Each Day

The tee shirt was lifted up and off, her 34C bra fluttered to the floor.

Monica had never gone this far on a first date. If this was even a date. They'd gone for a ride on his Harley, eaten some ribs at an out-of-the-way barbeque joint and now they were in his condominium.

Her jeans and panties were on the floor, in a heap and she lay on his bed. His tee shirt joined hers, his boots were somewhere underneath his blue jeans and boxers.

"Oh my God," she thought as her small hand encircled his fat cock.

There wasn't much foreplay. Vince grabbed her ankles, spread her legs wide apart, and thrust himself into her.

"Ugh! O God yes!" Monica shrieked as he filled her wet pussy with his cock.

She kissed him frantically as he hammered her pussy. Her hands tried to touch all of him as he fucked her.

This wasn't making love, this wasn't pleasuring one another. This was just raw animal fucking. Monica had never had sex like this before. After her third orgasm, she didn't think she'd ever be able to couple any other way than this brutal, brutish way.

"Fuck me, you God damned mother fucker," she growled up at him.

When Vince came, he did not ask if he should pull out, he did not ask if it was a safe time for her. He just pumped his seed into her pussy. Before Monica had even caught her breath, Vince was shoving his cock into her mouth.

"I don't do that," she almost said.

But he didn't give her the opportunity. He just stuffed his semi-flaccid cock into her mouth, pumped it in and out a few times. She began to suck him in earnest.

When his cock was once again hard, he flipped her onto her belly, pulled her into a kneeling position, and began to fuck her again. Her pussy made obscene squishing, squelching sounds as he hammered her.

And after he'd pumped another load into her pussy, Vince again made Monica clean his cock with her mouth. This time, when his cock grew to full hardness, he fucked her face with slow, steady strokes.

Monica could feel his excitement begin to grow. She wanted to pull her mouth off of him, she wanted to tell Vince that she did not do that, she did not suck cock, she did not swallow semen.

"Ooh!" she groaned as he began to pump his seed into her mouth.

After they'd come to, woken from their nap, he fucked her again. Then made her dress.

"Grab something sleep in," he ordered as he pulled to a stop next to her car. "Grab a change of clothes for tomorrow."

He kissed her, long and hard. Then slapped her on her ass.

"Grab a toothbrush too, huh?" he demanded.

Monica scampered up the stairs, fumbled and cursed with her keys, then flung the door open. She ignored Michelle and Patrick as they lay on the couch, watching a documentary on the small television.

Monica broke speed records packing her bag. She selected another pair of jeans, a bra, panties, a sexy baby doll nightie, and her Monday outfit and her sensible shoes. Her purse already had all of her cosmetics. Then she thundered out of the apartment and down the stairs again.

"Hungry?" Vince asked as she scrambled onto his Harley.

"Yeah, I'm starved!" she admitted.

Chapter 13

"Mrs. Davis? There's a..." Leslie heard through her intercom.

She then heard Domonique asking someone their name again.

"...Mr. Steve Stew... What?" Domonique asked.

"...Stephen Steward here to see you?" Domonique concluded the message.

"Would have taken you five seconds give me all of that if you'd just asked him his name before buzzing me," Leslie snapped irritably.

"Yes ma'am; send him back?" Domonique asked in her irritating, whiney voice.

Leslie squinted at her computer screen, looking at her calendar application. She hated to admit it but she needed glasses. David had shown her how to enlarge the display on her screen, but it still wasn't large enough.

There was no Stephen Steward scheduled; she had nothing scheduled until four thirty that afternoon. The four thirty appointment was just an inter-office planning meeting.

Which meant it was a time for management to get together and complain about the people in their departments. Leslie planned on bringing up Domonique's unorganized and unprofessional behavior.

"Yes, send him back," Leslie snapped.

"Yes ma'am," Domonique said.

Leslie couldn't be sure, but she could swear she heard Domonique mutter 'bitch' just before the unusually loud metallic clank of her phone disconnecting.

A moment later, there was a single, hard rap on her door.

"Yes?" she called out, fighting hard to keep her annoyance out of her voice.

The door swung open.

"You Leslie Davis?" a large man asked, sticking his head in before the door was all the way open.

"Yes. And you're Mr. Steward?" Leslie asked, getting to her feet.

"Thank you; you've been served," Stephen Steward said, handing Leslie an envelope.

And the door was closed and Mr. Stephen Steward was gone. Leslie stood, holding the large manila envelope. Then she walked back around her desk, sat heavily in her chair and moaned slightly.

