Caramel Flava

by Zane

  He thought he was gonna bust a nut just from getting an eye full of her Brickhouse Betty Bangin’ Body. Whoa!

  “From this day forward we don’t hold things back from each other. We share. Right, Rome?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied as he took off his shoes and stepped out of his pants.

  “Let me help you take your first stab at sharing.” She dropped to her knees and with her adept hands began jerking his cock. She licked the tip of his black-brown erection in a slow seductive manner, then hungrily licked along the length of it. Stopping only to suck on one of his nuts. His cock responded by expanding and hardening until it became a thick, veined monster. Then she began sucking and slurping the massive surface of his appendage.

  “Mmm…Mmm…Mmm!” His dick does taste chocolaty. She quickened the pace, he began to buck, and his thighs trembled before he slowly fell to his knees.

  He closed his eyes and threw his head back at the pleasurable intensity of her warm, wet mouth still enveloping his manhood. He now lay flat on his back. When he opened his eyes he looked up to see a white pussy heading toward his face. It had Puta de la Reina tattooed just above the slit.

  “Say ahhh,” said Chelita, who’d long awaited having her pussy detailed.

  Regina also had Rome where she wanted him and drew as much of his dick down her throat as she could. She needed his dick to be nice and slick before she rode him. She wanted him to feel the depths of her throat, making him disappear until her lips met the base and connected with his skin.

  His warm tongue worked on Chelita’s clit for a while. He moved his hands behind her ass cheeks so he could force her pussy further down into his mouth. He ate her pussy like it was a juicy peach. He worked his tongue like a cock, thrusting in and out of her wet pussy. He teased her by blowing cool air on her wet skin, then went back in with his tongue and sucked on her clit until it became swollen.

  Chelita gained strength when she was on the verge of climaxing. She pulled his head in tighter against her swollen lips. She was suffocating him. “Ooooh! Find my spot. Work that tongue, baby. Yes, yessss,” she hissed. “Don’t you fucking stop!” Her eyes rolled up into her head. “Oh, Dyson, I wish I could just stuff your entire fucking head up inside my pussy!” She tried with no success.

  While he was occupied with a mouthful of Chelita’s coochie pie, Regina was preparing to straddle him. Supporting herself on his smooth, buff chest and rock-solid abs, she got into position above his slick erection. Her wet pussy lips spread as they touched the head of his cock and slid down easily to its base.

  Rome grimaced as she began to do figure eights with her pelvis and then bounced her apple-bottom ass up and down like a buck wild cowgirl riding an untamed horse.

  “Damn! You feel so good! Oh, Gawd.” Regina moaned at the wonderful sensation of Rome’s enormous cock hitting her spot on every stroke.

  Chelita pulled her legs back and opened them wider for Rome’s long slithering tongue. She fell back and nestled her head between Regina’s thirty-eights and began nibbling and sucking on one of her nipples until it became a long, stiff delicacy. Her legs quivered violently. “Oooh shit, yeah,” Chelita screamed. She could feel the contractions deep inside her. Everything seemed to just throb with pleasure. Rome always brought her where she wanted to be. “I’m cumming, baby!” Regina pushed Chelita forward. Chelita grabbed Rome’s head again, pressing him tight against her throbbing pussy, and let out a guttural moan as the flood of her juices spurted into his mouth. “Oh…yeah. You love mommy’s milk, don’t you, Dyson?”

  “Um…Mmm,” he grunted as he slurped her clean.

  Rome rolled Chelita off his neck so he could focus on Regina, who was still grinding on his dick. He arched his back, gave one hard thrust, pushing deeper into her. She gasped. He sat up, had her lock her legs around his hips and in one full motion he stood up, switching into a gangsta-style, gun-drawn position. He carried her over to the window, pressing her shoulders against the glass and giving her a few more deep thrusts.

  “Oh, Rome! I love the feel of your cock inside me,” she whispered as she clawed into his back. He thrust faster, harder, deeper, cradling her ass in his hands, opening her wider, stroking her dripping wet pussy up and down his shaft. He then turned her to lie on top of the desk, firmly kneading her breasts and stroking her, over and over.

