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As Wyatt patrolled the outside of the Standburg mansion, he puffed on the e-cigarette they had given him as a gift for his loyal service. The warmth the e-cigarette sent throughout his body was welcome as the heat of summer had given way to frequent cold snaps.
He had little time to marvel at the technology. Hoodlums were active in the area yet again. Wyatt had worked hard to drive them off last time. They must have known he was only one man, and that however competent, by constantly poking at his defenses they would pop ... If he slipped up, the mansion would be raided, occupants terrorized, and the news would intimidate the other wealthy members of the community.
Did they deserve it or was the anger of the poor directed at the wrong targets. It wasn’t his job to figure it out, better to leave the issue to the politicians and the intellectuals. His job was to protect the Standburgs and they paid him damn good money to do it. For if it wasn’t for their patronage, he’d be like the hoodlums, wasting away his days looking for trouble and often finding it.
All he knew for sure was that even he would not want to confront someone like himself. Tall, dark and with muscles bulging through his high-tech body armor, he was a vision of intimidation. Finally, a use for his scary disposition.
A tingle went up his spine. Someone was behind him. He whipped around and closed his large hands around the throat of the stalker, pushing them up against the wall of the mansion.
In his grasp was Amy, the Standburg’s maid. He easily held the petite woman off the ground, so her legs dangled above the ground. Her face was a mask of fear. She did not scream.
Releasing her but taking his time, he sighed. “Damn it, Amy. I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that.”
“Apologies Mr. Wyatt. I was trying to have some fun with you.”
“When I feel threatened, I attack first and see what I’m dealing with later. Unless you find it fun to get pinned against the wall with a hand around your little neck, you should stop. OK?”
Massaging her neck, she nodded, a smile on her face. Did she think this was funny? He couldn’t get a read on this young woman. That she was a loyal maid and a hard worker were all he knew of her. He marveled at how she kept that huge place clean by herself.
He hoped she came to him for a purpose. “Do the Standburgs need me?”
After a little cough, she answered. “Yes. Please come with me.”
As he followed her past the walls, through the gates, and into the mansion he asked himself why they didn’t radio him or call his phone. They themselves had insured the security of his communication equipment, saying that it could survive an EMP-like event. He was more worried about eaves dropping, but the wealthy had their quirks. Ms. Standburg did enjoy her prepper TV.
Though he knew his way around inside the mansion well enough, his focus and his time were spent mainly on the on the security of the grounds outside of the building. That the many unused rooms could be a security threat wasn’t important to him.
After being escorted past glimmering chandeliers and ornately designed tiled ceilings and floors, they reached the dining room used for meetings. Mr. Standburg sat with folders piled neatly under his intertwined fingers while Ms. Standburg lounged on a couch with carved lions on the sides, the cushioning was green and the pillows a strange shade of pink. She puffed a cigarette, a real one, as she dangled a pale leg off the couch.
As she turned to him, her robe parted, revealing her cleavage. Wyatt thought, “Only a big set of hooters could provide a cleavage like that.”
“With our work, we don’t often get to see you, Wyatt. It’s good to see you again.”
As she took another puff of her cigarette the color of the smoke hinted that it was filled with something other than tobacco. He said. “It is good to see you too Ms. Standburg.” With the flimsy clothes she liked to wear around the house it always was. Wyatt always got a helping of bare folded legs when she sat or an exposed side of her breasts when she dressed for a party.
“Please sit Wyatt.” Mr. Standburg gestured to one of two seats at the table. It seemed Ms. Standburg would stay on the couch.
He took a seat at the table. Amy served him a glass of wine from the decanter sitting on the table. Thanks,” he said. Amy nodded and went to serve Ms. Standburg a drink.
Mr. Standburg waited for him to drink some wine before speaking again. “Wyatt. What is your opinion of the town’s situation?”
“You mean the crime? It’s not my job. I only protect you two. Don’t worry, you’re both safe. If needs be, I will take preemptive action.”
A light flickered in the smaller man’s eyes. “Yes, I know you would. But the point of preemptive action is stopping a problem before it becomes one.”
