Trini Trims the Tree

Merry sipped her drink again. "Then what is ... I don't mean to be rude, but what is the appeal?"

I laughed, very tempted to say, 'Have you seen me?' Instead, I launched into the same explanation I'd given the other handful of card-finding wives who'd approached me over the five years I'd been working.

"Some of them are bi," I said. "They like women, but they like men too, and I can give them a little of both. Others have a specific t-girl kink. A fetish. And others just get a wild hair up their ass to ... get something else up their ass. Men don't necessarily attract them, but there's something about a penis they just can't get out of their heads."

With a swallow -- and not because she'd taken another drink -- Merry contemplated her next question.

"And once in a while," I said, in case she wanted a reed to hold onto, "they're not calling because of what I have between my legs at all. What they really want is a black girl, and they rationalize that since I'm not really a girl to them, it's not really cheating. They get to see a hot black woman going down on them, or tit-fucking them, or whatever else they want except for the vagina part. As long as they skip the vagina part, they're not really breaking their vows."

She gave a snort. "Well, that's not Je-- ... not my husband. He gave up worrying about the vows some time ago, if his little treasure-trove of business cards is any indication."

I shrugged. "There are also those who want a show. They'll hire me to bring a friend and give a live-and-in-person performance while they whack off, but they don't put their hands on either of us."

Something turned behind Meredith's not-quite-green, not-quite-brown eyes.

Aha, I thought as she hastily reached for her drink. Hadn't considered the look-but-don't-touch angle, had you, Merry?

"Would you like to at least see what your husband saw?" I asked her. "We could go in the ladies' room real quick, or ..."

The rest of the Manhattan drained away. The cheated-on wife stared into a tumbler of ice cubes while her cheeks went from pale to rosy.

Ten minutes later, in a hastily rented hotel room across the street, I was taking my clothes off, blue shimmerscale halter-top first.

"Oh, my," said my audience of one as I undid the catch of my bra. "I can't believe I'm really doing this."

"Relax, sugar," I told her gently, slipping out of the cups and straps and tossing the bra away. Maybe I should have suggested a second drink instead of rushing right over here. But Merry had turned urgent once she took me up on the offer. I think she worried about losing her nerve. "You're just having a little look. What do you think so far?"

Her delicate throat moved in a swallow, and her voice came out low. "They're very nice. I wouldn't have expected ... I mean, they can obviously do amazing things these days." She looked down at her own modest chest. "Maybe I should reconsider having mine done. I always thought it was crass, but ..."

"Everybody's mileage varies," I said, topless, hands on my hips and one knee slightly bent. "I grew a pretty decent pair just from hormones, so the surgeon didn't have to do all the heavy lifting."

"Really?" She blinked. "I didn't realize ... I thought it all had to be cosmetic."

I shook my head. "For me, it was just because I wanted sexpot tits instead of girl-next-door ones. But sweetie, do we really want to be talking boob jobs? I'm happy to if you want to, but I think we're both pretty well set up in the breast department."

Her face colored again. "Well. You wouldn't if I had my blouse off."

Shrugging, I ran my skirt's zipper down, nice and quick so it cut through the quiet of the room with a sizzle. "Feel free to take it off and prove me wrong if you want to. I'm just saying, from over here, they look pretty good."

"You're ..." Merry's nostrils flared and her breath faltered. "You're not trying to get me to ..."

With a laugh, I shimmied out of my skirt. "I'm trying to get you to do whatever you want to do, honey. My whole job is to make people feel good, you know? If all that takes is showing you how I look naked, great. Or if you need me to tell you your breasts are nicer than you think, that's fine too. Or ..."

Gliding one hand down the front of my panties, I rolled my hips and rubbed my smoothly tucked crotch.

"That won't be necessary, certainly." But the way her stare kept following my hand said maybe she wasn't certain at all. A decision came over her, and she looked up at my face. "On the other hand, I don't suppose there's any harm in getting a completely unbiased opinion. You have to promise not to lie, though. I'm paying you to be open with me, not feed me a line."

As her hands went to the buttons of her blouse, I smiled encouragingly, raised a hand to my cleavage, and drew an 'X' there with one finger. "Cross my heart."

She got the first button open easy, and the second too. At the third one, her hands had started to tremble, and as they neared her waist, they shook. By that point, though, she was a lit firecracker, with a fuse bound to burn all the way down. Tugging out her shirttails, she flung the top loose and grabbed for the catch of her bra -- a front-opener that whipped off after the blouse in a bare second.

