Happy

Yessssss, another chapter! I wish I would've updated earlier, and I'm sure you wished I would've too, but HEY, I am now! :)

My lovely reviewers:

lovelyl - lol, I'm sorry, dear! I appreciated your first review more than you know! If it seemed as though I'd implied that I wanted a longer one, I'm sorry! I'd love it no matter what - long or short. I just want to know someone's enjoying it! :) I like to know how you're feeling about the characters; that's so great. And I thank you for your encouragement. :) Thank you, thank you!

Shyann - Thank you! I hope you enjoy this next chapter! :)

Anon - Thank you so much! :D

Please enjoy this next chapter! :)

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All I wanted was sex.

Every day, every hour, every minute, the only things on my mind were sex-related. When was I going back to the hotel with Gregory? What other positions could we try? How much more could my body take of our extremely rough intercourse? Of course I was sore, but I hungered for something to push against the sweet spot deep inside of me whenever possible.

Thankfully Gregory was always ready for my needs and would definitely please. On the downside, he continued to try to pleasure me by giving me oral sex that continued to be unsatisfying. However, I admit that I'd love to be receiving oral rather than performing it on him. The way his thick manhood would slip through my lips and I could taste his rubber-like skin and feel his pubic hairs along my tongue - I gagged every time. I was gracious that gagging was all my body did; vomiting would have been even more rancid.

We spent the rest of the weekend there at the New Haven Hotel. Gregory planned spa treatments, fancy dinners, breakfasts in bed, and all the room service I wanted. (And plenty of sex, too.) It was obvious by all of the luxurious activities that he had no problem spending his money as freely as he was. I couldn't help being curious about his-- er, rather our house.

Monday morning, after an hour of pointless sex and silent showering together, Gregory and I had gathered our up our luggage to take it to the Harrison Mansion. As I bent over to zip up my black suitcase, I felt Gregory's hand cup my butt cheek and squeeze - a familiar gesture that meant he was, for the millionth time, horny. "Again, already, Greg?" I asked, my voice something between a sigh and a whine.

"What, you don't want to?" he replied, chuckling.

I snapped around backward to face him. "Why did you laugh?"

His laugh lines were present around his face as he stared back. "Mia," he began, talking as though I were a child, "don't pretend that you don't enjoy every moment of when we fuck. You're a very bad actress."

My face was hard as I glared at him. "I don't enjoy every moment of it."

Gregory tilted his head back to laugh again, then turned his attention to his leather traveling bag. "Bullshit, Mia," he finally murmured, a sick smile in his voice.

Narrowing my eyes, I focused on the bag before me. I didn't enjoy every minute like he said. Only certain parts... No! I didn't enjoy it. It was wrong. Gregory was a sick person. Finally, I whispered fiercely, "Fuck you," under my breath.

I didn't think he would've heard it because it was so quiet, but he did. Suddenly, his hands were at my back, pressure being applied and forcing me down, my body bending over the rectangular luggage in a painful position. "Gr--" I shouted, but his palm slammed against my mouth, keeping the rest of his name trapped behind my lips.

"I will fuck you," he growled along my ear, his opposite hand hiking up my skirt and tearing down my underwear. I heard the zip of his pants, and an uncontrolled tingle coursed through my body. His fingers felt the slit of my womanhood, stroking lightly. He moaned, his strokes delving deeper. "You want this, don't you, Mia?" I growled against his hand, wishing I could bite him, but the thrust of his fingers stabbing into my folds took me by surprise, making me almost delusional. I focused on the white of the bed's blanket as I awaited the return of my other senses.

Then I felt empty, for he'd taken out his digits, and I thought that he'd finished with his abuse. I used my arms to lift myself off of the bag underneath me, then fell back down with a violent plop. Gregory had replaced his long fingers with his long manhood, shoving its entirety into my sore canal. A scream filled my mouth and I saw his hand shake from the shattering noise. While he groaned with pleasure, he proceeded to take himself out of me and then thrust back in completely. "Feels good, doesn't it, Mia?" he asked through his teeth.

My breasts were begging for touch, I could tell. The hard nubs among the mounds of my chest ground against the soft fabric of my blouse and the hard material of my baggage. I craved someone's hand for cupping, squeezing, even teasing would fulfill my ache. If my hands weren't busy clenching the bed in intense pain and pleasure, I would've helped myself.

