Chapter 4

Maron

What a lousy fucking day.

As I rise from my leather chair, the vodka hits me hard. My head is buzzing but in a good way. My mind is cloudy and my body is relaxed, except for one part- my cock is half-hard. I'll either hit up a club and find some easy broad to fuck, or I'll call Elena, my fiancé. Give her a good pounding and send her home. There’s no way I’m letting her stay over - I'll have enough of that bullshit once we're married. Right now, all I need is a release from this shitstorm of a day.

I glance at my phone. The email notification is still flashing on the screen. I really don't want to deal with one single email now, especially with my mind being one big motherfucking mass of confusion. But to my surprise, the subject line shows a heart emoji. And the sender is Mindy Williams.

Hm.

And again: hm.

It’s way past working hours, but I decide to open the email. I tap on the email and my jaw instantly drops. And then it drops even more. Not only that. My cock goes from half-hard to rock-hard in under a second.

Holy fucking shit!

Is this…?

I lean closer to the screen. This is definitely not something you get to see every day.

My chief accountant, Ms. Mindy Williams' gorgeous, naked body fills my phone screen. It’s definitely her. And she looks fucking flawless. Even more so than I imagined. And if that’s not enough, there are more photos of her attached to email.

No, you definitely don’t get to see an email with your hot chief accountant’s nudes every day. Ten of them. 

All naked.

Nude. Bare. Stripped.

I don't even bother reading the message. Instead, I set my phone down and focus on my laptop, pulling up the photos in full screen. I lean closer. I can’t believe it. She’s fucking incredible. The girl’s body is absolutely stunning; her breasts are perky and her pussy is perfectly shaven. My arousal increases as I imagine having her nipples in my mouth. My cock is painfully erect, just at the thought of it.

And there’s a video, too. Over five minutes long. Maybe this isn’t such a shit day after all.

I press play, and again, I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing. I watch intently as Mindy pleasures herself, culminating with tiny screams of pleasure. My God, what a sex-goddess chief accountant I have!

Her hands, slick with arousal, glide over her perfect mound, reaching under her panties, teasing herself. The video quality is surprisingly clear, allowing me to see every little detail of her body contorting in pleasure. Her breasts bounce with each wild thrust and I can't help but imagine what they would feel like in my hands. Her plump lips part, exposing her pink tongue as she moans even louder.

Chertovski neveroyatno.

She is a fucking vision. My breath hitches as I watch, craving her like an addict craves their next fix. 

I can't take it anymore. I can't wait for Elena to get here. I can't wait for some random woman to suck my cock later in the evening, either. My cock is throbbing, yearning for release. But most of all, it is yearning for Mindy.

I stand up and lock the door. If fucking Maurice hasn’t come until now, he will have to wait. 

My hand glides down to my crotch and I start rubbing my cock through my pants. 

Simultaneously to that, Mindy runs her fingers delicately over her flat stomach and around her nipples, before trailing them lower, down towards her panties. She teases herself for what feels like an eternity before finally pulling them off with a seductive smirk on her lips. That pretty pink pussy is glistening with excitement. My cock throbs in sync with her motions. I grip it tighter, rubbing the precum from the slit onto the head as I continue to stroke. The sound of her moans fills my ears as I see her fingers sliding in and out of herself, her hips gyrating to match the pace of my hand.

Holy fucking shit, she is next-level hot!

I increase my pace, mirroring hers as closely as possible, watching intently as she reaches between her legs and plays with her clit while continuing to fingerfuck herself. She arches her back and lets out a long, drawn-out sigh that turns into a high-pitched moan as she orgasms, bucking her pussy against her fingers. Beads of sweat start forming on her forehead. My own breathing becomes ragged as I near my own climax. With one final thrust of my hand, I release onto the back of my hand. The warm seeds drip down as I gasp for air.

Holy fuck! What a unique sexual experience I’ve just had! The woman has totally gotten under my skin.

