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Trial Period 2
🕑 Added 2026-01-17 20:00:05 +0000 UTCBrick sat down on the couch. He didn’t feel cool. “I asked what you wanted.”
Jenny made no move to close up her coat. Her legs were just there. Thighs thick and golden, perfectly tapering to her sculpted calves, her spaghetti strap heels. And all of her legs so toned that the straps didn’t seem to sink into her skin at all. She might as well have been carved out of marble. Or gold.
His Mexican muchacha, who he’d thought he could turn into a cop wife.
“Let’s see,” Jenny said, swinging her foot. Her toenails painted bright red, so Brick was reminded of those guys at the airplane, gesturing the planes around with their glowing wands. “I wanted to go shopping, so I did that. Then I wanted to get some spa treatment, so I did that. I can afford nice things with my book on the New York Times Bestseller List.”
“Congratulations,” Brick said.
Jenny leaned forward. She picked up a cigarette butt that had escaped the ashtray on the coffee table and put it in the ash where it belonged. Brick’s gaze flicked to the gaping neckline of her coat. Now he could see her bra—a little scrap of silk, caressing her proud cleavage almost as ardently as he wanted to.
Brick felt shaken: angry at himself, bitter at her. It couldn’t be enough she’d ripped out of him whatever pieces of her had gotten into his heart… she had to make him remember how he’d fumbled her? Or forget why he hadn’t minded being rid of her, with all her pretensions, her moods, her bullshit?
“I had my legs waxed. My pussy too. You know why my books sell so well?”
Brick’s heart pounded despite himself. She hadn’t changed her tone a bit between talking about her Brazilian wax and this new bullshit she was on. I should get up, he thought. I should go to the kitchen and get a bagel and some coffee, stop showing her how much she’s getting to me. “Why?”
“The sex. I write about women getting fucked the way my readers dream about getting fucked. And doing all those book readings, all those signings, listening to my own fantasies over and over again about getting fucked and fucked and fucked… it made me realize something: I need someone to fuck me.”
Brick felt tension mounting in him. He knew she felt it too. She was getting off on teasing him this way. “I could’ve told you that,” he quipped through suddenly dry lips.
“I mean, here I am, still young, still pretty, more fuckable than I’ve ever been between the gym and the beauty parlor and some really good blow I bought… but who is there to fuck me? Who, in this whole lousy city, can give me one good fuck?”
Jenny leaned back in her chair. The hem of the coat slid above her bare knees. It kept going until he could see that all she wore was a pair of panties. Lace running over her pussy like she wanted a reminder of the pubic hair she’d shorn herself of. The filigree seeming to cover nothing, but still only hinting at the pink Brick knew was his target, the thing he wanted from her above all else…
“You treated me like shit, Brick, but you always fucked me like a champion. And I realize now that that’s really all I need a man for. I don’t need money and God knows I shouldn’t expect emotional support with a dick attached. So how about you fuck me and we just stick to that? Your big dick. My hot cunt. It’s the one thing we always got right.”
Brick tried to stretch out his senses, feel out the world apart from Jenny. He knew that outside, like every other day, the morning was bright and noisy and smelly. But all he could perceive was the dimness of the unlit apartment and the hum of the air conditioner and her.
He stood. Jenny stood up with him, so fast it was like she was jumping to her feet, or she’d somehow picked the exact same moment as him to come off the furniture. Her face was flushed. However much she’d turned him on, she’d turned herself on more. She pulled open her coat so fast that a button popped off.
All she wore underneath was lingerie, but the stuff was useless. The only thing he saw was her. The sweet curves of her breasts, the rich tan of her flawless skin, the supple musculature that flowed through every inch of her perfect flesh like she was pushing eighteen instead of forty. ‘Spa treatment,’ right. She’d had gene therapy done, nanite baths at the least. But there was no arguing with the results. If Brick were any harder, his briefs would tear like tissue paper.
Jenny smirked, like she always did when she got her way. “Yeah, I had some work done. Still think it’s a waste of money? I’d buy you a gift card, but I kinda like the ruggedness. You’d look like a total asswipe without a beard and a few scars.”
Brick didn’t bother reminding her that he might’ve spent his twenties looking like the original frat douche, but she was so eager to lose her virginity to him they’d spent about ten minutes at prom before ducking out and going nine rounds like sailors on shore leave.
Even back then, they’d been compatible. Too much compatibility and too little. It was Jenny’s snooty friends and bullshit politics he got fed up with, not her body and not how she took cock.
Jenny shucked her coat off and turned around. Nothing but her body, nothing but the lingerie, nothing but what he could do to her. Her bra strap was spaghetti, less of a blemish on her tautly muscled back than a tattoo she had on her shoulder blade. And the back of her thong was sucked between her two slabs of ass like a magic trick. Abra Cadabra, it’s gone.
She had almost too much hips, too much thigh, too much ass for them to fit with her slender frame. But somehow it worked, all flowing together, like a bold splash of paint on a portrait that was otherwise all careful brushstrokes. The classic hourglass figure. Verging on too voluptuous, but not crossing the line. The feast was just enough for his greedy appetite—he could overindulge with those ample curves, but never grow sick.
“So what do you think?” Jenny asked. “Does shopping agree with me?” She rolled her hips. Her firm glutes bounced off each other. For all their abundance, ‘fat’ could not be the right word for that ass. “This was just what I bought first. I have enough in my shopping bags to outfit a bordello. How’d you like to be there in the dressing room while I tried this on? Would it make for a fun ride on the subway after, or would you rape me right there in the alley? There was a backdoor there I kept thinking of you dragging me through. We had some fun, didn’t we?” She gave herself a spank. Despite how powerful her ass looked, it quivered like it was made out of whipped cream. “And even when it hurt, it hurt good.”
Brick kicked the coffee table out of the way. Jenny didn’t respond at all to the sharp sound of it sliding across the floor. It was no louder than her hand had been when it’d smacked into her own ass.
Her smile was so sharp every tooth looked like it could cut. “How about it, Brick? This way…” She turned around, facing him again, her plump tits maybe the only thing that could rival her ass—and the look of hunger on her face maybe the only thing that could make it more gorgeous. “Or looking me in the eye? Seeing if you can manage to make it hurt enough to wipe the smile off my face?”
He put his arms around her. She ran her hands through his hair and it felt like once more he had enough of a pelt for a hunter to skin and lay down on the floor like a rug. “You know what I think?”
“I know what you think,” Jenny said confidently, her tongue tracing her mouth like she wanted to feel her lipstick one last time before it was burnt away.
Brick patted the swell under her dimpled back where her trim waist filled out into an ass like two Jell-O Molds. “I think if you visited that gym of yours more often, maybe you could drop a few pounds, find a new man instead of going to your ex for a dicking.”
Jenny’s expression curdled so hard, it was like she’d put on a mask, one with flaming embers for eyes. “Me cago en la madre que te parió! Vete a la mierda! Qué te den!”
