Long Sentence

"I would rather die than drink alcohol!" George declared haughtily.

"Well, I am sorry that that's not one of the choices," Michael said. "Now, go move your van off my driveway. I don't want it dripping oil all over the place."

At nine thirty, Michael shooed Katherine from his bedroom; Pamela and Katherine might not have work in the morning, but he did. George and Katherine left, leaving Pamela and Michael alone.

"So, you and your mother get anything straightened out?" Michael asked.

Pamela did not answer; just rolled away and faced the bathroom door. With a shrug, Michael lay down and fluffed up his pillow.

In the morning, Michael did not insult Pamela's bland rendition of eggs, bacon, grits and whole wheat toast. He did wonder how Pamela managed to cook bacon and render it flavorless.

"Oh. I, let me guess," Michael said as the bacon limply hung from his fork. "This, this is that turkey crap."

Pamela did not answer, just stoically chewed her own breakfast. Michael sighed and finished his breakfast.

Getting to his feet, he asked, "So, now that I met with Dr. Fraudkenstein, you willing to meet with a real, licensed, certified counselor?"

"You did not meet with Reverend Smith," Pamela snapped harshly. "You went into his office and insulted him. I'd hardly call that meeting with him."

"I do love you," Michael said as he prepared to leave for another day of work. "I would not have married you if I didn't love you."

Pamela said nothing. She wiped the stove, the counter, always keeping her back to him.

"I, I loved the man I believed you to be," Pamela finally said.

"And I loved the woman I thought you would be," Michael snapped. "The woman that fogged up the windows in my car. The woman that promised more, a whole lot more when we were married. Minute that ring went on your finger, what happened? Huh, Pam? What happened? We fog up any windows lately? We're married now. Was all that fogging up the car, was that all a big act?"

Pamela slapped the dish towel on the counter and marched out of the kitchen. Michael left the house and drove to work.

Tom Thibodaux had sent out a company-wide email; the summer internship was coming to an end as of five thirty that afternoon. He requested that all employees that had anything to do with the intern program please be in the employee break room at five o'clock that afternoon.

"So, Faith, you glad to be getting out of this boring place?" Michael joked as the cute, bubbly girl sat at her cubicle.

"Are you kidding? I, Mr. Chopin, I wish y'all would hire me," Faith Decker enthused, large brown eyes looking up into his eyes.

"You, you've got what? Two, three more semesters?" Michael asked.

"Two; I'm twenty hours short," the girl agreed, flinging her thigh length brown hair back.

As he worked, Michael did muse, he would miss Faith's bubbly nature. He would miss her cherubic face, with the smattering of freckles across her button nose, her Cupid's bow lips, and her incredible flappable bubble butt. Her breasts were two cute apple sized breasts, begging to be gnawed on, but her butt, Michael had fantasized on a few occasions of slapping her butt, watching it bounce, then gripping it while he pounded her through a cheap motel mattress.

Tom thanked each intern and singled each one out for a few words about their skills and their accomplishments over the few weeks of their internship.

When Tom came to Faith, he read, word for word what Michael Chopin, Faith's immediate supervisor had written the previous day. Michael's cheeks flushed red as Faith never took her eyes from him.

"Michael, Mr. Chopin says he sees a bright future ahead for you," Tom concluded. "He says he hopes that future is here, with Thibodaux Investments."

"It would be my dream job," Faith said, pulling her eyes from Michael's face and looking at Tom.

"Oh, shoot," Faith said to Michael as the others filed out of the break room. "I left my purse in my desk. Come with me?"

"I uh, yeah, sure," Michael said, sending Pamela a text that he would be late getting home that evening.

"So don't bother trying to cook anything for me," Michael concluded his text as they stepped off of the elevator.

"I'm at Alpha Zeta Rho; we have our house on King Road," Faith said, opening the bottom drawer of her temporary desk.

"Uh, okay," Michael said, watching her sweet ass as she bent to retrieve her large, ugly purse.

"As the vice-chair, I have my own room," Faith whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I, uh, okay," Michael stammered as Faith pressed her young body against him.

"And I'd really, really, really like it if you'd come over," Faith whispered, then thrust her tongue into his mouth.

Pamela used to kiss like that. Pamela used to press her luscious body against him. Pamela used to grind her chest against him, then pull away and claim they needed to stop before they went too far.

"We get started, you going tell me to stop?" Michael whispered, clutching Faith's phenomenal ass through skirt and slip and panties.

