VINDICKTIONS
Chocolate thunder. Ripples of it crashed into my hips. The discord of deafening claps and slaps made for an impeccable storm. With every upward thrust, a wave coursed through an abundance of ass. With my left hand, I gripped her cheek and shook it violently. She continued, sliding and grinding up and down. Working her pretty brown round.
She bounced.
She pounced.
And announced her undoing.
The cheek I’d been holding hostage was freed. Unable to resist my urges, I slapped it, watching my palm leave its evidence behind in redness. Defenseless against her impassioned attack, I grabbed hold again to her softness. So fucking perfect . So undeniably insatiable, her ass was.
On lifted leg, she planted pretty toes flush against the seat and began to bounce. Up and down, she slid against my dick coating me in her slickness. The shift in position gave me a full view of titties rebounding against more chocolate and a portrait of passion on her face as she looked back at me. Those hips were working. That ass was twerking. That pussy was gripping.
“I always wanted you, Duke. Always wanted to feel this shit. This dick. It’s fucking amazinggggg.”
Yeah. Yeah .
She kept that up, confessing her deepest darkest while I tried to focus on the way she was endeavoring to bring me to my end. Absent the thrill of new pussy, the task proved difficult.
Ysira had been talking grandly about a waterpark I didn’t want to miss out on, further inflating her delusions. Dry pussy was hardly worth the effort which was why I let her put in all the work. After a while, it became foregone that she wouldn’t do it for me. Irrespective of the fact, I let her get hers.
Loud and proud, she came.
Once the task was complete, I dislodged and dismissed. The vehicle had been moving simultaneously as she slid up and down. Creeping through obese traffic as we crept in the backseat, my driver kept it under fifteen miles an hour. Only recently had Reed halted moving after driving in circles. Ysira wiggled, trembled, and moaned as we roamed through the city. The sound and feel of a woman sated. Mission complete . It was time for our time to come to a close.
“You can get out now, Ysira.”
“Huh?” Her lips divorced, leaving the cavity open for catching flies.
Far too busy gathering her bearings from the aftershock of ecstasy, she hadn’t noticed the stopping of the vehicle. Parked in front of her place of business, Reed waited outside the door patiently for her exit.
The Wig Factory .
Ysira made custom wigs. Of that much, I was aware. Once upon a time, the charges for her services were frequent on my bank statements month to month.
“You came . We’ve arrived . Now it’s time for you to go, sweetheart.”
Confusion and shock made a home in her bones. “I thought—”
“You don’t get paid to think, sweetheart. Tick tock.”
Anger and hurt joined confusion, paying no rent in the vicinity of her face.
She spared me vulgarities undoubtedly blooming in her head like weeds in untended grass in favor of silence and absence. I thanked God for small miracles.
Once alone, my attention focused on the opposite door, where my phone was perfectly positioned to record every stroke of my dick as Ysira greedily rode me. It took a few applications of lubricant for her to accomplish the task, but my mission was fulfilled.
Four women .
Ysira was the third hit checked off on my quest for vindication. The fulfillment I sought had yet to be met, but enough was enough. It was time to move forward from my past.
Summoning the partition button, I liberated myself from the separation of the enclosure.
“To the office, Reed.”
My driver of the last ten years, Reed, was both loyal and intuitive than most. He knew my thoughts before I spoke them. Met my needs before they rose. Not today, however. Not today or the last month . I’d been unhinged in the last few weeks, leaving him unable to predict my needs. The vindictive quest in me fizzled alongside my desire to cum moments ago. Too bad it hadn’t stopped me from pressing SEND on my phone moments earlier.
Let it go, Duke .
Back to our regularly scheduled program.
Reed nodded, pulling away from the curb of The Wig Factory .
My face downturned as I observed the inevitable phone call from my ex-wife . For several seconds, I waffled on answering before succumbing to curiosity. I ached to know what was on her heart. Had it been the same that was engraved on mine? Had she felt a shred of the devastation she’d caused me sixteen months ago?
Tapping the green button to initiate the call, I held the phone to my ear, saying nothing.
“My hair stylist , Duke, really?”
“My best friend , Mya, really?”
Silence, past hurts, and rage plagued the air.
“I’m paying the consequences of my actions.”
Uncontrollably, a laugh tickled my throat. My gaze turned to the exterior world beyond the SUV doors. Low-hanging clouds began depositing droplets of anguish to match my tainted mood.
Consequences , she said.
Consequences included fifty-thousand-dollar monthly alimony payments for every year of marriage. Praise to the most high that we didn’t have kids.
