The first thing Mr. Hardy did after he bought me out was close down my parlor for the "re-branding" process. For three months. I told him I'd lose my clients. I told him I'd lose everything. Three months? Suddenly, the seventeen thousand didn't seem so valuable.

After about a week, Maxwell called me at my home number.

"How did you get this number?" I asked him. I was curled up in my recliner by the TV, wearing my fuzziest bathrobe and drinking my wine.

"I need to see you." Maxwell's voice was hushed and somehow it echoed.

"Are you at home right now?" I asked.

"I'm in the bathroom. My wife just went to bed. Listen, Amy, I need a massage."

"We open again in a few months," I told him. "I can schedule you in for then."

"Amy."

"Go to another parlor then."

"I'm not talking about the massage, Amy."

I breathed out a long sigh. "I know."

"That last time was just so--I think I'm in love with you, Amy."

"Jesus."

"No, listen. I just need to see you again."

I'd always worried this might happen. One of my clients might get possessive. When the L word came out, I knew it was time to call it off, at least, cut this one off.

"I'm not going to be with you, Maxwell."

"I just want to be inside of you again, baby."

I confess I was a little wet and a little buzzed. Maxwell was an honest-to-god Greek masterpiece. Muscular like you wouldn't believe. The idea of him wanting me...

"I'll pay you."

"Maxwell--"

"Double."

I stopped. One of my fingers, I noticed, was nearing the gap between my legs and my left breast had popped out of a fold in my robes.

"The parlor is closed down. It's being remodeled. I can't see you there."

"Anywhere, then."

"I have been known to make house calls."

"You can't come here!" he almost shouted. "My kids."

For double the money, how could I turn him down? Even if he did love me; if it hadn't gone too far. For double the money, I'll do almost anything. For triple, I'll do absolutely anything. "How about triple," I said. "And you can come to my apartment."

"How about tomorrow? One o'clock."

I shivered, one of my fingers had found its way inside of me (how did it do that?).

"Yes," I gasped and hung up.

I remembered how Nancy had set up her apartment for our first time together and I didn't have a massage bench here either, so I would bring him to the bedroom. I lit candles, I stripped nude, I put on my fuzzy bathrobe, I poured myself a glass of wine. He arrived exactly at one like we agreed.

"Actually," he said, "I got here early, but I waited outside."

"You're funny," I said in my most girlish voice. Where did that come from? I didn't have to impress this man.

He came into my kitchen and noticed the bottle of wine I had left on the counter. He turned his back to me.

"Oh, do you want a drink?" I said.

He had put a stack of bills on the counter. Cash. I noticed that I was wet.

"Of course," Maxwell said. He smiled at me, those cool gray eyes reflecting the blue of my kitchen tiles. My pussy felt a little wetter.

He was wearing a suit, which I had never seen before. Maxwell was the star football coach, and he looked like the star quarterback. He usually came in wearing sweatpants and a cutoff shirt. He dressed up form me. I stifled a giggle. What was going on with me today?

Then, I remembered our last encounter, how he had come into the parlor just after I had made the deal, how I had fucked him without a hint of pretense. I had broken my rule. I eyed the stack of cash on the counter. Maybe this was a mistake. I had crossed a line bringing him here, even for triple.

"So how have you been?" he asked, sipping the wine I gave him.

"Fine," I said. "Busy."

That was a lie. But I didn't know what to say. I could see his erection through his pants. And that was turning me on.

"Right, what with selling the parlor and all."

"Franchising the parlor. It's going to be a big operation, you know."

"So you won't have time for me anymore?" He crossed the kitchen and stood next to me.

I knew he was joking. And yet... I laughed and pushed him away. "You're just worried I won't give you your happy endings anymore."

I was supposed to be fucking him--or at the very least, massaging him. I thought of the candles burning in the bedroom. He smiled at me again. We poured another drink.

I threw the empty bottle in the sink and sat back down on his lap. A single breast flopped out of my robe. I made no effort to fix it. "Well, I'm out," I said.

"I see that," he said and let one of his big hands fall onto my exposed breast.

"I meant of alcohol," I said.

He kissed me. Lightly on the cheek. It wasn't sexual at all. If anything, it was romantic--and there's a difference. I should have shaken him off. I kissed him, let my tongue slide into his mouth.

"I never asked," he said. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

I smiled at him. I don't know why.

"No. But I had a girlfriend until recently. Until I met you."

Why? Why did I say that? I was drunk now, too drunk to care. So drunk, that I was letting something out of the cage inside of me, some ghost of a feeling. Sex and romance were colliding, and I couldn't stop it.

Maxwell slid his hand down my side and cut through the loose knot at my waist. My robe fell away, and I was naked in his arms.

"Oh, so you're only interested in girls. This is entirely professional."

"No," I said. I kissed him again. I pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

He stood up and held me in his arms our lips still locked together. He set me down on the counter next to the pile of cash and put his face between my legs.

I was already wet, but I could feel his tongue parting the lips of my pussy, finding my clit. A spasm of pleasure shocked through my body and I gasped. "Mr. Maxwell," I whispered.

I squeezed his head with my thighs. I screamed. I moaned.

I slipped off the counter and onto my knees, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt with my teeth on the way down. Now his body was exposed to me, his rippling abs, his pecks. I let my hands caress him, his body. I took down his pants and put him in my mouth.

I licked the shaft of his penis--all eight inches. I put his balls in my mouth.
I stood up and let my nipples drag across his chest. I knew then that there was going to be no massage.

"Fuck me," I said.

His eyes looked down into mine, and he put his rough hand on my cheek. We kissed. I wrapped one leg around his hip, and he lifted me by my shoulders onto the counter. He entered me. It slid inside of me, and I felt my juices running down my leg.

Electricity was pulsing up my spine. I bit into his shoulder and moaned. His thumb was rolling on my clit while he pounded me against the cabinets. My hair was getting in my mouth. My breasts were quivering with the tightening of the pressure against his chest.

Both of my legs were wrapped around his lower back, and I was pulling him into me with every thrust. He lifted me off the counter and let me fall through his arms onto his dick, bouncing me against his hips.

"The bedroom," I gasped. "There."

He carried me, dick still in me, through the doorway and threw me down on the bed that I had made for us. The candles had burned down into thin red cups, glowing like Jack-o-lanterns.

I straddled him, throwing my hair back like a wild woman, almost screaming at the ceiling. His hands were climbing up my breasts, pinching my nipples with just a hint of pain. I looked down at him and fucked him harder, almost in retribution.

Almost on a whim, I reached over and took one of the candles in my hands. I dribbled the flaming wax onto his chest. He hissed. I could see him holding back a scream of shock and surprise, but the look in his eye was fire. He threw me off of him and put my feet behind my head. Then he fucked me harder than ever.

He pulled out, and my breasts were washed with hot semen.

Maxwell's head was on the pillow next to mine--my pillow. He was panting. His seed was spilled across my stomach. I watched his toned chest heave in the dim light of the candles, the wax hardening in long red drips over his sides and onto the sheets--my sheets. His body--my body.

Men fall in love with me all the time. It's the happy ending, it's getting exactly what they never dared to hope for, that gets them. Men have been known to leave their wives for me, but I have never accepted.

"I love you," he said.

I smiled.