Wyatt held a hand up for his boss to stop talking. “For legal reasons, you should not say any more.”
Mr. Standburg chuckled. “That kind of advice is the reason I asked you here.
“Don’t beat around the bush darling. Wyatt, our community is small and our social circle even smaller. We often get bored and lonely. It has led to a worrying trend,” Ms. Standburg said from the couch.
Wyatt thought, now she was the one beating around the bush. “What is this trend?”
“Cheating. Affairs. The taking of mistresses and lovers. But we have a solution. We want you to cuckold them.”
Wyatt stayed silent for a beat, making sure he’d heard right. Then kept his mouth shut for another beat before rolling his eyes and exhaling audibly as he thought. “God damn it. White people ask me this all the time.” Saying this out loud could risk his job but he was tired of it. Fucking Ms. Standburg would be a pleasure, but he liked Mr. Standburg and would take no pleasure in humiliating him, even if that is what he wanted. “Me being black and having a big dick does not mean I’ll fuck on request. I thought we had a better working relationship than this.” OK, now he was being a little self-righteous, for he spent plenty of time ogling Ms. Standburg when she wasn’t paying attention.
Mr. Standburg hastily said. “It’s not about race Wyatt.” At Wyatt’s raised brow, he went on. “I believe you are misunderstanding; we want you to cuckold them, not us.”
Another beat. “You want me to sleep with other people’s wives.” Like a gigolo. So much better.
“Yes. You would be doing a great service to the community.”
“Oh, how so?” Wyatt said, amusement showing.
“Affairs are expected when it comes to rich men like me. It is even encouraged. For women, it is a different story.”
“We are expected to sit at home and wait for our husbands to come back from some lower-class tart and put a smile on our faces,” Ms. Standburg said. “This will not change but there is a loophole in people’s perceptions. Cheating by women is frowned upon, seduction, however, is almost admired.”
Now he understood. “So, I am to play the role of home wrecker. If anyone finds out, the woman is the victim of a silver long-tongued stud.”
“That’s it exactly!” Mr. Standburg burst out.
Wyatt took in the mood of each of them. One ecstatic the other casual: laying on her couch. Both assumed he’d already said yes. “I need to think about this. Excuse me.”
Before he left Ms. Standburg asked with a mischievous smile, “Is your tongue really as long as you say?”.
Marketing advanced technology had provided the Standburgs enough wealth to have hired a troop of private security people ... Instead, they’d only hired him, asking few questions, and waving away his violent history. He had assumed their hiring of a single guard for the massive property was to retain their privacy. Now he knew better. They’d been working up to this. His true purpose was to serve as a stud to please their fetish. He felt betrayed. Used.
No wonder people hated them.
He tried to stay in his private rooms in the sectioned off wing of the mansion, but he was too restless. Heading out into the freezing weather, he was shivering as much from his anger as he did from the cold. The e-cig that used to warm him, now tasted sour in his mouth.
He called his friend Josh to set up a meeting at his favorite restaurant. Josh never minded Wyatt’s calling him to bitch and moan, as long as he slipped in a comment about Ms. Standburg’s looks.
When he entered the restaurant, Josh was already waiting for him: stuffing his face with marinated fish. Probably on Wyatt’s tab.
“Thanks for waiting for me,” Wyatt joked, sarcastically, taking a seat across from his friend.
Not getting the sarcasm or ignoring it, Josh said. “No problem. You sounded pretty cheesed on the phone. Did the little husband finally ask you to screw his wife?”
“ ... what?”
“Oh, am I wrong. Maybe they want to wait another year.”
“How did you know?” he tried to keep his voice down and failed. The other patrons of the restaurant gave them reproachful glares.
Josh finished his food and spoke. “It’s obvious. Your record makes you unemployable for anything else. Plus, that couple has access to fancy technology. Why hire guards when they can get a super advanced security system with lasers and shit.”
“That...” That was a good question. One he should have asked but was too elated at finding a good job. He held his head in his hand. How foolish he had been.
Josh reached over to pat him on the shoulder. “Sorry. I really thought you knew or at least had some idea. Shit. What are you going to do?”