“Please… Just stop ,” she sniffed, making a poor attempt at emulating the sound of tears. A narcissist in her own right, I’d grown unaffected by her attempts to manipulate me emotionally.
In the comfort of silence, I considered her plea. Considered if my insatiable thirst for revenge had been quenched. The desire to fuck Ysira was immense until I was inside of her. Dry as the Mojave . A waste of space with that one. She needed maca root and a gallon of water daily added to her diet.
“Michael doesn’t want anything to do with me. I’ve lost everything during this ordeal…” My ex-wife complained into the phone of her sour karma.
Deprived of a farewell bidding, I disconnected the line that kept me tethered to the tone of heartbreak and unfulfilled promises. The nerve of her to mention his name as if she’d lost in the grand scheme of things. The nerve of her to complain when our demise had been her undoing.
Reed arrived at the front offices of Colonial Pipeline , prompting my swift exit from the SUV. Summer was closing its little black book, retiring until the following year. The sprinkling of rain stopped. Crisp, smog-filled air encroached on my nostrils as my feet collided with the pavement. A doorman nearby assisted residents of a condominium inside the building. Scaffolding from a remodeling project clung to a neighboring high rise. A proliferation of trees shaded the sidewalk, prematurely releasing leaves.
Mundane chaos prevailed outside. Thoughts swam, seeking to compete. My lengthy limbs carried me to the calm and control of Colonial Pipeline’s interior. The restroom was my next destination. Though I’d worn protection while dipping inside Ysira’s shallow pool, the need to clean myself was imminent.
Duke, get your shit together.
The evidence of Ysira’s presence loomed in the form of a dried white crust around the base of my dick. Few women prompted my desire to wear their scent, and she wasn’t one of them. Ignoring the greeting from security and other employees ambling by, I entered the first-floor restroom and grabbed a handful of towels. Commercial-grade soap and water coated the base of my manhood and balls. The hoe bath I gave my dick was downright despicable. My subconscious demanded a shower. The request wouldn’t be granted anytime soon. Prayers were freed from my lips as I exited the restroom that the meeting I was headed to would be brief.
Italian wool covered my limbs, Pima cotton sheathed the soles of my feet along with the best hard-bottom dress shoes a man could ask for. The platinum cuff links on my shirt were engraved with a serif “ D .” Memory failed me to recall if they were a gift from the woman who’d run my heart through a blender or not, but they were among my favorites, so I was keeping the set.
The elevator carried me and my misery to the top floor, where the board meeting would be held. An oblong table in the center of the room housed the souls who kept our corporation running smoothly. Pitchers of ice water, pens, notepads, and laptops scattered the massive table. The drone of an air conditioner paired with the creak of chairs tattled with impatience.
Seven eyes fell on me as I entered the board room. Two lingered. One scowled. Had the set not belonged to the second of the two other men carrying my name, I would have disengaged them from his head.
“Took you long enough.”
Saying nothing, I grunted and located my seat at the head of the table.
Colonial Pipeline passed from Duke Stepford I to Duke Stepford II and finally to me, Duke Stepford III. Unbeknownst to my paternal predecessors, there wouldn’t be a fourth Duke entering the world. Whatever disappointment they harbored about their past mistakes and projected outward would be buried with me.
Annoyance aside, I relaxed in my seat and waited for the meeting to begin. An undeniable need to prove to my father and grandfather that I was more than capable of bearing the torch of our organization was prevalent. Years ago, they’d stepped down from their roles as CEO and passed me the torch. Since assuming the role, our profits increased by ten percent.
Our board meeting commenced with me welcoming everyone and announcing the official start of the meeting. Briefly, I reviewed the attendance, making note of a few discrepancies that needed to be addressed. Minutes from our previous meeting were reviewed and addressed before I handed the reins over to the COO.
Bradley Cartier held the title after the last chief operating officer was relieved of duty. Michael Dumas was my best friend who once held the role. After being caught with his dick inside my wife, and nearly losing his life for the inconceivable sin, the position remained open until Bradley took over. Six months later, I was still on my warpath of revenge. Ysira had been a mere casualty of my devastation. It hardly felt sufficient in comparison to Mya and Michael’s betrayal.
Her lips were parted. Her legs spread wide like wings.
“Mike. Mike fuck me harder …”
Those memories plagued me like an unwelcome apparition. My wife and Mike …
“Mr. Stepford?”
Bradley disrupted my thoughts, shifting the attention back toward me. He was an excellent second-in-command replacement, unwavering in his success. His oversight and insight had been flawless. He often was first in and last out of the building as if he’d birthed Colonial himself.
