Monthly Maintenance Sessions

Monthly Maintenance Sessions

While I had figuratively won the gene lottery since I was born good-looking and with above average brain power (but I was never one to think that I had hit a triple when born on third base), I was a loser as a child as far as my environment was concerned. I was physically and emotionally abused by my biological parents, and subsequently by my stepfather. I couldn't overcome the abuse with my good looks (they made my stepfather abuse me more) but using my brain power I was able to compartmentalize, something that my future shrink told me was responsible for me remaining sane -- and almost normal.

According to my shrink "Compartmentalization is a subconscious psychological defense mechanism used to avoid cognitive dissonance, or the mental discomfort and anxiety caused by a person's having conflicting values, cognitions, emotions, beliefs, etc. within themselves." I never studied psychology so I'm not in a position to dispute her diagnosis. I do know that I can function in different ways with different outlooks depending upon the people or circumstances of my surroundings, and have been able to do that since at least as early as age ten.

Two other things helped me remain sane, and almost normal.

The first: on my sixteenth birthday I killed my stepfather in what the cops and D. A. ruled was self-defense. The asshole was hitting my sister and I punched him in the side of the head. He grabbed a knife and started chasing me. He tripped, giving me time to grab a kitchen knife and stab him in the neck. My sister and I took our time calling 911, so he died before an ambulance got there. With her testimony, his history of abuse, and with the forensics matching our stories, I was never charged. That event was like lifting an 800 pound gorilla off of my shoulders.

The second: My paternal aunt and her husband took me and my sister in after that event and I got to see for almost two years what a normally functioning loving family looked like.

I truly believe that my defense mechanism of compartmentalization is what explains my adult romantic/sexual relationships.

**************

I married my wife Marcia shortly after we graduated from the same university, an event my biological parents were not invited to but of course my aunt and uncle and my cousins were. Marcia is easy going, and easy to love, and is nurturing. In raising our two kids I rely on her for most important decisions since I have only my twenty two months with my aunt and uncle to guide me whereas she had an excellent environment the entire time she was growing up so she is much more familiar with what is normal than I am.

Marcia and I have a good sex life. It is very loving. We both enjoy oral stimulation, and while we are not very adventurous with sexual positions, making love to her is universally enjoyable. I honestly don't think that we "fuck" as that word is most commonly used; instead we always "make love."

Marcia and the kids had only one complaint with me. About once every month or six weeks I would go into a funk for a day or two when something would trigger a recollection of my awful childhood. During that day or two I wasn't pleasant to be around, but Marcia understood where I was coming from and took it in stride, even though I know that it bothered her.

I started working in sales for a large established multi-national corporation that had many well-known existing products, but like any corporation that wanted to remain profitable was constantly trying to update its product line either by tweaking existing products, or introducing new related products. The philosophy of the corporation was to have all senior sales representatives within a given region meet once a month at the headquarters city to hash over new ideas, exchange information about what techniques and products were working and which weren't, and to otherwise make sure that everyone had a grip on all related company activities. This meeting started at noon one day, we stayed overnight at a hotel owned by our employer, we met the next morning, and then everyone returned home so that we had only one night away from our families.

After about the third one of these meetings I was familiar with the work personalities of most of the other senior sales reps. They broke into several types; the movers and shakers who had lots of good ideas and were willing to try many new things; the blowhards who merely liked to hear themselves talk but rarely had anything worthwhile to contribute but who loved to pooh-pooh others' ideas; and the sheep, who rarely said anything and simply followed along.

At the fifth of these meetings two new people showed up that I was only briefly introduced to before the meeting started, a married guy named Jordan and a married woman named Naomi. Naomi looked like someone with exceptional natural beauty (think a younger version of Elizabeth Hurley) who did whatever she could to hide it -- at least that was my first impression.

