Lust Bursts My Bubble

Everybody has a self-image. Most people have a positive self-image and believe that they're good people; a few others revel in being assholes. Many people with good self-images deserve them; others merely delude themselves.

Like the majority of the population I have always had a good self-image. I polished it as an adult by giving away time and money for worthy causes. Unlike most people I was born with a proverbial silver spoon in my mouth -- the only child of a couple with a last name that immediately screams "money" to all who hear it. That's why, after my parents died in a tragic private plane crash when I was thirty two, much to the chagrin of my aunts and uncles, I legally changed my name to Kevin Wilson -- something plain and All-American. I inherited ninety percent of their wealth. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

At thirty five I was a two time loser as far as my love life is concerned. I was always big -- at thirty five six feet six inches tall and 230 pounds, the same weight as when I was a freshman in college -- and I was attracted to large (not fat, large) big-titted blonde women. Because of my wealth the women I came into contact with were also well-to-do, if not rich, though not in the same category as my parents' billions.

I found out that even with prenuptial agreements I didn't find wives that were more interested in me than my money; at least that's my rationalization to maintain my good self-image. My first buxom blonde wife, Angela, and I lasted three years, from when I was twenty four until twenty seven years old. My second big-titted bleached-blonde wife, Loretta, and I also lasted three years, from when I was twenty nine to thirty two. I got divorced from Loretta shortly after my parents died, and changed my name as soon as the divorce was final.

Why didn't my marriages work? I guess you'll have to talk to my exes to get the whole story, but what I told myself -- to keep my self-image -- was that I loved them more than they loved me, and particularly that they were more interested in money than love. They'll probably tell you that I was more interested in sex than love. I will concede that I wanted to fuck much more often than they did -- like every day -- and didn't take rejection well. Maybe all three of us are right. Anyway, it's water over the dam.

I dated quite a bit after my second divorce, and used a few high quality escorts. But my sex life was still really lacking; no real passion or chemistry.

Shortly after my name change I started up a charity with the incongruous name of "Help/Boot Straps," or HBS for short. HBS helped the unemployed enhance their job skills. While my charity would help people of any race, color, or age, we focused on young minorities. With several hundred million dollars of my seed money, and by hiring very skilled and dedicated employees, we quickly became very successful and were nationally recognized for our efforts.

Oh -- one thing -- I set HBS up so that only one person, the executive director, knew that I was the driving force and the money behind it. Everyone else associated with HBS thought that I was just in charge of purchasing, although I did often go out in the field and help out the woodworking instructors because carpentry was an avocation of mine since I was a teenager.

One of HBS's best employees, Jeff Jamison, a little guy who was full of personality and could very well relate to our "clients" (which is what we call the people we help), was married to likely the most bizarre woman that I had ever met. Her name is Ashley, but if you called her anything except "Ash," you wouldn't like what happened next. Ash was, and in many ways still is, an absolute study in contrasts.

My clear first impression was that Ash is exactly NOT my type. She is a five foot one inch brunette, maybe 100 pounds soaking wet, with little more than pimples for tits. I quickly concluded that she was brash, loud, self-centered, gross, opinionated, homophobic, and a closet racist. Politically I considered her to be to the right of Sarah Palin. Ash was twenty eight or twenty nine years old and worked as a secretary for a female pit-bull tort defense attorney who mostly did trial work for insurance companies trying to bilk their customers when they have a claim.

Ash is exactly the opposite of Jeff. However, somehow they made it work, and she really seemed to be devoted to Jeff.

Even though Ash is not my type, I have to concede that there is something about her appearance that makes her attractive to men. Maybe it's the way her back curves to her butt; maybe it's the taper of her thighs; maybe it's the way she flips her hair; maybe it's the way that she provocatively wiggles her ass; maybe its pheromones; I don't know. Simply put, she has the "it" factor; something impossible to describe with words, and not possible to put your finger on, but real nonetheless.

I always got the distinct impression that Ash disliked me as much as I disliked her. She felt that I "judged" her, was "stiff" including because I didn't drink, and that I was a brainwashed liberal, to the left of Nancy Pelosi.