"Nooo," Faith whispered, large eyes peering into his eyes.

Michael followed Faith to the Alpha Zeta Rho house. He parked where Faith indicated and followed her into a large common area. The television was blaring The Prejean Hour and four girls were scattered about the room, loudly denouncing Rodney Prejean and his topic of the day. The girls ceased with their criticism when they spotted Michael.

"Y'all, I swear, y'all don't like this, then why y'all watching it?" another girl asked, coming into the room from the kitchen.

"Hard to look away from a train wreck, am I right, ladies?" Michael asked as Faith pulled him toward the large staircase.

"Yeah!" two girls giggled.

"Ooh, Faith; he's a cute one," the girl that had entered the room commented in a stage whisper.

"No kidding. Like I'd be in love with a butt ugly guy?" Faith laughed, pulling Michael up the stairs.

"In love?" Michael asked as Faith used a key to unlock a door.

"In lust?" Faith suggested, pulling him into a frilly lacy room.

"Works for me," Michael agreed.

"You, do you have to run straight home?" Faith asked, softly kissing Michael.

"I, uh, no, no, I..." Michael stammered, reluctant to talk about his wife with this semi-stranger.

"I mean, I'm all right with a quick and dirty fuck," Faith breathed as she loosened Michael's tie. "But if we can take our time..."

"We can take our time," Michael agreed.

"Oh. We can definitely take our time," Michael said when Faith's hairless pussy came into view.

Michael feasted on Faith's pussy for a few moments, bringing her to orgasm. Faith then swiveled and straddled his head for the 'sixty nine' position. Her hot mouth and small hand brought Michael to the brink very quickly. Thankfully, Michael also brought Faith to her brink quickly.

Michael was not surprised that Faith had managed to only fit the head of his cock into her mouth. But her hot tongue and forceful sucking had the desired results. When she tongued him to erection again, Faith insisted their first time be 'cowgirl' so she could control his penetration.

"I, augh, oh, oh God," Faith whimpered as inch after inch of Michael's thick cock stretched her tight pussy.

Michael amused himself by playing with her small, sensitive breasts. He smiled as she leaned forward, giving him easier access to her chest. When she'd managed to fit all of his cock into her snug pussy, Michael did what he'd wanted to do from the first moment Tom had introduced him to the intern. Michael delivered a stinging slap to her buttocks; first left, then right buttock.

"Mmng, augh, God yes!" Faith grunted and wiggled her crotch against his pubic bone.

Faith rose up a few inches, then settled down again. She barked out her pleasure when Michael again slapped her juicy rear end. She rose and fell, establishing a good rhythm. Suddenly, she froze, grimaced and cried out in orgasm. Michael felt his crotch grow very wet as she shuddered through her climax.

After her second orgasm, Michael took the initiative and rolled them until he was on top and Faith lay beneath him. After giving her sweet lips a few soft kisses, Michael rose to his knees and began to thrust in and out of her. Faith whimpered as Michael began to pound his thick cock in and out of her pussy.

"Oh yes, Oh God yes, O yes," Faith grunted and groaned as Michael came closer and closer to his climax.

"Augh, I oh God, oh God damn yes," Michael cried out, pumping a torrent of semen deep into Faith.

Their second fuck was done in the doggy position. Michael used Faith's small breasts to pull and push her on his cock. She whimpered, whined and screamed her approval as he again bellowed and filled her pussy with semen.

The chairwoman's suite had its own bathroom. Faith and three other residents of the third floor shared a bathroom. A cute blonde girl looked aghast when a nude man walked from Faith's bedroom to the bathroom. Michael relieved his aching bladder, then put the toilet seat down again. He used a wad of toilet paper to clean his cock and balls and pubic hair of Faith's essences, then left the bathroom. The blonde was now joined by another blonde. Michael smiled and grabbed his limp cock and shook it at the two gawking girls. Both girls gasped and ducked into another bedroom.

Michael dressed, kissed Faith several times, then finally left the bedroom. Softly closing the door, Michael saw that he once again had an audience. He said nothing to his four admirers as he trotted down the stairs.

His good mood continued until he turned off of Highway 52 onto Pitman Road. The closer he came to his house, the more sour the ball in his guts became.

"Know what? This? This is no way to live, Chopin," Michael said to himself. "Just like any other bad investment? Cut your losses. Sell off the shares and cut your losses."

