Women of the Night: Miescha & Simon

bycombinedtalents©

"Thank you Ms. Jones." Simon replied in a friendly manner. He knew for a fact that Olivia Jones was nothing like his secretary. He could give Janine a mountain of work and it would be done by lunch. Mr. Banks, on the other hand, only gave Olivia one job to do, and she fulfilled it every day either during lunch or after everyone left for the day or sometimes both.

"Good afternoon Simon." The elder, slightly overweight man held out his hand. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise, sir." Simon held in a chuckle as he shook the hand of his boss's boss. He knew he never met this man before but didn't say anything as he sat down in the leather chair in front of Mr. Banks' desk.

"Simon, Mrs. Wilkens and I have discussed your position with the company. She tells me that through your diligence, you singlehandedly raised the real estate division of our company 28%. She says you come prepared and dominate meetings with great ideas complete with answers to all the hypothetical risks that could incur." Mr. Banks stared at Simon intently before continuing. "What do you think about that?"

The praise from Mrs. Wilkens was astonishing to Simon. She never mentioned anything before, not once saying "good job" in the six years he's been under her. "I would simply say I was doing my job and I am glad I could help."

"That's a great answer," Mr. Banks laughed. "There is no room for prima donnas here. Simon, I would like to offer you a promotion. How would you feel about leading your own real estate team?"

"I would love to," Simon was ecstatic. "But why, is Mrs. Wilkens leaving or are we creating a second team?"

"Actually, the job is in San Francisco. The west coast branch needs a real estate leader after the last one suddenly quit. If you accept, your flight leaves Thursday at 8pm. You'll have a formal meet and greet with your new team Friday, and then the weekend to settle in. What do you say?"

Simon's thoughts immediately went to Miescha and his face went forlorn.

"If you don't want this Simon, there's a woman in the Dallas office who is chomping at the bit for the promotion," Mr. Banks warned.

Simon shook his head and gave a smile. "No sir, I accept and thank you for your confidence in me to do the job. I was just thinking about someone for a moment."

"A girl?" Mr. Banks gave a knowing smile. "So you need two airplane tickets. We take care of families and significant others when a person relocates. Hell, it'll be good for you to have someone with you. Trust me, you'll be swamped at work until you train your people on how you want things run and it would be nice to have someone house hunting for you because that little apartment the company gives will be cramped. I know this from experience."

"Thank you sir." Simon shook Mr. Banks' hand once more.

In the short couple of minutes it took for the elevator to reach his floor, Simon wondered what life would be like in San Francisco with Miescha as his wife, living happily in a house they chose together. When the elevator door opened, he squashed that dream. 'Miescha wouldn't want to come with me. I'm just a client who can be replaced, who will be replaced.' On what should be a great day for him, Simon went back to work with a disconsolate heart.

Simon fought with himself the next two mornings but he succeeded in not calling Miescha. It helped that it wasn't part of his routine those days to see her, but he couldn't help the ache in his heart knowing if the status quo didn't change, he would never see her again. His next appointment is Monday and his plane leaves Thursday night. Does he dare see her again? Could his heart take it?

Thursday finally arrived. Simon was living out of a suitcase this morning as the movers his firm hired packed everything he owned into two trucks the night before and were making their way to the Golden State. He stared at his phone while getting ready for his last day at the office. In the morning, he was training his replacement and after lunch, there was going to be a congratulations/farewell party for him. He would go directly to the airport from the office, effectively leaving his current life. The problem was his heart would be left here as well and the phone seemed to be begging him to at least let her know.

Simon grabbed his phone and dialed those haunting digits. He had to see her one last time and this time, it was certain to be the last. He couldn't leave Miescha after she gave him a gift, regardless of the reason.

"Simon?" Miescha asked, voice full of sleep and surprise. "Hey there, sweetheart." At the slip of her tongue, she buried her face in the pillow. 'Fuck. Mondays, Simon. I'm prepared to act then. Now... not so much.'

Simon hesitated. Hearing Miescha's voice was hard enough, how could he face her? He took a deep breath, "Good morning, can I see you at the usual time today?" It was his typical opening to her, but it came out downtrodden, not his typical shy voice.

'Something's wrong.' But Miescha wanted to see him -- she knew he could avoid her on the phone, but she wouldn't have to ask face-to-face. He was like an open book. "Always. I'm in 214 today. It's in the back of the motel."

