by H. A. Nicola
She opened wide, using her hands as stirrups, to support the elevation and allowed him to take her on his ride at his pace, as his wings unfurled and carried him deeper still.
He paused for a moment, spinning her around until she was on all fours. After sinking his teeth into her glutes, making her release an agonisingly satisfying groan, he grabbed her hair which she was pleased she had secured with precision. He entered her again from behind, using his grip to pull her back from the ricochet of his thrust.
Without sound, she could tell he was unloading. She tried to imagine that it was pouring into her as opposed to the rubber constraint that embraced him.
When he pulled it off, it was almost half-full of him. Together they watched as the last drops filtered in.
She lay back enjoying the sensation of her pussy feeling alive again, but yet, the yearning for more was unrelenting.
Somehow, he must have sensed her dissatisfaction. She hadn’t come, and this seemed to frustrate him.
Aggressively, he scrambled beneath the covers, lifting her buttocks off the bed and pulling her towards his open mouth. She sighed deeply knowing that she was climbing. Momentarily, she toyed with the idea of delaying her satisfaction, but the sweet sensation was far too moreish. The tension was building deep inside her. She was silently willing him to take her right to the edge. She needn’t have worried. He was valiantly whisking her to the heights he had just encountered. Determined to show her the sights and sounds from another altitude, and there was no more hesitation as she careered off the precipice.
Chapter 28
“Hello, I’m here for Ocean’s annual review.” Cayenne peered over the extra-high circular counter that formed the reception desk at Ocean’s school.
“Errr, okay, if you would like to take a seat, I’ll let Assiah know that you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
Cayenne retreated to the small seating area with its spindly grey sofa. She looked up at the artwork on the wall made from what looked like papier-mache and bits of coloured fabric, depicting a Phoenix rising from the ashes. She considered how apt it was, as it represented a school that took children with learning difficulties and developmental restrictions and helped them arise from the limitations of their challenges to reach their full potential.
Assiah, a mixed race lady with blonde, tinged spiral curls appeared at the glass security door at the other side of the reception desk. Using her fob to operate the door, she stepped forward to greet Cayenne warmly, chatting away in her usual animated fashion as they made their way up in the padded elevator to the fourth floor of the newly built block.
Awaiting them in the informal meeting room was the head of the year, Mrs Catherine Baker. A formidable black woman who Cayenne was slightly wary of. She seemed pleasant enough, but Cayenne had caught her with one sarcastic expression on her face too many.
“Hello, Ms Richards, lovely to see you. Come on in and take a seat. The teacher has just gone to get Ocean; he’ll be here in just a minute.” Mrs Baker was beckoning for her to position herself on one of the two blue chairs facing the door. It was obvious that there was no love lost between the two women. The only difference being that Cayenne was not the type to put on a fake smile for anyone.
Cayenne knew that her son didn’t particularly enjoy seeing his mother in school. He much preferred to keep the two worlds separate.
Moments later, Ocean arrived carrying a selection of various aids and bags and accompanied by Susie Johnston, his speech therapist. A short lady clad in youthful street apparel, sporting a spiky blonde ’80s hairstyle.
Her face dropped when she saw her son who was fiddling mindlessly with what was referred to as ‘his transition aids’ to assist him in travelling around the school and supposedly help him regulate his behaviour.
Cayenne couldn’t help but wonder, how it was that Ocean didn’t seem to need these attachments when travelling around at home or to the local park or superstore or indeed anywhere else that they chose to take him; and if he did, one look from his mother had proven to regulate his behaviour with immediate effect. One of his aids was a cubic-mirrored object. The kind of item that babies fiddled with when teething, which he intermittently placed in his mouth. Cayenne wanted to be sick. At home, she wouldn’t have allowed him to put objects in his mouth. She wondered how they intended for him to succeed the need for such aids. Would he perhaps require more advanced travelling aids to help him progress from these travelling aids? It was a constant challenge for her and Diego to relay to the school the importance of discipline and boundaries for Ocean.
Cayenne tried to take into consideration the fact that the school environment was unique and perhaps Ocean was responding differently as a consequence. But deep down she knew that they simply didn’t feel confident in exerting such authority and implementing her standards, even if it was what he needed.
She knew that Ocean harboured a mischievous nature; and once he sensed that he could get away with pushing the boundaries, he undoubtedly would, often to the extreme.
“Ocean, do you want to press the screen so that Mum can see the work you’ve been doing this term?”
After a few prompts, Ocean responded and touched the whiteboard on the opposite wall.
A selection of pictures uploaded, showing him engaging in various activities in and around the school such as gardening, reading, painting etc., which he proceeded to point at and name.
Cayenne looked on proudly and inwardly thanked herself for having the courage to leave their previous home on the South Coast to move to London in search of an appropriate school for him. They were now reaping the rewards. Ocean and his therapist were excused at this point, probably owing to his short attention span, and he was returned to his classroom activities.
Together with his class teacher and head of year, they perused his report and began setting and affirming goals to attain going forward in the term ahead. Cayenne took this opportunity to reinforce that Ocean should be encouraged to take responsibility for his choices; as those behaviours that they seemed so happy to overlook, were to her mind, his definite choices which to her mind, should be followed by a consequence.
