The Husband Sitter

Mr. Black throws his head back on a moan. “Merde.”

“Fill her quick. We need her pregnant.” Mrs. Black crouches down. “Feel how ripe she is for a child. Give her your come. Now.”

“I will. I can’t help it.” His open mouth lands on my neck, biting, sucking. “Time to reap what you sow, baby sis.”

Every cell in my body is screaming in euphoria at having so much gratitude leveled in my direction. Mr. Black is abundantly grateful that I’m letting him partake in my body and that I’ve bridged a connection between him and his wife. Made this situation okay. Mrs. Black is thrilled and more than a little turned on, watching her husband attack my mouth in a desperate kiss and grind his hips down one final time—

My universe splinters apart. The pressure plaguing my body releases like the helium from a popped balloon, and I scream, my body arching of its own volition. Red and pink paint the space in front of my eyes, wave after wave of bliss drowning me and shooting me back to the surface. Mr. Black is riding the same tide, the pleasure somehow even more intense for him. He’s shouting, shoving my knees to the mat and bearing down, his flesh convulsing inside me, rivulets of his seed dripping down my inner thighs. I’m receiving the experience of this orgasm from two sides and I can’t take it. I can’t take…

My overloaded brain takes mercy on me and the room fades in and out. The last thing I remember is Mr. Black tucking me into my huge, four-poster bed upstairs, Mrs. Black watching anxiously behind him.

“She feels…everything,” he breathes. “And amplifies it.”

“Yes.” Her hand slides over his shoulder and he twines their fingers together, kissing her wrist tenderly. “She’s going to be good for all of us.”

CHAPTER THREE

Mr. Blue

When I wake up the next morning, I’m treated like a queen.

I’m escorted by a maid to the en suite bathroom, where a giant tub of steaming, scented hot water is waiting for me, rose petals floating on the surface. After I’ve soaked for an hour, a smiling masseuse arrives and sets up her table in my room. After some coaxing, I agree to my first ever massage and I am not disappointed. By the time she’s finished, my body is the consistency of gelatin and I’m floating around with a drowsy smile.

I’m just about to dress and go explore the house when another maid enters my room and hands me a note from Mrs. Black.

Dearest, you are truly a wonder. I’ve never felt less anxious on a business trip and Mr. Black is back to the being the man I fell in love with.

I’m light as a feather, all thanks to you.

Alas, I must share you. That was part of the deal. Mrs. Blue is sending a car at five o’clock to bring you to her home. She doesn’t live far and will take exemplary care of you, as will Mr. Blue. From there, you will be going to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Red, so please be sure to pack enough clothing.

Don’t hesitate to call me and ask for anything your heart desires. If it is within my power, you shall have it.

All my love, Mrs. Black

I press my face to the fragrant stationary and inhale her happiness. It travels down my throat and winds in my tummy like bubble gum around a finger. Between the proof that I’ve been helpful and the massage, I could float up to the ceiling if I put my mind to it. On second glance at the letter, my eyes rest on the name Mr. Black. My nipples tighten into beads and delicious warmth gathers between my legs.

Intercourse is how I referred to sex before. After experiencing the physical and emotional roller coaster for myself, I know that word is far too dull and scientific. Sex is fire. Mystery. Animalistic. I like it. A lot.

I’m not sure how I’ve gotten this far in my life without picking up on the emotion of lust in other people. Maybe detecting lust and having it burgeon inside me was the final layer of my gift, lying dormant and waiting for me to become a woman. I’m definitely one now. And I want to have sex again not only to gratify those around me—the wives and husbands who brought me here. No, I want it for myself. Now that I know what to expect, I want to revel in the act next time.

Thinking about how hard Mr. Black thrust into me on the floor of the gymnasium yesterday, I rub agitated palms down my thighs and cross to the window, pulling back the gauzy curtain. Down in the landscaped backyard, Mr. Black paces along the edge of the pool shirtless. A bored Adonis.