My First Fan
INtrinSicliValud
My First fan
By INtrinSicliValud
Copyright © 2021 INtrinSicliValud
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: intrinsiclivalud100@yahoo.com
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
Where the hell had the years gone? As I glanced at my wife, lying on her side…thankfully on her side so her snoring had stopped, I wondered for the millionth time. The swell of Sandy’s shapely hip hinted at what once had been a tiny waist. But the years…. They had taken their toll. No, that was a lie. While she chose to let herself go, I was in better condition now than in decades. Down to my old Army weight and more muscular.
No, what had happened wasn’t because of the ravages of time. At this point, why were we even still married? There was no longer anything in common between us. The sexy, petite, raven black-haired, dark-eyed woman I had bound and blindfolded with elegant scarves when we were younger had disappeared. Replaced by the ever grumpy mother to our children. And she was a great mother. The girls had become young adults, mostly because of her. Years of war—so many deployments. The years I missed. Yet Sandy was always there for them.
But they were grown now. And Sandy found herself in a dead-end job she hated. Or more truthfully, enjoyed complaining about, but still stayed. As much as she griped, she made only tentative, half-hearted motions to find another job. Nor did she complain about our marriage. Frankly, neither did I. So we also stayed. The shining example of a dead bedroom marriage. No spark. None at all, anymore.
As I rolled onto my back to stare at the ceiling, I let a lengthy exhale calm me. Months ago, I began to try, recommending we go away. Spend some time together. See if we could rekindle…or even find that spark. She agreed…sorta. At least, she hadn’t said no.
And here we were. When the buzzer sounded, I lurched from the mattress, once more cursing her loud alarm. She only murmured as I stepped into the bathroom to get ready for the trip. That sexy little getaway to Sandals…. Yeh, somehow it became a “let’s go visit my family with the kids” trip.
And she wondered why, after retiring, I poured my energy into writing. Pure fucking escapism, that’s why. My stories were the only way to escape all this. And now, yippee, another family fucking vacation. Her family. I mean, they were pleasant and all, but busy and vacuous. At least we agreed I could hang out and write after the obligatory initial visit to one of her sister’s homes.
Why did I stay married? Everyone asked whenever I confessed my life. Inertia? Comfort? Sandy was an excellent mother. And she could be nice, when she wanted. In some ways, I still loved her, that’s why. Simple, really. And I definitely wished her no harm. Divorcing would hurt her; she didn’t deserve that. After everything she had sacrificed for the kids, and me. My pension was literally all she had.
But I simply wasn’t attracted to her anymore. The days of her sparkling eyes gleaming when she managed to take me deep into her throat. Or when I would drive her insane by taunting her with my tongue. Those days had ended decades ago.
Inertia? Fuck inertia. With a growl, I splashed chilly water onto my grizzled face as Sandy wobbled in, the flab of her belly hanging over her tight nylon panties. Boring. Unlike the lace ones she used to wear for me. An ache fluttered in me at the dusty memory. As she sidled past, she scratched her ribs; her sagging breasts flopped.
“Good morning,” I said, before wiping the towel over my face.
As she shuffled into the little toilet alcove to sit with a loud grunt and pee, she said nothing. With a sigh, I stepped out to dress. Was it me? Had I given up?
Later, after breakfast, I held in my comments while watching Sandy pack the usual snacks. Lightly salted nuts for me and chips, candy, and basically crap for her. No, it wasn’t me. Sandy was the one who’d given up. On herself. And perhaps on us. After another long exhale, I opened my latest story. While sipping the elixir of life that was coffee, I reviewed the beginning.
***
When the lean, black woman mashed her tight frame against Mark Atwater, the sun was barely a smear of orange-purple above the jagged tree-covered peaks. The tree-tops glistened with early morning dew beyond the sprawling mountain chalet’s broad patio. A whimper slipped from her, fluttering her soft lips against the skin of his neck. With a sigh, he turned to gaze into the closed eyes of the dark-haired angel beside him. One long, toned leg sprawled over his; she pushed into him once more. As he lay on his back in the center of the massive bed, her fingers tightened around his ribs and her pelvis pressed against his thigh; another moan escaped her quivering lips.