Assiah escorted her back to reception, and soon she was strolling back towards the main road and contemplating whether or not to nip into Westfield again when her phone buzzed immediately upon turning it on.
“Bet you look casually gorgeous.”
“That’s right.”
“Can you meet me in Chanel at midday?”
Cayenne was still rather peeved by the events of earlier in the week when the stranger had invited her to the newly opened bar on the 30th floor of the recently refurbished Novotel. A beautifully constructed open-plan restaurant bar that was spread over two floors with an outdoor terrace, overlooking the River Thames, with panoramic views of the city.
They had met for a quick drink, but he had insisted on showing her the refreshed décor of one of the new suites. Quickly their clothes had been discarded as they rolled around on the immaculately laid bed. The tour had ended the moment he held her in his arms, feeling for her panty less ass before instantly dropping before her as a sign of devoted pussy worship. Smelling and nuzzling into the softness of her pubic strands, using the tip of his tongue to stroke the centre of her in delicate pursuit.
She had placed her cosmopolitan down on the bedside table whilst he kept hold of his glass of Jack Daniels. Using his free hand, he pressed her to lay on her back and lifted her legs one at a time into the air. She closed her eyes and studied the freshly coated ceiling as he supped the remaining dregs of J D from the lobes of her cunt.
She tugged at his belt and unleashed his hardened cock, which protruded to form a triangle in his underpants. He had aroused her to the point of desperate hunger, and she needed him to answer the call.
He had been willing, most certainly. However, his hunger caused him to malfunction, and any promise she may have desired him to fulfil was now deposited elsewhere as he struggled to maintai
n his composure.
“Sorry. I think I wanted you too much.” He had offered remorsefully.
She knew she ought to be sympathetic as she battled with her own disappointment.
As she made her way to meet him, she knew that he would be full of disdain for yet another poor performance.
Usually, they sat opposite each other; but today, he opted to slide in next to her in the booth at the far end of the shop. That way he could slip his fingers beneath the table whilst in the midst of conversation and strum harmonies on her pussy, watching her eyes glaze over as she struggled to contain the evidence of her arousal.
He had bought them a cappuccino and a selection of sandwiches that he thought she might like. All of a healthy nature which she considered very thoughtful of him. It took all of her concentration to finish her lunch whilst being simultaneously finger-fucked.
“I’m going to be smelling of your juice throughout my meeting this afternoon.”
“Good. I hope every intake of breath delivers the incense of dripping chocolate pussy juice. My essence will be the silent participant. I want you to harden whilst battling to concentrate. Pity I couldn’t crawl under the board room table and unzip your gold exec cock and suck it dry.”
As usual, they continued the conversation via email as they parted company.
“Bad bad girl… Keep going… I’m not really taking much notice here, wishing I was still using my gold benefits.”
"It’s such a damn pity that our liaison was so brief. You certainly haven’t left me with the impression of delivering a gold-executive fuck. Whilst very enjoyable, I’d say it was most definitely a three-star which equates to a bronze.
How I wonder what a gold-executive fuck feels like… or better still, a premium fuck. My deflated pussy has now arrived home. It’s dejection weighs heavily on me.
Any interesting bitches in that boardroom?"
“I wish it was that interesting… I’m trying to assess whether I can come back and see you.”
"I bet you secretly obsess over their parched pussies, don’t you?
You secretly like the dryness, I suspect. Probably have to carry around lube in your attaché case. I bet you are inwardly pleased that your cock slips easily into their enlarged cunts. That’s why you left me dripping… because you don’t really want tight, hot black pussy, do you?
Do you realise how frustrating it is to have a fucking starved pussy?
Where oh, where can I find a premium fuck?"
“The greedy executive is aware he was selfish today and just took what he wanted. He wants to make amends…”
“Not sure you deserve another opportunity. Who walks away from moist hot pussy?”
"You’re right, it was fucking insane. I’m sorry I got arrogant.
The toy got arrogant after he got blacked—he thought he knew it all, that he had it all sussed. Stupid white minion."
"On that note. Au revoir.
You just ran out of chances. Guess the gold card doesn’t get you everything."
“Oh dear, the white fuck toy now desperately wants to revert. I was only joking. I was trying to make you laugh.”
“I trust your next minority conquest will be suitably impressed with your gold status.”
"Can just imagine you smirking as you utterly torment me. This executive needs to remember his place. That he is his Queen’s toy. His arrogance needs to remain in the boardroom. He must remember his mistress is royalty. Any threat of exclusion from her regal chocolate pussy would mean starvation and destruction.
I am going to book the Westbury Queen suite for her majesty… details to follow."
Chapter 29
She stood for quite some time staring up at the discreet polished entrance of the Westbury. It wasn’t quite what she had expected. Somehow, she had envisaged a huge grand entrance and had even worn comfortable, yet still sexy, high-heeled platform boots, just so as to navigate the lengths of the gravel driveway that she had prepared herself to encounter. She was all but ready to take in the landscaped grounds and the sophisticated lighting guiding its guests into its luxurious lair.
