And get to work he did. Vincent flipped me over so my knees were in the seat and I was facing the rear windshield of the limo, so he could hit it from the back; my second favorite position. When Vincent put his dick inside me, I had to gasp; he seemed to fill up every inch of me. He always said my pussy was made to fit him, and I was inclined to believe it. He moved himself all the way in, then all the way out, applying a little more force with every thrust. He gripped my ass and pulled me back onto him over and over, until I felt myself about to cum, but I didn’t want to, not just yet. So I pulled myself off him, and turned around. I told him to sit down so I could climb on top of him; my very favorite position. My motto is “Somebody’s gotta be on top, so it might as well be me,” and I knew just how much Vincent loved me riding his dick. So I gave him the best ride of his life. I worked my hips back and forth, up and down, side to side, in circles, and some more shit. Vincent was in such ecstasy, he kept moaning my name over and over. The only thing that made him stop was me putting my breasts in his mouth, and he sucked on them like a starved newborn baby. The feel of his dick, his tongue on my nipples, his hands squeezing my ass, it was just all too overwhelming. I could feel the most intense orgasm beginning to surge through my body. I sped up my pace and Vincent and I climaxed together, which was always the way it seemed to happen with us. Our bodies were in sync that way.
Vincent looked at me and kissed me passionately, desperately even. Then he stared me straight in the eye and said, “Vanessa, I love you . . . more than I’ve ever loved anyone before, and in a way that I’ll never love anyone else. Please? . . .”
As I looked into those gorgeous, pleading eyes, believe me, part of me wanted to give in, but I couldn’t; it just wouldn’t work. “Vincent, you know I love you, too, and I always will. But things are the way they have to be. Now I’m going to go freshen up, and I suggest you do the same. I’ll see you soon.”
I kissed him, straightened my dress, finger-combed my hair, and got out of the limo. As I headed back inside to go to the ladies’ room, I thought about what had just happened, and what was about to happen, and I decided everything was as it needed to be. I went into the restroom and got myself all cleaned up, swirled around a little mouthwash, retouched the makeup, and I was good to go. I needed to get to my seat anyway, it was time to start.
I walked in and sat down, and it was then that I saw Vincent again. He was standing there all fixed up and looking wonderful, and staring straight at me. I smiled at him, and he smiled back, but only for a second, because he had to refocus on the woman standing in the back of the room. So I stood and turned to look at her, as did everyone else.
Winter Marie Henderson looked beautiful. She and I shared so many similarities; it was almost like looking in a mirror. We were both tall, with dark hair, fair skin, and brown eyes. But there was one major physical difference: the baby bump that was so subtly being hidden by the flowers in her hand. The other major difference was our personalities. She was quiet, demure, and the type of woman that would give up her entire career to be a stay-at-home mother and a housewife. Now don’t get me wrong, to dedicate your life to your husband and child is admirable, but it wasn’t for me. I’d worked entirely too hard to get where I was in my career to let it all go right then. And that was why she was the one in the white dress, and
I was sitting among the guests.
I sat through Vincent’s wedding and did question whether I had made the right decision, but I did what had to be done. Vincent wanted to marry me, but I couldn’t be the type of wife he really wanted, so I set him free to find her, and find her he had.
I stood and clapped as they were pronounced husband and wife, and gave hugs and well wishes in the receiving line. I danced with Marcus at the reception, and watched as Vincent and his new bride fed each other cake. I even stood with everyone and threw birdseed as the newlyweds rode off together into the night in the very same limo that Vincent and I had made love in just hours earlier. What I’d done was wrong on so many levels, but I didn’t regret it. I truly loved Vincent, he was my soul mate, but I had to let him go. So I resolved to do just that.
I was heading across the parking lot to get in my car when I felt my phone vibrate again. I pulled it out of my purse, wondering who it might be. To my surprise, it was a text from Vincent.
I have a business trip next month; I hope you’ll be willing to join me. Please?
I was so conflicted. Sleeping with a married man was wrong, but I was beyond in love with Vincent.
So I sent my reply: E-mail me the details.
I got a simple as a response.
The decision I’d just made wasn’t the smartest one. It could lead to all kinds of trouble. It was wrong, but then I thought about the old Luther Ingram lyrics, “If loving you is wrong . . . I don’t wanna be right.” So, with that decided, I got into my car and headed toward home, thinking about Vincent, my now-married lover.
Shadow Dancer
Landon Dixon
She was there again, third night in a row. I took a drag on my cigarette, staring at the window across the alley, at the silhouette of the naked woman dancing behind the lighted shade.
The bitch.
The building next door was a run-down hotel, like mine. But that body was the stuff of dreams.
I was in town on business, and every evening when I got back to my room, come midnight, the music went on and the woman started dancing. Exotic, erotic dancing, behind the lit-up shade. I’d added a few more stains to the threadbare carpeting, sucking down coffin nails like I was planning my own funeral, stroking dick like there was no tomorrow—watching her sway and undulate and writhe to the thumping music.
She was slim and curvy, agile, tits huge in profile, seductive hips in motion, legs long and slender. Her hair was loose, flying all over the place when the siren song burned hot, clutched in her hands and streaming through her fingers when it smoldered sultry.
I was there for the floor show every night, mesmerized, cigarette dangling from my dry lips, hard-on filling my damp hand. She cavorted in serpentine shadow for fifteen minutes or so. And then the lights would go out.
The curtain never rose, the shade staying down, despite my cursed begging.
I was ready to tear my cock out by the roots, tear that window covering to shreds. I had to do something more meaningful than jerk and jack. A man only gets such an opportunity once in a lifetime. I was a day overdue at my next stop already, but I wasn’t about to hit the road until I’d seen for myself what was behind that shade—seen it and fucked it.
I crushed out my cigarette, did up my pants. I kicked my sample cases into the closet and locked it, exited the dingy room, testing the door lock on the way out. It was ten after midnight, and the dance was going full swing. Only tonight, the babe was going to have a partner.
I raced down the stairs and hustled along the sidewalk, punched through the door of the neighboring fleabag, and climbed those stairs three at a time. She was in 404. I knew that from hours of figuring and fantasizing. I knocked on the gray wooden door. It opened.
“Yes?”
She was naked, ten times as dark and delicious as she’d appeared behind the living window shade. “I’ve been watching you,” I said, giving my eyes a free ride all over her lush, black velvet body.
She wetted her plush lips with the tip of her neon-pink tongue, and smiled. “You’ve seen me perform?”