Chapter 15 – Part 3, María’s Main Man

This is chapter 15, part 3 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.


Chapter 15 – Part 3, María’s Main Man

Thinking about how rico (rich) other men’s bodies must be to María fired-off some neurons in my head, and Bunk and Josey began arguing again about the mystery mistress lovers. I knew I’d never know unless María told me, and I wasn’t going to ask. This argument had been going for years, and I told them to drop it.

I jerked awake that night as Josey chanted, “the Nanny, the Nanny, …” Satyr must have been one of her mystery mistress lover.

I stupidly screwed up the courage to ask María, and she said, “Of course. Wasn’t it obvious?”

“If it was obvious, I wouldn’t be asking.”

She was in a great mood, and decided to be direct and honest, always a bad idea. She replied,

“I met him when we first arrived in San Francisco. You remember we shopped for an apartment where I’m working now, and he was in the office. He looked interesting so I flashed him, and he slipped me his phone number. I started seeing him a few days after we moved into our flat. The first time he fucked me was special, it was on your birthday. I set that up so I’d be steamy hot for you when you came home.”

“You fucked him to get hot for me? Well, thanks for that special birthday present … you flashed him?”

“You know, what you call my INVITATION. He fucked me almost every day until we left San Francisco. I knew you were counting condoms, so he brought his own for my fertile days. When you came home early from work, he was sometimes in the house, so he hid in the maid´s room. He came to listen to us fucking, standing outside the door. He had a small cassette …”

“Go on, you can say it.”

“No, nothing…”

“He recorded us? Is that why you always wanted the bedroom door left open?”

“It made him hot to listen to us, then he’d fuck me better.”

“He recorded us and played it back when he fucked you? Let me guess – he made fun of my climax noises?”

“He fucked me again while you showered. He said your semen made me really slippery.”

¡Puta madre, que cojones! He made fun of my climax noises?”

Silence.

“Say something!”

“It was so obvious, how could you not have known? And then you let him come live in the house with the Nanny. You brought my lover into our house! Sometimes he had barely pulled his dick out of me when you came in from work and wanted to fuck me. I must have smelled like him, his sweat and cologne and semen, and you never noticed. You were completely oblivious no matter how many signs I gave you. You never noticed when I wouldn’t let you kiss me down there because his semen was there…”

“You totally broke our rules. I believed in them, they were there to protect us.”

“You forget I made the rules, I could bend them.”

“Bend! You totally ignored them. You were such a liar and hypocrite – you remember your speech, ‘the next time a black penis slides into me, I’ll never return to you…'”

“That was a little exaggeration, but the rest was true. I said blacks are too dangerous for me. They are, but I already had mine.”

“That’s why you got upset when he fucked the Nanny – you were jealous?”

“Yeah, I guess. That was another sign, how could you have not known he was my lover. I thought you knew and pretended ignorance.”

“The Nanny must have known about all this …”

“Of course, she was my enthusiastic partner in this. I knew she was in love with him, so I arranged to put them together in our house. It was a win-win for everyone. Satyr was happy, he had easy access to two hot Latina sluts. The Nanny had her chosen man in her bed, and I had my lover in my house. She loved him, but was OK sharing him with me. It got him in our house and in her bed.”

“But when you were pregnant, when we engaged to re-marry, we were so happy together. I was in heaven. There was no one else in the world but us. Were you fucking him then?”

“Yes.”

“But you seemed so happy with me, we fucked almost every day – when did you fuck him?”

“Why do you ask this? We were happy together. No man ever treated me better than you. You didn’t know and we were happy. Why does he matter now?”

“When did you fuck him?”

She closed her eyes, “All the time, every day, every chance I got. He quickie’d me at the apartments when I worked there. He kept me in constant heat at work. I gave him a key to our house, and he often came home with me from work – we finished here what we started in his apartment, while you were at work. Then we moved him in to live here.

“I can still feel him, he was so big, he filled me up. He made me happy with you. That’s part of the reason you and I were so happy, because he fucked me so nicely. Satyr was smart – he knew I’d never stay with him. He liked you and he fucked me nicely for you.”

“He fucked you to make me happy? I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I suppose he fucked you to make the Pol happy too?”

“When the Pol had me, Satyr was happy another black man had me. He liked you the most, but he knew I liked black men. Satyr didn’t hang on, he knew I would never stay with him. He knew his destiny was the Nanny, they’re still together, and they’re happy.”

“If you had left me and married the Pol, would Satyr still be your lover?”

“I don’t know, maybe. Neither Satyr nor the Pol are husband men – they’re men to please putas. I was their puta. The Pol was never going to marry me – if he had kept me, I guess I’d have been a prostitute for him, and Satyr would have been more stable, like a husband.”

“You were willing to prostitute for the Pol?”