“Say no. No amount of money is worth my pride.”
A waiter came to refill Josh’s drink, but he waved the man away, his eyes never leaving Wyatt. “If we weren’t in public, I would slap the black off your face. Your pride!” and now the restaurant goers openly glared at them, but Josh cared little for their opinion. “Where is the pride in hunting for a minimum wage job for months? Where is the pride in begging your boss to keep that job and then getting replaced by robots, anyway? Is there pride in searching through garbage to eat?”
“Josh, what I meant is--”
“What you meant is that you know this is a good gig and are embarrassed to take it. Boo hoo, sexy rich women want me to fuck them. You struck gold and you know it. You are taking this job, Wyatt. That’s why you came to me, to convince you. You know I am not going to tell you not to do it. All this is kabuki theater.”
He flushed, somewhat ashamed. Josh was right of course. Anyone would jump at the offer and that included Josh. He already had his answer. “Thanks, man. Sometimes you are wise.”
Josh had returned to stuffing his face with what he thought was ... he wanted to say some form of bird?
With a honey coated feather falling from his mouth, Josh spewed out. “Sometimes?”
When he returned to the mansion, the Standburgs were gone and Amy waited for him in his room. She was still in the classic maid’s uniform which had been altered so that the leather bodice was now large enough to contain the upper swell of her breasts. Standing in fine strapped heels unsuited for her work, she wordlessly handed him a set of folders. They were the same ones that Mr. Standburg had at the dining table.
He took the files but made his frustration clear... “So, they expected me to take the job and left. Couldn’t bother talking to the fuck-boy, aye.”
Amy ignored his complaints and briefed him on his new role. “The ladies you will seduce will not know who you are, and you are not to tell them. This would blow your cover and end the operation. You are not to confront their husbands unless they see and approach you. In that case, you are to act as the seducer, making it clear your role in their wife’s debauchery.”
“Provide cover for the lady. Got it. Anything else boss.”
“There is a time limit for each job. It is rare for women of such wealth to be alone for long periods of time. You must avoid paparazzi, reporters, or any other followers of the rich.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Still, she ignored his anger. She nodded and left his room without so much as a goodbye. He felt like putting his hand around her throat again but decided against it. He was not that violent boy from the past. He nutted up and got to work.
Having little time to prepare, Wyatt had snatched the devices he used to investigate intruders and repurposed them to spy on a new type of target: Rich women.
His first target was Clare, a self-made woman whose marriage to her husband, the CEO of a logistics company, expanded her chain of restaurants across the globe. She was giving a surprise tour of one of those restaurants in the community. If the staff could not serve her own community correctly, it would reflect negatively on the entire business.
She took a single delicate finger and ran it along the table in front of her. Flicking a loose strand of brown hair from her face, she inspected her finger for dust. The staff flanked her from both sides waiting anxiously for her judgment. The stern expression lifted, and her face bloomed.
The staff collectively let out the breath they’d held and congratulated each other. This successful inspection would lead to a healthy bonus in their next pay. The lady was generous but if they had failed, their paychecks would be a distant memory.
Finished with her tour, Clare headed for her car. Once her business was completed, she didn’t like to linger.
This was his moment. He entered a code on his phone and the hum of her car started. She stopped, confused. He finished entering the second code, the location of a park on the other side of town.
The engine revved up, and the car left Clare on the sidewalk, a look of shock on her face. Now was his chance.
He left his own car to stride up to her, keeping his face a mask of sympathy. “Robots, are usually unfeeling and perfect. But I have to say your vehicle has an attitude.” Everyone liked robot jokes.
She shook off her shock to give him a polite laugh. “Ah, yes. It has been acting up lately.”
He was to blame for that as well. It would seem fishy otherwise. “I saw you at that restaurant, I have never been. Is it good?”
“The best! Try the veal dishes. Expensive but worth every bite.”
“Thank you. I’ve heard good things, but it Is always nice to hear from a real person.”
Clare looked up at the overcast sky. “I need to make a call. Let’s go inside.
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