He hit that perfect spot inside of me again that caused my upcoming orgasm to build like a wildfire. I found my body was moving quick with him, bucking hard into his hips. Gregory's hand left my mouth so he could grasp my bum for easier thrusting. "Scream my name, Mia," he pushed, grunting with effort as we bounced forward and backward like a pendulum.

"F-f-fuck you!" I cried, then whimpered as he hit the pleasure area again.

Much to my surprise, he stopped there. He kept his penis inside of me, my walls clamped around it, and I could just feel the tip of his erection upon that wonderful spot. I prepared myself to lean my body back so I could easily please myself, but Gregory wasn't stupid. "Don't you dare," he warned icily.

"Or else what?" I challenged, averting my eyes so they could see his white shirt dangling over the top half of his hairy, tanned leg.

He was silent. Maybe he was finished. 'No,' I said to myself. 'Gregory would never just end sex because I wouldn't cooperate. He was too obstinate and arrogant.' He moved. The smallest movement that he could muster, the slowest rotation of his hips. And the slightest friction of the head of his dick amongst my sacred point had me gasping for air.

Gregory halted when he heard my needy pants. "Don't stop," I pled breathlessly, my pulse racing.

"Hmm, I must," he teased. I could feel him pull out slowly.

"No, no! I need more!" My mind screamed at my weakness, embarrassed by how I begged for his pleasance.

"Scream... my... name."

I growled at him, hiding my face with my fallen hair.

"What do you want me to do, Mia?"

I refused to speak. He pulled out more. A snarl ripped through me, and I shouted, "Fuck me!"

With so much force, he jolted forward, and the immense amount of bliss poured through each individual vein in my body.

"Now... scream it."

"Gregory," I spat through the curtain of hair in front of me.

He hit it again; my body violently jerked. "Scream!"

Again and again and again and again. "Gregory!" I screamed, my voice cracking. I bit down on my lip hard, to punish myself for giving in.

Gregory came hard inside of me, his hands squeezing my butt one more time. "Good girl," he praised, pulling himself out and zipping up his trousers.

When the room finished spinning and my tears stayed behind my eyelids, I lifted myself up and struggled with pulling up my underwear. Gregory came close to me and offered his hand but I shooed him away. "Mia--"

"Don't talk to me," I snapped, standing up and shoving down my skirt.

He smirked, while I wanted to slap him, and he talked to me anyway. "The limo driver, Anthony, will take you to our house. Marisol will be there--"

"Who?"

"Marisol," he echoed, fixing his dark blue tie in the mirror. "She's the maid."

'Wonder if he's fucked her, too,' I thought, rolling my eyes. "You won't be coming with?"

A grin tugged at his lips. "I'll be doing more coming later, if that's what you mean," he purred, eyeing me through his reflection.

My fingers formed into a ball at my side. "You're a sick fuck," I seethed, narrowing my eyes.

"I know," he said proudly, turning to walk towards me. "And you--" He paused and gripped my breasts in his hands. I squeaked out a yelp. "You love it."

Instinctively, my hand flew up to meet his cheek, smacking him so hard that his face darted to his right. He chuckled, removed his hands, and looked back at me, rubbing the red spot along his cheekbone. "I'd teach you another lesson now," he spoke calmly, the smile almost faded, "but Anthony's waiting, as is my business." He shuffled away to the hallway to grab his briefcase. Then he walked back to me, kissed me roughly, biting down on my lips. "Tonight, though," he whispered when he pulled away, "you'll learn a few things." I glared at him, my hard, brown eyes locked on his overconfident, blue ones. "See you tonight." And Gregory left.

Minutes after my husband's departure, the same driver from yesterday came upstairs to the hotel room, placed my belongings on a large cart, and led me to the elevator. The entire time I'd been fuming over Gregory's actions. Like I'd stated before, I wanted the sex. But not the rough, dominant, I'll-fuck-your-brains-out sex. I wanted the gentle, sensitive, mmm-please-touch-me sex. And Gregory wouldn't be giving me that, nor did I want it from him. Most certainly not after what he'd just done.

"Miss?" The driver - Anthony, I had to remind myself - was waiting for me to leave the elevator and follow him out. Blushing, I nodded and walked briskly out of the front lobby and out the automatic doors into the limo that was parked in the circle-drive. Somehow Anthony had been right beside me and had already been holding open the passenger door for me to enter. I thanked him quietly and sat down, crossing my legs and watching my fingers fumble with one another.

