Christa by Keziah Hill

Episode 7—Christa
    Christa Forsyth hurried along the street, desperate to get to the dry cleaners in time to pick up Marc’s best Master of the Universe suit. Then she’d have to brave peak hour traffic to pick him up at the airport.
    The late afternoon sun was warm on her skin and a light breeze carried the smell of the sea. She loved this Sydney harbourside suburb. Couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Although her mind was full of suits and cars and Marc, she thanked her lucky stars, and all the gods combined, she’d made it out of the hot, dry plains of country New South Wales. She loved her family, but a life struggling to make ends meet on the land was not for her.
    Instead she’d found Marc and they’d created their unique life.
    Even as she hurried, she smiled to herself, wondering if the ladies of the Double D Club knew just how unique her life was. Some them would be scandalised if they knew about the last play date she and Marc had arranged. The Consul General of a small European principality had enthusiastically fucked her in all sorts of satisfactory ways. A man in his prime, all tanned muscles and European civility, he’d bent her over the hotel couch and used his well-sized cock to great effect. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the hotel room while Marc watched, the smoke from his thin cigarillo drifting up in a lazy spiral. She’d turned her head and watched him watching the other man’s cock pound in and out of her and came, hard. She always did.
    She stumbled a little and focused on the task ahead. She was the wife of a prominent plastic surgeon who needed his dry cleaning picked up. Fun was for later.
    Christa knew Marc would get off the plane with a raggedy beard, scruffy khaki pants and a thousand mile stare. Once she’d accompanied him on one of his surgical trips to Mozambique and found out where that stare came from. She saw the horror of people, many of them children, limbless or with terrible scarring on their face or torsos, waiting for a miracle, for someone like Marc to work his magic and make their lives bearable again.
    She’d been so proud of him and so grateful for their life together, she’d returned to Australia with a renewed enthusiasm for the foundation they’d set up, to raise money for doctors who provided surgery in countries for people with no access such expertise. So what if some of her fundraising activities were a little unorthodox? They got results.
    She and Marc worked hard to be A-listers, a power couple with access to the movers and shakers in Australia. Christa had no hesitation and no shame in hitting up the rich and powerful for every dollar she could get. It was unfortunate that she’d scheduled a cocktail party for tomorrow night, when Marc might still be in the throes of jet lag, but that couldn’t be helped. Their impossible schedules made any other day out of the question.
    â€œWait, wait,” she yelled, running as fast as she could on her Louboutins. The dry cleaners were about to close. Effie looked up from where she was struggling with the lock and rolled her eyes, but as always, with a smile.
    â€œCome on then, Ms Forsyth. Just for you. I suppose it’s that gorgeous charcoal grey Armani?”
    â€œThanks Effie, you’re a life saver,” Christa said, breathless.
    As Effie rifled through the plastic-covered suits and dresses in the back room, another woman burst through the door.
    â€œTell me I’m not too late,” she said, like Christa, breathing hard from running.
    Christa smiled, instantly recognising her. Elizabeth Underwood, the CEO of Ozbank, the largest and oldest bank in Australia. She’d only been in the position for three months, sending shock waves through the business community, not only because she was a woman and relatively young, but also because her of her combined skills of innovation and ruthlessness. The boys’ club had definitely