Chapter 2

The depressed angel Mark and I had been back on earth close to three months before I finally calmed down into a schedule that gave me time to take care of business at the massage parlor and attend to Mark’s oversexed psyche at home. We had acquired a companion of sorts in Monique from the Nail Spa down on the corner with her diminutive boobs and her hungry pussy that needed filling constantly preferably with strange cock.

I confess I used Monique’s sexual appetite to take the edge off Mark’s desires several times each week just to give me some breathing room when it came to physical demands.

She moved right into our place with little fanfare, and we took advantage of her skills to get free manicures and pedicures with her kneeling front of us attending to our nails like a well-trained servant. Notice I don’t say slave because she was quite the independent young female despite her sense of shyness and submission that made her the perfect fit for our household.

The girl was unsurprisingly bisexual, and she would occasionally give me a lick down there to thrill my senses with the touch of her gentle lips on my heavenly pussy. Mark loved to watch her tend to my snatch with her busy little tongue and sometimes he would take her anally as she was between my legs. I know it sounds quite sordid, but we enjoyed using our young bodies in this manner and we were all entirely consenting in the process.

I should mention here that Mark was slightly over 1,000 years old at that time but looked like a twenty year old college boy with soap behind his ears. It was one of the perks of being an angel and he would continue to look that way until he eventually died hopefully many years in the future. He often remarked to me it was a relief to know that he would have a time specific for his demise rather than the pronouncement of eternity as his never-ending span of life. I had passed at age 28 in the fully ripened age of my nubile existence and had kept that appearance up above for the past 7 years in Earth time. The heavenly supervisor had told me I would have a full lifetime on Earth but would also retain my appearance age of 28 until the final day.

Of course, I was overjoyed at the thought of no sagging boobs, no wrinkles on my lovely skin and other signs of aging that humans normally have. It would mean we would probably have to change our residence periodically to avoid unnecessary questions about our “Dorian Grey” impression on friends and neighbors.

I knew that companions such as Monique would have to be discarded as well before she got an inkling of our non-human personalities. It reminded me of an old film I had watched on television called “Highlander” where the Immortals had to change their locations to avoid questions about their lack of aging from those around them. It was a small price to pay for the benefit of not aging and I was ready to accept it as long as I managed to get revenge on my disgustingly disloyal widowed husband and my slutty younger sister with her loose pussy ways.

I had contacted several of the cruise lines to attempt to find out about the elusive Mark the murderer’s habit of booking cruises to find his pussy prey to satisfy his urge for fresh pussy for all night orgies in complete privacy with no place for his victims to go except to a final resting place beneath the briny sea.

My calls discovered that most of the booking agents were reluctant to give up the information, but I managed to use sex as a reward for cooperation regardless of gender in most cases. I usually pretended to be a previous lover with a fetish to meet my lover again on another cruise.

Mark was more than happy to jump into the breach to help me out on this project by offering his body to satisfy some of my female bribe targets for securing the information. In fact, I would enjoy watching him seduce and hump several middle aged females in various hotel rooms giving them his skilled services in straight sex, anal and oral techniques used on their clothed bodies in a display of carnal excess.

It was fun to kiss the women as he played with their lower bodies forcing them into sensual bliss that gave them memories that would last a long time.

Eventually, I came up with three names.

Mark Wilson was a traveling salesman from Peoria, Illinois with a disabled wife at home that he left behind on his sea-going voyages.

Mark Jones was an ex-Marine with PTSD that often went on cruises to meet horny females in a form of “one-night stands” that allowed him to love them and leave them at the end of the cruise.

Finally, there was Mark Brown who was a college professor with Sociology as his main subject and was said to be both good looking and charming with a perfect attitude toward romance.

I set up dossiers on all three and got the schedule for cruises the beginning season.

At the same time, I contacted a private investigator to give me up to date reports of my former husband and his ditzy wife, my younger sister to determine what exactly they were up to.

Their proclivities were stored in my head from my ability to see every little detail of their lifestyle from my view from above. I knew my sister’s filthy habit of dishing out blow jobs to strange delivery guys and my former husband’s hidden stash of porn that he used when my sister was in a bad mood and cut him off for no reason even when he offered to go down on her. I laughed at my uncle Jimmy’s antics when my sister sucked his dick and even gave his back door a few licks for good measure.