You Get What You Fucking Deserve

Amber smiled around the cock that was filling her mouth. Her bright green eyes stared up into the face of her lover. His fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her in the perfect rhythm that would please him, that would push him over the edge into orgasm.

"Fuck that's good, baby. You my good little cock sucker?" groaned Stephen as he pumped his hips faster and faster. Amber had to use her hands around the base to keep him from choking her this day, but she nodded in answer to his question. Her dainty hand came up to cup and tug gently on his balls, she knew this would make him come, enhance his orgasm.

"Oh fuck, yes," he cried as his eyes rolled back in his head. He came down her throat with short, rapid jabs at her face. "That's right, baby, swallow it all. Drink my jizz." He kept pumping, slowing with each stroke.

Amber milked his cock slowly with her mouth and hands. She licked tenderly at the tip, tracing the slit in the head. He trembled in her arms and she smiled at the surge of power and control that raced through her.

At twenty-eight, she knew that she should stop this silly game that she had been playing since her junior year in college. She should find some decent guy, date him for a couple of years, then settle down, have a couple of kids. But every time she thought about doing that, looked in the personals for a 'real' boyfriend, she instead found herself seeking out another married man. If these fucking travesties could be called marriages.

He scooped her off the floor where she knelt, drew her into his arms as he beamed down at her. "You're fucking amazing, Amber." He kissed her tenderly on the lips, "If only."

She smiled at those magic words. It always began with 'if only.' This was only her second time seeing Stephen and he was already 'if only-ing.' How pathetic. She felt genuinely sorry for the man that had been starved for so long of sexual and emotional fulfillment that he would so readily fall for someone like her.

She caressed the side of his face and returned his smile, "You're such a great guy. You deserve it," she whispered as she began to weave her web. "How did that presentation go last Friday anyway?" she asked.

He drew her up onto the bed beside him. He covered them both with the duvet and held her close as for the next half an hour they discussed his job, his daughter's recital and her latest art acquisition. For all the world, they would appear like any happy couple. Except that Stephen was already part of a couple, one that did not include Amber.

She was reminded of that when his phone rang. He sat up on the side of bed, pulled away from the safety of the cocoon she had woven for him. His shoulders slumped as he said, "Yes, dear."

How many times had Amber heard those words? In that tone? Even as a child they had been a refrain through out her home. She strained to listen as she picked up her clothes littered about the room. She could not make out what the woman was saying, but the shrill, demanding tone was all too familiar.

Why did they do it? Maybe that was why she could not walk away from this game. Because for all the world, Amber just could not understand why these women turned their backs on their husbands, on the vows they made. Why did they leave these guys so open and vulnerable to women like her?

"Yes, dear, I remember. I won't be late. You have my word," Stephen said as he hung up on his wife. The smile that was on his face when he turned back to her was forced, it did not reach his eyes. "Sorry about that."

She shook her head and offered what solace she could, "Hey, don't worry about it." She crossed the room and wrapped her arms about his slumped shoulders, holding him close, comforting him. Even as her mind screamed at the injustice of it all. This man should not need to come to her for comfort. He had a wife at home. It was her job to do it. To do all that Amber did for these men. Listen to their problems at work. Massage their tired muscles as she did now. And yes, suck their hard cocks, any fucking time they needed it. That was what a wife was supposed to be.

But Amber had learned that few were any of those things. Her own mother certainly had not been. She could not count the number of times she had fallen asleep as a child to her parents screaming at one another. But when she was about ten, things had suddenly improved. Her dad was smiling a lot more. He always made the open nights at her school, her scout meetings and took her for walks on the beach while her mother was busy with another of her charity events.

When she was thirteen, Amber had been devastated to discover that her father was seeing another woman. She had been angry at him. How could this great father do that to her mother, his wife? She had confronted him about it. He had taken each of her hurtful words, promised that he would stop seeing the woman. And he had. Amber knew because suddenly the smiling, happy dad was replaced with a hollow, sad shell of the man she loved. When a few months later, that happy daddy had returned Amber had turned a blind eye to the cause.

But it was not until her junior year in college that she had learned the truth. Her mother had called her to tell her that they were getting divorced. Amber was devastated. She loved both her parents, but the anger and vitriol in her mother's voice was like a knife to her heart.

"How dare the bastard do this to me? I told him he could stick his dick anywhere he fucking wanted. Do any perverted shit he desired as long as he left me alone. But the only thing I asked was that he keep it quiet. That he keep our family together. I'm his wife. Don't I deserve that?" she had cried into the phone.

Her words hit at Amber's soul, "Mom, what do you mean you told him he could? You knew about Dad's affairs?"

"Of course, I did, child. I was tired of the man always pawing me, wanting sex. I told him to get a mistress. It is the civilized way," Amber heard that same shrill and demanding voice that her mother always used on her father.

"You told him to have sex with other women?"

"Men too, if it floated his boat. As long as my position as his wife was not compromised, what did I care? But I never told the sleazy bastard to go and fall in love with one of his whores. The very idea. How dare he?"

"I need to go, Mom," she had said. That had been Amber's last words to her mother, eight years ago. Her mother had made good upon her threat, she had taken her father for over half of everything he made.

But in the end, Amber thought her dad had the ultimate revenge. The house he shared with his second wife might be more modest than the one in which she grew up, but she knew her baby sister had something she never had, loving parents. Her dad adored his second wife, who was only five years older than Amber. But what pleased Amber most was that her step-mother loved her father just as much. Her mother had been stuck with a huge empty house, friends who talked behind her back, and an empty bed.