"Please, please let this not be..." she begged, still moaning.

The petition for divorce was very simple, very straightforward. Vince was not asking for any division of marital assets. He was not asking for any spousal support, even though at the time of his leaving, she had been making nearly twelve thousand more than he.

Leslie looked at the letterhead and her heart leapt into her throat. Vincent Aaron Davis had hired Upjohn, Mei & Associates to represent him. They were a Colfax, Missouri firm; Leslie saw their advertisements on the television all the time.

"So he's here? He's back?" Leslie almost screamed happily.

"Hey, watch my hat, huh?" Vince had said as they sat in the front pew of the church.

Presumably, he had gone to the bathroom. But as the five bridesmaids and groomsmen had travelled from church rear to altar, Vince had not returned. Leslie kept swiveling her head, looking from the rear of the church, along the side aisles, but there was no sign of him.

Then Stephanie, her baby, smiling proudly was slowly making her way toward the altar. Darren James, smiling smugly, was holding his daughter's arm

Leslie couldn't believe that she'd been unfaithful to her dear, sweet, handsome husband with the bloated, slovenly Darren James. Looking around again for Vince, Leslie wondered what had possessed her to go to the Roadway Motor Hotel with Darren James.

If she was to be honest with herself, she had enjoyed the flirting. Leslie had enjoyed reminding Darren what he had given up, what he'd thrown away.

She would come home from those little dinners, pussy dripping her excitement. She would struggle out of her dresses; why were her dresses becoming so snug? She would struggle out of her dresses and pounce on an unresisting Vince.

Then Vince had demanded to come along for one of the dinner meetings.

"Really?" Darren had sneered. "Pussy's so insecure he can't let you out by yourself?"

Of course, Stephanie had voiced the same opinion. Leslie saw Vince as an interruption, an unwelcome guest. His presence certainly ruined her fun of taunting Darren James.

"Oh, the little wimp let you out by yourself tonight?" Darren taunted the next time they got together.

This time, Stephanie wasn't there. They went to a bar and had a few drinks. The jukebox played a few George Jones tunes and Darren had pulled her onto the small dance floor.

He could still dance. She hadn't kicked Darren to the curb because of his dancing skills.

Now, in the church, her son David seemed to notice Vince's absence as well. Even Billy seemed a little buzzled as he looked directly at her.

Leslie sat through the seemingly quite long, dry ceremony alone. She kept Vince's hat between herself and Darren James, reserving Vince's space in the pew.

Then the wedding procession was walking down the aisle. Leslie figured, hoped that Vince had stepped out of the bathroom, had seen that the wedding was underway, and rather than disturb the proceedings, had gone next door to the reception hall.

"Where's the little pussy?" Darren mocked as they entered the reception hall.

"Miss Leslie? Where's Vince?" Billy asked.

Leslie had no answer for him. She had no answer for the disapproving looks Debbie or David were shooting her.

Many of the guests knew that she and Vince were married, that she and Darren were divorced, did have questioning looks. But all were too polite to ask where her husband was.

"Momma? The photographer wants a picture of you and Daddy dancing," Stephanie said almost an hour later.

"The photographer can jump in the lake; she's not getting one," Leslie snapped.

Finally the endless festivities did crawl to a close. Debbie and Nicholas drove Leslie home. Darren had tried to push into the car but Leslie had almost caught his hand in the door as she slammed it shut. David firmly guided his father to his own car.

Billy and Stephanie also drove to Leslie's home, to pick up their suitcases. The bride and groom had a one and a half hour drive to the St. Louis airport. They'd been cautioned to be there at least two hours early as it was an out-of-the-country flight.

Leslie stormed into the house, leaving Debbie to turn off the alarm. She raced up the stairs and burst into the master bedroom. Her heart plummeted; she could see the open closet, the empty rod. The top two dresser drawers were partially open, empty.

"Mother!" Stephanie screamed at the top of her lungs.

"What? God damn it, what?" Leslie screamed back, eyes blurry from her tears.

"That little mother fucker! Where's our suitcases?" Stephanie screamed, enraged. "He just dumped all my shit on my bed!"

Nicholas drove home and retrieved his and Debbie's suitcases, but it was a one hour trip from Leslie's to his home to Leslie's again. Then Debbie, Billy, and Stephanie jammed everything into the suitcases.