“A high-class prostitute, yes. Don’t look so shocked – I was always a slut, you knew that when you married me. You could’ve prostituted me yourself, I’d have done that for you. But you didn’t. As a woman, I was already a whore by myself – a whore is just a prostitute-lite. And a wife for you. I’m a good wife and you’re a good husband.”

“You’re a whore and prostitute, and now I want what you gave to them, your anus and throat…”

“Don’t ever call me that, and don’t ask for what’s not your’s. That’s puta stuff. That’s what men do with their mistresses and lovers and whores and prostitutes. Wives don’t do that with their husbands, just their lovers.”

“What if we divorce and I’m your lover? Will you do it with me then?”

“That’s crazy! Why would you throw away a good wife just to do puta stuff with a slut?”

“But they’re the same woman!”

“You can’t be so dense. Every woman is a wife and a slut, they’re different. Wives aren’t sluts and sluts aren’t wives. Husbands know they have the wife, and don’t know about the slut part, except the stupid ones…”

“Like me? So if I want to do puta stuff, I have to find a slut, another man’s wife, and cheat my wife? If you want to puta around, you have to cheat me?”

“Yes, it’s so simple. You finally get it.”

“What if the husband wants puta stuff with the woman he loves and married, what if he wants to uncover and enjoy the amazing slut in his own woman?”

“That’s a big mistake. When he finds his wife-slut, she’ll probably be plugged into her lover’s prick. Then you get big fights and divorce. If wives and husbands keep their place and stay respectful, it all works.”

“This is crazy, if every woman is a wife and slut, it means every husband might have a cheating wife!”

“Husbands want to cheat too, they need other men’s wives for that. That’s the game. Husbands have to not know their wives cheat. Or they pretend not to know, but then they hurt and get all twisted-up.”

“Or perverted like me?”

“Yes, like you. My lovers make us happier, but you shouldn’t know. Your hurt is from you knowing. That’s why I can call myself a whore but you can’t. I’m your wife and you shouldn’t know I’m a whore, and you should never say those things to your wife. It’s grossly disrespectful.”

I gave up. Could she really compartmentalize her life like that? I agreed with her that women need both a husband and a lover. However, I thought the husband and lover could be in the same man. María believed no single man could be enough for any woman. I wondered if all this slut stuff, the separation of the wife from the slut in the woman is a male culture creation, a penis structure imposed on women. Anyway, I wanted to get back to the subject of the Satyr.

“So when we fought about my vasectomy and you kicked me out, did you call the Satyr?”

“Yes, he was the first one I called. He stayed all night. He was proud to take your spot on the bed, and he pumped me full of sperm again and again until I was exhausted. He fucked me again on the second day. I told him I wanted his baby.”

“And you fucked Satyr all the time you were riding the Pol?”

“Yes, don’t you remember – the Pol accused me of ‘husband tampering’. It wasn’t you, who else could it have been except Satyr? What other man was close-by when I got ready to go see the Pol? You should have known. When you were at work, he dressed me for my events with the Pol. I let him handle my panties until he was on fire, then he fucked me, and helped me shower and douche before the limo pickup.”

“If he was so great, why didn’t you leave me and marry Satyr?”

“He was already married and I already told you, he would have been a shitty husband. But he knew how to fuck me. You were a great husband, no complaints. You were the best husband and he was best at fucking me, perfect! I had a real man, but it took two half men to make him. Why would I lose that?”

“He was married? Then you were his mistress, one of his mistresses.”

“Yes, I guess, I never thought of it like that. He married at age 15, his wife left him a year later and he hadn’t seen her in years.”

“When you miscarried, the fetus was black. I always thought it was from the Pol – was it the Pol’s or Satyr’s?”

“I don’t know, I fucked them both in my fertile days. And my boss at the apartments. But I really wanted a black baby to shame you with. I never saw the fetus … was it …”

“It was a girl. It broke my heart to see it, I wanted that baby so much.”

“You wanted another man’s baby? A black baby?”

“I wanted anything, everything that came from your womb.”

She began crying, but I refused to comfort her.

Then I remembered she had cut me off during her pregnancy. I asked, “You fucked the Satyr even when you were pregnant with Brett?”

“Yes, up to the last month.”

“You said you had stopped your affairs, stopped all penis sex, even with me.”

“I meant no extra penises. I had one, one was enough.”

“Why not me?”

Silence.

“How often?”

“We fucked nearly every day, but only once.”

“He’s bigger than me …”

“Only once, but gentle. I thought he might hurt the baby.”

“And when you were hooking …?”

“Stop, please stop. Please don’t do this. It hurts you for nothing. It’s over and a long time ago. Let’s settle that Satyr was my lover for the San Francisco years, the first lover into me and the last fuck before we left. There. Are you satisfied? Can we leave it at that?”

“The last man? I thought I was last. We made love the night before we left.”