Anthony drove fast, it seemed, and drove in silence. Every time I'd looked up, which wasn't often, I swore I saw Anthony's eyes dart away from the rear-view mirror back to the road before him. Had he been glancing back at me whenever he was permitted the chance? I decided not to think too much into it. Maybe he was just curious as to why I was so silent. Maybe he knows about Gregory's ways and his twisted sexual desires.

The vehicle slowed to an unexpected stop. I opened the car door and, instantly, I found myself looking up, taking in the gigantic monument that would be my new home. There was a white picket fence (how cliché) surrounding the white building. Dark green grass was the canvas below the mansion and several shades of green leaves covered the large trees behind the fence. Every house beside the one in front of me seemed so tiny compared to its massiveness.

I was so astounded by the size of the home that Anthony had already taken every piece of luggage inside. "Have a good day, Mrs. Harrison," he said, and my breath was caught in my throat. 'Mrs. Harrison?!' I screamed inside. 'Fuck.'

"Thank you," I whispered finally, but the limo was already gone, somewhere far down the street. I shuffled myself up the small steps through the glass doors into the foyer of the house. The walls, if you could believe it, were white, and a few photographs and paintings hung along the white partitions. The floor was wooden, shiny and sparkling underneath the bright ceiling lights. Down the hall was a dining area, consisting of a table with ten chairs, a glorious chandelier that was suspended above the dining table, and a brown bar that was adjacent to the table, stools at its front. I imagined that Gregory had company over frequently, whether it was for business purposes or to get inside someone's pants.

"Hello, Mia!"

I jumped up in surprise, my head rolling to the side at the spiral staircase that led to the next level of the house. A young woman, not as young as me but close, strolled down the stairs, a welcoming smile written on her face that revealed her prominent dimples. She was visibly of Latin descent, but her tone of voice expressed no sign of a diverse accent. Her clothes were casual - a light blue t-shirt and black shorts that came up to her mid-thigh. "You are Mia, right?" she questioned, pausing at the second-to-last step, one of her dark hands around the rail.

I tried to recall any Spanish that I'd learned over the years. "Sì. Um... hola?" I tried, hoping I didn't look foolish.

She laughed, thankfully, and stepped off the bottom stair, her bare feet landing gracefully onto the hardwood floor. "Hola," she replied, leaning forward to kiss my cheek.

My eyes widened in shock; I knew the action was certainly an act of kindness, but my body seemed to enjoy it more than I think was expected. 'Mmm-please-touch-me sex,' my mind teased, but I shook the thought away.

"Where's Gregory?" she asked, her brown eyes wandering around the entrance.

She knew some English, obviously. "Uh... he is at... work. You are Marisol?" I was hoping that she could understand my words.

"Yes!" she confirmed with glee. "Oh, and don't be deceived by my appearance. I've never been outside of the United States. Not even out of Connecticut, actually," Marisol said, a small laugh retreating from her petite mouth.

'Way to go, idiot,' I scolded myself, my face reddening in embarrassment. "Sorry..."

"Oh, no, it's no big deal!" Her grin didn't lie. "So Mr. Harrison's working? He probably won't be home for a while then. Cool," she mused to herself, eyeing the different rooms that I hadn't really looked at yet. "Well!" she squeaked, making me jump again. "Have you eaten? I could make you something."

I tried to smile. "No, I'm fine, thank you. I'd just like to know where my room is."

She hummed, looking up at the staircase. "You're sleeping with Mr. Harrison?" I swallowed hard. "I mean," - she giggled - "Are you sleeping in the same room?"

'Unfortunately.' "I would think so," I mumbled, gazing upward as well.

"It's upstairs, then. The second door on your right. The first is Greg's office, in case you were curious."

Something about the way she said her last sentence really made me suspicious. His office? "Thank you," I whispered, climbing up the mountain of stairs as Marisol danced away into a different room. I decided to not even walk towards the second door and ended up turning the knob of the first door on the right immediately. The door clicked and opened briskly, no creaking at all. There was a cluttered desk at one side of the room, a black chair behind it, and a large dresser-like object directly across from the desk. I stroked my fingers over the edge of the desk, running my eyes over the array of papers and cups of pens. The only thing that seemed out of place was a television remote control. It was obvious that this office truly was an office. But why had Marisol said it like she had?

