I have not let this out to anyone: My marriage is on fire. For two weeks now, Brice and I have not made love. I am starting to lose patience. Why is he tormenting me like this? I miss those nights when he cuddled me—nights when he caressed my breasts and rubbed my clit; nights when he slid his rock-hard erection into my soaking wet pussy. I miss all that and so much more. Right now, I feel like I am a stone, like I am not human anymore. It is like I am not even a woman. What have I become?
Enough is enough, I at last decide. I need to be fucked, hard. Having arrived at this decision, I go to one of those brothels where you pay men to have sex with you. A distant friend of mine, Gabrielle, directs me there. It was where she found solace when she was on bitter terms with her husband. They reached an extent where they didn't talk or look each other in the eye anymore.
Luca is tall, strong and he's got a flawless shape. He is the man who opens up for me on the door I am directed to—door number 15. He bids me in and so I walk inside confidently, inspecting the large, white-painted room. There is a lush bed, erotic picture frames dressing the walls, and an open closet. Inside it I can see arousing clothes, whips, handcuffs, belts, underwear, and stuff. There is a carton full of condoms on the table next to the bed.
"What is your name, beautiful?" He asks me.
"I'm Ashlyn. You are Luca, right?"
He nods his head quietly. The woman at the reception told me his name before sending me here.
"Look at the walls. If you'd like us to try any painted position, feel free to point it out. It is my duty to make certain that our clients get what we promise them—excellent services. How must we begin?"
I like this position: The woman lies down on the bed with her face placed on a pillow. She then splits her legs behind, her ass lifting upward; the man, wearing underwear that has a tear to permit his cock slip out, lies on top of her and fucks her in this manner.
"We are not bound to one sexual position, I must be clear. We have got a whole hour. If you feel like switching positions, please don't hesitate to let me know."
I don't wear my panties for a purpose: I am going to seduce my stepson, Laurent. His dad is not around. From the look of things, he is not going to show up home any moment now. An hour past, I called him to interrogate his whereabouts. He said he is in an emergency meeting that showed no signs of ending up soon.
I keep my attire neat but effectual: A black mini skirt that shows off my yummy legs and bulky ass; a green top that gives my breasts a mouthwatering look from any given angle. I wear high heels, even though I am not going anywhere. I am just home, having dinner with Laurent.
As I walk, I feel my hips bouncing left and right. It feels wonderful. The minute I step into the living room, he casts his eye on me. It is hard not to stare away, so keeps snatching a glimpse at me every now and then. I cross my legs one above the other and fan myself with my hands, "It is so hot, isn't it, Laurent?"
He nods calmly, mouthing not a slight word. Perhaps he is not in a cheery mood this evening?
"Do you have a girlfriend, son? I've never heard you talk about dating. You are really handsome, trust me, and any girl can easily fall for you."
He expresses shock at what I have said. Even so, there is not a word breathed out of his shut lips.
"If you need any tips on how you to trick a girl into having a date with you, feel free to talk to me. It's that simple, you know. You might have many girls out there dying to be in your arms and yet you just don't get the signs they are giving you."
Dinner is served. Chloë sets the plates down and then bows her head. She marches away quietly, carrying an empty tray. I signal Laurent to close his eyes so he can join me in prayer. He doesn't. Instead, he grabs a plate filled with boiled eggs and rice and minced meat—and begins eating straight away.
I surrender. There is no way I will stand this insulting behavior! I hate the way this boy treats me. It is like I am a stranger here in my own house, like he does not know who I am and where I come from. Damn him! If he wants to talk to me nicely, he knows where to find me. I stand up and tread furiously back to my room. I run into Chloë in the corridor, still clad in her dark blue uniform. I tell her, "Chloë, please serve me a plateful of rice and meat in my room. I won't be eating at that table with that moron." She bows down her head the second time and rushes to do as I have instructed.
Once I am on my own, I let myself fall on the bed and sigh out deeply. It's better to be alone here than share the table with that...jerk. Well, he is a jerk. He will always be a jerk. Don't you think it's high time you grow up, silly boy? Don't you?
"Good evening, ma." I can't sleep. Neither can I stand the loud snoring of my husband, Brice. Slipping on my nightgown, I sneak out of our bedroom and ring up Callie on the quiet balcony, where chilly air gnaws my ears. Alas, the gnawing pains!
"Ashlyn, what are you doing at this late hour? You're still awake? This is two in the morning, mind you."
"I am aware, ma. I can't sleep. Something is...something is bothering me. I thought about sharing it with you. Maybe the pain I'm feeling right now will go away once I do that." Tears begin to fill up my eyes. I mop them away using my hands but fresh ones leak out. My voice becomes shaky and blurred-like.
"My sweet baby, what is troubling you? You know that I'm here for you. I will always be there for you. Talk please."
It is not easy, but I gather the courage I need to speak out. "Addison is sleeping with Brice behind my back. I discovered this two days ago. I went on to confront her about it, telling her to stop, but she won't." Addison is my elder sister. She has ever been dear to me, until the past two days, when I saw her lying naked with Brice on my bed.
I fear Callie's reaction more than God at this moment. Will she say that I am making this up just to hurt my sister, whom she could never imagine doing such a thing? My worst fear is she is going to end this call and never want to talk to me again. The truth is she has always loved Addison more than she loves me and Mario, my brother—who is her youngest child and her only son.
"Ma, are you there?" For a minute or two, she falls quiet.
"Sweetie, I need you to come to my house tomorrow morning so that we can talk this out. Do you hear me?"
