Hittin' It Out the Park Read online

  With Randy’s head locked between her thighs, Sexy realized she’d never experienced anything as wonderful as the way Randy gave head. Suddenly, lightning bolts blasted through the core of her being, causing her to shudder violently. She didn’t try to hold back; she wanted to fill his mouth with her passion. And when she felt his throat constricting as he swallowed her sweetness, she smiled with the knowledge that a part of her very essence had been released inside his body.

  Randy licked every drop of dewy stickiness from her vaginal lips and her clit. He then carried her to the bedroom and tossed her on the bed.

  Randy, the gentleman, had vacated the premises. On top of Sexy was a growling sex fiend, who was grunting as he rammed hard dick inside her. “Fuck me, Big Daddy,” she urged. “Beat this pussy up; split my shit in two.”

  Spurred on by Sexy’s raunchy dialogue, Randy drove himself inside her with a vengeance, drilling inside her body as if his dick were a power tool.

  “After you finish tearing up this pussy, I’m gonna need you to fuck me in the ass. You want some ass, baby. Huh? Do you?”

  In the midst of a down stroke, Randy’s knees gave out. “Yeah, I want some ass,” he admitted in a growl—and then he came with a roar.

  The combination of champagne and wanton sex in the kitchen, bedroom, and more sex in the bathroom had Randy out for the count. Sprawled out and sleeping with his mouth open, the man was dead to the world. Triumphant in the knowledge that Randy wouldn’t be leaving her bed until morning, Sexy smiled down at Randy and kissed him on the cheek.

  Now, it was time for payback. Grinning devilishly, she slid Randy’s phone out of his pants pocket and called his bitch of a wife.

  “Randy! I’ve been so worried, baby. Where are you?” Cheryl asked frantically.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Cheryl. This isn’t Randy; it’s none other than your girl, Sexy,” she said in a saccharine-sweet tone of voice.

  “What are you doing calling me from Randy’s phone? Where is he?”

  “He’s right here lying beside me. But he’s knocked out and can’t come to the phone right now. Yeah, I fucked your husband to sleep; do you wanna hear my man snore?”

  While Cheryl hissed and hurled a string of profanities, Sexy held the phone up to Randy’s mouth and the unmistakable sound of his snoring rumbled into the phone.

  “I’m gonna beat your ass, you trifling little hooker,” Cheryl raged.

  “Whatever,” Sexy said, sounding bored. “Anyway, I’m gonna let my baby sleep for another hour or so, and then I’m gonna wake him up so he can give me some more of that big, juicy dick. By the way, there’s no point in waiting up for him because Randy won’t be coming home tonight—he’s staying right here in bed with me, fucking and sucking until the sun comes up and the birds start chirping.”

  Cheryl

  “STEPHEN! STEPHEN,” Cheryl shouted at the top of her lungs while banging on the apartment door. “STEPHEN!”

  “Cheryl, what the hell is wrong?” Stephen said, after opening the door.

  “Get dressed. We’ve got to go.” Cheryl charged into the apartment, clad only in slippers, a flimsy nightgown, and an unbuttoned, ankle-length sable coat which flared out behind her as she flew into Stephen’s bedroom.

  “Where we gotta go? It’s three o’clock in the morning,” Stephen said, following behind her. “And why are you wearing a fur coat in this weather?”

  Cheryl shrugged and said, “Here,” as she flung a pair of pants that were hanging on the back of a chair at him. “Put these on. And this.” She threw him a shirt, and then headed toward the door. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” Stephen was hopping on one foot, trying to put on his pants as he walked. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re going to take me to that bitch so I can kill her!” Cheryl screamed, beckoning him to hurry and get dressed.

  “What bitch?” Stephen said, slipping his shirt on and closing the apartment door.

  “That skank, Sexy!” Cheryl shouted as she raced down the hall. At the elevator, she jabbed her finger against the button. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, she headed for the stairs with Stephen trying to keep up. “Can you believe that bitch is somewhere fucking my husband?” Cheryl broke into a trot when she reached the ground level.