About an hour into the meeting a female voice that I didn't at first recognize came up with an observation that -- although probably not the most perceptive in history -- was at least decent. One of the classic blowhards, an older guy named Chad, denounced it and called it naïve and silly. It was only then, after looking around, that I realized that newcomer Naomi was the one who made the observation. The combination of the facts that Naomi was new, that her observation was at least decent, and that Chad was a blowhard and unlikeable to me, caused me to lit into Chad in as polite a manner as possible while still leaving no doubt where I stood.

In fact, in an at least three minute long soliloquy I complimented Naomi on her observation, correlated it to a related observation that I had, and denounced Chad's negative attitude. The energy in the room was palpable after that, and others took up the cause. Within a half hour we had generated a proposal for a new technique for selling one of our recently-introduced products that was based upon Naomi's observation and my related one.

Chad kept his mouth shut the rest of the meeting -- which everyone else was grateful for.

That night at dinner -- we all usually ate together, although there were enough of us to require us to occupy three separate tables of six-eight each -- Naomi said "Thanks, Blake, for coming to my rescue."

"You were right, Chad was wrong, I was just speaking my mind," I humbly replied.

"Blake, I got the impression there was more to it than that," she snickered. "Regardless, thanks; I would have hated my first impression of the meeting to be a negative one."

"You're welcome," I replied. "How about we sit at the table with Jordan and Betty," I continued, pointing to table in the middle of the dining area, Jordan being the new guy, and Betty being my best friend at the event, who worked in the same city that I did.

Naomi and I got to know each other over the next four months. One night we sat by ourselves in the hotel lobby and talked for hours, both ending up sleep-deprived the next day. To my surprise I found out that she had a similar life experience to mine -- including killing her stepfather in self-defense when she was seventeen, and being told by her shrink that her expert compartmentalizing techniques were what allowed her to survive her childhood.

In Naomi's case, her step father had been harassing her for months. When drunk one night he tried to force himself on her. She grabbed a heavy porcelain lamp that was within her reach and luckily (for her, unluckily for her asshole stepfather) she hit him square on the temple with a corner of the lamp. Given her torn clothing, fresh scratches on her shoulders, upset demeanor, and his history of violence, she also was never charged.

In addition to our monthly meetings in the corporation's home city, Naomi and I had legitimate reasons to talk to each other on the phone about once a week for issues relating to sales of certain complementary new products that her division and mine were selling.

At the fifth monthly meeting that Naomi attended after the working session she came to dinner dressed more provocatively than she ever had before at these events. It was the first time that she didn't try to minimize her outstanding sultriness.

After dinner Naomi challenged me to a game of pool in the hotel billiards room. The room was empty so we racked the balls up and played eight-ball. I won the first game, she won the second. Then my life got complicated.

"Say Blake -- let's make the rubber game more interesting," she chuckled.

"How?" I innocently inquired.

"If I win you do something that I'll enjoy, and you might too; if I lose I'll do whatever you tell me to as long as it's legal," she grinned.

"Are you really Minnesota Fats? Am I being hustled?" I laughed.

"People don't hustle other people playing pool -- ever -- do they?" she snickered.

"Maybe I'm hustling you -- rack them," I confidently replied. I am a more than decent pool player and had lost the last game only because I had one bad shot and sank the eight ball before I ran the striped balls.

Naomi wasn't hustling me; I was already up three balls when she inadvertently sank the eight ball. "You win," she grinned. "I'll see you in your room in twenty minutes and you can tell me my punishment -- don't be too harsh" she said, her words highlighted by a provocative wink.

I stammered out my room number, and then almost chugged my beer, feeling a tightness at my throat and -- unfortunately -- also at my crotch, as I watched her ass wiggle when she sashayed toward the elevators.

As I sat on the couch in my room waiting for Naomi I tried to think of what I could ask her to do that wasn't sexual or risqué, but had a little spice to it. I wasn't coming up with anything, and had decided just to tell her that she needn't "pay up" since I had hustled her (even though I hadn't really). Just as I came to that decision there was a knock on the door.

When I opened the door it was clear that Naomi had changed into a sundress and washed off her makeup. She had a little dopp kit with her, which I thought was strange.

