True Love Pt. 02byangiquesophie©
"I would love to help you," she said, "but I am almost broke myself. I hardly know how to get through the rest of the month." He looked sad.
"I'd rather bite off my tongue than ask, but it is not for me," he apologized. "It is for my children. I haven't been able to send them anything this month."
They sat in silence. Then she cleared her throat. "I could maybe get an advance. That might ease us over to the next month."
She never wondered about the use of "us". She also never wondered why she was so easily prepared to give him her hard earned money. She just did. She gave him part of her advance. Then she gave him the rest. It may have solved his short-term problem, but it left her almost penniless after paying her rent for the next month.
After that he stayed away for three weeks. When he returned, they never talked about the money. He took her dancing and dining, but most of the time they were in their motel room fucking. By then there was nothing Olga wouldn't do for him. She sucked his cock before or after sex, whether it had been in her cunt or in her ass hole. They fucked in her tiny car and even once on the dance floor of a darkened discotheque.
After he had left again, she reluctantly allowed reality to return. She lay in her lonely bed, when a thought plunged into her pink dreams like an iceberg into a tropical sea. She had sucked his wonderful cock and drunk his sperm. She had never minded the acrid taste on his dirty stem, but he had hardly touched her pussy with his mouth, this time. Only after she'd begged, he had eaten her out – half-heartedly and without his usual passion.
She realized that it was a first. His lips and tongue had always made her come howling, but not this time. She shuddered. The shower sluiced his stickiness and the smell of their sex off her skin. But the tiny remnants of her one disturbing thought clung to the inside of her skull.
Things changed. The intensity seemed to leak out of their meetings. She felt a distance that had never been there. When he once again returned after a long and barren month, he hardly kissed her when she picked him up at the station. After a chilly, wordless drive to their rented motel room Olga didn't leave the car. Her white-knuckled hands grabbed the wheel as sobs started wracking her body. She seemed at last to penetrate his indifference. He embraced her, letting her cry on his shoulder.
"I am so sorry," he whispered. She looked up. Her eyes were red and swimming in tears.
"What is going on, sweetheart?" she asked with a wavering voice. "What is happening to us?"
He just looked deeply into her eyes, saying nothing. Then he said: "I can't do this to you anymore. It has to end."
An icy shock hit her. "No!" she cried. She grabbed his shoulders. "No! You can't leave me. I'll die!"
He shook his head. "I love you, honey," he said. "Now more than ever. And that is why we have to end this…this miserable affair in shabby rooms and cheap motels. You deserve more, Olga, so much more than I can give you."
She took his sad face in both hands and deeply kissed him. "Oh God," she moaned. "Oh God, my sweet, sweet man. I don't care, you hear? I don't care that we are poor. I love you, you love me! We are the richest people on earth!"
She had put her finger to his mouth when he protested. Then she had pulled him out of the car and into the motel room, where they fucked in a blind rage of desperation. Afterwards she lay in his arms, humming.
He got up on one elbow, staring down into her flushed, happy face. "My wife threatens to divorce me if I don't send her more money. She told me she could no longer accept that her children are ridiculed for their threadbare clothes and second hand shoes. She says she'll marry her old boyfriend and take the children away from me. She'll make him their legal father, so they can go to good schools."
"Can she do that?" Olga asked. She only reluctantly dragged herself up from the dreamy afterglow.
"Yes," he said. "She can. The guy is a wealthy drugs dealer. I wouldn't be able to pay for a lawyer, so it wouldn't make sense to fight the divorce. She says she loves me, but she has to think of the future of her children. 'My children,' she said, not 'our children'. I guess she is already fucking him."
Olga softly caressed his face. Then she pulled him down in her arms. "The damn bitch!" she hissed. "I so much want to help you, but where do I get the money? I would borrow money for you, but how could we pay the interest?"
He shook his head vehemently. "No!" he said. "I already took way too much money from you. It makes me feel like a begging loser. My damn poverty already cost me a wife, I don't want you to start hating me." He pressed his mouth to hers, smothering her protests. "I love you too much to ask that," he said after they came up gasping. She saw there were tears in his big brown eyes. It broke her heart.