  She couldn’t take it any longer. She went into a frenzy. “Ah…Ah…Ahhh! I’m…cumming! Cum with me, Rome!” she shouted. Her pussy contracted, squeezing tight around him, sending her into a cry of ecstasy and an explosive orgasm that showered his throbbing cock.

  Rome joined her in a long satisfying climax, pumping her pussy with every drop of his Zulu semen. “Oooh, yeaaaah,” he moaned. Still inside her, sweaty and almost out of breath he collapsed and laid his head between her snuggle puppies. “Regina.”

  “Yes?”

  “I would be glad to assist you with any more upcoming precious projects.”

  She smiled. “Oh, Rome, you’re such a dedicated employee.”

  It Is What It Is

  Sea lo que sea

  Petula Caesar

  I’ve always valued a great personality, intelligence, and inner beauty in women. But as a very handsome man and a partner at a very successful law firm, I had access to what my brother calls “top shelf girls.” So I dated them, and really didn’t pay much attention to other types of women. I’ve always tried to remain modest about my “Brad Pitt good looks” (as one of my exes described me once) and my accomplishments, but honestly, I knew in my heart I deserved the “top shelf girls.” I went to the gym regularly and kept myself well groomed. I was well dressed and interesting. Most important, I made sure I treated the ladies well no matter how serious or casual the involvement. I wasn’t a bad guy. I was just very busy with my career and preferred that a woman’s beauty be…easily accessible. I could get past a not-so-great personality if the woman had a frame that still managed to balance generous breasts, a flat abdomen, and a thin waistline, combined with alluring eyes, a pouting mouth, and a pretty face. I could muddle along for a good while without stimulating conversation or common interests. Or, to quote my wife Evangeline’s words (the very words that bought us together in fact) “Sea lo que sea,” which roughly translated means “it is what it is.”

  The first time Eva and I were naked in bed I stared at her rounded, cocoa-colored abdomen and her breasts topped with fudge-colored nipples that were beginning to slope softly downward. I would watch her breasts sway, bounce, and swing while she rode my dick. I would imagine the wind moving the trees on Isla Verde Beach near her home in San Juan, Puerto Rico. I was surprised that she allowed me to look at her fully undressed the first time, but she did. Her body was sexily imperfect. Her face was pleasingly plain to me at first glance. She possessed two slightly sad, coffee-colored eyes, an ordinary nose, two pale pink full lips, and a smooth, spacious forehead. Her body was a collection of voluptuous, slightly oversized curves that easily led one into the next. When she smiled it was a haunted-looking, closed-mouth curving of her lips that faded quickly. Her hair was long and hung straight down to her generous hips, like a thick sheet of midnight silk or a heavy dark waterfall. But she was completely honest about all these things in her personal ad.

  I started reading El Diario when I was transferred to my firm’s headquarters in New York City. I was looking forward to starting a life far from the comfort of the familiar. Once I got settled I started checking out the personal ads. I wasn’t really sure why. I hated to think of myself as the stereotypical white guy looking to have a sexual experience with a Latina now that I was in the Big Apple. There had been minorities of all kinds around me in college and in law school; they were nothing new to me. I quickly realized how prejudiced that sounded, and stopped trying to prove to myself that I wasn’t racist. I didn’t like struggling with political correctness when I contemplated my dealings with women. Having a conscience was inconvenient as hell sometimes.

  I scoured each ad wi
th my most discerning eye, scrutinizing every word and phrase, looking for any hint of dishonesty, deceit, or mental illness. Anything that sounded too good to be true was immediately dismissed, as was anything sounding too desperate, too freaky, too underage, or illegal. Evangeline’s ad was the only one left at the end of this process. The headline for her ad was “sea lo que sea.” In it she said she wanted a man who would have a “sexship” with her. Not a relationship…a sexship. She said she was looking to “create a sexual rapport with a man, but not necessarily any other kind.” When describing herself she said she was “no great beauty” but “one wouldn’t throw her out of bed.” I was intrigued. There was something about the way she presented herself that had the ring of truth to it. She seemed at ease with herself…which I admired and even envied slightly. I sent her an email, she responded, and we agreed to meet at the Starbucks near my office. On the appointed day she was sitting near the window, peering out anxiously, obviously looking for someone.

  “Excuse me,” I asked as I approached the table. “You’re Evangeline?”

  “And you’re William,” she replied, motioning toward the empty seat at the table.