"Room 214. I'll see you soon." Simon hung up quickly, unsure his composure would maintain if he spoke any longer.

Miescha bit back her goodbye and sighed in a delicate huff. 'Wake up, wake up. You can't disappoint him. Not sweet, adorable Simon -- that always pays and always leave, remember that.' Her next huff was much less delicate that time. She forced herself from under the warm sheets and into the shower to scald the grime off of her body. A quick blow dry left her hair only half damp and wavy, a tousled look that he seemed to enjoy. Her soft make up was applied with a trembling hand. 'This is going to be goodbye, isn't it, Simon? Can't play your pretty wife in the morning any more, can I? Or maybe he just likes to have a good fuck on Thursdays, too.' She yanked a satin robe from the hook on the door and slipped it over pale shoulders as though a blanket for comfort.

Arriving at Aphid Motel, Simon felt like he was floating to the room. How did he get here so fast? His hand made a fist to knock, but the door opened suddenly before he had the chance. One look in Miescha's amber eyes told him everything. She knew something was amiss. The two gazed at each other in silence, each of them not wanting to start, Simon hating himself for the news he carried and her out of fear.

Simon slowly entered the room, barely brushing past Miescha's arm as he did. The contact was more than he could handle. Simon slumped onto the overly firm mattress and brought his hands to his face. "This will be the last time I see you." It hurt to finally verbalize that truth. "I'm being transferred to San Francisco and I leave tonight."

The click of the door sounded what felt like her heart shattering into tiny bits. Miescha knew it was a job. Knew not to fall in love... but she hadn't prepared for an end either. In her head, she kept pleasing him, and he kept coming for pleasure. Her answer was choked, "Congratulations, Simon. I'm... happy for you. This is a great opportunity. And San Francisco... it's beautiful there. You'll love it."

Miescha's smile was fragile when she walked over, the sheer fabric shifting with each measured step, exposing her petite body. "I guess we better make this good, huh?" She didn't wait for his answer and leaned in for a deep kiss, glad for his closed eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek. His body was her anchor as her hands slipped down his chest, and pushed him back, her warm, smooth thighs straddling his lap. "I could hold you right now... could cuddle you... but I don't want to. Let me love you, darling. One more time before you go off to San Francisco and have to find a new whore."

"Don't you dare call yourself a...a...that. It may be your job, but that does not define you." Simon stated sternly. Then much quieter, "I didn't come here for this. I came here because," He took a deep breath, "because..."

"Shh," Miescha murmured with a small smile. "Relax. Let me do my job." With her final demand, her fingers found his tie and unknotted it. "Do you trust me?"

Simon's eyes softened at the word trust. "More than you realize." It came out in a hushed, sincere tone.

Silently, Miescha leaned above him, her breasts and tummy nearing his face as she attached his hands to the cheap bedpost with the soft material. "You'll wear this in San Francisco, as well. To remember me. To remember what I do to you? How I drive you crazy before I finally give you the pleasure you so generously pay me for? Will you miss it, Simon? Will you miss the way I warm your body with my kisses and caresses... and the way I know just when you need it most... and how I take you just then, slipping my high-priced cunt on your cock? Don't you enjoy that?"

With each question, Miescha's fingers manipulated a button out of the hole, and with her final statement, she tugged the shirt out of his pants, "But tonight -- this morning -- you can't have that. No, this won't be so tender and sweet. I'm going to take you, a piece of you, before you leave this last time."

"I enjoy being with you Miescha. What we did together was of no consequence to me. I just wanted to be near you." Simon couldn't help portraying his sadness. 'Is that the only reason she thinks I came?'

"No more talking, love." Miescha's lips possessed his for a long moment before she pulled away, eyes glistening for a brief second as she reminded him to be silent with a finger to his lips. "Or I'll get out some of my toys this time to make you be quiet." With a girlish giggle and wink, she hid her face in his neck, her lips on his ear, behind it, down to his shoulder... her teeth were sharp on the sensitive skin, and her tongue soothing.

Slowly, Miescha trailed down her love's chest and stomach, the dark line of hair nuzzled, until she reached his pants. Looking up at him, she tugged them off as well, her fingers brushing the already tented front of his boxers. Once those were gone too, her fingers wrapped around the only dick she ever fantasized about any more -- larger, thicker, it didn't matter, because this was Simon's, perfect and kind of adorable with that slight curve to the tip... that never missed a chance to rub her g-spot -- and she found herself trying to memorize the velvet feel and color of the swollen head, the way it glistened with a pearl of pre-cum. All for her, just for her.