“Nice dream?” Mark asked as he ran his fingertips along her trembling arm.
After rolling her lips, eyes remaining closed, she swept her chin up and down. “Uh, huh.”
With a longer sigh, Mark rolled to his side while sliding his hand down her arching body. No matter what else he thought, she worked hard for those abs; they were impressive as they tightened beneath his fingertips. He skimmed them slower while her head settled once more, this time against his chest. Her teeth nipped at him when his digits found her little button. Damp, slick skin slipped under his hand.
“Hmm, so wet, already.” With her eyes shut, she couldn’t see that he wasn’t wearing his usual impish smile. Not this time. Not this morning.
With jaw clenched above Mark’s muscled chest, she jerked into him with a gasp when he tapped her clit with his fingertip. A growl flowed from her as he rubbed further, pushing his fingers into her sloppy folds. Eyes screwed shut, she moaned as he pushed her over and shoved one shaking leg wider. The sheets slid from him as he raised up between her legs.
In a swirling swathe of dark hair spattered across the white pillow, she was as remarkably gorgeous as the day they had met. Though her normally gleaming black eyes were still shut against the dim morning light, the charcoal skin taut over her high cheeks and pointed chin glinted in the orange sun.
“Beautiful,” he murmured as his fingertips raked upward along her heaving ribs. He would miss this view.
Rather than respond, her jaw fell open as Mark drove his hands inwards to crush her chocolate cones and the iron-hard, searing hot spikes atop them. With a groan, she twisted, thrusting upwards into his palms. Yeh, he would definitely miss her.
She was still groaning and squirming when Mark lifted his hand to grasp the base of his shaft. He swallowed as he aligned it with the shimmering purple-black flesh squelching between her wobbling legs. After a last pause, he clenched his teeth and rocked forward, piercing her in one long thrust as his hands slid along each shaking arm, pinning them to the mattress. Mouth frozen in a silent scream; she squeezed her eyes tight even as her pussy clamped hard around his plunging pole.
Soon, the same rhythmic magic began. The same for her, at least. As he stroked her, moans became growling, long groans matching his lengthy, powerful thrusts. Shudders wandered over her as her insides pulsated along his rod. She was getting close. His balls rolled; He was getting closer.
Mark sped up and, at last, her eyelids flew open. With her staring deep into him, he forced a grin…though he felt anything but happiness. The bed creaked. Then it thumped against the wall when he once more accelerated, driving her twisting frame into the mattress with each rapid, long thrust. Her mouth contorted. Her brows knit tight. Any second now.
The initial spasm raced up his shaft.
“Give Dirk my regards,” he said, his voice dripping with icicles, while yanking free of her with a wet splurge.
Her head had just tilted and one perfect eyebrow raised at Mark’s icy words when the first arcing jet of relief fled his tip to spray out over her squirming torso. As her wrists pulled against his hands, he held her legs spread with his hips. Wide-eyed, she stared at him. Even as her pelvis continued to bow upwards as if to take him back inside her…to give her what she needed, the gleam in her eyes faded. Lust gave way to realization. Yes, he knew.
He’d known for a while. Revenge is best served cold as fuck.
As more and more pearlescent streaks splatted down over her now motionless, dusky skin, Mark let his smile transform into a smirk. When his cock finally ceased jolting, he pulled from her wrists and slipped from the bed.
“What do you mean? He’s—”
“Don’t.” Without looking back, Mark walked to their, soon to be his, bathroom. His car was already packed. The papers, including photos of her with her boss and sworn statements, waited downstairs for her on the fancy, shmancy gourmet kitchen table she had wanted so desperately years ago. “Just don’t. You made a choice. Now you live with it. I hope his wife likes you.”
