Decadence by Monique Miller

were
recording devices, a sixty inch plasma flat screen mounted on the
wall. We were always ready to either put on a show or watch one.
There was a mirrored ceiling along with a mirrored wall, but I’d
gone the extra mile to make sure none of it came across as tacky or
made anyone feel like they were spending the night in a seedy
honeymoon suite in some skeevy hotel out in the middle of
nowhere.
    The only thing provocative out in the open
was the stripper pole in the far corner of the room, everything
else was hidden. Eighteen inch double jelly dong, glass dildos,
more handcuffs, scarves, the closet filled with costumes meant for
more role playing, lube, butt plugs, body chocolate, ball gags, a
body sling, a riding crop--all of those things in other places,
waiting to be used later. They were things I’d been collecting and
using before and after my marriage. Things that represented the
other side of me that Scott knew nothing about.
    “Get on the bed,” Chris tells her, turning
her attention back to the task at hand. “On all fours. Now.”
    Candice does as she’s told. I’m watching her,
waiting for her to disobey so I can punish her. But she’s doing
exactly as she’d been told. That doesn’t stop me from watching her
every move.
    “Leila,” Chris calls my name roughly and my
head snaps in his direction.
    “Yes?”
    “Undress me.”
    I move quickly across the room, unbutton his
jeans, unzip them, pull them down until they’re at his ankles. He
steps out of them smoothly.
    I notice the bulge in front of his black
Calvin Kleins and pull them down, exposing his hardness. He’s not
just semi-hard, he’s rock solid, and it takes a lot to get him
where he is right now.
    I look up at him. His expression is cold and
stony.
    He is not Chris.
    He is Christopher.
    He’s a master and we are his servants; his
pleasure boxes, there to please him.
    “Get off your knees, it’s time for a taste
test,” he says to me.
    I do as I’m told and move over toward Candice
on the bed who is propped up on her knees, her head sideways on the
bed, her face contorted in confusion and impatience. But she’s
gotten the hand of the game enough to know not to ask what’s next.
She’s agreed to participate, to take whatever we dish out. I’m just
waiting for her to slip up.
    Chris walks over to her, his thick ten inch
cock stretched out in front of him like a weapon, a sword made of
flesh, powerful enough to do plenty of damage. I know. I’ve felt
what it’s capable of.
    Chris leans down and pulls her closer to the
edge of the bed towards him. He squats and is face to face with her
slit. Her sticks out his tongue and drags it from her clit up to
her opening and gently parts his way agonizingly slow as he makes
his way inside her.
    She moans.
    I don’t hesitate to spank her.
    “Who told you that you could make any noise?”
I chastise her, the butt cheek I smack is reddening; I can feel the
sting of where I slapped it on the palm of my own hand.
    She doesn’t make anymore noise even though I
know that what Chris is doing to her feels almost too good because
it’s been done to me countless times.
    He moves his tongue in and
out of her, does tricks with that little appendage of his, swirls
it around, bends it, makes it stiffen and then softens it
again.
    I see him dragging it, wiggling it, all over
her folds, inside and out. He sucks her clit and she shuts her eyes
and makes faces that look like she’s in pain, but I know that what
she’s feeling is really pleasure. She has to bite her lip to keep
from crying out, screaming, telling him she wants more, that she
wants it harder. She’s a trooper, she’s squirming, but Chris is
holding onto her tight.
    He uses both his hands, spreads her lips as
wide as he can, puts his mouth up to her bright pink inner walls
and starts sucking her hard and good.
    She can’t help but scream out.
    I know how it feels.
    And I’m jealous.
    She’s in ecstasy. She feels like she’s going
to