I arrived home from Sam's place at about seven o'clock. Barry's E-Class was parked in the garage, and as I pulled the Benz in beside his vehicle, I thought about leaving my shopping bags in the trunk. I wasn't sure I wanted to get into a discussion about my shopping habits tonight.
Stepping into the kitchen, I noticed the light was on in the den. Walking to the doorway, I glanced toward him.
"What were you doing all day?" he asked rather sternly.
"Shopping," I replied quite bluntly.
He reached for an envelope on the end table beside him and held it up. "I got the credit card statement today."
"And?" I asked.
His face grew stern before he said. "You charged twenty-eight hundred fifty dollars last month."
I could tell where this conversation was going and said. "So?”
His face went from stern to bright red as his anger boiled up inside, "So," he paused and then said, "what the fuck could you possibly buy that cost that much."
I wanted to see if I could really get him pissed, so I smiled and said, "Stuff."
"You must think I'm made of money," he shot back.
Barry's salary is well into the six digits, and I knew he could afford me spending twice that amount every month, but it was clear he was using the credit card statement to start a fight. And after what he said to me this morning, I was more than willing to accommodate him.
"I'm not sure what you're made of anymore," I replied cocking my hips as I spoke.
"What the fuck does that mean?" he shot back at me as he stood up.
I curtly replied, "You should know what that means."
As he walked toward me, he said, "I want your credit cards!"
"Fuck you!" I instantly replied.
His hand reached for my purse and tried to pull it from mine. I held it tightly until the strap broke.
"Now look what the fuck you've done. That's a three hundred dollar purse," I exclaimed.
He pulled again and ripped the broken strap through my hand, burning the soft flesh in my palm as he did. As he fumbled through the purse, looking for my card case, he almost screamed, "And how much did you spend today?"
I was now as pissed off as he was, and my hand really stung, "A little over a grand,” I smugly replied.
His face was now bright red, and the veins on his neck were distended, "You fucking gold-digging bitch. I'm cutting you off," he screamed.
"Go fuck yourself," I hissed back at him.
His anger welled up inside, and in an instant, his open hand shot out at me, slapping my cheek hard and snapping my head to the side.
With an instant red welt on my cheek and my flesh stinging even worse, I tried to slap him in return.
"Don't even try it, you bitch,” he yelled as his hand caught mine in mid-air, holding my wrist tightly.
His fingers dug into my flesh, "You're hurting me!" I screamed.
"I'll do more than hurt you," he shot back, "I'll throw your gold-digging ass outta here."
Tears had already begun streaming down my cheeks, the effect of the leather burn in my hand, the red welt on my cheek, and the finger marks on my wrist, "I'll call the cops and have them haul your sorry ass off to jail for spousal abuse," I said, holding my hand up to show him the evidence.
Barry finally found my card case and removed my driver's license and one gas card. "I'm leaving in the morning to see State play, but Monday, I'm calling my lawyer and have him draw up divorce papers,” he said.
"You're filing for divorce over one credit card statement?" I asked.
"Over a pile of credit card statements,” he replied.
"Those statements don't show what I bought. For all they tell, I could have been buying things for the house or even for your sorry ass," I reminded him, "You have no grounds," I added.
"I'll have my attorney make something up," he said.
I laughed, then replied. "Your lawyer is good at that. Mine will eat him alive," I said, not knowing what attorney I'd find to represent me but knowing women always win out in a divorce.
"Speaking of making things up, I'll tell my attorney that you've been fucking your secretary for years,” I quipped.
"You can't prove that," he quickly replied.
I gave him a dirty look and answered, “We just see about that."
I then turned and ran up the stairs, locking the bedroom door after slamming it shut.
As I ran cold water on a wash rag to soothe my hand and cheek, I thought about what he had just said. Why would he say I can't prove he's fucking his secretary unless there was something to be proven?
Barry's secretary is just about my exact opposite. Connie is very thin and has small tits. Her long, flowing, auburn hair is usually tied up in a bun with a hairpin holding it firmly in place. She's probably the most conservative dresser I've ever seen, always wearing skirts at or just below her knee or business slacks and usually a sweater or matching blazer. I doubt she owns a pair of heels higher than three inches, let alone something that would scream fuck me when worn.
Nevertheless, Barry was immediately put on the defensive when I even remotely mentioned the possibility of him having an affair with Connie. It certainly would explain some of why he wasn't giving me the sexual attention I felt I deserved. Before now, that possibility never dawned on me, but I was sure as hell going to look into it. I could eat him alive in divorce court if it turned out he was fucking that little tart.
As I lay down, I recalled the last time he went upstate to watch a college game. He and his zombie buddies stayed over and watched the Sunday Pro Games before driving the three hours back home. He wouldn't be expected until late Sunday night.
I'd have the whole weekend to myself. And with no credit cards to use for shopping, I'd have to fall back on my newest favorite thing to do, and that is finding a strange cock.
The blare of a car horn woke me from a restless sleep around five thirty the next morning. I heard the front door slam shut and knew he and his buddies were off to State for a weekend football fest.
I rolled over and went back to sleep with visions of big cock dancing in my head.
Bright streams of sunlight shown through the small opening in the drapes on my bedroom window, ending a very erotic dream I was having about fucking several men. Damn, I should have closed them tighter, wanting to see how my dream ended.