"I wasn't sure that you'd show up," I chuckled.

"I always pay my debts," she smiled.

As we exchanged a few pleasantries and I walked to my mini-bar asking her if she wanted a drink, I heard several sounds in quick succession. I turned around and saw that she had placed the security chain for the door in place, and activated the double lock.

I was about to say something when she got a big grin on her face, pulled her sundress off, and threw it on a chair. The only things she was wearing were her high heels, an ankle bracelet, and her wedding and engagement rings -- nothing else.

I'm sure that I both flushed red and became slack-jawed; I'm even surer that my instantly saluting cock almost burst my zipper; as I stared at her consummate body. If she didn't have a perfect female form you couldn't prove it by me; she simply exuded sexuality.

Before I could get out any words she sauntered up to me and planted one of the most passionate kisses of my life on my lips. When she broke free she ran one hand over my crotch so that she clearly recognized my cock's condition, and in a voice suddenly husky with sexual overtones said "Actually even though you won I forgot to tell you that you have only five choices about what you can tell me to do. #1 a blowjob, #2 fuck my pussy, #3 fuck my ass, #4 eat my pussy, or #5, all four." After planting a number of other kisses on my lips while stroking my cock she moaned "Let's try option #5."

Apparently my mind instantly convinced me that it was OK to compartmentalize sexual activity with Naomi since after a few fleeting seconds I didn't think of Marcia -- at least not until we cashed in on the superfecta.

Well, actually it wasn't a true superfecta because I never let her complete a blowjob.

After I threw Naomi on the bed and pushed her thighs apart I went after her pussy like a man dying of thirst would a bottle of Evian. It took only three or four minutes of licking, sucking, and fingering her fragrant unusually small vagina before she came like she was having a heart attack.

As Naomi was still panting and groaning from her climax I was able to remove all of my clothes -- except for one uncooperative sock -- without ripping anything except my boxers. By then she was growling for me to bury my hog in her cunt, and I obliged. Despite the compactness of her pussy, it was so wet that I was able to bury my hog in one stroke. She spasmed as I bottomed-out, and then started pulsing her pc muscles as I stroked in and out. I came like a freight train faster than at any time since I was a horny teenager. Fortunately, however, my ejaculation was not premature since she was as hot as I was and after the first salvo from my cock she spasmed even more furiously than she did from my oral and finger stimulation.

We seemed to lay still, my cock still ensconced in her pussy, for a long time with only superficial awareness of our surroundings. When I finally pulled out and rolled over, she planted another zealous kiss on my lips then immediately shinnied down to my cock and started cleaning it off with her mouth.

She could suck as good as she could fuck, and I was hard again quickly. She was going for a blowjob, but I didn't want to waste a load in her mouth so I moved her off my dick and put her on her hands and knees. As I started fingering her rosebud she moaned "Lubrication in my dopp kit." It was hard to tear myself away from her world class ass, but her asshole did look smaller than her petite pussy, so I quickly jumped over to her dopp kit on the desk, zipped it open, and pulled out a tube of lube.

Her ass looked so good that I couldn't wait for long; so after lubing it up instead of working it open with my fingers I simply lubed my cock, grabbed her hips, and slowly pushed my helmet into her back door. She moaned and groaned as my now steel rod invaded her private place but didn't complain or ask me to stop. I suddenly popped in -- she screamed -- and before I started stroking she started moving her ass back and forth.

To my surprise she also had unusual control over her sphincter and started squeezing and releasing my cock. Since I had already come once I expected this to last a long time -- but apparently Naomi, her ass, and my cock had other ideas, because I came as quickly as I ever had for the second fuck of a night.

As I ejaculated a full load into Naomi's pulsating asshole she dissolved into a happy pile of protoplasm.

When I extricated my cock from her rear her entire body collapsed on the bed. I encircled her with my arms as I lay next to her and we both fell asleep.

I woke up with Naomi playfully poking me in the ribs; the lights were still on in the room and the bed was a mess, with sweat and other bodily fluids still moist.