Drinks . He always offered drinks after work. In the office, at a bar, the pool hall, a speakeasy…somewhere we could bond and enter into a consensual bromance. The desire for us to become more than colleagues was noted but not welcomed. Prior to his start, Mike held the position. Never would I position myself to be made a fool of so publicly again.
“Your approval or addition to the previous minutes,” he assisted, bringing me up to speed with the meeting I’d carelessly let my thoughts free me from.
My eyes faltered toward the printed agenda before me.
“ DELAY IN THE RELOCATION OF
TRAILER RESIDENTS ON PIPELINE .”
“Right. Ahem, the trailers. How many of them remain?”
“Four were noted on our last reconnaissance. However, one recently burned down. Another caught fire, and they agreed to accept our offer and move.”
“So, two remain?” I asked.
“Two remain,” Bradley confirmed.
With the help of the city government, we’d utilized eminent domain to exercise our right to the land despite a lack of ownership some years back. Now, with the risk to residents of lymphoma and a current civil suit for the very issue, we needed those inhabitants cleared out.
It was integral that all the trailers above our pipeline moved. Shifting the pipeline beneath would be far too risky and expensive. We couldn’t afford the liability nor the loss of income from the trailer park owners’ continued presence. Remaining residents were being offered $100K per household to relocate along with assistance from Ramsay Realty to provide affordable housing.
“A month. They need to be gone within the month,” Bradley suggested.
“Duke,” my father cut in.
I loved my father as anyone would their only parent, but his frequent interference in the way I handled shit was grating at me. I didn’t need his influence or advice.
“A month is more than generous. Aim for within two weeks,” I amended without a glance at my dad.
We breezed through the remainder of our meeting, with the general manager taking over to discuss new business. The floor was opened for others on the board to address any remaining matters of business. A round table evaluation was held briefly, and the meeting was finally adjourned.
Rising from my seat, I dodged two sets of expectant eyes and eager lips, awaiting an opportunity for criticism. Not desiring the pointers my father and grandfather likely held for me, I exited the board room without a wave or a goodbye. Having been in the CEO position for the last seven years, I lacked the need for unsolicited advice. Colonial Pipeline was mine now. They could walk their pointers straight to hell.
“Home, Mr. Stepford?” Reed asked from his position outside the SUV.
Hands folded in front, legs in a wide stance, and a Ruger on his hip, Reed was ready to lay down his life for me should the need arise. He didn’t move an inch when I reached for the back passenger door. Another man opening a door for me never settled in my bones and never would.
“To the house, Reed,” I confirmed.
Motion-activated showerheads competed against my limbs. I cleansed my body from the wavy crown of my mid fade to the soles of my feet, scrubbing away evidence of my misdeeds for the day. My hands gripped the lifeless extension between my legs and lathered him up, too.
Thoroughly rinsed and clean, I dressed in slacks and a button-down. The evening held more business in store for me, but the dress code was casual. Patek on my wrist, bergamot and vanilla on my skin, I ambled through the house I once shared with the woman I’d chosen to walk through eternity with. The evidence of her presence loomed the halls.
Mya Stepford .
Red-boned, sultry Blasian eyes, a genteel smile imprisoned by high cheekbones, and plush pink lips composed my ex-wife. The regality of her presence was undeniable. Far and wide, her beauty stretched. It was depth where she lacked. Mya was stunning. But only on the outside.
She was tall. Legs for miles, they commanded my attention first. Forced me into a reverie of salacious fantasies.
The confidence she carried was in excess, spilling outward into every room around her. It summoned the eyes of every soul, every color, every gender. Captivation was Mya’s power.
Once upon a time, she exercised jurisdiction over my heart.
I met her at the Black Wall Street Convention in California. Dressed in one of those blazers altered to fit like a dress, her best asset was on full display. Legs . It should have been a red flag. The irony.
I approached as she sipped her drink, and Michael chatted her ears off. He introduced us. We did the formal dance of two strangers, conveying instant attraction. Mike stepped away, allowing me to get comfortable with her.
Immediate signs of their involvement failed to exist. Suspicion never surfaced concerning the pair. Michael was already married. And while well aware that hardly stopped a thing with niggas like him, as his best friend, I expected honesty. Even if he’d been having an affair, I expected he’d tell me to lay off his side bitch.
He didn’t.
Michael took a backseat in the cinema of our lives. He let me do the chasing, dating, courting, giving me advice for our first date down to the type of flowers Mya might like. He watched me swoon over her as our relationship bloomed like flowers in spring. When we talked marriage, he even advised me on the type of ring…
Twenty years.
Our friendship spanned a lifetime. Still, his actions reveal it was of little value. He’d thrown our friendship down the shitter for a taste of what was mine.
