She pushed him off her, wiggling herself out of his shaft while breathing heavily.
Marke rolled off her to the side.
Mrs. Olivarez sniffed and bent down to collect her clothes.
"I'll call you later, okay? I remembered I have some place to be."
Perplexed, Marke asked, ""Where?"
"It's personal. I'll be out in a minute."
With that, she bundled up her clothes in her arms, and cheeks jiggling and hips swaying, she exited, pushing the door closed behind her with a loud bang.
Marke stared at the door with a bewildered expression.
A part of him was furious. She got what she wanted and left.
Another part of him knew this was all a byproduct of something repressed for too long bursting out.
The conflicting emotions caused Marke to sigh, rolling over onto his back, gaze to the ceiling.
Whatever it was, Marke was annoyed.
He had planned on spending the entire day rotting away on his couch, and just when he had changed his mind about tussling with the meaty Ola all afternoon, the plan had broken down.
He looked at his little brother, standing proud and tall from his pelvis, coated in juices, phallus enlarged and needy.
Ever since Ms. Ann called, nothing was linear anymore.
Wretched woman. He cursed.
Alone with his thoughts, Marke analyzed the feeling of disappointment in his heart. Did I delude myself into thinking the woman wanted to turn this into something more because of the way she acted?
With a sputter, Marke pushed himself up.
Who cares? He thought. I did what she asked. I am repaying her favor.What do I care what goes on in her life?Doesn't appear like she wants me to care anyways.
His ears picked up on the sound of the door leading out of his apartment clicking close.
A wet gelatinous sensation against his palm caused him to lift his hand.
A glob of orange jam, now smudged completely on the sheet because of him pressing down on it, greeted him.
"Should've just done it on the floor," he grumbled to himself.
--------
After taking a bath and eating a hefty meal, Marke sat buck naked on the ergonomic chair with the seat covered by a towel, with his briefs around his ankles, and his gaze focused on the blonde housewife on the monitor in a pink blouse and glasses playing and slapping her cheeks.
Marke had his left palm around his shaft, lathered in lotion, stroking.
"You want to see me spread them, do you?"
She bent over, revealing a butt plug with the flared base jutting out of her butt topped with a red ruby.
Like Ola's navel ring. Marke thought, the feeling of annoyance returning.
He had rubbed himself out twice in the bathroom, and his beast still hadn't calmed down.
From now on, we only invest one stat point in a single day. He thought to himself.
Buzz. Buzz.
His phone on the tabletop made of cheap wood vibrated loudly.
An unknown caller ID.
Marke frowned. Since yesterday, the unknown had provided him only with problems. That's my fault too, I guess. He thought. Why couldn't he have a circle of normal people? Because I want to be rich, he answered himself. And it was easier. More money, less work.
Pausing the video, with his right, he picked up the phone.
"Hello?" he said.
"Hey Marke, it's me, Terri." A familiar husky voice spoke. "Are you busy?"
He looked at his brother. "Not...really."
"Will you be busy?"
"I need to get some sheets cleaned in the evening. Other than that, I'm free."
"All right. A friend of mine has just hired you."
"For what?" That was a stupid question. He regretted it instantly.
"What reasons, other than the obvious, might there be to call upon a man such as yourself, oh Lord?" She teased.
"Financial Advice."
"Spent any of the twenty thousand on something useful or invested in anything profitable?"
"No?"
"Nobody will call you for that either, darling, let me assure you."
"All right, all right. It was a stupid question. This friend of yours, is she hot?"
"Do you have to *ask?* She's my friend." She proclaimed smugly. "Just a fair warning though," she added, "she will have you sign an NDA."
"An NDA? Why? She's scared I'll tattle?"
"Yup."
"But I won't."
"Had I not trusted Ola with my life, you'd have signed on with me too, honey."
"Okay. Anyways, who's she?"
"Know Tero?"
"The clothing and bag brand?" He had seen Mrs. Ann carry a handbag with that label around. "Yeah, I know it...wait a minute, is the client that madman's wife?"
"Yup."
"Jackworth Tero? The man who put a hit out on his own son?" He asked. "Are you crazy? I don't want to be next on the news."
"It's nothing so serious, darling. He's in jail. The son is the CEO now. Everything's resolved. She just wants to relax. That's it."
"No."
"She'll pay you fifty if you show her why you're special and let me send you a photo."
His phone pinged, a notification sliding down. He opened it.
"Woah," he uttered.
"I know," Ms. Terri responded.
In a white one-piece, with slanted and wide lips on a light-skinned face, strands of hair deliberately framing her face, she was turned to the side on a balcony, the light from the camera hitting optimally and adding a bit of gleam to the rings on her fingers holding the railing and gold chains around her slim waist, flaring to form a distinct roundness, irises staring at the viewer.
Fifty thousand and a noon with this woman?
He looked at his little brother, willing and ready.
It's easy for you, buddy. You don't have to think about anything. Lay down when I get in trouble, spurt out when I get some action.
"How sure are you the husband won't put a bounty on me like he did on his son? People who can do that to family," he said, "they aren't right in the head."
"Unless you go out into the street yelling you slept with her with your di-k swinging, I think you'll be good. And don't talk to me like I'm trying to ship you off to another country or something. I'm not that bad, am I, honey?"
"I don't know you well enough to judge that. And you have a sailor's mouth."
"Drink like one too. You haven't gotten to know me yet."
Marke chuckled. "All right. Send me the location."
With Ms. Terri's assurance, he was relieved.