Unfortunately, I had many interactions with Ash because HBS had many team-building events that spouses and significant others were invited to, and had many events with clients to help their self-esteem and help them develop social skills so that they could do well in job interviews. From my perspective Ash was often aloof at these events, and when not aloof Jeff worked hard to moderate her obnoxious personality.

At one company party -- an actual dance, with a great DJ and many trappings at a VFW hall -- Ash was more obnoxious than usual. Jeff wasn't around when she made some awful off-the-wall comment sparked by the words to a dance song that was playing. I said "Ash, don't you ever get tired of being a bitch? You need a lesson in humility!" With that I picked her up, turned her upside down (I handle weights heavier than her every other day when I work out), and danced a few steps with her, as her skirt fell down exposing her thighs and panties, as a number of guests guffawed.

When I put her back down I was ready to bolt if she got physical, or to steel myself for an onslaught of invectives. I was shocked when she came out of it laughing so hard that she almost collapsed. When she put her hand on my elbow and said "WOW, that was fun!" I thought that she was being sarcastic. However, the tone and substance of her later comments led me to believe that she actually did enjoy it, or at least thought that it was humorous.

After the flip-over episode Ash was more pleasant to me not just that night, but at subsequent events. I didn't really feel any differently toward her -- except that I did notice that I immediately got hard when I saw her thighs when I had her upside-down, and in subsequent encounters my dick involuntarily twitched.

At Thanksgiving we had a big party for clients. For many of them it was a celebration of their "graduation" to jobs. Ash was especially friendly to me at that event, and didn't make any obnoxious comments around me. The weekend after that we had a thank-you party for donors; the booze flowed freely at that soiree. For the first time ever that I witnessed it Ash got plastered.

I noticed Ash a little tipsy on the dance floor. I knew that she was drunk when she came up to me while I was dancing with someone else and begged me to turn her over and dance with her upside down. As much as the thought of seeing her thighs again appealed to me, I wasn't sure of the reaction of the donors, so I flippantly declined.

The bathrooms at the country club where we were holding the party were in a location with an alcove off to the side. As I exited the john Ash was staggering toward the Ladies Room. She grabbed my arm and as she pulled me toward the alcove said (I won't attempt to mimic her speech but it was very slurred with words missing or mispronounced) "I need to talk to you about something."

She sat me down in the alcove and then proceeded to say a number of off-the-wall things before indicating the real reason that she wanted to talk. "Jeff is very selfless but I know that he would love to have a sound system that we saw at Best Buy. I really want to get it for him for Christmas but I don't have enough money because we just overextended ourselves by buying a house a few months ago. You have the reputation of being very fiscally astute," at least I think that she meant "fiscally astute," though I won't attempt to repeat the nonsense she did utter, "and I wonder if you have some ideas on how I could get it?"

Sure that given her inebriated state that she would never remember our conversation, and with a sudden attack of mischievousness, with a devilish grin I replied "Well you could always work as an escort a time or two to raise it."

She must have actually understood what I said because she got this look of realization, and then said "Oh! Well, how much would you pay to fuck me for an hour?"

"A thousand dollars," I shot back with an even more diabolical grin.

"I need fifteen hundred," she mumbled.

"Then it would have to be two hours," I lied.

"OK, I'll call you," she said. Then she stood up, got this weird look on her face, and passed out. Fortunately I was able to catch her so that she didn't fall on the ground and hit her head. I lifted her onto a couch in the alcove and went to get Jeff.

Jeff was embarrassed, but he too was feeling no pain, and since he only outweighed Ash by about forty pounds he dropped her when he tried to lift her. I caught her again.

"Say Jeff," I said in the most non-descript voice possible, "Would you mind if I drove you and Ash home. I can give you a ride tomorrow to pick up your car. I'll carry Ash since I haven't had anything to drink."

It took him only two seconds to say "OK, sure; I'll get her coat."

When I carried Ash to my car I needed to place one hand on her thighs; I really did. Unfortunately, they felt as good as they looked. I had a massive hard-on by the time that I seat-belted her into the back seat.

When I got them to their house I again had to carry Ash to their bed, causing me to almost pop my zipper. Jeff thanked me profusely. I gave him my home number so that he could call me the next day to bring him to his car, resulting in even more thanks.