Pamela greeted Michael with shrill complaints; she'd defrosted the chicken, she'd cooked the chicken and the green beans; she even bought the French cut green beans he liked so much. She'd had chicken in the oven and then what did she get? A text message telling her not to bother cooking. Well, by that time it was too late; she'd already cooked.

"Fine, fine, give me one fucking minute to change out of my clothes and I'll try to choke it down," Michael snarled at her.

"Oh, and next time? Won't even bother texting you," Michael continued as he walked down the hall. "I swear to God, not even in the house and you're running your mouth, screeching at me. Hell of a fucking way to come home."

Even though he'd cleaned himself somewhat in the bathroom of the Alpha Zeta Rho house, Michael could still smell Faith's essences on himself. He could still taste her on his lips as he shrugged out of his suit. Pulling on shorts and tee shirt, Michael returned to the kitchen, grabbed a plate from the cabinet and scooped a heaping spoonful of chicken ala king onto his plate. He scooped some of the green beans onto his plate, then put the plate into the microwave.

"So, what was this supposed to be anyway?" Michael asked and smiled at the sight of Pamela's back.

"Thought chicken ala king was supposed to have some flavor," Michael commented as he ate the bland meal.

"Michael? I, why do I smell perfume on your clothes?" Pamela asked, beautiful eyes swimming.

Michael looked up from his plate and saw that Pamela was holding his dress shirt in her hands. The look of pain on her pretty face cut at him, the sight of her tears ready to spill stabbed at his heart.

"Uh, because I work with women?" Michael said. "Today was the last day of our internship; I guess a couple of the girls hugged me, got their perfume on me."

"Is that it?" Pamela demanded.

"I don't know, Pamela. Is that it?" Michael yelled. "Huh? Is that it? Is it?"

Guilt, and the image of his wife's stricken face kept Michael from a restful sleep. Listening to his wife's breathing in their darkened bedroom, Michael could tell she was not sleeping either.

The following afternoon, Michael debated calling Faith; she'd given him her phone number. He wanted another tumble in the bed with the sexy young woman. At three o'clock, he logged out of his computer, went down the hall to the bathroom and locked himself into a stall.

"Hey!" Faith gave a husky whisper.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Michael asked.

"Me? Nothing. Just playing with my little pussy," Faith whispered. "Even though it's pretty sore, I can't quit thinking about you, about that great big dick of yours."

Michael sent Pamela a text telling her don't try to cook anything; he would grab Taco Bell. Her response that dinner was leftovers garnered the response that they'd had leftovers for a reason. He couldn't stomach finishing it the first time she served whatever it had been.

Thankfully, Pamela did not respond; Michael just did not have the heart to continue the ugly volley of text messages. Returning to his desk, Michael again logged in and searched for currencies that were on the verge of devaluing in the next few days.

It was the first blonde, the young girl that had seen Michael's nude journey from Faith's bedroom to the bathroom that answered the door of Alpha Zeta Rho. She blushed hotly but allowed Michael entry into the common room. Another girl, this one a chubby girl with thick glasses was sent up to alert Faith that Michael Chopin was there. The blonde girl attempted to start a conversation, then lost her nerve and dashed into the kitchen.

""She said I should take you up," the bespectacled girl announced.

"Then what you waiting on?" Michael asked and the girl giggled.

Faith was nude when she answered her door. The bespectacled girl gave a squeak of surprise and beat a hasty retreat.

Sore or not, Faith managed to take two loads of semen in her hairless pussy. She also took a third load into her hot sucking mouth.

Michael smirked; he could see two bedroom doors slightly cracked as he sauntered from Faith's door to the bathroom. In the bathroom, he jumped into the shower and used someone's floral soap to scrub his cock clean. While in the stall, he also urinated; no reason to get out and use the toilet.

The two doors were still slightly cracked when he left the bathroom. Michael suddenly veered toward one of the doors and laughed out loud when there was a squeal and the door slammed shut. The other door also slammed shut, but there was no squeal.

"The usual?" Terry asked when Michael entered the lounge.

Michael tiredly nodded his agreement and took a stool. He had ended the affair a week earlier; Pamela wasn't stupid. She could tell something was going on and Michael hated looking at her beautiful face, seeing the pain etched in those eyes.

Michael also had to face the fact; he was becoming far too attached to the cute, vivacious, sexy eighteen year old Faith Decker. After all, he was a married man. Faith smiled and kissed Michael softly. She then dressed and kicked him out of her bedroom.

"Love you," she said as she stood in her doorway.

"I uh, I..." Michael stammered.