On a whim, Miescha leaned in to kiss it away, her tongue flicking across it for a taste. "Fuck, Simon."

"Oh," Simon groaned in delight. Forgetting his feelings, forgetting about San Francisco, forgetting it all, he wanted to relish this final time with his love.

Simon's moan of ecstasy was reward enough -- she had to finish it, had to make this good for him.

Miescha's thumb rubbed the mixture of saliva and arousal into the soft skin at the head, trailing down the sensitive underside with a gentle touch. When she reached the base, she wrapped her petite hand around his shaft firmly, and leaned down again to swirl her tongue around the already throbbing head. She couldn't help her giggle, that same girlish sound from before -- she loved how easily she could turn him on, loved the way he reacted to her touch. Loved the way she reacted, too, but she pushed that out of her head, her pretty pink lips wrapping around the thick cock before her, putting years of sucking skills to use. This was about him, her love, taking a piece of him to keep.

But instead of letting him cum, Miescha slipped back up his body with practiced ease and filled herself to the brink with him. She gasped, and rocked her hips, a gentle grind against his, at the sudden fullness. Her hair tickled his face when she moved to kiss him, nimble fingers undoing the knot in the tie; her expression was intense as he twitched with each teasing roll of her hips.

Simon was stunned with delight at Miescha's brazen attitude. It was the first time his cock was submerged in her soaked pussy without protection. Despite the possible repercussions, he knew she needed this from him -- and he from her. The warmth, the smoothness was absolute heaven. Her womanhood grasping at his shaft with each passing second.

"Beg me to fuck you, Simon," Miescha murmured against his lips. Her own trailed along his jaw, behind his ear, a gentle nip to his earlobe. "Touch me. Remember my body."

Simon engulfed her in his arms and pulled her even tighter to his body. One hand grazed the locks of her hair, while the other caressed along her spine. "I need you, Miescha."

Miescha ignored the way the words touched a deep, wishful part of herself, and shut him up with a deep, passionate kiss. Her hunger spurred the abrupt, rough way she took him. Her nails scratched temporary lines on his skin, but in her despair, she wanted them to be permanent, and his groan at the light pain to be ongoing.

When the deed was done, her body still tingling with a sweet orgasm, her last from Simon, Miescha lay tangled with him under the sheets for those last ten minutes. She wanted to memorize the way his chest only lightly moved beneath her cheek with each breath, the dusting of hair there tickling just a little, and how his heart beat slow and steady. She wanted to whisper her feelings, but she knew it wouldn't change anything. Except maybe his feelings for her, his used up cunt for the week. She wished she didn't care that he might never think of her again, never imagine her... 'no, what you really wish is that he would imagine you in his arms every morning, calling you honey and baby and wifey like a sappy new couple in the honey moon stage. You wish he would take care of you and love you and cherish you, like some fucking doll, but guess what sweetheart, no more pretending.'

Miescha shut her eyes to hold back the tears, but the lazy circles her fingers drew on his hip were suddenly shaky, so she stopped, only holding it affectionately. 'Say you'll miss me, Simon. Say you love me, you'll take me with you, and we'll live happily ever after... please?'

Simon was filled with so many emotions. He cherished this part, the post coital bliss with the one he loved, but it was different right now. Knowledge changes everything. Knowledge that he is leaving today. Knowledge his heart will forever be separated from his soul. Knowledge that this is good bye. "You asked earlier if I'll miss the pleasure you give me. I know it was a rhetorical question, but I want to answer it," Simon said solemnly. "I'll miss this the most. The comforting warmth our bodies share afterward. Thank you for being a part of my life, Miescha." Simon's eyes were glossed over; one blink would cause a cascade of tears. He leaned in and gave his love one final, emotion filled kiss. "I have to leave now."

Miescha turned away from him as tears started to fall, a nod her only reaction as she buried her face in his pillow. "Leave the money on the table." It was a cruel way to end it, to remind him of the relationship status, but dammit, it wasn't fucking fair that he was leaving. 'Prince Charming has left the building, folks, and he won't be coming back. Not for you, never for you, never for the fucking whore.' And when the click of the door sounded that he was gone, she indulged her sobs, ruining what was left of his clean, male scent. "Goodbye, Simon," she whispered, and wished for the million things she wanted to be different.