Her chest rose and fell with quick breaths. She settled her hands at her waist and squared her shoulders.

"Child," I told her, eyes on her tits, "time is sure kinder to A-cups than to big-bosomed girls."

I didn't have to lie about that. Merry had a perky little pair -- smooth swells that I'll bet embarrassed her in her teens but now looked almost exactly the same as in her post-pubescent glory days. Maybe shifted a hair lower from years and having kids. Pink, pointy little nipples. A couple of beauty marks near her breastbone to accentuate the whiteness of the skin.

"Mm-hmm," I said, nodding. "If tits were my thing, I'd definitely be having to hold myself back right now."

Her mouth fidgeted for a bit, like it didn't know how to settle into a smile. Then she bit her lip and looked me in the eyes.

"What ... what would you be holding yourself back from doing?"

I gave her my best arch look, right eyebrow up. "You want me to tell you -- or show you?"

Those sweet little domesticated nostrils flared again.

"Show me."

I walked over, gliding demurely instead of vamping and va-va-vooming. Even with my shoes off and hers still on, I had a full head more height than she did, plus another six or eight inches of poofy curls, so I did my best impression of meek and mild to let her feel like she was the one in charge.

"First," I said, running the back of one finger along her collarbone, "I'd get a nice, close look." And I did, staring and putting the heat in my eyes and licking my lips. Not that Merry's melons did anything for me -- they were perfectly nice tits, well above average for shapeliness despite their size, but I don't get a hard-on looking at the Mona Lisa. Michelangelo's David, on the other hand ...

"Next," I went on, trailing the finger down and over the slope of her right breast, "I'd have to feel how soft they are."

I added my other fingertips and circled them all around the dainty, pillow-soft curve, then lifted gently at the lower swell. My free hand found her other breast and grazed its circumference just as lightly. I let out an appreciative murmur. In front of me, Merry closed her eyes and breathed like a hummingbird. I palmed her with both hands, lifted and caressed, feeling the pebble-hard nipples against my skin.

"And what I'd really, really have to work at," I whispered, in a slow descent to one knee and then the other, "is keeping myself --"

Hands shifted, baring her nipples and areolas.

"-- from leaning in --"

Mouth closer, my words fell hot against her skin.

"-- and licking --"

My tongue flicked out to draw a gasp from her.

"-- and tasting --"

I sealed my lips about her nipple, ran my tongue-tip in a circle there. Merry groaned.

"-- and sucking --"

"Wait ... wait, just --"

The word and her tone tipped me back. I broke contact and looked up at her.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Was that --"

Chest rising and falling, quick and steady, she said, "I don't need you to show me what you showed my husband after all."

I got ready to stand up, in case she wanted me to go.

But she didn't.

"I need you to fuck me."

"Well!" I smiled and gave her a knowing head-tilt. "I guess someone has some very sensitive nips."

Merry nodded, unbuckling her thread-thin silver belt. "And they haven't gotten that much attention in ages."

"You're sure about this?" I asked as she unfastened her slacks and skinned them off. Underneath, she had plain white panties, smooth hips, and trim, athletic thighs with just a hint of middle-aged crease starting to show where waist met hips and hips ran down into legs.

She stepped out of her shoes and pants at the same time, then all but jumped out of her panties and into the bed.

"I'm sure it's a horrible, nasty thing that I'll feel awful about when it's done." Her eyes had gone all round and wild-womany, and her voice shook as she crawled up to yank away the coverlet and topsheet. "So please, before I lose my nerve -- come and do something to me that I can regret later."

Untucking, I took my own undies down, while Mercy watched from hands and knees at the head of the bed. Her tongue wet her lips at sight of my dangling dingus, which hadn't firmed up yet and wasn't a total monster under any conditions, but still appeared to be much more than she expected to see today. Her eyes stayed on it as I fetched a condom and some lube from my bag.

"Do you want to put yourself in my hands?" I asked, climbing onto the bed with her. "Or is there something specific you'd like me to do?"

In a rough voice, she said, "I want it to be dirty. I want us to do it like animals." And she swiveled her bottom toward me, putting her head down in the mass of pillows beyond her. "Please -- hurry and mount me like a dog."