I tried to put Ash out of my mind as I got ready for bed, but couldn't do it. I called Sybil, a high-priced big, blonde, buxom, call girl who I had used a few times since my last divorce when I couldn't get a date and was very horny. My phone call woke her up, but she still was happy to come over and even though her body type was vastly different than Ash's I fantasized that I was fucking Ash as I pounded Sybil twice before we fell asleep.

I made Sybil breakfast the next morning, paid her discounted rate of $2000 in cash, and after she gave me a freebie she took off about noon. I was feeling pretty good when the phone rang; it was Ash.

At first I was perplexed about why Ash would be calling me, then remembered that her car was still at the party hall.

"Hey Kevin, I'm really sorry about last night. Thank you for carrying me home -- Jeff told me about it," she said with a real touch of humility in her voice.

"I'm glad that I could help," I replied. "How are you feeling today?"

"Surprisingly good considering the amount that I had to drink. In fact,...well...uh...Jeff said that maybe you could give me a ride to pick up our car. We have only one and of course Jeff will need it Monday."

"Uh, sure," I replied. "I thought that Jeff would be picking it up."

"Even though he didn't pass out he's in worse shape than I am today. Do you mind taking me?" she responded.

"No, fine -- when should I pick you up?"

"Whenever it's convenient for you."

"Is fifteen minutes OK?" I asked.

"Sure, see you then," she chirped.

Ash was waiting outside their small house when I arrived. Her coat was open and she was wearing a tank top, heels, and a short skirt despite the fact that the temperature was only in the high forties. The temperature in my car immediately rose when she got in.

We chit-chatted on the way back to her car. She was blatant about exposing her creamy thighs as we drove, and I fought the best that I could not to look at them. When we got to her car she said "Kevin, we have something to talk about. Can you turn off your engine for a while?"

"OK," I replied as the thought raced through my mind "Holy shit, could she actually have remembered our conversation just before she passed out?" She had.

Without any apprehension she said "I was wondering when we're going to get together so that I can earn the money I need to get Jeff his best Christmas present ever."

"Uh, what?" I stammered.

"Don't pretend that you don't remember. I was the one drunk -- although not nearly as drunk as you thought -- not you. You agreed to pay me $1500 to be your little fuck toy for two hours," she said with a grin.

"Were you serious?" I asked.

"Hell yes -- I think that what we had was what my boss would say was a valid oral contract," she shot back.

Trying to regroup I asked "Uh, why, uh; why do you want to do it with me? I thought that you generally despised me."

"I used to. I don't actually despise you anymore, but I don't like you either. Since I don't like you, and I know that you don't like me, there is no chance of future complications. We'd never be able to stand each other enough to have a full-blown affair," she replied in a very business-like voice.

"Well...uh...how can you, uh, cheat on Jeff?" I asked with a lump in my throat.

"Hey, to me it's just a way to get money to buy him what he really wants. Even though I don't like you I know that you're not someone who will tell anyone else. He'll never know and the sound system will make him so happy. This is the only material thing that he has longed for in the seven years we've been married -- the only thing," she said with a wistful look in her eyes.

Then she blatantly exposed more thigh. "I promise that you'll get your money's worth," she snickered when she saw me staring at her sculptured legs, "even though you'll need to use a condom."

I was now primarily thinking with my dick, not my brain. My brain made one last attempt to take control. "No way that I'm using a condom if I'm paying $1500. We can go to an STD clinic to get tested beforehand, but if I'm going to pay that much money I'm getting full value."

My brain's attempt to discourage her didn't work, and my brain immediately succumbed to my cock's wishes.

After a few seconds' pause, with her arms crossed, she replied "OK; but you pay for the testing and the time we spend getting tested gets deducted from our time together. Got it?"

My cock responded. "Got it. There is a clinic on 3rd and Britton. When should we go there?"

"Pick me up at my office at noon on Tuesday. Here's my boss' card. Call her direct dial number when you're in front of my building and I'll come right down. Thanks for the ride." She smiled, pointed at my hard-on and giggled, then got out and wiggled her ass as she strolled over to her car.

