"I don't know, Jess, how would you feel if your husband had a girlfriend?"
"Oh, I'd cut his nuts off, take him for every penny he had, and leave him living out in the snow, barefoot and in rags." She laughed at that. "Besides, I don't have a boyfriend, I've just got an occasional fuck buddy."
Jessica was hard to take, sometimes. She was pretty, kind of, in a sort of Stephanie Abrams-kind of way, a classic beauty but who had a bit of a hard edge look to her. Always fashionable, in perfect business attire, she commanded a room when she walked in, though not at this moment.
"Couldn't he stay in that shed you guys have out back?" I asked her, drawing a big grin from her.
"Oh, yeah, I guess I could be that nice," she laughed. "It's metal, no insulation, just to hold the lawnmowers and chicken feed. The doors face northwest, don't quite close tightly, so the winter wind gets in, but I guess it would be better for him than nothing. Maybe the barn would be better?"
"So why are you screwing Marcus when you've said David is a real stud?"
"Marcus is an awesome lay, too. I mean, they're both great in bed, just different. David makes love to me, and does a great job, but Marcus just wants to fuck. You know how it is, Kris, sometimes a girl just needs to get taken, just needs to be savagely fucked."
"So, with all of the duds out there, you find two studs, and hog them for yourself. Nice going, Jess."
"Hey, you snooze, you lose."
Sometimes Jessica Steele was hard to take. She was my partner and best friend in our up-and-coming law firm. We'd met at the University of Louisville Law School, and hit it off. Jess was a real shark in the courtroom, more than once leaving opposing attorneys in 200 lb heaps of red jello. She could take a marginal case and still come out a winner, finding the smallest of holes in an opponent's case and widening them enough to drive a tractor-trailer through.
Me? I succeeded through intense preparation. Those tiny holes Jessica found in opponents' cases? No opponent ever found a hole in my cases, because my legal aides and I were so absolutely thorough. Jessica was a shark in the courtroom, but my presentation was always quiet, so soft-spoken that the jury had to pay close attention to hear what I was saying, but I wove my cases so tight that there was no escape. Here in Frankfort, the state capital, there were always a lot of cases involving the state government, and we were damned good at them.
We were different in more than just our courtroom styles. Jessica was the power suit type. Today she had on a darker than Navy blue suit, perfectly tailored to her broad shouldered figure, pants perfectly creased, adding the feminine touches of barely there high heeled sandals with professionally pedicured, red painted nails, and a matching red broach where a neck tie would be on a man, her long, brunette hair almost to her elbows, in an ultrafeminine style that drew men's attention to her, the way Hope Hicks had done when she wore that tuxedo to a state function in Japan.
My attire was more traditionally feminine, though always professional looking. Skirts and dresses more often than slacks, just a couple of inches above the knee, and more obviously feminine blouses than the ones Jess wore. If I could've worn my hair as long as hers and have it look right, I would, but once it got much past my shoulders, it kind of wimped out and looked ragged, so I had mine cut in a professional-style bob. Still, as an ash-blonde, it drew attention, as did my ice-blue eyes. And damn, we did make a devastating-looking pair.
David Blaine was Jessica's husband, and they seemed a mispatched pair. David was a farmer, xfaap.com
with 129 acres off Glenn's Creek Road, just south of the county line, on the bluffs overlooking the Kentucky River. David raised corn and barley, and boarded horses for the daughters of wealthy families. He had goats and chickens and a few head of cattle. His hands were strong and calloused, because, despite his money - the farm had been his parents' and his father's parents before him - he worked his farm himself, with hired hands, of course, in all kinds of weather. He was kind of hard to get to know, but once you did, you saw a strong-looking man, but one with an unexpectedly soft heart. The barns were full of cats and other critters that he took in, and I guess that people knew that, because too often people just abandoned litters of kittens and puppies on the long, gravel road up to the farmhouse. I guess they knew those litters would be cared for.
He was, to put it simply, the kind of husband women would want.
And here Jessica was screwing around on him!
Marcus Grayson was another attorney, a solid criminal defense attorney. He was good, really good, and he won some tough cases that he shouldn't have. Prosecutors in Franklin, Woodford and Fayette counties really hated him, because he cost them cases which should have been open-and-shut convictions. Very tall at 6'4" or so, with an athletic build, Marcus called on Jessica for help on a particularly tough case. Kentucky doesn't have a particularly large black population, and Woodford County was even whiter than the state average, 92% white to just 5.4% black. A particularly nasty piece of work in a drug dealer named Tyrone Martin had been arrested and charged with the murder of one of his competitors, along with various other crimes.
The math was simple, and brutal. An all-white jury, a black defendant and a black attorney, even a good one, might not be an easy sell in Woodford.
So, Marcus made a smart move: he enlisted Jessica to try the case. Tall and strong, her brunette hair pulled back in a wide-barrette held ponytail, she was the defense attorney who captured the jury's attention, poked holes in the prosecution's case - aided by some sloppy work by the Woodford County Sheriff and the Kentucky State police - and she got Tyrone Martin off on murder, down to manslaughter, and acquitted of most of the other charges. Yeah, he'd still wind up in LaGrange, but it wouldn't be for the rest of his worthless life.
Marcus made another smart move, one that got him in Jessica's well-tailored pants. She hadn't intended it at all, even though Marcus was undeniably good-looking, but a combination of red wine and wagyu steaks at a top restaurant in Versailles, and somehow, some way, Jess wound up in Marcus' townhouse, her blouse and jacket still on, her pants around her ankles, bent over the back of a couch getting relentlessly hammered by Marcus' cock.
I can still remember Jessica's descriptions. His cock was big, though really, no bigger than her husband's. His hands were huge, but softer than David's, and his seduction style was just overwhelming, even to someone as alpha as Jess. She was so turned on that she came almost instantly when he speared into her, and then came again, three or four more times, before he unloaded deep within her.
It was almost indescribable, she told me, as though he loved her but was hate-fucking her at the same time.
Jessica was too smart to stay at his place, she told me, stopping at a drug store to pick up some Massengill to douche herself out before she got home. She said that she jumped in the shower, and then invited David in with her, to allay any suspicions, and, having douched herself out at a McDonald's before she got home, she fucked him half to death without it being sloppy seconds.
Jess told me about it the next morning, and I was just shocked. Jessica was so attractive, so awesome, that she got hit on a lot, and always turned men down. She'd flash her wedding rings, and most guys would back away; the ones who forged on ahead were treated to the same withering, devastating retorts with which she destroyed opposing counsel in the courtroom.