From Olga's diary:
"Am I crazy? I must be. Am I immoral? Oh yes. But do I have a choice? Today I kissed John McCall in his car. We made out – I let his clumsy hands roam all over my body. He is a nice guy. I used to work with him. He is a brilliant copywriter, but he is way too shy for his own good. Then again, I guess that is exactly why he is the ideal candidate. He'll fly up the corporate ladder. He already landed a great job.
He also is a lonely sucker. I know I can easily make him fall in love with me. God…am I writing this?"
Her lover had begged her not to do it, but she had asked him if there was another way. She knew it would hurt his jealous macho soul. But she told him to be honest about it. Would his damn ego pay for his children? Would he rather lose them? She had beaten his brow and made him give in. But she had not been proud of her victory. He had looked like a sad puppy when he left, that day. She had kissed him at the station and assured him that she loved him and would always love him. But he must trust her with this. It would only be for the money, their money, remember? The money for his children. There would be no love involved, just a marriage of convenience…their convenience.
So she had given John McCall a chance to fall in love with her and soon they were married. He was a rotten lover. He did not even arouse her those first awkward times they made sex. But he was devoted to her, doting on her. He took her to wonderful places, buying her things she'd only dreamed of before. She played the wide-open innocent. But behind her closed eyes she fucked her dark, passionate lover, while McCall poked her with his fumbling little cock.
She faked most of her orgasms. She also faked a prudish lifestyle, wearing fashionable, but dull outfits. John asked her what happened to the sexy little dresses he remembered when they still used to work together. She smiled and said she was a wild girl back then, but now she was a woman – his woman. It made her grin guiltily when she donned her secret sexy tops and heels for a meeting with her lover, two towns over. "No," she corrected herself. "Not with my lover, with my true husband." And she blew a kiss to her reflection in the mirror
Olga knew she had to be careful. She gave up her job. It seemed safer to cut the ties with her old circle of colleagues. She went to school to study for a career-switch that would make more money for her lover. The courses weren't as expensive as she'd shown John, but he gladly paid for them. He paid for everything.
"Whatever I make," he once told her, "I could never make without you. It is yours as much as it is mine." She had smiled and wondered why she suddenly felt ashamed.
Then she had taken his head in her hands and had whispered: "Thank you."
Her sweet dark lover took the money she smuggled out of her marriage. But as time progressed, he found it increasingly hard to conceal his jealousy. Every fiber of his proud macho body protested against him being "cuckolded", as he put it. She told him over and again that she only loved him, that John never made her come, that his prick hardly touched the sides of her pussy – but she learned that going into such detail just made things worse. So she said that she would stop at once if he insisted. Which he did not, of course and that only frustrated him more.
Then Olga missed her period. The thought of a sweet dark love child excited her immensely. But she knew she could not have it, not now. The whole charade would blow up in their faces if the baby were black. And she wasn't at all sure that her lover would take care of her if John dumped her. Of course the baby could on the other hand very well be John's. But thinking of bearing the white offspring of John McCall almost physically nauseated her. She tried to imagine how her macho lover would take that. He would leave her at once, if he didn't kill her first.
From Olga's diary:
"I feel sick, physically and mentally. At last I convinced myself that losing the fetus was the only thing I could do, and I did it. John was very sweet about it, hugging me and asking about my feelings. I just hated him for it.
I never told my lover I was pregnant. No need to taunt him with the impossible. But I feel so very awful now. What if it really had been his baby taht I got rid of? I so much want a child from him, a wonderful little dark velvet-skinned baby with his lovely black curls and soul-filled eyes.
I guess John doesn't understand why I am so depressed. Ah God, is there anything he understands?"
Time dragged on. She lived for the moments her lover visited, but they were scarce and far between. A nagging thought entered her mind in sleepless nights. She wasn't beautiful enough for him. That must be it, or he would see her way more often. Standing in front of her tall mirror she focused on every real or imagined flaw. Her hair – too short and dull. Her eyes – too small. Her legs – not long enough and god, those skinny calves. Her sagging tits, ah well….
