She ignored me, instead asking Jean-Pierre if he was ready. “Tu es prete?”
He gasped, “Oui,” and sped his drilling, his head turned upward with a toothy grimace that showed the onset of his impending orgasm.
“Mais, dans ma bouche, cherie,” she whispered. He kept screwing her, still faster. “Dans ma bouche!” she repeated more loudly, ordering him to cum in her mouth.
It took only seconds, as his buttocks clenched and he shot once into Lindy’s plump, pink quim. She then pushed him out bodily and his flailing tool spewed another ribbon of seed up her front, landing on her tits. She quickly grabbed him by the hips and – the angle being right – took his knob just inside her lips as it spewed forth its sticky load. Her green eyes never left my face as she unblinkingly filled her cheeks with gout after gout of spunk from the shuddering Jean-Pierre. She gagged once, spilling a cascade down her chin onto her breasts, then resumed her sucking…an act that I’d experienced with her many times. Somehow I wasn’t surprised when she opened her mouth widely to me and stirred her tongue around in its thick, milky, gray-green contents, then swallowed the full mouthful with a resounding gulp.
Jean-Pierre collapsed onto the sofa beside me, accepted a glass of wine that I’d poured him, and shook my outstretched congratulatory hand with a sheepish grin. Outraged at this male bonding, Lindy threw a fit, screaming at the both of us. “You assholes!” she yelled, much to Jean-Pierre’s consternation and misapprehension. “Jean-Pierre, get the fuck outta here…now!” Her tone, rather than his understanding, caused him to gather his clothing and quickly get dressed. “You, Nick! Stay! I’m gonna give you an earful!” Then she stomped into her room and emerged in a fetching terrycloth bathrobe, and strode to her small kitchen. As I watched her dangerously washing dishes and flinging them onto a counter I arrogantly tried to remember how a score of women – when they’d been angry with me – had retreated to their kitchens to wash and break crockery.
“A bientot…merci,” said Jean-Pierre as he slipped out the door.
“Va!” shouted Lindy, exhorting him to go. “That prick!” she continued, almost running to stand over me as I was still seated, “All he wants to do is fuck white girls. He’s been after me for months! Today I gave him his chance and what did I get? “Rien! Nada! Nothing!”
“You’re just pissed off because I’m not jealous,” I said quietly. “Besides, you did get something. It’s already dry on your chin,” I said, cruelly, referring to the stream of spunk that had previously coursed down to her chest.
Lindy was nonplussed, paralyzed, it seemed, at my casual response. “You weren’t phased at all, were you?” she shrilled. “You let me fuck that guy in front of you and now you shrug it off like I was some kind of…of whore or something!”
Somewhere in the back of my drugged mind a shred of clarity remained. I’d been down this road before with irrational women trying to prove their points. That’s when I felt the first slap across my face. I shook my head in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening, I thought, not from this gorgeous little post-adolescent who’d purported to love me. Images of my hysterical mother, who’d beaten me across the face regularly as a child, reared out of my psyche and I stood up in response, towering over Lindy. Her eyes gleamed with the seething fury of a woman scorned…and she slapped me again, alternately with both hands, this time scratching one cheek deeply with her nails.