  “Cheryl, wait for me, honey!” Stephen cried out.

  The midnight air hit Cheryl in the face as she flung the building door open and stomped out into the street, but she took no more notice of it than she did the tears and snot running down her face. Her nostrils flared as she approached her Maybach haphazardly parked in the middle of the street, holding up traffic. She jumped in the car, and pulled off before Stephen even had time to properly close his door.

  “So, okay,” he said, exhaling loudly, “where are we going?”

  “You tell me,” Cheryl answered as she peeled around the corner on two wheels.

  “How the hell do I know?”

  “You’ve got to know!” Cheryl pounded on the dashboard with one hand while steering with the other. “Someone’s got to know. I’ve called everyone. Where the fuck is that bitch?”

  “Wait, who did you call?”

  “Everyone. All management. The players. Their wives—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “And I went to Brent and Mila and kicked Mila’s ass. Do you know that bitch, who’s supposed to be MY friend, was covering for him?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Stephen repeated.

  “DO I LOOK LIKE I’M KIDDING?” Cheryl hollered, fully turning in her seat to face Stephen.

  “My God, Cheryl! Look out!” Stephen grabbed the steering wheel, swerving the car moments before it hit a fire hydrant. “Put your foot on the brakes.”

  Cheryl swiped a hand over her face, and then wiped it on her fur coat, before grabbing the wheel again. “We’re gonna find that bitch, Stephen, and then we’re going to kill her.”

  “Okay, honey, we’ll do that.” Stephen opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a tissue and started dabbing at Cheryl’s face as she drove. Her eyes were red, and would likely be near swollen shut if she weren’t so wide-eyed with fury. Stephen used his fingers to gently pull the strands of hair plastered onto Cheryl’s face. “Sweetie, you do realize it’s too hot for that fur coat, don’t you?”

  Cheryl glanced down at her coat. “It’s fine,” she said dismissively.

  “If you say so,” he said, turning up the air conditioning in the car. “So, where are we heading first?”

  “Right here.” Cheryl screeched to a stop in front of the Ritz-Carlton, and jumped out the car, leaving the car running.

  Stephen pulled the keys out of the ignition and handed it to the valet. “I wouldn’t bother to move it. We’ll likely only be a moment.”

  He rushed into the lobby right in time to see Cheryl point her finger at the concierge and scream: “No, I don’t need any damn help!”

  Stephen held his hand up to the man in a reassuring manner. “Thanks, but we know where we’re going.” He then ran after Cheryl, barely making it inside the elevator before the doors closed. He stood straight, his hands folded in front of him as the elevator made its way to the nineteenth floor.

  Cheryl didn’t bother knocking when she reached room 1901; she immediately started kicking. “Bitch, get the fuck out here. Come on out so I can kick your ass!” she screamed. When the door didn’t open immediately. she backed up as far as she could and did a couple of flying kicks.

  “Cheryl, she’s obviously not there, honey,” Stephen said in a soft voice.

  “And I guess her pussy-ass bitch boyfriend isn’t there, either,” Cheryl screamed, before aiming another flying kick at the door.

  “Right,” Stephen said calmly.

  “Okay,” Cheryl said, breathing heavily. “Okay. If she’s not here, she’s got to be somewhere. And we’re gonna find her.”

  “Right,” Stephen answered, taking her arm and leading her to the elevators.
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br />   They got on an elevator going down right as the doors for another elevator opened and three hotel security officers disembarked.

  “You know—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Cheryl snarled.

  “Right,” Stephen said, through pursed lips.

  Cheryl stomped outside to the car, snatched her keys from the valet who rushed toward her and jumped in her car, which was still parked in front of the hotel.

  “Sorry, it seems I didn’t bring my wallet,” Stephen shouted out the window to the valet as Cheryl once again peeled off. This time Cheryl drove stone-faced and silently, her eyes fixed on the road, concentrating hard. She didn’t know where she was going, but somehow she wound up in front of the Four Seasons hotel. She turned the car off and turned to Stephen. “Okay, I’m calm.”