"Love you enough to let you go," Faith said, a tear trickling down.

She then softly closed her bedroom door. Michael turned to the cracked door audience and smiled sadly. He gave a silent wave to his adoring fans and walked down the stairs.

Michael could still see Faith's pretty ace in his mind's eye as he settled on the comfortable bar stool. There were four men seated at a corner booth, arguing about some college baseball team. A tired looking woman sat near the wall, nursing a fruity looking drink. Every now and then, she would look at her cell phone, then put it down on the table top again.

"Or, you want that Oakleaf whiskey?" Terry offered.

"Bar brand," Michael sighed. "I just, bar brand."

"Dog died? Or, almost as bad, wife died?" Terry guessed, pouring the single shot of cheap whiskey.

"Nothing as life-shattering as that," Michael smiled tightly. "Just, I just realized, I'm one more day older, one more day closer to death."

"Sounds pretty life-shattering to me," a customer said. "Terry, four drafts, hear?"

Somehow Michael managed to avoid sex with Pamela. He managed to drive her from their bedroom Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. He managed to get knee-walking nose-buking drunk Saturday and on Sunday he complained bitterly about her, about her parents, about her faith, about life in general.

Monday, Michael had an overwhelming compulsion to call Faith. He had an overwhelming compulsion to call down to Collections; there was a new hire, Cindy Breaux. He and Cindy had chatted briefly on their shared coffee break. The overly developed blonde had confessed to being a cheerleader in high school.

"St. Thomas Avengers, woo!" Cindy had laughed happily.

At lunchtime, Cindy told Michael she still fit into her high school cheerleader's uniform. She whispered into Michael's ear that she still knew how to do a somersault, how to do a back flip.

"And I can still do a split. Aaall the way down," Cindy husked.

With a cheeky little smile, Cindy left the break room. A few moments later, his throbbing cock finally under control, Michael was able to leave the break room.

Thursday, Michael managed to dump a few million dollars' worth of euros hours before they dropped. While they were artificially depressed, Michael picked up almost ten million dollars' worth of the euros.

"Nine point seven million dollars. Nine point seven million and some change," Tom Thibodaux congratulated Michael on his shrewd manipulation. "Pure profit. None point seven million."

Then he grabbed Michael by his suit jacket lapels and hissed, "You got lucky. You got damned lucky. You ever fuck with ten million of my dollars again? I will bounce your pasty white ass out of here before the last euro gets counted, hear?"

"Yes sir," Michael gulped; knowing the man meant his words.

"But my commission on nine point seven million is..." Michael thought to himself.

Michael was still in a good, a great mood when he arrived home. Pamela smiled, grateful for her husband's good mood. Smelling his breath, there was no hint of alcohol. She kissed him the way they had kissed when they'd been dating, still in love.

Dinner was a frozen lasagna and Pamela followed the instructions carefully. After dinner had been cleared away, Pamela quietly admitted she'd talked with Reverend Smith about their bedroom 'difficulties.' Michael was about to declare they did not have any difficulties; Pamela had difficulties.

"And he said," Pamela stammered, unable to meet Michael's eyes. "He, uh, Reverend Smith uh said uh, maybe, maybe I, we're trying too hard and maybe if we did it, you know..."

Pamela's face was a bright red as she whispered the words, "...had sex, uh you know, when we're not fertile..."

"First fucking thing that idiot's ever said I agree with," Michael said.

Pamela ignored Michael's crude denouncement of the good Reverend. Quietly rising, she pulled her husband to his feet and again kissed him passionately.

In the bedroom, Pamela was grateful for the blackout curtains. She undressed fully, feeling her face burning with shame. Then she lay on their bed and waited for her husband.

In the dark, despite Pamela's huff of indignation, Michael imagined he was squeezing Cindy's large, bouncy breasts. In the dark, Michael imagined it was Faith's snug pussy he was pushing his cock into. Michael ignored Pamela's shudder of distaste as his fingers combed through her thatch of unruly pubic hair. Michael imagined Cindy would have an untamed bush of blonde pussy hair. Finding the woman's fat little clitoris, Michael diddled her clitoris with his thumb.

"Oh!" Pamela grunted out, shuddering in a spasm of pleasure. "I, Michael, I don't like, please, please don't do that, that's disgusting."

Michael shut out his wife's words. He tuned out her grating, demanding voice as he buried himself into Cindy, or Faith's, or Pamela's snug pussy. He wiggled from side to side, eliciting a squeak from his unseen partner.