Bubbles' husband, Marc Enderson, was an extremely analytical man, excruciatingly intelligent, and intimidating in his detachment. Marc Enderson had walked into the Parisian novelty show during one of the interminably long lunch breaks he was forced to endure during his two-week conference. He saw the woman's pink and white complexion flush with ecstasy as her Amazonian frame was put through it's paces by two men, both with deeply colored, blue-black skin, both thickly muscled, and both boasting erections of well over a foot in length. While Bubbles finished her set, Marc had a word with the club owner who doubled as Bubbles manager. An hour later, contracts were signed, money was exchanged, and Marc returned to his conference.
It was close to midnight when Marc returned to his suite. It was an unexpected pleasure to walk into rooms filled with magnificent flower arrangements. He walked into the sitting room to find Bubbles pouring over sketchpads and fabric samples, a pair of burgundy reading glasses perched on her nose. She looked up at him and smiled quizzically, "Marc Enderson, I presume?"
Marc threw back his head and laughed. "You're a cool one, Bubbles Beaucamp."
Fixing them both a drink, Marc smiled disarmingly as Bubbles raised her eyebrow yet again when he handed her a glass. Taking a sip, she smiled back. "How did you know? Psychic ability?"
"Nothing as fancy as that. The ice bucked was filled. The tongs were wet. The Stoli was open. Everything else was dry. It's elementary, Watson."
"Mmmm," Bubbles murmured, taking a long draw. "Marc Enderson, wunderkind, billionaire, analyst, football team owner, manager with sole ownership of a worldwide conglomerate. You have been accused of psychic ability on more than one occasion."
Marc smiled easily, loosening his tie and removing his jacket. "And, once again, my judgment has not failed me."
The sheerest hint of steel stole into Bubbles voice when she asked curiously, "Pray tell. What were you able to discern about me besides the fact that I can fuck a large cock while taking an even larger cock up the ass?"
" I can tell you're a woman who enjoyed what she was doing up there. Wholeheartedly and unabashedly, you came all over those men while they fucked you. It was your juices, not theirs, flowing down your thighs. You screamed, you stopped breathing for a moment, and, most importantly, your body flushed all over each and every time an orgasm ripped your body." Marc smiled again. There was no twitching. There was no uneasiness. Marc dipped his head and gave her a light, sweet kiss. "I was raised by one of the world's most active whores. She married and fucked on a monetary basis. She was my first sexual partner. I have fucked her and her lovers and her lover's lovers for as long as I can remember. I have slept with my stepsisters, stepbrothers, half-sisters, half-brothers, cousins, uncles and aunts. And then, when I was ten, my mother's sister, Gigi, came for a visit."
Marc took Bubbles glass and went to freshen their drinks. "We had rented this glorious mansion outside Rio for Mardi Gras. It had been a night of spectacular debauchery. One that really stood out from the rest." Handing a drink to Bubbles, Marc once again got comfortable. "This big, fat and flabby woman from Texas was sucking my cock while her even fatter husband, with the tiniest plug of a dick, fucked my far from cherry ass, and I rubbed my foot against his wife's bloated pussy. We were all coming, when I saw a flash of white from the corner of my eye. There was a whole lot of commotion, shouting, and tears. I saw Gigi hand my mother a check, as I was being lead to the car. She had a long talk with me. She didn't have any problem with sex. She did have a problem with children not being allowed to discover their kinks for themselves. I remember Gigi sighing, turning to smile at me and giving me a one armed hug. 'Listen, kid,' she said in her throaty voice, 'it's the Jesuits for you. They're smart, they're canny, and your kinks will pale in comparison.' She gave me another of her big hearted smiles and I couldn't help but smile back. 'Listen, kid....Marc...' she said, with her voice cracking a little bit, 'I don't judge you now or ever. Hell, I don't even judge your whore of a mother. No offense, kid,' she said, lighting one of her long, smoky blue cigarettes. 'Your mom and I got the short end of the stick in life. Neither of us have any room to judge. I know of this monastery in the Sudan. They are truly warrior Jesuits. You'll have individual instruction. You'll play sports. You'll have recreation. And, you'll have Gigi stopping by every couple of months to check on you.'
Bubbles reached for Marc's glass and refreshed their drinks. "Gigi was right. I flourished. The Jesuits had charge of my brain and my body and pushed both to their limits and beyond. Every six or seven weeks, Gigi descended on the monastery with gifts and stories and laughter. I witnessed a very personal scene between Gigi and Father Xavier. Father Xavier was a big, bluff man who had been born with female genitalia. Aunt Gigi was strapped on and fucking his prone figure while he prayed fervently. Gigi raised a finger to her lips when she saw me and shooed me with the other hand."
Marc paused, taking a long breath. "Aunt Gigi is another story for another time. I want marriage, Bubbles. What's mine is yours. I'm very busy most of the time, so you'll be left to your own devices. I want someone I can come home to at the end of the week. That someone is very, very sexual. That someone is smart. That someone can live outside the norm set by society. I want a life partner. Are you in?"
Bubbles stood and walked around the room. "Why would you assume I'm smart?" she asked.