I glanced at the clock, which in bright red numerals said ten forty-one. I giggled as I thought it was time for this lady to get up and start planning her weekend fest. A cock fest.
As I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I noticed that the red welt on my cheek and the finger dents in my wrist had all but disappeared. The only remaining scar I carried from last night's fight with Barry was a red line through my palm where my purse strap had scorched my delicate flesh.
Combing my hair out, I slipped on a silky robe and headed down to the kitchen.
Barry had left a note on the counter, "Sorry about last night, Peg. Let's talk when I get back tomorrow," he had written.
So, after ripping my credit cards from me and then slapping me around, now, he wanted to talk. I was still mad as hell and decided that unless our talk led to a complete apology, he could, as I suggested last night, "go fuck himself."
As I sat having coffee and a muffin, I considered my visit with Sam the afternoon before. While his slaps hurt as much as Barry's had, Sam's were delivered in the heat of passion, and to be quite honest, I rather enjoyed the pain that came with Sam's cracks across my naked ass. Barry and I had engaged in what he termed rough sex before, but his rough sex would be considered playful when compared with Sam's sharp slaps.
I decided it would be fun to explore that direction a little further. My problem was that all the men I was seeing on the side, usually had other things to do on Saturday. Sam was most likely getting ready to tee off, and Mark, well, he was most likely sleeping in after a Friday night of heavy partying. Then Franklin came to mind. I hadn't asked him what he did on weekends because I wasn't planning on calling him again. But since I'd decided to explore having rough sex a little more, Franklin's huge cock inserted almost anywhere would undoubtedly be considered rough sex.
"Oh shit, my purse," I thought. What if Barry had taken the time to thoroughly go through all the compartments after I'd run off to my room last night?
I went into the den and found it lying on the sofa. Flipping it open, I slipped my hand inside the tiny compartment along the side and found Franklin's business card, "Whew," I said, then thought, I lucked out there.
Since the night before last, when he and I had fucked outside Flannagan's in his car, I'd thought more than once about how it might feel with his massive cock shoved down my throat. The idea of having him throat fuck me with his twelve-inch cock sent my mind into overdrive.
His cell phone rang twice before he answered. "Franklin speaking," he said, answering my call.
It's Margaret," I replied, and when he didn't answer, I said, "From Flannagan's the other night."
"Oh yeah," he said, seemingly surprised that I was calling.
I decided to get right to the point, "Whatcha up to today?" I asked.
"Nothing special," he answered.
"Well, how would ya like to come over to my place and shove that big beautiful cock of yours down my hot little MILF throat?" I said.
"Love to Margaret, but what about your hubby?" he asked.
I giggled, then said, "Gone for the weekend."
"I'm there, babe," Franklin immediately said.
I gave him the address and said, "I'll unlock the front door when you get here; just let yourself in."
"Be there in an hour," he instantly replied in a rather excited tone of voice.
As we hung up, I suddenly realized I had just given my address to a man I hardly knew. On top of that, I had some rather nosy neighbors who would be more than a little interested in why a six-foot-eight-inch black stud was walking up to my front door. I should have told him to carry a briefcase or some papers so I could explain that he was an insurance salesman or something if an explanation was necessary later. But the deed was done, and in a little over an hour, he'd be showing up with that fabulous cock to try and stuff it down my throat.
At least I had an hour to get ready. I dashed out to the Benz and grabbed my shopping bags from the day before. Once back inside, I headed up to my room. I made my bed carefully, smoothing the white down comforter across the wide mattress. Since I had gotten straight to the point with Franklin earlier, I decided to get to the point when he arrived.
I pulled the free pair of lace ankle socks from the box holding the red heels I'd bought from Billie and slipped them on my sexy feet. Since I wasn't planning to walk much, I went for the white ankle strap stilettos. I figured perhaps I'd get a chance to dance a little before these incredible fuck me shoes were pointed toward the ceiling. Moving to the bathroom, I applied more dark mascara than I should have and chose the most decadent red lipstick I owned. I was sure my hair would be messed up shortly after he arrived, so I just used my fingernails to fluff it and tease it around my sexy face.
Tying my white silk robe tight around my body covered everything it needed but left little to the imagination since the silk fabric perfectly outlined my luscious tits. My nipples already hard poked at the silk like twin invitations.
Moving back into the bedroom, I surveyed my look. A wide smile acknowledged that I looked the part. A sexy MILF porn star waiting for her big black stud to arrive with his incredible throat-busting cock.
I had planned on going downstairs to greet my challenge as he slipped through the door, but as I neared the top of the stairs, my plan was dashed as I heard the door open and then quickly close.
I suppose the top of the stairs would have to do.
"Margaret?" his voice said before I even saw him.
I struck as sexy a pose as I could at the top of the stairs, then said, "Up here, sexy."
As he appeared at the bottom of the long, wide staircase, his eyes got bigger than saucers, and his mouth dropped open, "Holy shit!" he exclaimed, looking up at me.
"What're ya waiting for, stud?" I asked, shifting my hips from one side to the other.
Franklin bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time, his broad smile showing off gleaming white teeth. One monstrous hand slid along the hand rail.
