The Fallen Elitist

The Fallen Elitist

Or

It Never Happened

© 2018 Daniel de Laire

It had been a long day already. She was a 33-year-old urban professional; what they called a "yuppie" in her parent's generation. The daughter of blue collar parents who wanted a white collar for their little girl. But she wore a black collar under her frilly white one and it, like her, belonged to the man who was ringing her phone at the moment.

She had made the mistake of leaving the phone set to announce aloud all callers, and the phone recited in its robotic, pseudo-female voice "Call..From...County Jail". A twinge of embarrassment welled up in her gut and burned at her face as her co-workers in her shared office looked over at her while she answered the phone. They all knew her situation, and they all knew she was too weak or naïve to remove herself from it.

"Hello?" she answered, thinking that her boyfriend/Dom had gotten himself into yet another drunken argument for which he would require her services as defense attorney to smooth over. Oh, well. At least it would be a peaceful night, as they wouldn't release him until he sobered up.

Her hopes were soon dashed as she listened to the details of his arrest for soliciting a prostitute. He needed bail, a ride, and a pack of cigarettes. Don't forget matches.

After she hung up the phone, she started to tell her co-workers that she needed to go when one interrupted her dismissively.

"Just go", said Mary, with a wave of her hand.

She packed up her things into her purse and walked to her car. This wasn't the first time she had to pick Daniel up from jail, or even the first time he had been out with another woman, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Her boyfriend/Dom had fallen into her life in a way most unexpected; he had been a "pro bono" client of hers on an assault charge. 50 hours per year was required to keep her bar registration. He immediately took charge of her heart and her life, and made a wreck of both.

He would come home at odd hours always reeking of cigars and booze, and usually reeking of some other woman. She could smell it on him as soon as he'd walk through the door. The one smell she did somewhat enjoy on him, as a sort of justice for his many cruelties against her, was the unmistakable odor of stale vomit, piss, and steel that is the smell of jail. She didn't let it bother her; she'd just pull his pants down for him as he sat down in his favorite recliner with the fresh beer she brought him and start sucking the taste and smell of the other woman off of his dick while he drank beer and watched porn on television. It did no good to refuse him anyway; she had tried that and he just raped her. He would occasionally beat her for the sheer hell of it. Her co-workers all knew it, no matter how hard she tried to hide it underneath a generous amount of foundation from Sephora's "it never happened" collection and her favorite Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses with lenses the size of saucers. Whenever the sixty-some odd year old convertible he made her buy him would break down, he would just ask her where the hell the money was to get it fixed, and it would magically appear out of her savings. Just like the bail and impound money he needed at the moment would.

She made her way to her Lexus and started on her usual route she used when she had to pick Daniel up from jail. Up to the 7-11 for a pack of his usual after jail cigarettes and a lighter, then to the commissioner at the county jail. Thankfully, they took credit cards.

Luckily, she had caught him halfway through what they called "the rounds" at the jail, and it was a slow day. "The rounds" is a series of holding cells that progress from smaller to larger and then larger to smaller as the inmate moves through the booking and housing process. He was released to her within an hour of her posting bail.

"What the hell took you so long?" was all the thanks she got as she handed him his cigarettes and lighter and they started walking to her car.

They drove to the impound yard and she paid the nearly $500 impound fee on his 1956 Ford Sunliner. As the man handed him his keys, he smacked her on the ass, said "Thanks, see you at home", and walked away to get his car. It was those rare, small shows of kindness that warmed her heart.

She made her way back to work to finish up. It would be a few hours, so she would be home late to await his return; unsure if he would fuck her, beat her, just pass out in front of the television, or not come home at all. As she rubbed the thin black leather collar under the white collar of her blouse, she hoped it would be any but that latter. Even if he stunk of some whore.

To her surprise and somewhat delight, she found his car in the driveway when she pulled in. She opened the door to the smell of stale cigar and cigarette smoke, which she expected, and stale perfume that was not hers. There were two used plates on the kitchen table and about seven beers with ¼ of the contents left in them. At least he had left her a portion of the stew she had placed in the crock-pot that morning.

She ate somewhat slowly; finishing the beers that he and what she presumed was some other woman had left on the table, hoping the bitch would be gone soon.

After she had finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen, she cautiously made her way back to their bedroom. She didn't want to disturb Daniel if he was fucking someone. She peered in carefully and saw that he was alone, naked, sprawled out on the bed. He looked over at her and just pointed to his cock, which was half erect and still moist with the juices of his union with his paramour.

"Get on it, bitch! Ain't gonna fuck itself!"

She took off her clothes and began sucking Daniel's dick clean of whatever slut he had been fucking not long ago, and it soon rose back to life. It didn't really bother her; it was just what she did. After it was completely erect, she climbed on top of Daniel and lowered her quivering, wet pussy over his engorged wet cock.

His head sunk back into the pillow as his eyes sunk into the back of his head. She pressed her hands gently on his chest for support as she assumed his usual rhythm, the rhythm that always got him off. She said the words to him that turned his balls into jelly.

"Gimme that rod, Danny. Fresh from jail. Fuck me hard, you fucking criminal. Fuck your filthy slut hard!"

Their moans became louder as the rhythm heightened, her walls becoming tighter around his enlarging cock. Thoughts of him being bent over the police car and placed in handcuffs filled her mind as more of her hormones rushed into her bloodstream. She began fucking his cock harder until her honey walls began to shake with orgasm, stimulating her lover's organ to throb harder. As her orgasmic fluids began to gush out of her vagina and wash down his balls onto the bed, his cock began to spurt what little was left of his supply of semen into her orgasming vagina. She screamed at the top of her lungs as her pussy walls worked out the orgasm that had been building in her all day since the phone rang.

Daniel had finished and pushed her still pulsating body off of his and passed out next to her.

"Yes, yes" she thought. "Handle me rough, treat me like shit" as the last waves of orgasm riveted through her body. It was in this way she drifted to sleep, happier than she had ever been once again.

She was a classic masochist and hybristophile. To meet such a man was the reason she began practicing law. In this abusive relationship, she was complete. She felt real. She felt loved.