John surprised her on their second anniversary by offering to pay for surgery on her breasts. It took her by surprise. Their imperfection had always been nagging at her self-esteem, but she never thought John would spend a thought on it. Her true lover never commented on her tits, but she knew it might just be the surprise she needed. She'd never given up the dream that one day he would be hers in public. And in a twisted way she thought that having a new, perky chest would help her get there.
The lifted breasts were indeed an amazing boost for her confidence. She remembered the week they spent in Aruba – the dancing and prancing, the topless tanning, the heads turning. She also remembered the secret arousal of her free nipples as they rubbed against her top. And of course she remembered the secret sex she had with her Antillian lover when John was out working. He had flown in on a ticket she'd bought for him. Afterwards she allowed John sloppy seconds in the balmy Caribbean nights. It excited her so much that she even had her first real orgasms with him.
The glorious self-confidence stayed with her after they returned from the island. People seemed to love her new, outgoing attitude. Colleagues from her new job hovered around her. So did friends and strangers alike at the increasing number of parties they were invited to. She basked in their warm attention.
John took her everywhere and before long she discovered that it had become easier to be around him. He seemed no longer the tongue-tied, awkward odd man out. He had a wonderful sense of wry humor she never saw before. She discovered that he was respected in his job, especially so amongst his peers. He took her with him to dinners and parties and festivals abroad. She even thought there was a spark of adventure in their love making that had never been there.
From Olga's diary:
"I am confused. How could I ever feel for the klutz? He is so damn nice, it makes my skin crawl. I have to close my eyes and imagine the hard, ebony body of my sweet love to be cured of these preposterous feelings. I have to imagine my true lover's soul searching chocolate eyes to forget John's. But, damn…I have to imagine so hard, lately.
Come back to me, honey. It has been three months since Aruba now. Where are you?!"
He returned during a week when John was away, so they had all the time to renew their love. Olga had made reservations in a resort by the sea. They swam and tanned and danced and dined. And most of all: they fucked like bunnies.
She must have talked too often about the changes she appreciated in John. One sunny afternoon when they lay by the pool, he suddenly jumped up and screamed at her: "Do you love him? Do you want him? Go for him! Go for his goddamn money! I won't be in the way anymore!" Then he turned around and walked away. She ran after him, grabbing his arm, but he shook her off. He turned and pushed his enraged face into hers. "You whore! You damn, filthy whore!"
The words stunned her. He was already gone before she could respond. "Whore?" Her trembling lips whispered the word, almost tasting it. Through the blur of her tears she saw people around the pool looking at her. She blushed and covered her topless tits.
Olga tried to reach her lover and apologize. He never responded. She sent numerous voicemails to his mobile phone, begging him to answer. She promised to divorce John and be his forever. Then she asked: what do you want me to do? I'll do anything, anything.
That message he answered. They met in an empty bar. She felt the Pavlov-response of her pussy when he walked in. She rose to the tips of her toes to kiss him.
"Traitor!" he said, but he smiled.
She apologized, feeling a blush rise up from her throat. "Anything," he said with an ironic voice, after they had their drinks. "You said anything." She just nodded.
"Okay," he went on. "I want you to have my child and have John pay for it."
Olga sat stunned. "But," she stuttered. "He will kick me out. It'll break his heart. He'll never accept it."
Her lover shook his dreadlocks. "Anything," he repeated with a voice that had turned bitter. "You said anything."
He rose to leave. She reached for his arm. "Don't go. Please, honey, please. I would love to have your child, our child. You know that! I always dreamt of having children with you. And I don't care if the damn oaf kicks me out. Oh God, honey sweet, you know how I yearn to be only yours, to leave him and be with you the rest of our lives. Please, oh please, believe me! I'll call him now and tell him. Shall I call him now?"
She grabbed her purse to find her phone, but he laid his huge hand over hers.
"No, darling," he said, smiling. "I want him to know the child isn't his and still have him raise it as his own. I want him to pay for it. I want him cuckolded, humiliated and punished for what he did to me! And I want you to do it to him."
At the "you" a hard finger stabbed into Olga's soft, bra-less chest, making her wince.
