction for him.
San Antonio was actually good for Nicholas. When he first arrived in April after spring training, he was pretty depressed. But his team and his players (he called them his "kids") kept him occupied. The Italian-American community in San Antonio welcomed him with open arms. In fact, on this night, before game-time, he was to receive an award from the "Children of Italy" society for his volunteer work in the community. He was quickly becoming a bit of a legend in San Antonio. He took a club of mediocre green kids and turned them into contenders, battling for first place. They take their baseball real seriously down there.
One thing about tonight that he was not looking forward to...a visit from the sole owner of the franchise, Beatrice Ocean. Several years ago, Beatrice had made a move on Nicholas when he served as a visiting instructor at spring training. She practically threw herself at him. But good old and loyal Saint Nicholas never strayed from Candice. Sure, he was tempted. She not only had money and power, she was also built like a brick shithouse, and very easy on the eyes. Somehow Beatrice recently found out about Nicholas's marital situation, and put the moves on Nicholas again last month on her last visit.
Beatrice , though aggressive, was actually a very kind hearted person, uncharacteristic of a blue-blood major league franchise owner. She took Nicholas out to dinner one evening and made her after-dinner intentions obvious. Nicholas gave in for one reason, and one reason only. He thought that at least for a little while, he could block out the memories of Candice. It didn't work, and Nicholas felt guilty about the encounter weeks later.
That night, she lured Nicholas into her hotel room. Upon entering, Beatrice quickly scampered out of her clothes and jumped him. He never had a chance. Nicholas had a hunger in his loins. But his hunger was for Candice. And with each move he made with Beatrice, he imagined he was with his wife. It wasn't long before Beatrice had her way with Nicholas, demanding and getting the dominant position. She placed her now soaked pussy on top of his engorged cock and impaled herself with it.
"Jesus Christ, Nick. Your cock is so fucking big. It's been so long since I had a cock this big. Just sit still. I'm gonna ride you nice and slow."
Before long, Beatrice could hold back no longer and neither could Nicholas. She was riding him so hard, her thighs were making slapping sounds on each down stroke. It seemed like she was coming continuously for several minutes.
When he was ready to blow his load inside of her, he made the mistake of yelling out Candice's name. Neither one of them said anything until later. After their lust had subsided, Beatrice brought it up.
"You still miss her, don't you?"
"Yeah. I'm really sorry Beatrice. This should not have happened. I feel like a real shit taking advantage of you."
"Hey. I'm a big girl, remember? I knew what I was doing. Listen, Nick, I know you still love her. You need some closure here. Have you thought about taking a trip up there to see her?"