I opened up one of the drawers of the desk. More papers hidden inside manila folders. More office supplies. Nothing of importance. I sat down on the chair, relaxing into its comfort. I felt along the bottom of the desk, feeling for anything. A bump. I felt a bump. I pressed down on the mound and, suddenly, the doors of the dresser across from me opened up, disclosing a giant-screen television. The television... and the remote. It made sense. I picked up the remote, cautiously, mind you, and pressed the red button on top. The screen rippled and then produced a rainbow of colors, creating a scene of a long stretch of a hallway that high-heeled legs were walking down. The woman wearing the heels, her face unseen, pushed open one of the doors to display a bedroom consisting of two people moving rapidly underneath a beige sheet.

Pornography. Really. I wasn't surprised. The couple made a lot of noise - many grunts and groans. From the sound of it, the woman didn't seem as into it as the man. Eventually they cried out and the man walked out of the room nude, leaving the woman to lay within the bed. She stood from the mattress, her naked body quite appealing. 'Mia!' my mind scolded. I shook the nagging away and watched the woman enter a bathroom and turn on the shower, her body hiding behind the cream-colored curtain. The camera rotated to inside the shower, scanning the girl up and down, slowing around her bosom and bottom half. I bit my lip, wishing I could turn away from her taut nipples and wet snatch, but I couldn't help myself.

The camera moved back up to the woman's face, and I gasped when the curtain was pulled back. A feminine hand that clutched the recently-seen high-heel threw the object backward, and the person, the woman that held the shoe entered the shower as well. My heart ran up my throat and I could feel the dampness form between my legs. The woman that just entered had hair that was cherry-red and large breasts. She ran her thin fingers along the back of the other woman as they kissed heatedly, their hair and skin becoming drenched with water. The redheaded woman's hands moved to the front of her lover's torso, grasping her breasts and flicking her thumbs over the hard nubs.

Subconsciously, my hand roamed to the bottom of my skirt, pulling it upward as I watched the screen. The first woman seemed to be entangled in her lust because her moans were extremely loud, filling up the steamy room. The redhead had knelt down to capture one of the nipples of the opposite woman's breast, suckling with her tongue and teeth. More intense groans. My fingers curled around my underwear. Further down the redhead went, her mouth centimeters from her lover's pussy. She licked the slit, smiling with delight as the woman's body shook with ecstasy. Lapping eagerly at her folds now, I was so twisted in their moment of pleasure that my fingers were stroking my own crotch, encouraging me to moan with the woman on the screen.

The woman was coming close, her cries thick with frustration and need. I wished I was there to relieve her and touch her and make her orgasm over and over. And I craved for her to touch me as well. I wanted her to drive her fingers into me, to penetrate me until I came onto her hand, then watch her lick it off. "Mmmm..." I moaned along with them, my fingers pushing as deep into me as possible. I tried to stroke my pleasure point, but I couldn't. "Fuck," I cursed quietly through clenched teeth.

The doorbell rang.

"Fuck!" I hissed again, my hand flying out from under the fabric. My cheeks were stinging with heat of embarrassment. I raked my clean hand through my hair and stood up. I waited for Marisol's voice to echo from downstairs but all I could hear was the continuous moans from the women on the television.

"Mia!" Marisol shouted. She sounded like she was down the hall, not downstairs. "Can you please answer that for me? I'm busy!"

I swallowed everything I had lodged in the base of my throat. "S-sure!" I yelled back, my ears ringing and heart pounding. My fingers searched for the button under the desk as the doorbell rang once more. The doors shut and I, with a shaky hand, turned off the porn program with the remote and placed the object back onto the wooden plane. I fixed my skirt and scurried out of the room. After nearly falling down the stairs in my haste, I reached the bottom clumsily and could see the person on the outside through the glass.

It was a woman. She was around her mid-20's and wore faded and ripped blue jeans, a black shirt with streaks and splatters of paint, and had her red hair tied up in a messy ponytail.

Her cherry-red hair.

Whatever I'd swallowed previously was stuck again. The woman gazed at me through the door, her eyebrows fusing together but she held a composed, sweet smile. Biting my lip, I twisted the doorknob and pulled it back, baring myself to her.

"Hi..." she started, sounding unsure and soft. "You don't look like Marisol."

Her voice was like velvet, wrapping around me like a soft, safe blanket. It was hypnotizing.

"N-no," I stammered meekly. "Sh-she's upstairs."

"Oh, I see." She had beautiful white teeth. And really red, perfectly-shaped lips. They matched her hair. Her cherry-red hair. "And who are you?" Oh, she was so friendly.

"M-Mia..." I whispered.

Her grin broadened. "Nice to meet you, M-Mia," she teased, her voice a purr. "My name is Skyla."