  Stephen gave a huge sigh, seemingly of relief. “Cheryl, I’m so glad, because—”

  “HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME? WITH HER OF ALL PEOPLE?” Cheryl furiously pounded her fists against the dashboard. “WHY, STEPHEN, WHY?” she screamed over and over again until her voice was so hoarse barely a sound came out.

  “Oh, honey! Please try and calm down.”

  Stephen tried to pull her into his arms, but she fought him off, and then jumped out the car. Somehow one arm had come out of her coat, and it dragged behind her, and the already flimsy nightgown was soaked with tears and perspiration, rendering it see-through. But appearance was the last thing on Cheryl’s mind as she stomped over to the hotel lobby desk.

  “What room is Sexy Sanchez and Randy Alston in?” she managed to croak out.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Who are you looking for?” the astonished clerk asked, trying hard to look at her face and not at the nipples protruding from her nightgown.

  “Sexy Sanchez and Randy Alston!” she repeated a good deal louder.

  The clerk looked down and started tapping keys on a computer hidden by the counter. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t have anyone with those names registered with us this evening.”

  Cheryl’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

  “Come on, Cheryl. They’re not here.”

  “No, Stephen. He’s lying. He’s lying. Everyone’s lying!” Cheryl walked away from the lobby desk, and at first, it seemed she was going to simply stomp out the door. But immediately before reaching it, she grabbed a brass lamp and swung it with all her might against the lobby window.

  “Look at that, Stephen. A home run!” She started laughing hysterically. She then swung again, shattering another window, and then another.

  “Cheryl, please, they’ve called the police,” Stephen said, running up to her, but then ducking as Cheryl swung the lamp against one of the oil paintings on the wall. She continued laughing, so hysterically she fell to her knees still holding the lamp. She was still laughing when the police carried her to their van. It was there that she finally blacked out, with a smile on her lips, and her eyes wide open.

  Sexy

  While Randy slept like a log, Sexy went into the kitchen and searched through the pockets of his jeans that were lying in a heap on the floor. She couldn’t resist pocketing a few hundreds from his wad of cash, and then she took an additional fifty bucks to buy something to eat. The jangle of his keys gave her an idea. I should take his Maybach and go for a spin. Maybe drive to Philly and show my old roomies, Emma and Arielle, how great my new life is. Randy will never know, she thought with a giggle.

  She glanced at the key ring and was suddenly struck by an even better idea. Her eyes twinkled with glee as she used her phone to check online and discovered there was a twenty-four-hour hardware store within walking distance. With Randy’s key ring in hand, she quickly threw on her clothes and hurried out of the apartment.

  “How many key copies do you want?” asked a pimply-faced young man whom she’d caught dozing when she’d entered the store.

  “Um, how about two?” she replied, figuring she might need a back-up key to Randy’s and Cheryl’s apartment. She doubted she’d ever have the opportunity to use the key, but she couldn’t resist the prospect of having access to Randy’s marital abode.

  On the way back to her apartment, she picked up a sausage pizza, an orange Gatorade and two bottles of water. She could hear Randy still snoring when she crossed the threshold of her apartment. With the kind of racket he was making, she doubted if she’d get very much sleep tonight. She wished she had bought a TV today, but since she hadn’t, she had to resort to playing around online for amusement.

  It was fun taking pictures of her new apartment and posting them on Instagram. She even took a picture of Randy, asleep in her bed with his mouth open. Thoughtfully, she cropped out his face before posting the photo that she captioned, “My Baller Boo” on her Instagram page.

  She sat out on her terrace until she grew bored of the magnificent view. Sometime around three o’clock in the morning, Sexy finally returned to the bedroom and drifted off to sleep. An hour later, awakened by a full bladder, she drowsily wandered to the bathroom. Suddenly thirsty, she trekked to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. As she reached for the handle of the fridge, she was startled by the blaring ring of a phone. Frowning, she retrieved the phone from Randy’s pants where she had returned it after making her spiteful telephone call earlier. There was no doubt in her mind that it was Cheryl blowing up Randy’s phone.

