Abbi's Excuses Ch. 02

My doctor and pharmacist suddenly left town.

Weeks later, the red Jeep was found, abandoned and burnt, in a small arroyo near the Simi Valley within the LA County area. Hans and his sons were eventually tracked down in Mexico and were returned to stand trial on dozens of state and federal charges.

No trace of the 'naked women' were ever found. No one ever asked me about them, and I didn't volunteer any information. After all, I wasn't there, at my house, when the fire started.

I filed for Dissolution of Marriage, Non-Respondent, in California, giving 'long-term serial adultery' as the cause and for Abandonment, as Abbi and Tanya had disappeared without a trace. It was granted within the year.

As soon as I signed and sent off the divorce paperwork, plus the required fee, Shayla declared me a single man. It was just a gesture, as she'd already moved me into her little apartment. Every morning and afternoon, she closed the door and immediately stripped naked, often danced, demanding to be touched, fondled and felt-out—plus we fucked if I could possibly raise a stand—starting a 'family ritual' that we still follow to this day.

It's a good ritual, as Shayla always has her best clothes on, all the time. Dark black skin. Flowing cunt. Her pussy was wet all the time and Shayla had no trouble letting me know it, by voice and by touch. I lusted for her with all my soul and body.

I have never had to masturbate anymore, even once, because somehow, she was 'right there,' mouth, hands, lips, tongue and pussy/cunt—hard-nippled tits up and ready for being felt out—waiting for the least sign of hardness in my male member, ready to be mounted or get her up on top of me.

Sometimes, we even make it to the bed.

Right after the divorce was final, Shayla and I moved to San Diego, living in a nice recession-foreclosed home I bought, up the hill in Ocean beach, overlooking the ocean.

I negotiated a private wed-lease arrangement with Shayla. It was pleasant, as our 'negotiations' took place in bed ... on the couch ... on top of the kitchen table ... in the car ... and under some trees in a local park. Dark black skin writhing under my tall, white man's skin ... or her over me, tits dangling—nipples caressing my lips—and always hips thrusting. Orgasms galore. We both arranged for a lease of both our bodies, monies, and efforts, in imitation of a state-sponsored wedding. We covered the possibility of a split and admitting other people to our intimate relationships (which never happened).

Shayla promised, on paper, explicitly, to be my own personal, private slut, stripper, pole-dancer, friend, secretary and partner. I promised myself to be the same professional engineer and thrusting pervert I'd been with her to now.

We enjoy each other as often as physically possible. That included fingers, lips, tongues and sexy/dirty talk. We took videos and, later, watched them. She has no need, she repeatedly said, for other cocks because mine fits inside her perfectly. I don't doubt it, as she dances, does numerous stripper routines, climbs our pole, poses for me obscenely, does stripper exercises and makes loud, dirty-talking, loving sex as often as possible. The wench—my ebony bed wench— remains so tight and wet that there wouldn't be room for even a tiny additional member inside her.

Epilog:

Shayla and I had been wed-lease married about 8 months when the first DVD arrived. It was a commercial porn offering, priced about $20, but sent for free. It starred one certain 'mature' female actress stage-named Hot-To-Trot-Abbi and another woman,Tanya, who performed with 30 or more hard porn-star cocks, easily handling them all, both emerging covered in spurted cum. That DVD was followed by another, one every few months, with the numbers of male participants steadily increasing. This went on for about three years, cumulating in a 300-man, tag-team, gang-bang, done in a warehouse.

Then, suddenly, all the DVD mailings stopped.

We received a single clipping from the Los Angeles Times obituary column, indicating that one 'Hot-To-Trot Abbi,' aka Abbi Torsdottir, had been admitted to hospice, unconscious, two weeks before, with a diagnosis of Stage 3 Syphilitic Dementia and AIDS. Following a short illness, cumulating in the onset of double pneumonia, Abbi had died. Her cremains had been scattered over an single area of burnt-out houses in a small, defunct community in Southern California. There were no survivors listed.

Tanya Symuleski (yes, she was Han's daughter) never surfaced again.

Shayla and I raped each other for a week following that announcement.

—THE END—