"Mister Shaaa-ane," Darla, the bimbo, sang at him from the bathroom at the Hotel Alexis in Atlantic City.
"Yeah," he said, lying naked and watching the basketball game between the Sixers and the Warriors. Leslie had been gone only two days and he missed her terribly. It was so stupid to cancel a trip to Paris just to be with Darla, the secretary he had been screwing for the last three months.
He thought longingly of Leslie's innocence, even at the age of twenty-three. He wondered if their sex problem was more his than hers. He was the one with the experience. He should be doing the teaching.
Hell, who was he kidding? Darla was only nineteen, and he had learned more from her than in his entire life before that. But what was she before he hired her? A waitress, a stripper, a hooker? He did know that she couldn't type, and that at least twice he had found files she had labeled Filadelfia. Three hundred dollars a week was a lot to pay for a steady fuck and blowjob. Especially since he was already fucking up his office.
"Mister Shaaa-ane," she called again.
"What the fuck to you want?" he said.
"Aw, Mister Shane," she said, she said, doing her baby talk, as she stepped from the bathroom.
She was wearing that ridiculous schoolgirl costume again: plaid skirt with no panties, white blouse with not bra, and saddle shoes with bobby sox. It might be a look that turned some guys on, but it didn't do a thing for him.
She lifted her skirt, showing her thatch of blonde curls, and he smiled.
"Don't you like my little pussy, Mr. Shane?"
He wanted to scream at her to stop that. He had made love to teenage girls when he was a teen, and he liked it then. He was a grown man now, and he wanted a grown woman, an adult like Leslie, even thought Leslie might be naive about things sexual.
Darla crossed the room toward him, shifting her hips from side to side and letting her tits bounce behind her white blouse.
"Don't you like them?" she said.
She put her hands around them through the cotton blouse, and her nipples jutted out against the material.
He looked at her askance, trying to let her know that he was bored with the same stupid role she had been playing for three months. She moved beside the bed, and was holding one tit in both hands, still sheathed by the blouse, pushing it toward his face.
He looked up at her and saw the fear in her eyes.
"Don't you want to suck on my little titty?" she said.
No, he didn't want to suck on her little titty, which was actually large. He wanted to suck on Leslie's. He wanted her to be here with him and he wanted to make love to her as he had never made love to her before.
"Oh, yes. I do want to suck on your titty," he said, playing her game, and found that in spite of his resolve against it happening, his cock was getting hard again.
"Oh, Mister Shane, what a hard cock you have."
Now, she held her tit with one hand and pushed it against his face, as she gripped his bare cock with the other.
His mouth went to the cotton material of her blouse. He saturated it with his saliva and rolled his tongue against the hard nipple. He felt her stroking, but he was still sucking. What the fuck was the matter with him? Why was he doing this? But it felt so goddamn good.
"Ohhh," he moaned at her. He was letting her control him again, and he didn't like it. He liked the sex. He liked the fucking. But he did not like the game they continued to play. He was becoming the laughing stock of the office, and it was probably too late for him to ever dream of a political career.
"Don't you want to feel my pussy?" she whispered.
"Hmm-hmm," he hummed, with his lips still around her tit his tongue still trying to get through the wet material at her nipple. He thrust his hand between her legs, jammed his thumb against her clit, massaged.
"Ooooo, Mr. Shane, not so hard."
"Shut the fuck up," he said, and he jammed his four fingers into her pussy.
He looked up, and her eyes went wide. "I like it. I like that. Oh, keep doing it that way," she said. "You're fucking me with your fingers. Yes, that's good."
Her other hand was starting to go more and more rapidly against his cock, and she was into a spastic lack of control.
"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes, that's it. That's it." She was talking and breathing through her teeth, as he tried to put his fingers deeper and deeper into her pussy, and it was surprisingly easy to do.
"How many men have you fucked before me," he said. He swung his legs to the floor and she lost her grip on his cock. He threw her on the bed and lifted her skirt all the way.
"How many?" he demanded.
"Some," she said, and she was breathing hard. "Put your thumb on my clitty. Please, please."
"Yes," he said, and he pinched inside and out.
"Ohhh," she moaned and he knew that he had hit her g-spot again, and at this moment, he owned her as he would never own Leslie or any other woman.
"Take my cock in your hand, you little bitch."
"Yes, sir," she said, and it made him angry.
The very game that attracted him to her now repulsed him. In and out he went with all four fingers, massaging her clit with his thumb, and rubbing his fingers against her g-spot from within.
She was moaning and writhing, and her ass was off the bed, trying to work her pussy against his hand, but she had not yet taken his cock as he had told her. He'd fix the little bitch, he thought. He pulled his hand away, and rolled from the bed.
He stood over her, his cock standing tall, and she was confused.
"Do it, the hand thing. Do it!" she said.
"Fuck the hand thing. I want to do the cock thing," he said, and looked down at her.
"Rip me apart before you do," she said. Her eyes went insanely wide.
"What?"
"Rip me. Rip me apart," she said.
He did not like her giving him orders any more than he liked the little girl game she continued to play, but he was angry. He reached down to the material of her blouse and lifted her from the bed. He brought her face to his and he kissed her hard, biting her tongue as she tried to stick it into his mouth.
He gripped both sides of the button-up blouse, and ripped it open. Her ample tits flopped to the sides, as he pushed her back on the bed. He lifted her skirt, spread her legs and slammed his hard, thick cock between them and into her wide open pussy.
"Ooo," she said. "Yeah, fuck me."
And he did. He was angry with himself and with her, but she was the only one enjoying the anger as he plunged in and out of her. In and out.
At this moment, he hated her and didn't want her; he wanted her to be his wife.
"Oh, Leslie," he said.
"Yes. I'm Leslie. Fuck me like you fuck Leslie. Yes, please, fuck me the way you fuck your wife."
He was pumping in and out of her the way he pumped in and out of Leslie, trying to give her the same pleasure he felt but he always failed.
"Oh, yeah," Darla cried, and Leslie would never do that. Leslie was a lady with a lady's sensibilities, choosing to lie there and be fucked by a husband as was her wifely duty.
"It's wrong," he said.
"Nooo, nooo, Mister Shane, it's right. It's the rightest thing you've ever done. Fuck me like you love me."
"Call me Brandon," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"No, sirs. Just call me Brandon."
"Yesss, Brandon," she said, and he went in and out of her until he came for the fifth time that day. Now he was through with her. Maybe he was through with her forever.
He wanted that to be the case, but when he rolled over and stared at the ceiling, Darla had his cock in her hand, and she was drawing the head into her mouth.
"Is this how Leslie does it?" she said.
"Yes," he said, but it was a lie. Leslie never did it, and he had never taught her how to do it.
Yes, he thought, the failure of the marriage was as much his fault as it was Leslie's. In fact, as he had been thinking for days now, the failure of the marriage was all his fault.