It took some intense concentration on the image of our square-jawed waiter in his tight, black server's pants, but I managed a reasonably quick erection. While milking my cock into full working order, I stuck a thumb in Merry's cooch and made her gasp. She felt very wet and ready -- a few rubs of my trigger finger on her clit brought a full-body shudder out of her.

"Put it in me," she panted, grinding back against my hand. "Put it in me. Be a beast."

Now, I'm only bi when I'm on the clock, and having a thumb up Mrs. High Society's hoo-hah wouldn't ordinarily light my fire. I mean, she had a nice one, don't get me wrong -- neat, smooth lips and a tender pink nub, nestled in a bush that wasn't fully landscaped but had at least been trimmed back from run-amok hair-splosion.

But the tone in her voice ... that got me going the final nudge. You can't beat the sound of a horny, sex-woken primate for clicking my ready-to-fuck switch. It's just plain contagious, even if the body it's coming out of isn't my normal cup of tea. (Or cup of booty.)

So I tore the rubber packet open with my teeth and dressed my weenie in its work clothes while Merry fucked my thumb and forefinger with everything she had.

"Okay, sweetie," I said, getting in behind her. "You ready for something bigger to slide in there?"

"Yes ... oh ... oh, yes!"

And easy as that, I un-thumbed her and stuck it deep.

"UH!" Merry shoved back hard and turned into a little wildcat. "Ah! Urhh! Yes, oh, yes, you stud, dog-fuck me dirty -- nnggh ..."

Damn, sounds like somebody has been neglecting this cunt something fierce.

"So you like a good doggy dicking, Merry?" I slammed hard and growl-grunted on my question mark. "That? Yeah?"

"Yesss ..." she rumbled, rougher and lower than you'd think a little thing like her could manage. "Uh -- uh ... hit it ... hard ..."

With both hands on her waist, I gave her a half-dozen power-pumps, driving her deeper into her pile of pillows with every one. "Rrhh! Good girl. That's -- ah ... a good -- girl. Yeah, my little -- vixen -- is in heat, huh?"

"Hrrh! Hrrh!"

There's my sweet spot. That right there.

I worked her hard and showed her how good I can be when I'm in my groove. Customers come in all shapes and sizes, and you might be surprised that the best ones aren't necessarily the hunks or the muscle-boys. Sometimes they're not even boys at all. If I can get them where I had Merry right then -- out of her head with lust and fire, going crazy over every stroke of raw excitement I gave her -- if I can get them to that spot, they can be ugly or fat or wrinkly or female, and the job still turns into a picnic for me. Maybe my cock felt pretty good, sliding in and out of Merry's wet hole, but my belly and the middle of my chest felt even better -- all steamed up with sexual power and the kick of knowing I could erase everything bad in Merry's life, make it all disappear, totally, for just a little while.

A few minutes in, she squealed and came, and I slowed things down for a bit to let her recover. Soft, long strokes as I leaned forward, let my tongue hang out, and puppy-panted in her ear. My tits dragged along her back while I screwed her, one hand holding up my weight and the other wandering her belly, her thighs, her ass. Just for grins, I worked that hand between us and got a finger down her crack.

"Oh," she gasped, her whole body tensing. I wiggled the finger, drove it deeper along her crevice. "Oh, dear, that's -- don't ..."

"No?"

"That's so dirty. I don't ... you shouldn't ... ooh ..."

My fingertip landed against her rosette and threw it into spasms.

"It's filthy ... I ... I ..."

Getting back to the vertical, I probed her cunt with enough force to drive my pubes against my finger and my finger against her butt-pucker. Then I did it again.

"No? Yes?"

"Hhh ..." Her ass pushed back against me, vagina hungrily devouring my rod and asshole dimpling around my fingertip. "Oh, no, no, no ... so wrong ..."

On my next stroke out, I dipped my finger lower and ran it around my shaft, coating it with her pussy juice. Gliding back in, I pressed the lubed-up digit where it sure seemed like she wanted it. Just the tip of the tip popped in, but Merry thrashed like I'd donkey-dicked her.

"Oh, God, you nasty brute! Please don't befoul me that way, I'm begging you!"

Two knuckles in, she groaned and came again.

"Uhhh -- uhhh -- so ... disguhhh ... uhh --"

"You said I needed to be an animal, Merry," I told her, lodging my whole finger inside and pumping my hips to cunt-ream her. "Aren't you liking it?"

"No, oh, no, how could -- I -- glluhh ..."

