17 comments/ 13975 views/ 8 favorites Mega-Bitch By: amyyum Yes, I am a manipulative bitch. I've used my sexuality most of my adult life to get what I want. However, you shouldn't blame me completely. Guys just make it so fucking easy. To say that the average male thinks with his dick instead of his brain is probably the understatement of the millennia. Scientific studies have proven that when a man is around a woman that he finds attractive his is more prone to take risks (not just in card games, but in life), to discount the future when making economic decisions, and to spend on conspicuous luxury items. I just use those qualities to my advantage. I didn't make men that way – no more than did I give myself a flawless complexion, perky tits, sculptured thighs, a round ass, or a tight pussy. If someone is born a genius, does anyone begrudge him or her the right to become a top notch famous scientist? If someone is born with business acumen does anyone criticize them for making lots of money? If someone is born with great athleticism does anyone disparage them for playing a professional sport? The answer to all of these is "Of course not." So don't give me shit for using the talents that I was born with, and developed, to live the life that I want to. While I've used my sexuality most of my adult life, it didn't start out that way. From the time that I was eighteen until about my 20th birthday I was used and abused by guys. I was treated like a sex object, never respected, and asked to do more and more degrading things. I had an epiphany – with help – shortly after my 20th birthday. I was in a bar with a dirtbag who passed for my boyfriend at the time and who wasn't treating me well when something he said to me – I don't even remember exactly what it was – caused this older guy nearby to go off. He confronted my "boyfriend" and told him what he thought of him. The "boyfriend" looked to me for salvation because the older guy was six inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than he was, but instead a lightbulb went off inside my head. "Why do you always have to treat me like shit? This guy is absolutely right; I deserve to be treated like a lady, not a piece of meat." "Boyfriend" made the mistake of slapping me when I said that. I swear that I saw a few of his teeth fly out of his mouth and the big older guy hit him with his sledgehammer-like right fist. "Thanks," I said with a big smile holding out my hand to the big older guy. "I'm Amy; no one has ever stood up for me before." "I'm Jack," the big older guy said taking my small hand in his large one. "Someone as beautiful as you are doesn't need to associate with shit like him. Get a different life." "Easier said than done," I replied. "I don't have a security blanket to fall back on, and only a High School education." Without releasing my hand he stared into my eyes for the longest time – I just stared back. Finally he released my hand and reached into his interior sport jacket pocket and handed me a card. "You'll make a great before and after case," he chuckled as I looked at the card. It read "Madame Bovary's Charm School," with the name and phone number of "Madame Estelle Bovary's" phone number on it. With a disgusted look on my face I asked "Is this a cat house or something – I'm not that low yet." "I assure you that it's not," he said with a very stern face. "You call that number sometime tomorrow and ask for her – if your interview goes well you'll get a job out of it, and a future. Now, do you have your own place to stay or do you need one for the night?" "Here goes," I thought to myself, "although nicer than normal just another guy who wants to get his rocks off." Apparently Jack saw and correctly interpreted the look on my face. "Not in my apartment, Amy, not all guys are pigs, just most of them." With that he pulled two $100 bills out of his wallet and handed them to me. "Get a cab, get your stuff, go stay in a hotel, and call Estelle tomorrow. This is opportunity knocking – answer the door!" I started to well up with emotion. I instinctively flipped my long auburn hair off my left shoulder, got a tear in my eye, and bit my lip. "Holy shit, you're a natural," Jack chuckled. "Now get the hell out of here before this asshole," he said pointing to my ex lying on the ground moaning and still not cognizant, "wakes up and I have to punch him out again." I jumped off my stool, gave Jack a big smooch on the lips which obviously embarrassed him, said "Thanks again," put the $200 in my small purse, and lit out of the bar with most of the eyes there following me. I had the cab wait for me as I took my only worthwhile possessions – two suitcases worth – out of my ex's apartment, and then to a motel that with the $200 Jack gave me, and another $276 of my own, that I could afford for at least a week or two but that was in a reasonably safe neighborhood. When I was in the motel's old and worn but functional shower stall the next morning I started thinking about the "Madame Bovary" card. I still thought that it was likely a high end whorehouse; at the time I wasn't aware of the renowned novel by Gustave Flaubert but even if I had been the story of Madame Bovary in literature would not have led me to another conclusion. But then what Jack said made me think – "Is opportunity knocking and can I afford not to answer?" I still had a couple of hours left on my prepaid cell phone so I called Madame Estelle Bovary at the number on the card. A woman with a French accent, which I won't attempt to imitate, answered: "Madame Bovary's Charm School, Estelle speaking." "Uh, hi...my name's Amy Baxter and a guy by the name of Jack..." I hesitantly started out. "Ah yes; Mr. O'Brien said that you might be calling. When can you come in for an interview?" "Uh,...well...is sometime today OK?" "Excellent; I'll see you at 2:00 