"It's 2 a. m., Blake," she chuckled. "We've got to shower, talk, and then I have to get back to my room."

"OK," I groaned, my eyes only half-open.

Naomi let me by the hand into the bathroom, got the shower water temperature to her liking, and then pulled me in with her. She was giggly -- I had never seen her giggly before -- as she washed me off, paying special attention to my cock and balls, and had me wash her off, seemingly really enjoying it when I massaged her tits with a luffa.

After we dried off, she led me to the couch in my room, placed a towel on the couch and pushed my bare ass onto it, and then she sat on my lap.

"So, you're probably wondering what just happened," she smiled.

"That thought did cross my mind -- at least until my body parts started penetrating your orifices, at which time I just went with the flow and didn't think much at all," I replied.

"Well...I only make love to my husband; and according to you when we bared our souls to each other a month ago when we had a heart-to-heart into the wee hours of the morning you only make love to your wife. Neither of us fuck, so what we both need to keep life interesting is some recreational fucking. You're so hot for me that your tongue almost drags on the ground when you're near me, and while I'm not as demonstrative I'm just as hot for you," she continued.

I wondered if I really was so transparent when around her. I realized that it didn't make any difference. After a long pause I said "So....."

"So, we very carefully fuck during the overnight for every monthly meeting. During the day we rarely interact with each other, and certainly have no touching or goo-goo eyes. I know how to program the phones here so that my room phone rings to my cellphone, so if for some reason my husband or a work colleague calls it will ring while I'm with you. We never spend the night together, never fuck any time or place other than during the monthly meetings, and we never fall in love with each other. Sound like something that you could go along with? Something that you can compartmentalize, just like your childhood?" she grinned.

"Well...I'm not sure," I pensively replied. "I mean, I haven't fucked your tits yet, and that would have to be on the table too..." I grinned.

"Bastard," she chuckled. "Get the lube again," she said as she made up the bed a little so at least she wouldn't be laying directly in a wet spot, lay on her back, moved her nipples, in turn, with her hands to her mouth and licked them, and then had me lube up the valley between her tits.

Naomi is a really hot, high-libido, bitch; she had a small orgasm from my titty fuck, and licked my cum off her fingers after she removed it from her chin and chest.

***********

The next day I felt fantastic; tired, but fantastic. While my sexual experiences with Marcia were more emotionally rewarding because there was love there, there was also no doubt that from the pure physical standpoint that fucking Naomi every way imaginable was impossible to beat.

Naomi and I didn't interact during the meetings the next day except to exchange work-related information when called upon to do so. There were no goo-goo eyes, no touching, no indication of any kind that we had only a few hours ago fucked each other to oblivion.

Because of my love for Marcia, it was only because of my compartmentalizing skills that were foisted upon me as a youth in order to remain sane that I didn't become depressed with guilt. In fact I so compartmentalized -- and apparently so did Naomi -- that even when we talked business over the phone about once a week we never once brought up our sexual gymnastics, never said "I can't wait to see you again," and never expressed anything but normal friendly concern for each other.

Naomi and I were true to our word. Over the next sixteen months we spent an average of five or six hours with each other during every monthly business meeting. The only other times we interfaced at all -- aside from solely business discussions -- was when we both worked out in the hotel exercise room in the morning, but there any comments we had to or about the other were snide or playful, never flirtatious or with bulging eyes. I do admit, however, that it was hard watching Naomi's supreme add bouncing up and down when she was on a treadmill or elliptical after having reamed it out only a few hours before.

Because we saw each other only once a month the sex with Naomi, despite no real love between us, never got close to stale; it fact I do believe that as we came to understand each other's bodies the sex got even more exciting. A typical session would be for me to eat her to two orgasms, for me to fuck her pussy in any one or more of ten different positions, after we recovered from that for me to fuck her tits or ass, and after we woke up when our alarm sounded about 3:30 a. m. to fuck in the shower before she went back to her room to sleep until we met in the exercise room about 7 a. m.