A couple hours later, Miescha scrubbed her body raw in the shower, washing the memory of their goodbye from herself as though she could take the pain away, too. She found a pretty little blue dress and shimmied into the clingy material. The make up was kept light and when she found the courage to touch the perfume bottle, she spritzed a little on her wrists and cleavage. A hidden purse was uncovered from the closet and pretty feet slipped into heels; when she looked in the mirror, she almost felt like a normal woman. And then her eyes found the bruise on her collarbone turning yellow, and the way her elbow throbbed from her client after Simon yanking her up from the floor like a rag doll.

With a glance at the clock, Miescha realized she would miss the bus if she didn't hustle, and her heels clicked on the concrete sidewalk as she rushed to the stop a quarter mile away. It was humid with sweat and stuffy with morning breath as she rode the hour-long journey to the hospice on Turner Lane. For the whole time, she stared absently at a neon green wad of gum stuck on Governor Faye's face in the latest political ad. 'All that shit they spew, like a bunch of fucking neon green puke. The kid got it right.' She felt sick.

"Miss Herzog," the pretty mixed girl at the counter greeted Miescha, a smile curving her lips, "Don't you look pretty today."

'Eat shit and die; as long as I pay, you're sweet, but I remember the one time I was late, you glared like I was the scum beneath your shoe.' "Thank you. You look..." Miescha struggled for a word, "Professional today."

The girl's smile slipped, and returned in an icy remembrance of the first. "Your mother isn't doing so well today, but you can go back, if you like." The stab landed perfectly. With a brisk nod, Miescha clicked down the hall to room 207, and entered with trepidation. She always expected her mother to be frozen -- gone, eyes blanker than usual, skin even chillier.

Miescha sighed a breath of relief this morning. 'Momma made it another week.' "Hey Momma," she murmured and slipped into the visitor chair near the bed. "You look pretty. Did they do your hair?" It was nearly gone now, brittle, and completely white, but Miescha remembered when it was so soft and full, a gorgeous auburn that she had inherited. "How are you doing today? Are they treating you okay?" The only response was a slip of drool from the thin line of lips.

"Are you hungry? Have you had breakfast?" Miescha looked around and found the menu for the day. "Oh, apple pie for dinner. That sounds good. But I bet you'll go for the cheesecake. You used make the best cheese cake, Momma." She dabbed at another line of saliva and sighed softly.

"Momma. I fell in love. I'm sorry for not telling you earlier, but the thing is... well, it's a real 'The Student Prince' sort of situation. Remember that musical I tried out for in school? He's so sweet, though. Gave me this perfume -- doesn't it smell good, Momma?" Miescha whispered, and when she felt a tear, dabbed it away with the drool-covered napkin.

"But he's gone, Momma. Left for San Francisco," Miescha sighed. "You remember when you took me there as a little girl? You were auditioning for some two-bit part in that prick -- I'm sorry, Momma, but you know he was! He was abusive and you deserved better. Anyway, you were auditioning for a piece, and you didn't get it. We were flat broke, but I played a little piece on that guitar Daddy left behind when he took that shotgun and..." Miescha took a deep breath to continue.

"Well, you know that one. It was so pretty, silver and big, too big for a girl my size to play, but I tried. People said I had a pretty voice, too. I wanted to be a singer, Momma, you know that? But life's a witchy woman. And so anyway, I made us some money that night. You remember that guy, that big one with the hairy hands that liked to pet my hair? He took a liking to you, those pretty, long legs. They're still pretty, Momma. Once you get better, you just have to start walking a little more. And tanning -- you're so pale, it's deathly. You were always such a pretty color.

"But Momma, I never told you. He took a liking to me, too. He showed me how a girl can use her body to get money, too. So while he pampered you with little gifts and we lived in a shabby apartment -- you remember it, off Broad Street? You thought it was so grand, but it was shit, Momma. Sorry, language, I know." Miescha's cheek burned at the memory of the way her Momma would slap her for using coarse language -- 'it's unladylike, how will you ever get a man like that? Ha, Momma. I had just as many men by fifteen as you had by thirty. Got more than you ever had now. And whaddaya know, still no ring. So I guess you were kind of right.'

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