A horrific accident with three fatalities on Highway 43 caught Billy and Stephanie and they crawled along for nearly three hours. They arrived to the Long-Term parking twenty eight minutes after their flight had taken off. So Mr. Hunt and Mrs. James-Hunt spent their first night as husband and wife in an Express Motor Lodge instead of in their hotel room in Barbados.

The airline was actually quite accommodating and did not charge a rescheduling fee. The hotel in Barbados, however, charged them for the night, even though the room had not been used.

Four days after flying out of St. Louis, Billy Hunt returned to Missouri and asked his father's lawyer about filing for an annulment. If an annulment could not be granted, then a quick divorce was fine with him.

"Remember, courtship? That's the best it'll ever be," Vincent Davis had said to Billy.

The honeymoon had started on a rough note. But even so, Billy had wanted to enjoy himself in the tropical paradise, soak up the sun with the hottest bride on the beach, enjoy a few steamy nights making love to his beautiful wife. But Stephanie had not stopped with the shrill complaints, the nearly psychotic rages toward him, toward staff, toward other guests.

"You are turning our honeymoon into a living hell, know that?" Billy had finally snapped.

"Fuck you," Stephanie had snarled bitterly.

"No, fuck you, Stephanie, I'm leaving," Billy had said, grabbed the small suitcase that he'd been allocated for all of his things and jammed his clothing into the bag.

Out of spite, just to show her husband that he did not wear the pants, Stephanie stayed the entire two weeks. She even turned off her cell phone; when Billy decided to apologize, he could apologize to her voice mail. She wouldn't be there to take his call.

Leslie was at work, listlessly going through the motions of her work day when Stephanie called.

"Mom, I'm at the airport," Stephanie said. "I don't see Billy anywhere."

"No kidding, Stephanie? Really? You don't see him?" Leslie had snapped, sarcasm dripping thickly from her tongue.

"No, why? What's going on?" Stephanie asked.

"Twenty seven thousand dollars gone, down the God damned drain, that's what's going on, Stephanie," Leslie said.

"Huh?" Stephanie asked.

Stephanie had waited until she landed in the Chicago airport, the layover before the St. Louis airport before finally turning her cell phone on again. There had been no messages from Billy. There had been one message from her mother, a three second message that said simply 'What did you do?'

When she landed in the St. Louis Airport, Stephanie checked her phone again. Still no messages, no missed calls, no text messages. She collected her three suitcases from the carousel, all the while looking for Billy. Then she had a sky cap take her luggage to the Passenger Pick-Up area. Still there was no sign of Billy.

David left his work early and came to fetch his sister. He stoically dropped the suitcases into the trunk of his car and got into the driver's seat.

Stephanie sat for a few minutes, stewing in bitter anger. David sighed as the attendant at the toll booth cheerfully asked for two dollars, David turned to his sister.

"Got two bucks?" he snapped.

"What's with the attitude?" Stephanie snapped, slapping two dollars into his hand.

"Oh no, Stephanie, no thanks are necessary," David screamed. "No! It's my pleasure to leave work three hours early, three hours I won't get paid for, and waste five gallons of my gas to get your ass and bring you home. And then can't even be bothered cough up a few lousy bucks for a toll? Hey! Why don't I stop off at Ruth's Cris Steak House and get you a filet mignon; I'm sure you could eat, right?"

"Look, I had a shitty honeymoon, all right?" Stephanie screamed back.

"Boo fucking hoo! Aw, poor little bitch!" David screamed.

He drove for twenty minutes, breathing hotly. Stephanie ignored him.

"By the way, congratulations," David said bitterly. "You're getting a divorced, know that?"

Stephanie looked at him, mouth open in shock. What he had just said did not make a bit of sense.

"I'm what? I'm, you can't, you can't be serious!" she finally sputtered.

"Filed the minute his ass hit Colfax," David affirmed.

Stephanie screamed in horror. She then grabbed her cell phone out of her purse and hit the number five. She screamed in rage when she got the cheerful announcement that the number had been changed, or was no longer in service.

The moment Billy's mother, Miss Kitty heard Stephanie's voice, the normally quite friendly, loving woman snarled, "Don't you ever call me again."

Stephanie called Billy's place of work. The receptionist answered in her usual cheerful voice, asking how she might direct Stephanie's call.

"Billy Hunt, please," Stephanie said.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Hunt's on his honeymoon," the woman said cheerfully. "Barbados; can you believe that?"

"No, no he isn't, please, please Whitney, please let me talk to him," Stephanie begged.

"Uh, it's Courtney," the woman said, now sounding unsure. "What you mean, he's not on his honeymoon? I was at his wedding."