I was a fucking zombie the rest of the day. I had pangs of guilt knowing that she was Jeff's wife, but not enough guilt to not go through with it. I unsuccessfully tried to figure out why I so badly wanted to fuck her. Some of the factors that I was certain went into it were contradictory -- I appreciated her awesome looks even though she was not my "type," her "it" factor made her mysterious, and since I detested her personality (or at least had until recently) I could use her solely for my enjoyment and not give a damn about how she felt.

I picked her up as planned on Tuesday at lunch. We went to the clinic and got tested. Everything that could immediately be tested for came back negative. We would have to wait a week for a 99% clearance. It took an entire fucking hour, not considering transportation. "OK, so now we only have an hour, and I want the first half of the payment now -- $750," was her comment as she was getting ready to exit my car.

"How do I know that you won't just take half and back out?" I asked.

"I won't," she said with disgust in her voice.

"Tell you what -- I'll give you $400 now, and the rest when we actually interact," I replied, reaching into my wallet.

"You mean fuck, don't you?" she snickered as she held out her hand.

"Yeah, fuck," I sneered, handing her four $100 bills.

"I think that I can get an hour and a half lunch next Thursday, two days after we get the final test results," she replied as she put the bills into her purse. "That gives us fifteen minutes to drive to your place, and fifteen back."

"We're not going to my place; I'll get a hotel room at the Hyatt two blocks from your office," I replied.

"Why not at your place?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"I have my reasons -- you'll like the Hyatt," I responded.

Of course the reason that I didn't want her, or anyone else associated with HBS besides the executive director, to see my abode was because they would then know how rich I was. Even though I do not live lavishly for a billionaire -- I drive a Toyota Prius to work (although in my four car garage I do have a Tesla S for the weekends and a Range Rover to cart big things around with) -- my condo cost $5,000,000 and my art work alone is worth another $10,000,000.

"OK," she retorted as she shrugged her shoulders. "Here's a picture of me to get you excited," she laughed as she pulled a 4x6 color photo of her in a string bikini out of her purse and handed it to me. She then quickly exited my Prius and did her normal ass wiggle as she went back to her office.

I was on edge for the next nine days. I felt guilty every time that I saw Jeff at work, and I got hard every time that I looked at the photo of Ash in her bikini.

The big day finally arrived. I met her outside the Hyatt since it was only a short walk from the office building where she worked. "We have to make sure to be done in an hour," she tersely said, "my boss is in a bad mood."

"That's the deal," I shot back, wondering if despite how hot Ash was that this might turn out to be a bad idea after all. Her attitude changed as soon as we got into the elevator, however.

I suspected that Ash had never stayed in a Hyatt before and wouldn't realize that the room I got was significantly upgraded from the average, including a steam shower and whirlpool bath. She had no clue that I was lying when she said "Wow, this is really nice. Is this the average room?" and I replied "Yep; the cheapest room here."

I wasn't sure exactly how to proceed since she wasn't the average call girl. She took care of that. She threw her purse on the floor, was out of her dress -- no bra or underwear -- in two seconds flat, then with a big smile pulled my head down to hers and planted a passion-filled kiss on me. The last real words spoken for quite some time were hers: "I intend to insure that you get your money's worth."

She unbuckled my belt, unzipped me, pushed my ass onto the pillow-top mattress, took off my shoes, socks, and pants, and as she went for my boxers I pulled off my shirt. My cock was already sticking through my fly. Her eyes got big when she saw it and I'm sure wondered how it was going to fit into her pussy although she said nothing. She then yanked my boxers off.

As soon as my boxers hit the floor her mouth was on my cock. The bitch deep-throated me almost instantly and started moving back and forth on my cock while staring intensely into my eyes. While her oral talents were considerable, I was interested in inspecting her pussy and then fucking the shit out of her, so after a couple of minutes of experiencing her oral aptitude I withdrew, lifted her up, and tossed her onto the bed.

I quickly got between her thighs. They were the best looking and feeling thighs in my experience. While they were soft, they were sculptured and muscular -- almost as hard to describe in words as her "it" factor. Her slit was really tiny, although her labia were prominent. It was clear that she had recently shaved, probably even that morning, and she was completely hair free all around her pussy.