It seemed like justice to Amber. An eye for an eye type of fairness that she did everything in her power to replicate over and over again. So far she had had six long term affairs with men in so-called open marriages, beginning with one of her professors just weeks after her mother's announcement. At the time, she had not even made the connection. She had just been blindly reaching out, seeking whatever comfort she might find.

But by the time that her professor left his wife at the end of her senior year, begged her to marry him, she had connected the dots. It had taken months of therapy, of course. She had stayed with him throughout the bitter divorce, loved him though it all, but she had come to realize that marriage was not what she wanted at that point in her life. They had parted amicably. In fact, Amber was the god-mother of his new baby and had been one of the bride's maids at his second wedding.

She took great pride that each of her other conquests had followed a similar pattern. She seduced them, loved them, showed them that they deserved to be treated with respect and dignity. She would gently encourage them along the path from 'if only,' which literally meant 'if only my wife was like you' to the ultimate empowerment, asking for a divorce.

She most often remained at their side through out the nastiness, comforting them and reminding them that they deserved happiness too. Then she set them free, sometimes helped them to find the right type of woman, someone who would love and cherish as they should be. Someone who was not fucked up like she was.

Stephen stirred in her arms, turning to face her once more. His sadness rolled over her like the waves breaking against rocks, beat at her heart. "I should get going. We're having a dinner party tonight. Calista is all worked up about the chef she hired to cater it. I need to go, make the peace." His fingers brushed down the side of her face. It was there again, that ember she would flame and fan in the weeks and months ahead. 'If only.'

She nodded, "I understand," and she truly did, better than he would ever know. "Have fun," she knew he would not, but her words would only re-enforce that. "You take the shower. I'll get one later." He nodded and headed towards her bathroom.

She grabbed her robe off the chair in the corner and walked into the living room. She checked her laptop for messages about the latest event at the small art gallery she owned. A few minutes later, he stepped from her bedroom, that fake smile on his face as he collected his suit jacket off the back of her couch. "When will I see you again?" he questioned wistfully.

"Anytime, sugar. My new assistant seems brilliant so I can leave her to run the gallery for a couple of hours now and again. Just give me an hour or so to arrange it," her availability to these men was always one of the key attractions. As was her friendship. Her sexually adventurous nature. But what always sealed the deal was the affection.

She stood and wrapped him in her arms, kissing his cheek and smiling genuinely. "You're a great guy, Stephen. Your wife is so lucky to have you." Those words always strangled in her throat. Not that they were not true, but that they were too true. Stupid bitches, she cursed for the millionth time as she shoed him out the door to face the cage that awaited him.

She was still wearing her robe a couple of minutes later when her doorbell rung. It was too soon yet to offer Stephen a key so she assumed he had simply forgotten something. She was laughing as she opened the door, "What did you forget, lover boy?"

The solid smack across her face caught her by surprise. She recognized the angry woman that barged past her into her apartment. Barbara was the wife of her previous 'boyfriend' James. She gathered the robe about her and stood tall. "I'm sorry, I don't remember inviting you in."

The woman was perfectly manicured from head to toe. Her size zero body was encased in the latest designer suit. The shoes on her feet and matching purse probably cost as much as some of the art hanging in Amber's gallery. But her make-up could not hide the ugliness of this woman's soul.

"I hope you're happy. I just came from the court house. We finalized our divorce." The woman's mad eyes traveled from the top of Amber's head, where disheveled soft brown curls hung about her shoulders, to her bare feet.

"What the fuck did he ever see in the likes of you? Look at you. You're a fucking fat cow. What size are you? Sixteen? Twenty? And you really should spend more time in the gym, sweetheart?" she said in that shrill, condemning tone.

Amber put her hands on her wide hips and smiled at the woman, "Yes, well, you know what they say, more cushion for the pushing. Now if you don't mind, I need to get dressed and head back to work."

"I saw him you know, your latest victim. What will his wife think when she finds out that a home wrecker had gotten her hooks into her husband?" the woman accused.

Amber had had enough of this woman. She walked over and used her substantial weight to nudge the woman towards her open door. "She gave up her right to think anything when she told her husband to seek his pleasure elsewhere. Just like you did, you stupid bitch."

With a final hard shove she sent the woman sprawl backwards onto the carpet in the hallway. "I'm not the home wrecker. You are. You and her and my mother and all the other stupid cows who allow their husbands to find the love they need in someone else's arms. And you know what? You get what you fucking deserve."

Amber was trembling as she slammed the door in the woman's face. Trembling and numb as she curled up on her couch, drawing her knees up to her chest. She sat there for a long time. The woman's accusations playing over and over in her mind. She began to cry. Her ample body shook as the tears and pain of a lifetime poured out of her.

She was not certain how long she sat there like that, but it was getting dark outside when she finally came back around. She picked up her phone and checked her messages. There was a text from Stephen, telling her how much he missed her and another from her assistant letting her know that she had closed up for the night. There was a voice message too from James. He apologized for his ex's behavior that he had somehow found out about and thanked her. Thanked her for opening his eyes, for setting him free.

Setting him free. That was how she felt. Amber felt free for the first time she could remember. Free and clean.

She scrolled through her contacts for the one number that she had stored in her phone but that she swore she would never use. She pushed the call button. That shrill and demeaning voice answered, "This is Elizabeth Cameron. May I help you?"

"Yes, mother, it's me. Amber."