The next half our, she listened to his plan. It was outrageously dangerous and could cost her her marriage. At first she balked. She said he was crazy. Then, after he once more threatened to leave, she thought: what the hell. If John kicks me out, isn't that exactly what I want? I have a good job and there's no doubt we will get some good money out of the divorce. We might go to the islands and live there, basking in the sun: he, my black Adonis – and all our sweet chocolate colored angels.
What made her give in was the dizzying idea of carrying his child and maybe getting him to be entirely hers in the process. He hugged her hard and pulled her to the elevators. "No reason to delay," he laughed. And they sure didn't.
Of course she didn't get pregnant that time as she was still on the pill. And she would continue taking them for the next months of her lover's absence. She had cried when he told her he would be away for months. How could he, right now, she had asked. But he said he had to.
"So what about John?" she had asked.
He just laughed hard. "Let him try first!" he exclaimed over his shoulder as he jumped into his cab.
From Olga's diary:
"Why is he so cruel? Why does he want me to torture John by letting him think he could get me pregnant? I asked him, and he said it was important that there would be enough doubt as to whose baby she was carrying until delivery. No need to have him push for an abortion. "Besides," he laughed before he left, "why not give the loser a chance first!"
My marriage must have hurt him much deeper than he let on when I started seeing John. I love only him. He must know that! If he doesn't trust me, why did he allow me to marry John?
God, how I hate myself. Each time I see John I can't help feeling sorry for him. I keep repeating what a klutz and an oaf he is, but I know he isn't. Not anymore. I keep comparing his pudgy body with the glorious physique of my black Adonis, but I know I am lying. John isn't an athlete, but he isn't pudgy either. He is sweet and attentive and funny. Goddammit, why does he have to love me?
Am I a monster? Am I?"
The whole charade of John trying so very hard to fulfill her child wish would have been funny if she hadn't felt so guilty. She knew it was guilt as she lay in the still of the night, beside him – his fresh sperm deep inside her infertile womb. But she also knew she could not afford to blame herself. There was no point, was there? So, in order to live with her guilt, she turned the disgust for her own despicable actions against him – against her sweet, deluded husband who murmured: "I love you," before falling asleep. She started hating him for loving her.
"Preposterous," she thought. "Who does he think he is? No one loves me but my lover."
After four fruitless months of trying she lied to John that she had seen a doctor and nothing was wrong with her. She asked him to have a sperm test taken, which he did. The results were adequate. She faked relief. Then at last she got the phone call that made her throw away her pills. She knew it would take weeks to get fertile again. But she increased the number of sudden headaches and other plausible reasons to slowly exclude John from making love to her. Her period seemed conveniently early that month, too.
From Olga's diary:
"I love to rub my huge round belly and feel the child kicking. It's a boy, they told me. Stanley went out of his mind with pride. His wife only has daughters. He'd always ached to have a son. Now he has one and it is mine! We'll call him Stanley, Stan for short. John doesn't understand why. He wants to call the boy after his father. I said the name would be Stanley.
It will only be weeks now. John seems confident that the child is his. I lied to him about taking the morning-after pill. But we did discuss the other possibility. I think he has reconciled himself with the small chance it might be black. He is just too decent a man to kick me out with a rape child. Yes, I know I married a wonderful man. And I know I am a monster. I can't help blushing as I write this down. He sure deserves a better wife."
Olga's pregnancy had been a glorious time. John treated her like a queen and so did Stanley, who had been around more often than usual. After her morning sicknesses abated, she had felt continuously horny. She even instigated sex with John, but fucking Stanley gave her orgasms of an entirely different dimension. It must have been the hormones, no doubt. And the enormity of the secret she shared with her black lover.
At last the day came when she delivered her child.
From Olga's diary:
"NO!! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! It can't be. IT CAN'T!! Why me? Why this horror? What happened?? All was planned so carefully! And now this! I thought I had died when I saw the ugly pink piggy wriggle on my bloodstained belly. NO!! NOOOOOOO!!! Oh God, no, let this be a nightmare. Get it away from me, I don't want it. I DON'T WANT IT!!!"