  “Please sit down. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  She had a beautiful voice. It was very carefully modulated, and precise. It was soft like a caress. It had a rhythm to it that my dick seemed to be able to hear because it began dancing to it as soon as she spoke my name. I had never reacted to a woman’s voice like that.

  I shook my head in response to her as I sat, and began taking mental notes about her physical appearance. In spite of the sexy voice she was just what her ad said she was…an ordinary-looking woman. I released my disappointment with a sigh. Only in that brief moment did I acknowledge that I had some preconceived ideas about what my new Puerto Rican lady-friend would look like. Even though my mind’s eye recorded all the things I didn’t much care for, my dick still seemed interested. She pushed her long hair back from her face and said, “Let’s get down to business. Why did you answer my ad?”

  I hesitated for a moment. She answered her own question, saying, “It’s the no-strings sex, right?”

  “Yeah.” I chuckled. “The whole idea of sex without emotional attachments seems nice on the surface. Not sure how well it really works, though.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “I liked your ‘it is what it is/it is as it is’ headline, once I looked up the translation.”

  “Thank you.” And she smiled her closed-mouth smile.

  “You were pretty up-front about everything you had to offer and everything you wanted. I liked that, so I had to see if it was real.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think you have the most beautiful speaking voice I’ve ever heard.”

  “Again I thank you.”

  “As for whether or not I think you’re being honest, I’ll have to see.” We locked eyes and I felt as if we were about to do battle. “Why are you looking for a no-strings-attached thing, and not a ‘serious relationship’?” I made quotation marks in the air with my fingers as I said “serious relationship.”

  She drained her coffee from her cup and sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. The air around us suddenly filled with tension and sadness. It was as if she were prying herself open with a crowbar. She paused, trying to decide if she wanted to tell me why I was in Starbucks with her today.

  She finally plunged forward. “I’m originally from San Juan, Puerto Rico. I came to the States to attend Columbia University. Once I finished my undergrad, I got my first real job, my first little apartment on my own. I invited my parents here to visit me for Christmas. I was always the one flying there to see them, and I wanted them to come see me for a change. I wanted them to see New York during the holidays. The tree in Rockefeller Center, the Rockettes at Radio City, the decorations everywhere. A complete tourist’s Christmas in New York City. They agreed. I saved up money for months, even took a part-time job so I could pay for everything and make it just perfect. The plane had difficulty landing, it was icy…” She halted there. Her eyes pleaded with me not to make her say the rest. So I didn’t. I could see the shadows of pain and grief lying on her face, completing the sentence for her.

  She continued. “My family, my friends wanted to help, but I didn’t want help. I wanted to mourn quietly by myself. But they were all around me, trying so hard to say the right thing, to do the right thing. Everyone around me saying, ‘Pobre bebé. Que triste es. So much tragedy in her life.’ ”

  I figured that the Spanish she’d spoken probably meant “poor thing” or “poor baby.”

  Clearly becoming uncomfortable, she finished her story. “They asked me to come back to San Juan. I didn’t. I stayed here, went to grad school. It’s been hard sometimes. But I built myself a life on my own terms. And my sex life is built that way too. Anyway, I feel more comfortable with strangers now. I can tell them what I want about myself, or not tell them anything.”

  I took her right hand into mine impulsively. It was cold, even though she had just been holding a hot cup of coffee. The skin was smooth. I rubbed it between both my hands to warm it. I managed to pull an “I see” from my throat. Once her hand got warmer I released it, and I took her left hand into mine to warm it as well.

  “Where do I fit into all of this?” I asked.

  “I do allow myself one form of comfort and release…sex. It is my pain reliever of choice. But I am not promiscuous or inclined to seek out random encounters, so I want one regular partner. A man with a killer tongue and a dick that understands a pussy like it used to be one.”

  She had a way with words. I remembered in her ad she said she was a writer. She looked down at my hands.

  “William,” she said, “your hands are very sexy. Strong. Even though you’re only touching my hands, I can feel your hands all over my body.”

  The way she said my name was driving me crazy. It was the only time her speech was accented, and it was sexier than any naked woman I’d ever seen. And her directness was causing my dick to ache and moan softly. I wondered if she could hear it crying out for her.