Keeping the index finger in, I dropped the middle finger down so that my shaft brushed against it with every in and every out, until I had it juiced up too.

"You'll like this twice as much," I said.

"What? Nngff! Oh, dear Lord, what are you doing? Sweet heaven, don't ..."

But the tremor in her voice and the ease with which she took the second finger told me to keep going. I seesawed her two holes, fingers-in, dick-out, dick-in, fingers-out, back and forth and back and forth. Merry whined and rocked her hips helplessly.

"Please, no more, no more," she said as her hungry ass and cunt squelched out, More, more! "Oh ... oh, no, for God's sake, please tell me you're not going to put your penis in my bottom like I was one of your homosexual lovers ..."

Damn, in for a penny, in for a pound, huh, Merry? Well, I can definitely do a pound.

I got my fingers loose. Both hands went to her butt-cheeks, thumbs spreading her crack wide.

"Sweet Jesus, save me from this sodomite!" She put a lot of emotion into it, but I've heard better acting at middle-school drama productions.

With a quick pull out of her snatch and a tilt of my pelvis, I wedged my juice-dripping tip against the pink yawn of her asshole. Then I gently but relentlessly plugged myself into her poop-chute.

"AHHH -- fuck! Fuck me, you fucking animal! Fuck me there! Grahh!"

"Yeah?" I asked, dropping to all fours and sealing my body tight to hers. "You want to be mutt-mounted, Merry? Mutt-mounted and ass-jammed?"

She just growled and roared and rolled beneath me like an ocean getting its big O on. Her voice pitched upward and upward with every series of butt-thumps I gave her, until I finally heard the queen of all orgasm cries getting ready to bust out of her throat. Right then, I grabbed up into her crotch with one hand and drubbed her mons and clit with a three-fingered claw.

I wouldn't be surprised if our waiter from across the street heard her going off.

"CHRIST IN HEAVEN -- OH, SHIT -- COCK! DOG-COCK, FUCK -- SHIT!"

When the shouting and shaking finally wrapped up, she plopped off me and fell flat, lying there face-down, arms at her sides, quivering and gasping. My insides turned all rosy and sweet, even though I hadn't gotten all that close to coming.

A minute or two later, without raising her head from the pillows, my little housewife client said, "Trini."

"Mm-hmm? What else can I do for you, Miss Merry?"

Muffled by the downy pile, her voice still came out clear enough for me to catch every word.

"I'm going to need my own copy of your card."

* * *

So hilariously enough, Jerry had never called me back, but I'd gotten repeat business from his wife for months after that, sometimes as often as every other week. And now here she was giving me my second chance in twenty minutes to practice that innocent 'Have we fucked at some point? No, of course not, I've never met you in my life' look.

Naturally, with the business I'm in, I've got that look down to the ground, right-side-up or upside-down. Merry, on the other hand, did an even worse job of it than her husband had. I think she might have stood there blinking all day if the men hadn't both gotten up and if Wyn hadn't walked across the room for another Tate-family burst of demonstrative affection -- which in this case consisted of giving a brief smooch to each of his mother's cheeks as she presented them to him by turning her head.

I followed him over while Jerry sat back down. The tall, icy blond gave a surprisingly non-icy smile and held her hand out to me.

"Liz Tate," she said as I took it and shook it.

"Trini Jones. It's really nice to meet you." Yeah. As in, 'Thank God there's at least one member of this family I haven't played hide-the-sausage with.'

"Nice to meet you too," she replied. Then she let go to fist-bump Wyn. "Hey, bean-counter."

"Hey, corporate overlord."

Merry looked like she couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or relieved that the fist-bump and sibling sniping blocked the way between us and prevented the obligatory mother-girlfriend handshake. After a beat or two, she barged past them with her arm extended.

"And I'm Meredith," she told me, with a bit of a stiff smile and a flinch to her grasp like she expected an electric shock when our hands met. I tried to loosen her up with a smile and a gentle squeeze of my fingers.

"I can't tell you how tickled I am. And you're as beautiful as your son is dreamy. But do you go by 'Meredith,' or --" I threw Jerry a glance over my shoulder. "-- Mister Tate's been saying, 'Merry.'"

Bright red. I might as well have said, 'Really? Meredith? Didn't you have me call you 'Merry' all those times I plugged your ass with my dick?' Ever-so-subtly, I rubbed the back of her thumb with my own and tried to use my eyes to promise her I wouldn't tell anyone.