p. m. sharp then. You have our address," Estelle replied in a happy yet firm voice. "Yeah – it's on the card; OK, well catch your act at two, then," I responded. I heard Estelle chuckling just as she hung up. I took a cab to the address of the charm school and got there just a couple of minutes before two. The charm school was in an old Victorian mansion that had been converted, with oversized front windows, a solid three inch thick oak front door, and fresh landscaping. Although the building could have used a little work it was nicer than anyplace that I had ever lived or worked in. A young woman receptionist led me into Estelle's office exactly at two. She rose to greet me, her French accent even more pronounced in person than on the phone. Estelle was a tall classy slender woman with high cheek bones, and a regal yet somehow warm air. I assumed that she was in her early forties but was very impressed when I found out later that she was in her late fifties. She was impeccably dressed, not a hair or bit of makeup out of place, and had a genuine and comforting smile on her face. "You must be Amy," she said extending her hand while she looked me over without being too obvious about it. "Uh...yeah, Amy Baxter," I said as I shook her hand. "You must be Estelle Bovary." "No," she replied with a smile after giving me a firm handshake and releasing her grip. "Jack just talked me into using that name because it has 'panache' and people who are well read will conjure up Monsieur Flaubert's famous novel although no one except a literature major will remember its depressing details and tragic ending. My real name is Mademoiselle Estelle Dubuc, although if we work together I will want you to call me 'Madame Bovary.'" "Cool," I replied, getting me a grin from Estelle. Estelle proceeded to interview me. I just acted normally. After we talked for about fifteen minutes she asked me to stand, walk, and then viewed me in a number of different types of light, both natural and man-made, in several of the mansion's rooms. Finally after about a half an hour she got right to the point. "I'm a very straightforward person, Amy. My charm school is just starting out and Jack O'Brien is both a friend and business advisor. He insists that I need a 'before' and 'after' success story that can be written up in local newspapers and magazines and also made into a video and other promotional advertising. I'm in good shape financially and am not out to make scads of money for this endeavor, but by the same token do want it to succeed, and I respect Jack's business sense enough to think that he is right. You're the right person for the job." "What job is that anyways? I asked undoubtedly with a perplexed look on my face. "I want to turn you, as uncouth as you presently are, into a lady with impeccable manners and grace. With your natural beauty and inherent sexuality I can turn you into a femme fatale of the first order. You will then become the focus of our advertising campaign." "I don't know whether to be insulted or honored Estelle, but one thing's for sure. I can't afford to pay you," I replied with an edge to my voice as I chewed a piece of gum. "I'm not asking for payment – quite the contrary. You can live in a room on the upper floor, with its own bath, rent free, you will work doing mailings, phone solicitation, and other duties for which you will be paid double minimum wage, and your schooling will be free." I thought for a second. "That's a better offer than any others I presently have. How long will the schooling take?" "That depends a lot upon you – if you're willing to take instruction. I'd guess about four months. But if you are a willing and talented pupil when you are done you will be able to accomplish whatever you want in life. I'm not keen to tell you about my entire background or the reason for my guarantee at this time – but I assure you that I know what I'm talking about. Is it, as you might say now but won't in the future, 'a deal?'" "Deal!" I said, holding out my hand. "Wonderful," Estelle replied as she shook my right hand. Then holding out a tissue with her left hand she said "We'll start by you spitting your gum into this, and then I'll show you to your room on the third floor. You can bring your possessions over later today then get to work and schooling starting tomorrow morning, right after your initial video interview for the 'before' look." **************** And so began my relationship with Estelle Dubuc, aka Madame Bovary. Things were not easy. She had to break down my old "uncouth" (God I learned to hate that word) habits before she could teach me cultured new ones. She worked me hard doing jobs for her too, harder than I had ever worked before in my life. Also, I was going without cock because dating the types of guys I had associated with before was strictly "interdit" (forbidden), and I was not yet ready to meet the "right type" of guy, so it's lucky that I had a vibrator. There were many times that I was just about ready to quit; one time in particular I was on the verge. I was coaxed back off the precipice when Estelle started telling me the story of her life as I was angrily throwing my belongings into my suitcases and getting ready to bolt. When she started out "It's time that I told you the whole story; I was a high end call girl for four years. I learned every trick that there is on how to manipulate men – and while I won't groom you for that same profession because I don't recommend it, I will teach you everything that you need to know to make any man do your bidding." I immediately unpacked and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'll be right back," Estelle said. She came back a few minutes later with a smooth French red wine and two glasses, and as we drank she told me her life story for the next two hours. When she was done I had a