  She removed her left hand from mine. Then she took my right hand in hers. Reaching underneath the table, she placed my hand between her legs. Though her hands had been cold, her pussy was hot. Her hair brushed my arm and grazed my hand as she reached for me. It was as soft as her voice. Goose pimples formed on the places her hair had touched. The smell of it wafted over to me…wildflowers. I could taste the sweet scent in my mouth. I looked deeply into her eyes and got lost in their sorrowful cloudiness. My dick got harder, and my breathing became slightly ragged.

  Was I turned on by her words? Was I moved by her story? Her hair, her voice, her eyes…when had I ever cared about any of these things? Tits, asses, hips, legs…that’s what I was into. Accessible beauty. Surface sexiness. Was I experiencing a sympathy erection? I tried to focus on her plain face, too round and too open. But I kept returning to her eyes. The momentary sadness had passed and I found myself gazing at the desire in the pools of cherry blackness. I became more aroused.

  “You mean to tell me it’s that hard to find a man to fuck you,” I asked forcefully, trying to snap myself out of it. I wanted to see if bluntness would unnerve her.

  She met it head-on. “A lot of the men I’ve met assume casual sex means I’m a slut. A lot of men still have that serious Madonna-whore complex. Good girl or bad girl, pick a side and stay on it. My sexuality isn’t that simple by a long shot. They think I’m promiscuous, so they treat me disrespectfully. They seem to feel the absence of a ‘relationship’ ”—now her fingers were making quotation marks in the air—“means an absence of courtesy and consideration. That’s not what I had in mind.”

  My hand was still between her legs, somehow caught there. I pulled my chair closer to her. I extended my index finger and began slowly rubbing against what I estimated to be her clit. The way her hips shifted in her chair told me my aim was perfect.

 
; “What did you have in mind, Evangeline?”

  She opened her legs a bit. She pulled her chair closer. I added another finger to the first and continued to rub her clit. I could hear and feel it throbbing and pulsing.

  “What I want is a man who’ll respect and befriend me enough to make the verbal exchanges that are the preamble to sex comfortable. Then I want the shit fucked out of me.” She reached for my dick, squeezed it, and ran her fingertips across the head. “Very nice,” she said. My dick lunged forward like a race-horse heading for the final stretch.

  “I want casual sex with the same level of respect and deference that occurs in more evolved relationships. How do you feel about that, William?”

  “Evangeline, your hand’s on my dick right now. How do you think I feel?”

  She squeezed me again. I swear I think my dick called her name.

  “I think you feel…just right,” she said. She licked her lips. “I want to suck your dick right this minute. You’re a very handsome, sexy man. Clearly smart. Definitely appealing. I’ve hit the personal ad jackpot. If this interview is over and if I’ve answered all your questions, could we go to my place now? It’s not far from here.”

  “Now?” I repeated. My dick grew frantic at the thought that it might lose this opportunity.

  She said, “Well, if you must go, you must, but…” She trailed off, continuing to rub my dick. “It seems a shame to waste this.” And she tossed her hair back again.

  Twenty-six minutes later I ripped open a condom, fresh from a shower we took together where I sucked her breasts while she cried out my name. Once in bed, I hovered over her fleshiness as I rolled the prophylactic onto myself. She was a wide expanse of uncharted territory. A new sexual frontier. I grabbed her caramel legs and hoisted them over my shoulders, and she locked her knees there. I slid my hard dick in her to the hilt, and felt like a king when she drew her breath sharply inward and bit her bottom lip. She was so fucking soft, like a thousand down pillows, and tighter than I’d known a woman could be. With her legs locked over me, she pushed her pussy against my dick, bearing down on it and looking up at me. She grabbed her own breasts as her eyes stared into mine. She flicked her tongue across the nipples, and then sucked them as I watched from above. I fucked her harder, pounding into her with stronger, deeper strokes as I watched her partake of her own chocolate brownness. The look on her face and the wet, mounting, tightening pressure around my dick almost made me come immediately, but I managed to focus and to fuck the shit out of her as she fucked the shit out of me. I liked her cool, independent, and self-possessed nature. I loved her acceptance of everything life was, and everything it wasn’t. I loved sea lo que sea. I wanted to be her friend. But she didn’t want a friendship…she wanted a sexship. So be it.