Line brother.
Best man at his nuptials and vice versa.
Right hand.
Second in command at the company I ran.
All of it dismantled for my wife.
Six years of marriage. Eight years of relentless romance.
We had a good life. Non-domestic trips every other month, companionship, communication, and commitment—I thought we’d nailed it. Thought we’d mastered marriage . Somewhere along that road, we failed. In trust and honesty, we failed miserably.
The sex was never lacking. When she cried boredom, I bought a swing. Ropes and chains all composed an arsenal of tools at her disposal. At her discretion always. Dick on demand.
She was a firecracker. Independent, spicy, full of passion, but those were just surface level to what was hidden beneath. A woman unaccustomed to being led, she couldn’t be told a thing. Couldn’t be guided. Couldn’t accept my gentle corrections. Too full of ego. Too many unhealed daddy wounds.
A person can be good for you but still not be good enough. In a desert, parched and thirsty for love, a person can come along and fill half that cup. And maybe, at that point, half a cup is good enough. But at some point, you’ll crave more. We all desire a full cup.
She’d partially filled my cup, as did I with hers, apparently.
The constants which had drawn me to Mya had caused our eventual demise. I craved a soft woman. A woman not blemished by her past. A woman who gave me space to hold her accountable the same way I’d do for her. A healed woman.
I gave her the best of me. A version of me I feared no woman might ever see again. In return, she gave no signs. No warnings. Never expressed discontent. Maybe it was because she was already wholly contented, fucking two dicks right under my nose. Maybe it was because she had the best of both worlds in two souls.
They’d been fucking. Long before he introduced us.
Duke, hold the fucking L.
After the divorce, she refused to drop my last name, speaking volumes to the quality of life I’d awarded her. Driver on standby twenty-four hours a day. A limitless allowance. A seven-room castle for us to fill with children. Access to my undivided attention regardless of how busy I was. The softest life a woman could ask for…
Mya admitted that her actions had no bearing on me or any failure on my part, but I still struggled to accept her truth. Accustomed to delegating my failures in life to my shoulders only, I sought the why in it all.
I had yet to discover it.
Thoroughly, I’d been invested in the success of my marriage. Difficulty was immense in comprehending why she’d chosen my best friend to violate the sacredness of our union. What I thought to be mine.
I entered the seven-bedroom, ten-bathroom mansion to hear my wife’s song of pleasure echoing through the halls, up the stairs, and in our bed. Colorful and vivid, it painted me the fucking heathen. The sight of my best man inside my wife stained me in ways one could never fathom. Her pleas for him to continue ravishing her in our bed were diabolical.
The scuffle between us as she cried for mercy— for his mercy …It was enough to disgust me from ever marrying again. The travesty of our lives lived in his every undeserved gasp for air. Despicable, it was. Michael was on his last breath when the cops arrived.
“ Freeze !”
To the Arctic, my eyes had gone as I squeezed the life from him. Already frozen from the vessel in my chest outward, Paramour PD didn’t need to tell me to be fucking still. It was all I had left to do before I dragged that nigga to a fiery hell along with me.
Suffering the greatest offense, I was arrested. Thrown in jail. J ustice denied . Now, unquenchable regret remained in the stains of our lives.
Fuck Mya.
Fuck Michael.
The M&Ms .
A pair genuinely made for each other. Gemini twins. The duality was lost on me. The insatiable appetites they held, I’d never comprehend. Too bad Piper didn’t know it. Far too sweet and undeserving of such cruelty, she was. I wouldn’t be the man to run and tell her the depths of how worthless her husband could be. It wasn’t my place. As far as Michael was concerned, he was closed casket dead to me. Mya was a mere blip in my rearview.
Stop looking back, Duke.
With Reed at the ready, armed with a Glock on his waist, I ambled down the driveway with my head high and heart low. There was one more deal that needed closing for the evening.
“ Sin , Mr. Stepford?”
Just as my executive assistant did during the day, Reed maintained an agenda of my goings and comings. He’d been the closest man to me since the dissolution of my friendship with Michael. The synchronization of my activities with his mind aided productivity, granting me more time to focus on building my lonely empire.
“Yeah, Reed. Sin .”
We crept away from the mansion of horrors. A sound investment, it was up in value by several million. Placing it back on the market to obtain some semblance of a win against my sullied past would be good for me. I’d been holding on to that last bit of my former years, not for want. Selling the house simply fell last on a long list of priorities. It was well past time to let it go.
“Time to pack it up, Reed. We’re moving.”
“Heard, Mr. Stepford,” Reed confirmed.