type of vigor for my schooling that I never had before. In fact, not only did I learn everything that Estelle wanted to teach me about manners, interactions with people, culture, fashion, and diction but I even got her to teach me rudimentary French. She was surprised that my pronunciation was actually decent. "At least a Parisian wouldn't ask you if you were talking Russian," she laughed after we had a five minute conversation pretending that I was ordering a meal in a fancy French restaurant. It was five months, one week, and two days from the date of my interview before Estelle was willing to turn me out on the world. Both Estelle and Jack were very pleased with the video that had before, during, and after snippets and interviews. The coup de grace was a party at the French Embassy in Washington, D. C. where I wore a rented dress, new hairdo, and a genuine smile, that highlighted all of my assets, and where I fit right in. Actually, I more than fit in; based upon the reactions of the men there, I was the star of the evening. ************** After the Embassy success, Estelle and Jack got me a job with an event planning organization that Jack was an investor in. That was the best place to meet men while putting my newly-learned poise into play. I found that I was a lot smarter than I had given myself credit for during High School, and quickly caught on to event planning. It helped greatly that all the males that I came into contact with were anxious to please me; most were Exhibit A to the Scientific Study of male foolishness that I mentioned in the first paragraph of my story. The only problem I had was that I was not getting laid. I don't know whether my temporary exile from cock had increased my libido or if I was just horny from my abstinence, but I was pre-occupied with getting a stiff cock up my pussy. The vibrator had lost its ability to satisfy me. That led me to my first of many, many perverse, manipulative experiences. A young (just two years older than I was) rich bitch socialite with the pretentious name "Leighton" had employed our event planning firm to help plan her wedding. I was the person with the primary responsibility. Although I continued to act in a cultured and dignified way while helping the little twat out, I was growing more and more incensed by her haughty and condescending attitude. Despite everything that Madame Bovary had taught me I was almost at my breaking point when the little twat made the mistake of bringing her fiancé Austen to one of the consultations. It was clear that Austen was embarrassed by her manner during the meeting. It was clearer that Austen was impressed by the calm and cultured way that I handled her manner. It was most clear that Austen was attracted to me. In addition to my naturally flawless skin and sexuality I used every subtle trick that Estelle had taught me – that went beyond charm school to how to manipulate men. These tricks included the perfect hair swoosh, leg cross and uncross, lean forward, eye contact combined with smile, gesture mimicking, moving to and sitting or standing on his left, pursing of my red-lipstick covered lips, non-obvious giggling at pithy comments that he made, raising the lilt and pitch of my voice when speaking to him as opposed to the bitch, strut when I went to and from the room to acquire items that we needed to discuss, and wayward gentle touch of his hand when reaching for various items or documents. After fifty minutes his neck was bulging so far that his collar was tight, his forehead was sweating, his lips were dry, and he was suggesting adding various luxury elements that I had recommended to the festivities. Austen was a good looking guy and seemed to be sporting some significant meat when he and Leighton said their goodbyes, she dismissively, he cordially. I decided to fuck him. I called him the next day and asked if we could meet for lunch – at a four star local hotel's restaurant. He didn't really have a chance. Forty five minutes into our luncheon conversation he was hurriedly paying the check, and ten minutes after that I was naked, spread eagle on one of the beds upstairs from the restaurant. Austen attacked my pussy with his mouth like a starving man going after a steak. I was so horny that my first orgasm hit about two minutes after his tongue first touched my clit, and a violent one it was. This gave Austen confidence, making him believe that he was a master at lovemaking – I filed that away in the back of my brain for future use. After my second orgasm, this one from him abusing my G-spot, I pulled his boxers down. He did have a nice meaty cock. I sucked it just long enough to get him super-charged – as if he wasn't already – then assumed a doggy position on the bed. He pounded me like it was going to be his last fuck on earth, and I pounded back equally passionately since I hadn't had cock for so long. Although when he ejaculated into me my orgasm was mammoth, I played it up even more securing in his mind the belief that even Don Juan had nothing on him. He really liked it when I sucked his cock after we fucked. "Leighton has never done that," he mused. He also liked it when we fucked again in the shower while cleaning up. "Leighton has never done that," became his refrain when over the next six weeks I fucked him blind three times a week. I got him to amp up my company's fees for the wedding planning by adding totally ridiculous expensive items and services, greatly increasing my commission. Two weeks before the wedding Austen wanted to jettison Leighton for me but I told him that it wasn't happening. While he was some good cock, and while his family had money, I wasn't interested. I was interested in bigger fish. My tearful response to his idea of switching me for Leighton of "I can't steal another woman's man; I wouldn't be able to live with myself. We