Wait. I haven't even read the message yet and have no idea why she sent it to me. I clean myself up, zip up my pants, and take a moment to read the email. 

“Hey babe,

Enjoy the photos and the video. Tonight is all about us, so get ready for a wild time. ;-) 

Can't wait to be all yours.

Love you tons,

Your Mindy”

As my face scrunches up in confusion, as I wonder what this means. Then suddenly, the penny drops. For fuck’s sake! It's pretty damn obvious that the email was meant for someone else. Probably her boyfriend. She must have mixed up the email addresses and sent it to mine by accident. She may not even realize it that she’s sent it to the wrong address. Or if she does, she must be freaking the fuck out right now.

A wave of jealousy washes over me. Who is her boyfriend? Who is she fucking and how is it that the guy got so damn lucky?

I wish I was that lucky. But with my arranged marriage to Elena Kubikova,

the chances are low.

Pizdets!

But I can’t think of that now. My mind is fully occupied with my chief accountant and her naked pictures.

I glance at the time on the clock. It's clear that Maurice won't be showing up today. This is just another instance of him making empty promises and then not following through.

My pants are still hanging halfway down, splattered with my own cum. That was one big fucking orgasm I just had. My chief accountant just blew my mind unlike any woman before.

I wipe myself clean again and hastily pull up my trousers. It’s strange how this intense pleasure has sobered me up because now my thoughts are razor-sharp and loud: I don’t care if Mindy Williams has a boyfriend and I don’t care who the fuck he is. I have to make her mine. The realization hits me like a shot from a rival gang, and I just know it's the truth.

Gradually, I force myself to return to the present moment and let out a heavy sigh. I allow myself a few moments before calling my other brother, Timofey. He answers right away.

"Timo. How is Mother today?” I ask.

"She’s having one of her good days, bratok. She hasn’t asked about Cordelia today.”

Cordelia.

Hearing my daughter's name is always a spear in my heart.

"That’s something," I say. "Let’s do our best to keep it that way.”

"It’s not like we have any influence over her condition, Maron. You know that.”

Yes, I fucking know that. Timofey is right. Mother has vascular dementia. It's a bitch of a disease. Her personality is disintegrating right before our eyes. She has good days and bad days. On her good days, she resembles her old self, but on the bad ones, boy, she struggles immensely. And we struggle with her. 

On those bad days, she keeps asking about Cordelia, my late daughter.

Cordelia had Down syndrome and she was the most beautiful soul ever born into this fucked-up world. She passed away from heart disease when she was just eight years old. My beautiful baby girl. Her system couldn’t fight the heart disease that came with her Down syndrome. Cordelia was the light of my life. And I will never, ever get over that fucking pain I have over losing her.

My mother and Cordelia were tight. Like soulmates. They completed each other, like pieces of a broken puzzle. And even now, she still clings to her precious granddaughter. In my mother's deteriorating mind, where time, space, and context often become jumbled together, Cordelia remains a fixed point, a constant presence she remembers without fail.

Except she can’t seem to process that Cordelia’s no longer with us. Sometimes she wanders the house in the dead of night, looking for her. There’s nothing we can do about it. It breaks my fucking heart.

Whenever Mother has a good day, I can't help but hold onto false hope that maybe she will get better. But deep down, I know the truth. She's never going to get better. If anything, she’s just going to get worse. That's what the doctors keep telling us. Dementia is a gradual thing, they say. It can stay the same for a while, but then, something happens in the brain, and the next thing you know is that your mother is no longer the person she used to be.

Heaving a sigh, I place the phone back on its base and sink back into my office chair, feeling exhausted. The weight of everything on my shoulders is almost suffocating, but I don't want anyone to see it. Shutting my eyes, I let my mind drift to thoughts of Mindy. Her body. Her curves. The way she pleasures herself in that video. And for a few minutes, I allow myself to enjoy these thoughts.

For now, everything else can wait.