Several hours later, somewhere along I-285, while his convertible raced south just east of Atlanta, Mark, wind in his thick black hair, glanced at the golden band encircling his finger. He had been patient for six months. Six long months to prepare and set this up. Since he’d seen the video that he’d only mustered the courage to view a single time. His pretty wife, in the form-fitting backless red dress he’d once helped her choose, was on her knees in the parking lot. Bobbing before her boss; his hands in her long tresses with his head back, grinning. The audio was also good. Too good. He had listened to every long, loud slurp and familiar whimper.
But now he was free. And that…that would never happen to him again. Never.
After rolling its worn beveled edges, Mark gritted his teeth, gripped the wheel with his knees, and tugged it free. After one last stare, he swallowed and flung it out towards the grassy verge. He caught a single golden glint in the rearview mirror before it bounced into the tall weeds.
It was done. Okay, now he was free. And now he would…find something. Someone. Fun. More fun. And safe. Yeh, safe. Mark Atwater’s eyes narrowed as his foot pressed the accelerator; the engine roared. With a laugh that masked a twinge of pain, he zipped through traffic. Perhaps not too safe. No matter what, he would never be tempted to marry again.
***
When I looked up, the sunlight caught Sandy’s eyes. They gleamed. And the cutest crinkles appeared around them when she chuckled, like now.
“What’s so funny, cutey?” I asked, because she was cute, right then. In her stylish yet simple blue blouse and loose, expandable-waist black slacks.
“You look so serious. We’re going on vacation.” As she spoke, she shoved the snacks into one of several shopping bags she always took along on trips.
“Oh, just working on a story.” After tilting my mug, I gulped the last of my coffee and clicked off the tablet.
“Another of those smutty tales?”
After a glance at the trees beyond our stone-faced townhome in a quiet neighborhood, in a quiet city, in a quiet, boring as fuck state, I nodded before shoving the tablet into my pack. Sandy proofread a lot of my work. At first, I’d hoped it may spark something. But it didn’t. She just stayed in the same old rut. And maybe I did too. Except in my stories. My alter-egos roamed free, living downtown, partying, fucking hot girls in gold lamé minidresses, owning companies, and fucking more women. Women that looked like my wife, only decades earlier.
“You ready?” I called out as I held the door for her.
“As ready as ever.” Slouching, she huffed into the garage and I tugged the door shut behind us.
Inertia.
Fucking inertia.
Two days later, the day my world changed, I had survived the drive and the mandatory “meet the family” event. By the time I returned from my jog along the beach, Sandy was already gone. Since they predicted rain, she’d decided to head downtown and join her family for a day of shopping. Having declined, I found myself in the hotel room alone, so I cranked up the radio and started the shower. It had been an excellent pre-dawn workout and a nice long run. As I swept my still thick hair back from my face, I inspected my physique in the mirror.
“Not bad for a fifty-plus guy,” I muttered, flexing and bending like a damned fool before stepping under the warm pounding spray.
Since my early retirement, I had thrown myself into all sorts of hobbies, to include upping my normal workout regimen. To be perfectly truthful, I had been as shocked as anyone to discover I felt better and had more energy than in my twenties. Surprise, my doctor had been correct all along. Eat right, exercise more and, well, also quite honestly, with the blessing of good genes, I looked decent enough to receive compliments whenever someone asked my age.
So, yeh. Not bad for fifty-plus.
Just as I stepped out to dry off, my stomach advised me in no uncertain terms of its hollowness; its rumble echoing across the small hotel bathroom. As such, I raced a comb through my gray-tinged black hair, slipped into a pair of loose shorts and a beefy t-shirt, and headed to the lobby breakfast area. My plan was to eat, find a comfortable corner and at the very least read the morning away.
But I would probably end up writing.
Alone time had become more and more difficult with Sandy working from home several days a week. So, my idea for this vacation involved showing my face as required to her family, but otherwise reading and writing. So far, so good. After meeting everyone at last night’s dinner, I begged off the insanity of mall crawling with a horde of her relatives, and instead was now walking from the elevator into….