just met at the wrong time – and I wish you a happy life," worked like a charm. Austen must have been confused when a week after he got back from his honeymoon I fucked him again just to prove my dominance over the rich bitch, but then would never take his calls or meet with him again. **************** After I had been working as an event planner for about six months I established a pattern. Again using my natural sexuality combined with all of the tricks that Estelle had taught me, and further pooled with the charming way that I carried myself, I was able to fuck any guy that I wanted to. Any good-looking or seemingly well-endowed guy that I came into contact with, married, single, divorced, or supposedly celibate, was fair game. I fucked one guy the morning of his second wedding, another in his house while his wife was downstairs, one entire wedding party (that is the three groomsmen, the married best man, and the groom) the night before the wedding, and my favorite conquest, a Catholic priest who performed the ceremony at one wedding that I planned. The latter realized that he wasn't right for the priesthood and resigned after I fucked him a second time, but I never took his calls after he resigned – he wasn't that much fun, and way too inexperienced for me. I hit the mother lode when Jonathan Jenkins met with me and his daughter to plan his wedding. Jonathan was divorced and had an acrimonious relationship with his ex-wife, Maven, his daughter Merilee's mother. He had a closer association with Merilee than did Maven both because he was a lot nicer than she was, and because by his standards Maven was a poor relation. Jonathan was in his early fifties when I met him; I was twenty two. He was nice looking, though certainly no super-stud, and one of the one hundred wealthiest men in the U. S. It was so easy that I almost – the operative word is "almost"—felt bad about doing it. In addition to pulling out every possible rabbit out of a hat, including wearing something red every time that I saw him, I also befriended Merilee, who was a year older than I was. I didn't just act friendly with her when we were discussing wedding plans, but also went with her to various charity events, ball games, and other outings. I was very careful around her fiancé not to act friendly. Her father developed an interest in attending events with us, and with him I put on the best subtle rush possible. Mega-Bitch After the third outing that Jonathan Jenkins attending with me and Merilee, during a meeting about the wedding on a Monday he asked me to dinner – in Paris. As I playfully swooshed my hair off of my neck, twirled a curl, and then fidgeted with my red scarf, I changed from subtle to brazen. "It sounds to me that if we fly to Paris, even on a private jet, that we'll have to stay overnight. Are you planning on fucking me?" He was a loss for words for a few seconds, but you don't get to be one of the hundred wealthiest men by being shy, retiring, or indirect. "Actually, Amy, I would like to do that more than anything else in the world," he replied with a sly grin. I got up from my seat, sashayed over to him, and played with one of his earlobes. "Hey, Jonathan, I wouldn't mind playing hide the salami with you. However, at the present stage of my life I'm interested in a relationship that could possibly lead to marriage. While I really enjoy fucking I'm not interested in some guy just getting his rocks off. From my friendship with Merilee I know that you're an honest guy; if you tell me that there is the possibility of a relationship that might even lead to marriage in the future, make reservations at your favorite Parisian establishment. Otherwise, no hard feelings." With that I gave him a quick kiss on the lips and turned and started walking out of the room. "Wait," he yelled just before I exited. "You've got a great idea, I swear. Can you be ready to leave on my jet by eight Saturday morning?" "I'll see you at the private terminal at 8:30," I replied with a smile, and then with another swoosh of my hair I strutted out of the room certain that his eyes were glued to my ass. Of course I could easily have made it by eight – but he needed to know that I was at least partially in control. I immediately called up Estelle. She was always happy to talk to me because my promotional video was a fantastic advertising school and she was achieving all of her objectives with her Charm School. Also, she actually liked me and treated me more like a niece than an ex-pupil or friend. "Hello my favorite mentor," I started out the conversation. "Your only one," she laughed. "I have yet another favor to ask you; I need to brush up on my French for a Parisian restaurant and hotel." "What's the name of the restaurant?" she asked. "Le Meurice – did I pronounce that right?" I replied. "WOW – expensive; he must have lots of money, and yes you pronounced it perfectly." "Yes, money is not a problem" I laughed. "I want to be cultured, and a good guest." "I'll send you an email today and if you want we can meet Wednesday and Thursday nights to have some practice conversations. I will have some of my present students here, all of whom are anxious to meet you anyway – the famous Amy – so we will be helping each other out." "Thank you so much Madame Bovary," I giggled. "I look forward to your email and when you want to meet Wednesday and Thursday." By the time that Saturday morning rolled around I was loaded for bear. Not only did I have how to talk and act at Le Meurice and the hotel down pat, Estelle gave me two dresses with matching pashminas and my ego was boosted by the hero worship that I got from her students. Friday night I douched, shaved, and did my daily Kegel exercises to get ready. Jonathan was a gentlemen and an excellent conversationalist on the quick flight to Paris in his Cessna Citation X, which