  That desperate housewife needs to let her husband have some breathing room. Damn! Can’t my man get a decent night’s sleep without this trick always tracking him down? She sucked her teeth and with brows furrowed, she peered at the screen. She squinted at the caller ID, which read: NY-Presbyterian Hospital. Curious, Sexy brazenly answered Randy’s phone.

  “Hello?”

  “May I speak to Randall Alston, please?”

  “Uh, what’s this in reference to?”

  “I’m calling from New York-Presbyterian Hospital, Department of Psychiatry. There’s an emergency concerning Mrs. Cheryl Alston.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s urgent that I speak to Mr. Alston,” said the crisp voice on the other end.

  Sexy heaved a sigh. Cheryl had probably faked a suicide attempt simply to lure Randy away from the woman he loved. What a bitch! Although it was against her better judgment, Sexy padded to the bedroom and shook Randy until he jolted awake.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” he bellowed, wild-eyed, arms flailing. Geez, the way Randy woke up, looking and acting all crazy, wasn’t attractive at all. Sexy blamed it on the champagne he had drunk earlier in the evening. Surely, this wasn’t his typical way of greeting a new day.

  “The psych hospital is on the phone, calling about Cheryl,” Sexy said casually.

  Randy bolted upright, and this time his eyes were wide with fright. “Did something happen to Cheryl?”

  Momentarily forgetting her role as the loving and supportive side chick, Sexy grimaced in disgust and shrugged one shoulder as she handed Randy his phone.

  “Hello?” he said in a desperate tone of voice. “Cheryl has been admitted? Why?” He listened for a moment and then said, “I’ll be there right away.” He jumped out of bed and turned in a complete circle, scratching his head as he attempted to orient himself.

  “Is Cheryl all right?” Resuming her role, Sexy’s words and facial expression were now tinged with concern.

  Instead of answering Sexy’s question, Randy said gruffly, “Where’re my clothes?”

  “I’ll get them. They’re in the kitchen.” Sexy trotted to the kitchen and then returned to the bedroom with Randy’s jeans, briefs, and shirt.

  Randy snatched his belongings from Sexy’s hands. He nearly toppled over, struggling to hastily get into his pants. In less than five minutes, Randy was dressed and racing toward the living room.

  At the sound of the slamming front door, Sexy rolled her eyes. Bastard! I hope that psycho-wife of his smells my pussy on his breath and tastes it on his tongue. If she’s only faking being crazy, getting a taste of my pussy on her husband�
�s tongue ought to really send that bitch over the deep end!

  * * *

  Sexy cancelled her appointment with the interior decorator. She was much too stressed out to listen to a prissy-acting bitch talk about color schemes and displaying swatches of fabric. She’d been calling Randy for the past two hours to no avail, and at this point, she didn’t give a damn about getting the apartment furnished. Whatever the interior decorator wanted to do with the place was fine with Sexy. All she really needed right now was a new TV and Randy.

  Where’s my baby? And why isn’t he returning my calls? I hate Cheryl and her conniving ways.

  Although she was frantically waiting for Randy’s call, the ring of her phone startled her, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. She glanced at the screen and gave a long sigh. It wasn’t Randy, it was her mother calling.

  “What?” she answered grumpily.

  “That’s not a proper way to greet a caller. You were raised better than that, Amanda, and you know it.”

  “Give it a break, Mom. I don’t feel like listening to you bitch about my uncouth ways.”

  “Watch your language, young lady,” Clarissa warned.

  “Or what? What are you gonna do if I don’t watch my language? Put me on punishment? Withhold my allowance?” Sexy emitted a burst of wicked laughter.

  “Amanda!”

  “Seriously, Mom. What are you gonna do? In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t been following your militaristic rules about checking in with weekly phone calls. You don’t have any power over me anymore because I don’t care about that miserly pittance you were putting in my bank account. I have my own money now, and I don’t need yours.”

  Clarissa went uncharacteristically silent.