Mistress of Five Days and Five Lovers

The Story 

When is adultery not a sin?

Perhaps when its secret is never shared…

and yours alone to know.

 Mistress of Five Days and Five Lovers 

by loujen haxm’Yor

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

leaf

shade of night

in fantasy about some lovliness

a bough over 

o love of the shade

o love of that lovliness 

o stricken trust

___________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Workday mornings were pretty much the same.  She’d fix him breakfast, then drive him from their luxury apartment to the train station to catch his 6:30 commute.  From there it was a one hour ride to his job.  And for her it meant another twelve hours before she would pick him up.

She loved her husband.  She really did.  He was handsome.  Fun to be with.  Made a great salary.  Did everything for her.  And he didn’t mind that she was satisfied in her desired role as a homemaker.

But she had another role.  A very secret role.  It began the moment she returned home.

She stroked her ipod and tapped the sparkling g-clef app.  Let’s see.  Day one.  That meant New Age music.  How about… Trance Planet?  Excellent choice.  Then she fanned the digital pages until her favorite camouflaged book appeared.  The Kama Sutra.  And from it, a couple of favorite games.

She peeked into her bedroom.  What erotic surprise was waiting for her?  Ah!  Mr. Monday was already there.  In his boxer shorts.  He was a shy man.  It was always like his first time.  Nervous.  Limp.  Tight lips when he kissed her—wherever he kissed her.

She thought about how she would have to initiate things with him. Slide off his shorts while he lay there.  But she had to be careful.  Not to rush him.  Not press against him too hard—too often.  Otherwise he wouldn’t last long.  Which is what he wanted.  It was important to his fulfillment—while trying to fulfill her.  So she would caress him softly… and slowly.  While his eyes slipped into his mind, she would caress herself.  And when she knew he was ready to surrender, she would join with him as a pair of tongs.  Then they’d play cat and mouse   Her sensual humming would harmonize with his, until he filled her with his heat.

She never felt guilty… about being an adulteress—of sorts.  About wanting her cake and eating it too.

Still at her bedroom doorway and teasing today’s lover with her let-his-eagerness-wait posture, she thought about the others.

Mr. Tuesday.  He was a desirous eighteen-year-old boy.  A man by nature’s rules.  But a boy.  Probably because of the boyish face.  He was initially swayed by her face.  Oh, the beauty of it!  And the sight of her cleavage.  That pinch of perfume emanating from it.  That would hypnotize him.  Put his mind in a frenzy.  Making him always in a hurry to get it on.  But she would have none of that.  She would detour his horny attack with subtle motions and a very sexy commanding voice.  He had to play by some of her rules in their game.  He knew this.  He accepted this… always with some reluctance at first.  But history reminded him of the rewards… of their lovemaking.  He could expect… and would receive all that he desired.  Sesamum seed and rice.  His finishing dessert session being the congress of a crow.  The flesh of youth feasting on the flesh of maturity.  Their passionate voices drowned out by the blare of rock’n’roll.

Then there was the morning of silken fetters from wrists to headboard… from ankles to footboard.  A slow background drumming of some low-end-of-the-piano by Brahms.  That’s how Mr. Wednesday liked it.  He wanted to be punished by her power.  From her halo mask she could transform her leather-teddy self into a fallen angel… to a ravenous vampire…  to a merciless python… to a tidal wave of amorous flesh, the last of which would drown out his cries for help.  Till he did drown.  Or almost.  So it seemed.  Oh, he could beg for the stars to make it stop.  She would only smother him more.  Bury him to within an inch of his life. Yet, in the end— so gratifying… that kind of suffocation.

The next day was her easiest.  Or rather— her least energetic day.  An air without music.    She’d lie on the bed wearing a business suit.  Seeming almost lifeless.  Appearing drug-induced… without the drugs.  She was Mr. Thursday’s blow up doll.  Dead weight.  Soft and supple.  He could really have his way with her.  Any way he wanted it.  But she knew she could trust him.  He wouldn’t hurt her.  Nor make her feel uncomfortable.  He was like a starving necrophile, doing all the work.  All the undressing.  The touching,  Caressing,  Embracing.  Kissing.  The vulgar lines.  He might become Indra, her other husband.  Or ride the mare.  Maybe split bamboo.  Or help her to fly like a butterfly.  Her only signs of life would be the erotic melodies she inhaled and exhaled during his performance.  His silent-to-furious nastiness, which she loved.

End of the work week.  A century away.  So when it did arrive, she would muster all of her strength and energy reserves… for Mr. Friday.  He was a tall muscular man.  Full beard.  Fitness type.  Who loved country western.  The slow romantic songs.  They seemed to  perfectly conform to their savage passion.  Two alphas.  Milk and water blended into pliable oak missionaries.  The flavors and fragrances of womanhood and manhood, flexing their erotic sinew into a crushing embrace on Kama’s wheel. Their flesh overflowing with buttery waves of delectable sweat and spittle.  Head to toe overtaken with ravenous lips.  Time was of no concern.  Minutes.  An eternity.  They labored for that final quake.  When genitalia and gray matter screamed together.  And the lava of their love erupted uncontrollably.  Aftershock after aftershock.  Until their heartbeats simmered.  And their flesh became as cool as desert frost.

As with all her lovers she would swallow his last breath, leaving him motionless.  Her lips would peck his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, and his lips one last time.  Finally she would roll beside him.  Trace her fingertips from his chest down to his manhood.  Close her eyes…  and dream with him.

Oh!  The thought of having all of these lovers…

But back to Mr. Monday.  Didn’t want to keep him waiting too long.  She undressed into her nakedness and entered her bedroom.  With lustful excitement she looked upon the lover of the day.  And did what she always did.  She crawled into her empty bed.

And then… she became Him.

The End

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