was certified by the FAA at mach 0.935, or 617 mph, making it the fastest civilian plane in the world. He was interrupted for business decisions a half dozen times, but was always apologetic and it was clear that he was anxious to conclude them as quickly as possible. When we got to Le Meurice Jonathan was taken aback a little when I answered the maître de's English language questions in French. When the waiter appeared and Jonathan suggested that he order for me, in French I said to the waiter "Masseur Jenkins is a chivalrous man but I am a modern woman and would prefer to order myself. I would love the Coq au Vin prepared traditionally, with the wine from your extensive collection that in your expertise you find is the best with that venerable dish." The waiter thought that I was a goddess; Jonathan was at a loss for words but had a crooked smile on his face. Once Jonathan ordered and the waiter left I touched Jonathan – who was sitting next to me on my left not across from me – on the hand and then stroked it. "I hope that you don't mind that I took the bull by the horns, but I'm my own woman," I said with a smile. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?" he chuckled. "Play your cards right and tonight you'll get the most pleasant surprises of your life," I giggled as I did the lean in, higher pitch, and hair swoosh all at the same time. Jonathan gulped. After a wonderful meal we took a carriage ride to the hotel, where our bags were already unpacked in the penthouse suite. Jonathan was stumbling over himself trying to please me. I put him out of his misery. I sauntered up to Jonathan as he was holding out a drink for me. I slowly deflected the drink away as I approached him and stroked my index finger over his lips. "I like you Jonathan. You've been a perfect gentleman today and I hope that I've been a perfect lady." He vigorously nodded his head in agreement with the last statement. "I've decided that I'm going to fuck you so relax. Maybe a shower together after a long day will be a good start." I do believe that his crotch tented as fast as any that I had ever seen in my life. That night and the next morning I was the perfect lover. I washed him gently and seductively in the shower, I let him gum my perky tits as much as he wanted to, I sucked his testicles and stroked his cock, I rode him cowgirl like a whore, then snuggled him like a wife. I was available for anything, but demanded nothing except close body contact. After I got his fifty three year old cock up three times by ten a. m. the next morning and squeezed three ejaculations out of him with my Kegel-enhanced pussy, he was one happy camper. "Say Amy – do you mind if stay another day and night in Paris," he asked as we lay naked next to each other while he lightly pinched one of my nipples. "That may have been the best night of my life!" "May have?" I blurted out with fake indignation. "Then I must be doing something wrong or you must have dated SuperGirl before," I barked before giggling. He tweaked my nipple harder and said "You're so bad I can't believe it." "In answer to your question, as long as you can call my office and ask if I can meet with you off site to finish up wedding plans – and as long as you know you're going to have to pay for that – I'd love to. In fact, I'd like it so much that I guarantee that I'll change the 'may have been' to 'definitely was!'" Obviously the call was made. We had a nice breakfast, then a stroll around the city (with Jonathon's two body guards inconspicuously leading and trailing us). After lunch we were about to go to the Louvre – someplace that I had always wanted to see since I met Estelle (I had never heard of it before then) when Jonathon got a call on his cell. He excused himself and answered it while I looked in the window of a high end dress shop. "Listen, Amy; I really need to deal with something that just came up. You don't mind if Andre takes you to the Louvre do you?" Andre being his male secretary. With a sweet smile I replied "Of course not, Jonathon, as long as you don't mind if I fuck Andre tonight instead of you." The color drained from his face. I didn't change my expression. A sly smile overtook him. "You're the toughest negotiator I've ever come across in my life. I should offer you a job instead of dating you. OK – listen, will you let me off the hook for just one half hour. I see you looking into that dress shop. If I can leave for one half hour you can buy anything in the store that you want to." "Anything?" I asked with a diabolical grin. "Up to 25,000 Euros," he replied with a groan. "See you in thirty minutes," I chuckled then walked into the store. This was – aside from the charm in the restaurant and bedroom activities – my first chance to really wow Jonathon, and I was not about to blow it. I bought only one dress – although it perfectly complemented my figure – and a matching fascinator, which "only" cost 3,000 Euros. Andre paid for it. The purchase had just been completed when Jonathon arrived back, thirty five minutes after he had left. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Andre show him the bill and a smile cross his face. "You only bought one dress?" Jonathon asked. "And a fascinator," I added. "I really liked this one and thought that you might like it, and I saw no reason to splurge just because you had a business matter to take care of. Well, what do you think of it?" I asked as I twirled around. The eyeballs of both bodyguards and Andre were popping out of their heads; Jonathon just whistled. "Never saw a woman look better in my life," he chuckled. I handed my bag with the clothes I had worn into the shop to Andre and while batting my eyelashes said "Thank you so much for your assistance, Andre – you have good taste. Do you mind taking my bag so that I can hold Jonathon's arm while he escorts me to the Louvre?" "Of course not Miss Baxter," he eagerly replied. "Please Andre, call me 'Amy' otherwise I'll have to call you Mr. Milton," I laughed as I handed him my bag. I then quickly grabbed Jonathon's arm and started walking at a swift pace. I know that hard-charging guys absolutely hate to walk at a snail's pace and I could see that Jonathon loved both me hanging on his arm and scurrying quickly along. That night I fucked Jonathon so profoundly that he couldn't even pretend that it wasn't his best sexual experience ever. When Jonathon's private plane touched down in the U. S. on Monday evening I insisted on getting a cab rather than have his chauffer go out of his way to drop me off at my apartment. "The ball's in your court big guy," I said to him just after I gave him a kiss that would knock any guy's socks off, and then sashayed away. Two days later I was meeting with Merilee to make final arrangements for her wedding. We broke for lunch and as we shared a sandwich she asked "What have you done to my father?" "Whatever do you mean?" I replied with a sly smile. "You bitch," she laughed. "After that trip to Paris he was the happiest that I've ever seen him since my sixth birthday party when he gave me a pony – maybe even happier than then," she cackled. I just smiled. "Could someone as hot as you are really fall for my Dad – I sure wouldn't want him to get hurt." "Let me put it this way, Merilee; if I were you I'd be very apprehensive about someone younger than I am making a play for my father. I'd think that she was a gold digger and do everything that I could to discourage it. Because of that I'm going to be completely frank with you." I chewed a bite of sandwich for a few seconds before continuing – Merilee was paying rapt attention. "Based upon looks alone I'd never fall for your father; but he's a powerful man with a great bearing and to those he wants to please a warm heart. I really, really like him. I can't say that I'll fall madly in love with him – I probably won't. But I'll love and respect him enough to make him happy; I'd be the perfect wife. I'd sign any prenup he put before me without reading it IF he were so inclined to make a proposal of marriage. But by the same token there are lots of other fish to fry and if after a couple of months it appears that he doesn't have any long term interest but just likes me because I'm a great fuck, then I'll be gone." I thought that Merilee would choke on her sandwich. "You OK?" I asked. "Uh...yeah...I think so," she coughed. "I'm just not used to such frankness from people." Then she squeezed my hand. "You're awesome." We didn't talk any more about it. Merilee's wedding went off without a hitch. I dressed down and stayed in the background as much as I could so as not to upstage the bride in any way. Jonathon was always peering at me but I pretended not to notice. When the last guest left the reception with big thanks to Jonathon, and his ex, Maven, had long ago departed, he approached me. "Amy, I've never been more impressed by someone's enthusiasm and dedication than I have been regarding how you handled Merilee's wedding. It was classy but not ostentatious, things moved smoothly, and if anyone didn't have a good time it was their own fault." "Thank you Jonathon, that really means a lot," I said with an enormous toothy smile. "Also, I appreciate your honesty with Merilee about us." "What?" I said. "She told you?" "Of course she did; we love each other unconditionally especially since we saved each other from that evil shrew that I used to be married to. I hope that she didn't break any confidence." I shrugged my shoulders. "No, I didn't tell her that it was a secret or confidential; I'm just surprised that she told you – I might have sugar-coated it more if I had anticipated that she would." He laughed. "Somehow I don't think that sugar-coating is your style." I laughed too. "Now that the wedding is over I can seriously start to court you. Can you go with me to a party at the French consulate this coming Friday? Black tie. I'd be happy to get you a dress if you feel you don't have anything to wear." "Why thank you, Jonathon, I'd be happy to." **************** And so Jonathon Jenkin's courtship of Amy Baxter started in earnest. I acted according to Madame Bovary's best practices whenever I accompanied him to fancy gatherings, I took him on picnics and to minor league athletic contests and to do hands on work with several charities, and we went to plays and dinners. I didn't fuck him every time that we went out, but when I did I always made sure that it was an experience that he wouldn't forget. Of course I kept fucking others too, although very discretely. I also discouraged Jonathon from giving me fancy gifts. When he violated that the first time I chanced risking his anger when I put an over-the-top necklace that he had given to me up for auction to raise money for a women's shelter at a high roll ball that they were hosting. "That looks like the necklace that I gave you," he said as we perused the program as the live auction started. "It is the necklace that you gave me. The Shelter can use the money a hell of a lot more than I can use the necklace," I said. His eyes flashed anger. I didn't flinch. "Say, Jonathon, did you give me the necklace without all incidents of ownership, or was it mine to do with as I pleased?" I asked in an even but no-nonsense voice. He started to reply but was stammering. "I told you not to give me fancy gifts. Now look at the program and see who donated the necklace – You and Me." "But..." he continued to stammer. "Look, bozo; I'm the best thing that ever happened to you so just suck it up." He looked bewildered. He had no clue how to handle someone like me – which is just the way that I wanted it. I reached over, put my fingers on both sides of his mouth and