James & Marsha: Study in Scarlett Ch. 01

James & Marsha: Study in Scarlett Ch. 01

James and Marsha were a modern couple in that both worked long, exhausting hours, their free time was consumed by basic house upkeep, familial obligations, and a modicum of relaxation after work. James worked an office job, the type that meant his daily exercise was stretching at his desk and the that the only sun he got was the blue etheric light of the computer screen. Marsha, meanwhile, worked twelve hour shifts at the warehouse. She got more exercise than James, sure, but she still spent a considerable amount of time in the forklifts. They loved each other, James and Marsha did, but things with them began to devolve into the relational entropy known as routine.

Each day would begin at 4 am, when James would wake up. He would get showered, clean up, and do all the related hygienical necessities, after which he would be on the road by 0430 for the leisurely hour drive through morning city traffic. Marsha, meanwhile would either wake up with James or still be working. Her shifts were 5 to 5, and she found herself being bounced around first and second shift near constantly. Her routine, on first shift, was to wake up with James, also do her morning bathroom routine, and then read a bit while eating toast, a bagel, or a bowl of cereal, along with a large cup of coffee. She would leave approximately fifteen minutes after James, and be at work by 5. 

James and Marsha were not the most fit individuals, but neither thought less of the other. Indeed, they loved each other quite dearly. That didn't stop James and Marsha from being self-conscious about their paunches. James had a more noticeable paunch, but he managed to carry it with his rather tall height. Indeed, many people looked at him at saw a small mountain with nutmeg eyes and thick black hair. Marsha on the other hand was shorter, stockier, and had a crown of crimson curls that poofed out like peacock's feathers if she didn't keep it in check.

It was one evening, after Marsha had worked a 12, and James had worked a 10, that they sat staring at the screen, relaxing after the work and the drive, that Marsha finally spoke up.

"Jimmy," she said, looking up from her phone, "I'm bored."

James also tore his gaze from his phone, looking over at her from his old brown recliner.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Well, I want to spice things up." She replied.

"Like, sexually?" he asked, a slight frown on his face. 

"Yes, sexually," she said, a tone of slight irritation in her voice. 

James knew that tone well. It was the tone that accompanied working four twelves for a month straight, a tone of annoyance born from exhaustion. Normally when she got exhausted, he would buy her favorite wine and then spend an evening massaging her. James loved those evenings, even though he hated the fact that her work drove her to exhaustion so frequently. 

"What are you thinking then, dear?" he asked. They had been together for two years now, living together in their cramped apartment for one, and in all that time, he had never told her of the porn he enjoyed reading and watching, the type that included women suspended from ropes in knots, of women on swings, of women with thick thighs that deserved worship.

Marsha was just as delinquent. She was nervous of how he'd view her if he found out that she enjoyed videos where men with beards of all types were bent over and fucked by a powerful woman in a strap-on, stories where a normal housewife was confronted by two men and then road their thick cocks until all involved collapsed in a sweaty, sticky pile of exhausted and satisfied limbs. But now she couldn't take it anymore. She had to say something.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy sex with James. She did. He was a tender partner, a partner who seemed to worship every piece of her if he had it his way. He wasn't the most skilled she'd been with, nor did he last the longest, but it was James, and that made all the difference. 

"I want to try some roleplay." she said.

James choked on the glass of water he'd been sipping. He'd tried roleplaying in the past with one of his exes, but it didn't work out very well for either party. To begin with his partner suggested a level of dirty talk and roughness that James was not comfortable with at the time, and it only got worse from there. 

"Look, if you're not into it..." she began, a nervous quiver to her voice. She looked down, a blush spreading across her pale face. She brushed a loose strand of red hair from her face.

"No! That sounds fun!" James said. It was something he could revisit. His previous partner had been...unkind, whereas Marsha was a sweet woman, someone who made him feel needed and loved. He loved the salty taste of her skin after a long day at work, the sweet softness of her lips, the taste of her pussy. He loved to feel her around his head, feel her legs contract, feel her hands on his back. She was so tactile, so vibrant, so unlike his ex.

"Are you sure?" she asked, still nervous. 

"Yeah!" James said, just as nervous. But he felt an excitement inside him, a jittery kind of warmth that started at his feet and spread through his body. He grinned at her stupidly.

Marsha grinned back. James stood up from his old brown recliner and walked over to Martha's recliner, an old green model. It wasn't a long walk as the living room contained a singular television mounted on the wall, the two battered, second-hand recliners, and a wooden coffee table between them. 

James got down on his knees in front of Marsha and brought his hands up to her cheeks. He held her face as he kissed her, feeling the familiar contours of her lips on his. Her lips were winter-chapped, and the slight scratch was just as familiar as her lips, a part of her. She kissed him back and he felt her lips part in a grin. He kissed her harder then, his hands slipping under her loose t-shirt and up her sides, lightly cupping her breasts. 

Marsha's breath caught, and she reached down and began to lift his t-shirt up. Her t-shirt was off soon after, and James was tugging at her red sweatpants. She lifted her legs up on the chair, and soon both the pants and her cotton underwear soon followed, exposing her plump and hair pussy. Marsha didn't shave, and James had no problem with that, sans the occasional ginger hair in his nose when he went down on her. Some nights he liked to tease her, licking up her inner thighs, kissing her outer lips, gently caressing and teasing, but tonight he dove straight in. Marsha had been on second shift, and he had been working overtime in the office, so they hadn't had sex in over a month, and both were suffering. 

He took her clit in his mouth, sucking it in the way he knew would drive her wild. Marsha's breath began to get ragged, her legs tensing around him. She was so wound and the sudden attack on her clitoris sent a wave of shock through her. She reached out, gripping his hair in her hands. She felt the pleasure building, the month of want and need washing through her. He moved his tongue into her warm slit then, tasting her warm, sharp sweetness. She began to moan above him, losing herself in the moment. 

James took a moment to breathe, feeling his painfully hard erection still stuck in his slacks. 

Marsha above him also took the time to breathe. 

"Wait a second," she gasped. He stopped and looked up at her.

She stood up from her chair on shaky legs, leaving a dark wet stain on the cushion. 

"Let's. Let's move this to the bed, ok?" she said, her voice breathy.

"Sure," James said, wiping his juice covered cheeks off on his arm. 

"And," Marsha said, " When we do, can I wear this?"

She reached next to her chair and pulled out a plastic package from a shopping bag. Opening the package, she dumped out a bright red wig.

"Ok." James said.

And," she continued, "when we do, you know, can you call me Scarlett?"

James stood up, his pants down now, his cock erect. He pulled her close and kissed her again, then awkwardly said, "Yes, M- Miss Scarlett."

Scarlett wrapped her arms around James tightly, the wig clasped in her fist, tasting herself on her lover's lips. 

to be continued