“If you must know, he fucked me just before I got in the car. I had promised him a goodbye fuck. It was a quickie in the kitchen. While you loaded the car, he pulled up my skirt and fucked me doggy-style. It was all over in two or three minutes. Nanny watched, she said she wanted to watch one time. I put paper towels between my legs and put on a panty. I sat on that, leaking out until we stopped for lunch. Don’t look at me like that – you asked. Now leave it alone. I’m still here with you and we’re happy. Let it be, please.”

I couldn’t let it be,

“You used me all those years as a fucking platform for Satyr… Who was your real man?”

“You are my husband.”

“Yes, yes, but who was your real man? You were my wife, the mother of my son, Satyr’s lover, the Pol’s mistress, your boss’ whore, a prostitute. Through all that, who was your main man? You know what I mean. Was it me?”

“No, I guess it was Satyr.”

“I guess the only trophy I’ve earned with you was for the most fucks …”

“No, not really. Satyr was a sex demon, the only man that could out fuck me. We guessed he passed you about halfway through our San Francisco years, and you still haven’t caught up since we left San Francisco.”

I slumped down on the couch, mind hazed over, stomach churning. María had a shadow husband for our entire time in San Francisco. I was her sucker, a fool, the world’s biggest cuckold. I worked hard, supported her and our son, tried to please her whenever I could, so she could slut around everyday with that over-sexed bastard. Was there anything at all I was good for?

I asked, “Is there anything at all I do better than any other man no matter how small or unimportant?”

María thought for a few moments, “Yes, there are three. You have the best mouth of any man I’ve ever met. Women would pay you big for what you do to me with your mouth. That alone keeps me coming back to you.

“The second thing is huge. From the first day you saw me, you wanted me. You never failed me, even when you hated me, even when you gave me away to other men, even when I tried to castrate you, you wanted me. You married me, you kept me because you kept me. We’re still married and you still want me. That’s bigger than all the other men combined. You can’t know what that means to a woman, to me…”

Now I cried. She held me until I stopped sniffling, then she continued, “The third thing is Brett. When I was pregnant, and then Brett was born, you took him and me unconditionally. I could tell you wanted us so badly. I never felt such love and belonging and need from any other man, ever.”

“But those years were all a lie, all the good times, even the joy of your pregnancy, the joy of Brett’s birth and first years, our engagement, even the excitement and humiliation of the Pol, your whoring and prostitution, it was all a lie.”

“No, not a lie, it was all real. Everything we did, everything we felt, all the happiness and the pain. It was real. Satyr added to that, but it’s over now. It’s only us again. Please believe me, you’re the one.”

“I’m not the one, I’m only one among many. I can’t leave it alone, I have to know why? Why not me? Why the Satyr?”

“Satyr was different. The Pol was forceful, he dominated me and played with me like a sex toy. The Satyr fucked me so nicely, softly … I don’t know how to describe it…”

“With cariño?”

“Yes, maybe that’s it, cariñoso. He took me out of myself, like I floated in a warm pool of pleasure and joy and love, totally lost in him.”

And then I knew her secret. He had saturated her with his hormones, fucked her with cariño. She must have been in love with him. I had to ask, I had to know, maybe that’s what love is, fucking with cariño. “Just one more question…”

“No, the answer is no. The truth is no.”

Bunk said, “Look at her eyes”. Her mouth said no but her eyes said yes. That fountain of joy, of happiness we had in San Francisco sprung from her love for the Satyr. Her love for him was so strong, it spilled out over me, over Brett. Love so strong we couldn’t imagine it wasn’t for us. It was all a lie.

Satyr had fucked my slut-wife hundreds of times; I had fucked his future wife only a few times. I was at once outraged yet proud at how masterfully I had been cuckolded in my own house. I decided to call it even. But later that night I couldn’t sleep. He had been my friend for years. Perhaps every time we got together to talk or watch TV, he may have just pulled his penis out of María’s mouth or vagina, her juices still damp on his body, surely thinking what a fool I was. They may have done quickies while I worked or napped a few feet away. A newsreel of his years in our house played in my head – all those odd moments I then thought were his character eccentricities now became his moments of deception and guilt. I visualized the black, female fetus again and wondered if it had been the Pol or him. I had been so gullible and I deserved it.

María moaned softly in sleep next to me, probably reliving his black penis stroking deep inside her. My body cramped, I rolled over and embraced her, marveling at what this woman had made of me, a twisted shell of a man who admires his close friend for cuckolding him. I reached and found her vulva, her vagina, and wiggled a finger inside. She had cheated me, lied to me, betrayed me, this woman, my life, my goddess, my love. I now knew what love was. Love is keeping a woman that has lied, cheated, and betrayed you.

I called Satyr a few days later, told him how I admired how he cheated me, thanked him for being a good lover to María, and double-thanked him for tampering with her before her trysts with the Pol. I felt that was some sort of revenge, some small victory for me.

End of book content.


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