pushed up to turn his frown into a smile. "That's my boy," I said and gave him a big kiss with some tongue. Then he really did smile. "Now make sure that some of your buddies bid appropriately for the necklace – the shelter needs the money, attendees don't need a good deal." Still smiling he got up and went to the tables of three of his captains-of-industry friends. They made sure that the necklace went for $50,000. After the applause for the highest-ticket item of the night – the necklace – died down I whispered in his ear "You're not going to be able to walk tomorrow once I get through with you big guy," and then stuck my tongue in his ear. There were two more tests before he was ready to propose to me. The first came on my birthday when he gave me a Mercedes 600 SL for a present. In the company of others I thanked him and kissed him. When I got him alone it was another story. "Jonathon, I'm very grateful for the car. However, the 600 SL is a gas-guzzler and I wouldn't be caught dead driving it. I don't want you to be upset when I trade it in and get a Prius." "A Prius?" he snapped. "I can't have you driving a Prius." "Why not?" "Because all of my friends and business associates will think that I'm a cheap son-of-a-bitch, that's why." "Explain to them that your girlfriend is her own woman and to stick it where the sun don't shine," I said, stomping my foot and crossing my arms. He looked at me crossly for a minute or so. He had seen my look before. After a minute I turned and started to leave. "Wait," he called out. "How about a Tesla?" "A Tesla is good for the environment but it costs $70,000 more than a Prius." "Yeah, but it's the safest car on the road, and I really want you to be safe. Please can we trade the Mercedes for a Tesla?" "You really are concerned for my safety?" I asked as I fake choked-up and got a fake tear in my eye." "Of course – I love you." There – he said it. I wasn't about to let it go by. We were at his mansion. Without another word I took him by the hand, led him up to his bedroom, and attacked him like a call girl on speed. When we woke up spooning the next morning his first words, said with a chuckle, were "Were you trying to kill me last night?" "No – I was trying to thank you for being concerned for my welfare, and because you said that you loved me. Did you mean it or was it just a way to get me into your bed in a frisky mood." "That wasn't frisky, that was vigorous, spirited, and over-the-top; and yes I meant it." "That entitles you to a morning blowjob," I giggled as I fondled his balls and took his cock into my mouth. I got the Tesla the next day despite the waiting list in our area. The next test came when he asked me to marry him while in a gondola in Venice. "I don't know if you love me, Amy, but I'm madly in love with you and won't be happy unless you're my wife," he said on bended knee – careful not to tip the boat over – holding out a very nice, but less than ostentatious, marquee cut diamond ring with emerald baguettes. "I'm not sure if I love you either, Jonathon, but I love being in your company and I'll make you proud that I'm your wife. Yes, yes, I'll marry you," I replied and then gave him a big kiss after he put the ring on my finger. We had a great time in Venice during which I treated him like a king both in and out of the bedroom. When we got back to the U. S. the first thing that I did was to say "Thank you for such a romantic vacation and proposal. You're a fabulous man. Now for the practical, however. You need to get a pre-nup done up right away. I don't want you to be generous in it, because although I truly enjoy your wealth if we divorce I don't want to take any with me. Whatever you propose I'll sign." "We'll see," he said. "Just one thing, though – it does have to have mutual infidelity clauses," I intoned. He raised his eyebrows and merely replied "OK." Of course I'm not that generous or stupid. I had met with the old fart law firm partner, and the male associate (Adam), that would be handling the pre-nup several times before at parties or social gatherings and for business. Adam was smart but appeared easy to manipulate. He was married and couldn't afford to be anything but discrete if he ever wanted to make partner, so when I seduced him he would do my bidding without chance of me being exposed. After the first time that I fucked Adam he was on board, and after the second time was a staunch advocate. Adam's role was to first draft a stingy pre-nup but in discussions with the partner and Jonathon work into the conversation how unusual it was for someone not to participate in the drafting at all. Then he would wonder aloud whether or not that required Jonathon to be more generous than he otherwise would be since eventually I would find out about the agreement and might think less of him if he was cheap. It worked like a charm. Mega-Bitch When Adam showed me the final draft – in a hotel room – I was very pleased. I just had to make sure that I was never caught fucking another guy and I'd make out like a bandit if Jonathon and I divorced for any other reason. "You deserve a treat for your good work, Adam," I said in my most sultry voice as I fished out his cock and kissed it. After I rode him cowgirl to an explosive orgasm I got dressed. As I was leaving the room Adam – still in bed in a mild stupor – said "You know that you've ruined sex with my wife – she can't compete with you." "Just pretend that you're fucking me when you're pumping into her," I replied with a smirk, and then exited. After I signed the pre-nup without looking at it Jonathon said "That's not the way to do business, Amy – you should read everything you sign." "This isn't business, Jonathon, this is a relationship. I never would have agreed to marry you if I didn't trust you. Just assure me that there are mutual infidelity clauses, and