Stephanie didn't elaborate, just disconnected the call. They sat, David's car stereo softly playing his infernal country music for the duration of the trip. David pulled up in front of their mother's home.

"I uh, no, uh, we got an apartment," Stephanie weakly said.

"No, no you don't Stephanie," David spat. "What part of 'divorce' is fucking you up? You've got nothing."

The three suitcases stayed right where David dropped them, in the living room against the couch. Stephanie went up the stairs to her bedroom, lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Leslie found her there an hour later, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.

"What did you do?" Leslie asked.

"Nothing," Stephanie protested. "We're on our honeymoon, he throws a little hissy fit and leaves."

Debbie's husband, Nicholas was an attorney. He specialized in estate planning, but had the wherewithal to go over the petition for divorce that Billy had provided.

"By the way, he brought one of my suitcases by; where's the others?" Nicholas asked.

"Right there," Stephanie pointed.

"Uh, really?" Nicholas snapped when he attempted to lift one. "Want me do your laundry while I'm at it?"

But when Stephanie had the gall to smirk when Leslie said that Vince had left her, Leslie did the one thing she should have done when she first introduced Vince to the spoiled little bitch. Nicholas looked away, trying hard to hide the satisfied smile while Stephanie clutched her stinging cheek.

"Counseling?" Billy sighed when his attorney, Leon Holtmeyer informed him of Stephanie's request, made through Nicholas.

"Go a long way toward convincing the judge that you made the effort," Leon shrugged. "Besides that, who knows? Huh? Loved her enough marry her once, maybe counseling will help."

"One condition," Billy said. "No, no, TWO conditions. One, there's got to be a reasonable limit. Not five, six thousand appointments, dragging it out for the rest of our lives."

"Eight. If you feel it's helping, can always petition for more," Leon said. "And two?"

"Two. She has to get counseling for herself too," Billy said.

Stephanie almost countered with 'fuck you' but Nicholas, and Leslie pointed out, it couldn't hurt.

Nicholas picked Stephanie Benhurst; the woman bordered on being inept. She was notoriously feminist, staunchly anti-male.

"Honestly? I don't know why he doesn't want to be married to me anymore," Stephanie sniffled as she and Billy sat in Dr. Benhurst's office. "Barbados is just beautiful. We're there, should be the time of our lives, and he just says he's leaving."

"Wow. I mean, wow," Billy said, mouth open in genuine shock. "Really? That's how you remember it?"

"Well, why don't you enlighten us, Mr. Hunt?" Dr. Benhurst snapped. "How do you remember it?"

"You know, Stephanie, Michelle Church and her daughter Brianna didn't die to inconvenience us," Billy said. "Kevin Lightfoot didn't get drunk and hit them head on to fuck up our honeymoon plans."

"Who?" both Stephanie's said.

"There was an accident on Highway forty three, made us late," Billy explained. "Three people died. But Stephanie would never shut up about how they fucked everything all up."

He turned to Stephanie.

"Remember? I looked it up on my phone when we got into our hotel room? Remember what you said? 'So what?' That's what you said. So what. A five year old girl died and all you could say is so what."

Even Dr. Benhurst was looking at Stephanie with a slight frown. Stephanie decided to act contrite.

"I know, God, I can't believe how inconsiderate I was," she simpered.

Billy let her go through her spiel. Dr. Benhurst was smiling encouragingly at her.

"Uh huh," Billy said. "What were their names?"

"Huh? What was who's names?" Stephanie asked.

"The three people that died. What were their names?" Billy asked.

Stephanie looked at him blankly. She then turned to the doctor, hoping for some help.

"And, uh, Dr. Benhurst? Ask her why she hated Vince Davis so much, huh?" Billy said, getting to his feet. "Never could figure that one out. Man loved her mom, did everything he could for her mom, but Stephanie hated him to death."

"Uh, we still have fifteen minutes left," Dr. Benhurst said.

"I've got a job to get back to," Billy said. "Take me at least twenty minutes get back from here."

He glared at Stephanie. He started to say something, then closed his mouth and walked to the door.

"You were about to say something, Dr. Benhurst said.

"Was about to ask her why she picked a doctor clear on the other side of town, but then realized, it doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter," Billy said.

"Ma'am? Mrs. Hunt?" the receptionist said when Stephanie slammed out of the counselor's office five minutes later.

"What?" Stephanie asked.

"Uh, ma'am, the session's a hundred and forty, please," the receptionist said.