In Chapter 3 of KNOCKIN' BOOTS, Kevin and his wife Fancy are engaging in a
"love game." What are the three things Kevin demanded Fancy tell him about
the young man they'd just finished "sharing"?
and thrusting to a steady rhythm. I felt his breath heavy on my neck, his tongue
licking my earlobe, his hands cupping my hips as he held me firmly and rode me from
behind. Despite myself, I sighed and pushed back against him, enjoying the pool of
wetness he had created between my thighs. I hated that I loved him so much. Hated
that I could allow him to treat me this way.
"My turn." The voice of the strange man in front of me was deep and thick with
arousal, reminding me of his presence and of my role. At my husband's command, the
two of them had made a sandwich out of me. They were the bread, and I was the meat.
Like the others before him, this man was tall and good-looking. He sat facing me,
naked and beautiful, perched on the edge of my glass dining table, and for the life of
me I could not remember his name. My hands left prints on either side of his muscled
thighs, and I watched as he stroked himself, then took my submissive fingers and
guided them around his shaft.
This just can't be normal. My husband's hands were no longer on my hips. Caressing
my shoulders, he urged me into a slight bend, then pushed downward on the back of
my head. I knew what he wanted and as usual I obeyed. With my lips wet and wide, I
took the strange man into my mouth and raised and lowered my head to the same
beat that was being pounded out behind me.
The sex was raw and primal. Two penises. Two tongues. Four hands. Nasty Fancy. The
sounds and smells were incredible. Freak Nasty Fancy. I felt my clitoris clenching, my
orgasm rising even as the shame of it hammered away at my heart.
I was damn good at what I did, and the man in front of me finished first. Groaning out
his climax, he pushed me away and held his still-hard penis in both hands.
My husband was more patient.
Clutching me against his chest, he controlled his strokes, waiting for me, and
moments later we exploded together: me crying out loud with tears in my eyes, him
whispering his perpetual promise into my ear. "This the last time, baby. I swear. This
the last time."
************
Kevin's e-mails usually came once a month and told me exactly what to do. Ran down
the scenario in so much detail that I didn't have to think at all: just shake my ass,
pick up the men, and execute the commands. At first I thought it was fun. Sexy.
Exciting. Monthly sex games, love play. Nasty Fancy had finally met her match. I must
admit, I got a lot of pleasure out of it for a while. Kevin's eyes alone could bring me to
multiple orgasms so you know his sex was good. According to all the relationship
articles I'd read there was nothing wrong with adding a little spice to your marriage to
keep it fresh. To keep your man happy. Right? Besides, I was proud that my man
trusted me enough to share his most intimate sexual fantasies with me. Lord knows I
had more than a few of my own. But then Kevin become more demanding. His cravings
more bizarre.
It wasn't long before my quest to satisfy my husband had led me into some sort of
vicious sexual cycle, and now I was getting nervous because the e-mails were coming
more frequently and each time I opened a new one the scenario was more twisted, the
instructions more perverse.
The shag rug from our living room had been spread out on the dining room floor, just
as Kevin had instructed. He'd watched from the shadows as me and the man, whose
name I now remember as Mario, had come in and began fooling around. Minutes later,
my husband had joined us.
And now, with the young man gone, Kevin lit two candles and lay me back down on
the plush rug. The group games were out of the way and he was ready for the main
event. Even above the scent of the candle and the odor of two men, I could smell my
own sex. I watched the shadows flicker across my nipples and illuminate the sun-ray
tattoo that encircled my navel as I tried hard not to cry.
He kissed me, his mouth hard and demanding. His penis pressed into my side as he
pinched my nipples painfully, and then shoved three fingers inside of me without
warning.
This just ain't normal.
I arched my back and bore it. I was sore, but I knew better than to resist. Turning
him down was out of the question. He'd be furious for days. Give me the silent
treatment and make me pay for it in a million little ways.
"Look at me," he demanded. His fingers were like fire moving in and out of me and I
shuddered at the harshness in his voice. I opened my eyes and met his steady gaze
as he urged me into our familiar game. "I don't know who the fuck that niggah was
who just left out of here, but you better tell me exactly what happened, Fancy. Go
'head, baby. Tell Daddy everything you let him do. Tell me everywhere he touched you.
Where you put your mouth, and what he tasted like. And I promise you, baby. I
promise. I ain't gonna get mad."
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