email a copy to my business advisor so that he has it in his records," I responded, and then gave him a series of smiling kisses on his lips, cheek, and neck. **************** I resigned from the event planning company, took over planning of the wedding myself with the help of a colleague there, and demanded that Jonathon give me a budget. "$200,000" he said, about half of what Merilee's cost. "Too much," I replied, "$125,000 max because you don't have to pay me and I don't have as expensive of tastes as Merilee does." "Don't skimp," he chuckled. "Hardly," I said. My wedding to Jonathan Jenkins went off without a hitch too, with Merilee as my matron of honor and Estelle as my only bridesmaid. Jonathan insisted on fifty more guests at the last minute so it cost $175,000, but he was happy. Before the wedding I had negotiated something else with him. "Jonathon, I intend to do lots of charity work, and I also want to be able to buy things that I want, so I want an allowance of $5,000 a month." He looked at me with surprise. "Amy, I've been impressed with the way that you handle money but I'm putting my foot down here. I'm putting $1,500,000 in an account in your name only which will be your mad money for the next ten years, not some miserly $5,000 a month. This time, no arguments – give it away for all I care." Another situation where the less I asked for the more I got. I made sure that Jonathon was amply rewarded that night. ****************** Obviously I had no intention of fucking only Jonathon when I was married. Although he was fine in bed, I needed more vigor and variety. However, even cheating skanks like me have rules. These were mine: -I never refuse Jonathon sex -I make sure to remain anonymous with my paramours -I never, ever, say anything bad about Jonathon to anyone and cancel with a paramour whenever there is a conflict with Jonathon -I never, ever, fuck anyone that he knows; in fact I never even flirt with them, especially not his bodyguards, Andre, and Merilee's husband -I fuck not only just married guys, but ones who have something else to lose -I only communicate through code on burner phones with paramours and change phones every two weeks -I had a tech whiz reprogram the GPS in my car so that it says that I am or was anywhere that I want it to say -I had a special room constructed at a women's shelter that I use whenever I want to, with a separate hidden entrance -I have a collection of wigs, actor's makeup, and nose putty, and dowdy clothes that I keep under lock and key in a safe in the trunk of my car that I use when I need to change my appearance; and -I have a checklist of things – in code – that I go over just like the pilot of a plane both before and after every session with a fuck buddy. I have a conceal carry permit for a .25 ACP Taurus pistol with a blue finish with rosewood grip to handle any situation, and I know how to use it. Actually I have two such guns, the registered one – which I keep in the safe in my trunk – and an identical off-the-street unregistered one which I carry in any situation where I won't be checked for a gun. The six years that I have been married to Jonathon have been fantastic; I love my life. I have all the material possessions and social standing that anyone could possibly want. I get real satisfaction by doing volunteer work for women's organizations and being worshipped by Jonathon. I have a truly good friend in Merilee. I am completely sexually satisfied, averaging fucking about six different guys each year that I have been married to Jonathon. My most memorable experiences were three sessions a week with a famous local professional football player during two different off-seasons, a two sessions a week experience with a local famous professional baseball player for six months, and four truly dirty sessions with a professional dancer. I made a mistake a couple of weeks ago. I ran across a truly good-looking stud who was single, and made an exception to my rules and fucked him. He had a thick cock that he really knew how to use, and expertly ate me. The problem was that he saw my photo in the local newspaper when I got an award at a charity event that I could not slink out of – I normally try to remain behind the scenes. The next time that we met – at an out-of-the-way motel off a highway that had no video cameras and where people kept to themselves, after we fucked once he wanted my ass. "No fucking way, dude, I told you that before – what about 'no fucking way' don't you understand?" "Well, that was before I knew that you were Amy Jenkins, socialite and multi-millionaire, who just received an award for her dedication to women's charities in our fine city. There are going to be a lot of things that we re-negotiate in view of that, sweet cheeks," he said with a sneer. Then he growled "Now get that sweet ass over here." "You really are going to blackmail me?" I asked. "I thought that you liked fucking me." "I love fucking you; you're my best ever. But now I can get more from you both sexually and monetarily," he said as he moved his fingers together in a "cash" gesture. I shrugged my shoulders. "OK, but let me get some KY out of my purse," I said as he chuckled. I pulled out my Taurus, stuck a pillow on the muzzle to muffle the sound, and put three bullets in his forehead. I removed the sheets and pillows from the bed and brought them in a plastic bag to the trunk of my car, washed down all surfaces in the room, rubbed down his body with alcohol taking particular care to wash any of my pussy juice off of his cock and tongue, rinsed out his mouth with mouthwash, and then started the mattress on fire. I called 911 on my new burner phone when I was about a mile away. I was suddenly filled with remorse. "Shit; I really liked this gun and phone and now I have to dispose of both of them," I cursed under my breath.