She approached the narrow car park at the front of the building and stepped past the attendant and the doorman—who were both dressed immaculately with tall top hats, with a black velvet strip around the base which coordinated perfectly with their thin silk black-and-gold ties and straight leg trousers with seams that could cut through paper.
At either side of the glass doors were four large windows, each framed with white stone panels which set them apart from the granite stone of the rest of the building. Vibrant assortments of shrubbery were delicately dangling to the ground underneath the windows, giving the appearance of a large decadent private home rather than a hotel entrance, except that the grand glass-panelled canopy overhead, with extravagant lighting and various flags protruding above, rather gave it away.
She stepped into the grand hallway where the glass-panelling theme on the ceiling continued on the inside; the only difference being its colour was a deep bronze to match the golden hues of the interior.
The reception area was dotted with large marble-clad columns creating discreet seating areas, with luxurious accessories and elegant free-standing vases bursting with fresh flowers providing a pop of colour in the sea of marble.
The reception desks, two mahogany planks set back on one side of a wide-carpeted corridor, which boasted antique-looking leather chairs with striped cushions in sets of two, as far as she could see, was bustling with people coming and going. There was so much activity, that at first, she didn’t know which way to turn; her rose-gold sunglasses perched on her nose impeding her vision further.
At that moment, the stranger arose from one of the discreet leather chairs. He had been waiting for her. He strolled towards her in his blue trousers and crisp white shirt, and she dipped her glasses to allow her to peer over the top to make sure it was indeed him.
His face broke out into a warm appreciative smile as he reached out his arms for an embrace.
“Crikey, did you get lost?” He glanced at his Rolex watch feigning irritation.
She hadn’t realised that she had clearly spent too much time flitting around Mayfair, stopping to take a selfie outside Liberties to show the children and marvelling at the exclusive boutiques that lined the back streets, that never seemed to have enough people in them to warrant their existence.
“Sorry. Am I very late?” It made a change for him to be the first to arrive.
He looked at her with mock exasperation and guided her hurriedly towards the Michelin-starred Alyn Williams restaurant that he had waxed lyrical about in his emails.
He had pre-booked one of the many small round tables which were covered in expensive white silk cloths, complementing the cream velvet chairs either side.
As usual, they found themselves seated in a discreet corner.
Living up to the high praise and effusive build-up regarding the high-end European cuisine, together they tucked into the pumpkin soup with foie gras and chestnuts with grilled mackerel and black radish—her choice—and the poached halibut, braised cumbrian beef with cucumber swede, which was his preference, complemented with the finest Prosecco on the menu. As usual, he barely touched his. She would have quite fancied a dessert after eyeing up some delicious fromage blanc and pear meringue being served at the neighbouring table, but she could sense his impatience.
The way he had watched her eat, as though taking note of precisely how to devour her once her restricting thongs were removed. At times, she could feel his eyes narrow behind his glasses as though willing her to hurry up. Desperate for another taste. She knew that had she ordered dessert, it would have been a stroke too far. He stood little chance of being able to sit idly, salivating as she licked the coconut ice cream from her spoon, when all he wanted to do was recapture her own authentic coconut essence.
She could feel the pinch of his insistence as he cupped her elbow and steered her toward the elevator. There was no hope
of her being allowed to digest her food in the ambience of the world-renowned restaurant. Once he had placed her leg on the metal railing and waited for their ascent to the Penthouse, he nuzzled so delicately amongst her vaginal shrubbery that she really didn’t wish to complain. His free hand mercilessly pinched her hardened nipples, as if to punish her for delaying this moment. She was quite certain, had it not been for the presence of housekeeping as the lift doors opened, he would have happily carried her to the room without removing his tongue from her intimate folds.
She needn’t have worried. The vaginal onslaught continued apace; his licks so fervent that she clutched the indigo velvet throw beneath her and held her breath.
With raw passion, she found herself grabbing his hair; his precious hair that wrapped itself around her fingers, pulling him out of her, forcing him to look into her eyes. Having removed his glasses, his eyes were only half-open, waiting for her to come into focus.
Her voice was deep and throaty, “Suck this pussy. Fucking eat the coconut cream, do you hear me?”
Her words infused him with gumption; and before she could even release him for further pursuit, he yanked his head from her grasp, and the force of him pushed her onto her back with her legs in the air. She felt him prize her open using his hands as forceps. He looked longingly into her open cunt, willing her juice to come forth in lashings, yearning to be swathed in her, drowned in her. She let her upper body relax and concentrated her mind on the rumbling taking place deep within the source of her volcanic rupture. His tongue action was so acute, so precisely fine-tuned that it didn’t take long for her breath to begin to shorten, and the tension to build. She traced the route of her ecstasy as it crept through the inner workings of her vagina. She grabbed his shoulders to hold him in place in case he adjusted his pace, encouraging him to continue without restraint. Pulling him deep inside, and just as the flow approached the pinnacle, she twisted her torso so that his mouth was directly in line with her parting. She didn’t want him to waste a drop.