by Zane
Someone tries to open the door. Bishop and I look frantic as she pulls harder at the handle.
“Bishop, quick, hide in this stall. Close the door and stand on the toilet so she doesn’t see your feet.” I giggle at the sight of him pulling up his pants while scurrying to the stall. I pull my skirt down and straighten the rest of my clothes, walk to the door, and gracefully open it.
“Why is the door locked?” Ms. Claire, the nosey lady from the elevator, walks in like she’s about to urinate on herself.
“Oh, I must have accidentally hit it when I came in.” I play stupid until the fussbox enters a stall. I peep out of the restroom door, lightly tap on Bishop’s stall, and hurriedly get him out of the restroom. At the door, he surprises me with a tender peck on the lips as he brushes past me. I’m not sure of its meaning. Does it matter? Maybe. I finally freshen up in the stall with the damp and dry paper towels, and then return to Bishop’s office. I enter the room and wonder what can we say to each other. I don’t know this man. I only know we have strong chemistry and great sex.
“I hear you are quite the assistant attorney at Clark and Howard.”
“I do my best.” I’m in shock. He’s actually talking about business with me.
“Well, I would like for you to review this procurement contract with me. I can run the numbers, but some of the vendor’s legalese is more challenging for us accountants. Do you mind helping me, like I asked on the elevator?”
“No, not at all.” I’m still stunned but manage to switch gears like him. It feels good to know he appreciates my intellect as well as my lustful heat. How nice it is to be in the company of a smart, sexy, well-put-together brother. What a morning.
I call my friend Shelly Parker from my desk phone and excitedly tell her about my tantalizing encounters with Bishop. Between the whispering and fragmented code words, she gets the gist of my news.
“Connie, that’s a trip. You gotta stop by after work and fill me in on all the details. Girl, you’ve only been at the job six months. Does he have a brother or a friend I can get some from ’cause you know a sista got needs?” We laugh at her playful desperation.
“I’ll try to stop by if I have time. But I gotta go now. Chat with you later.”
It’s three p.m., the bewitching hour at work. I try not to hit the snack machine, but I’m always hungry around this time. Three hours after lunch and three hours before dinner. Almost daily, I walk to the snack machine and think I’ll bring a piece of fruit for the next day. I never do. And to make matters worse, the company only has snack machines on every other floor. You gotta really want some sweets to go through the trouble, but a lot of people do, myself included. In goes another seventy-five cents. I’ll get a bag of unsalted pretzels this time. They’re better than chips. Normally, I take the stairs, but Bishop wore me out so much this morning, I think I’ll take the elevator. Today, I’ll be the lazy ass that I often complain about. Damn, I’m beat.
I stand waiting for the elevator on the thirty-seventh floor. The door opens. There stands Bishop and that damn nosey lady.
“Connie, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Hi, Bishop. How are you?”
Ms. Claire pretends to watch the red numbers above the door, but I know she’s hanging on to our every word.
“Fine. You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you, would you like to join my carpool? I’m driving this week. Friday is my last day. Then we rotate. We had three people, but the third just resigned from the company. You can take her place.”
“Sounds like a good idea, but I—”
“You live in Sandy Springs, right?”
How the hell does he know that? I never told him. I hope his ass ain’t no fatal attraction. If he knows the suburb I live in, I wonder if he knows my address. Oh hell, I wonder if he knows I live with Keith. Let me calm down and just answer the question.
“Yes.”
“Well, so do I.”
“Stop playin,’” I say surprised.
“Seriously. You can park at the Nort Springs Marta station. I’ll pick you up there with the other rider.”
“I’ll think about it and let you know,” I respond.
I already know my answer is “yes,” but I’m not saying anything in front of Ms. Claire. Something about this woman unnerves me. The elevator bell dings and I exit to the thirty-fifth floor.
“Connie, let me know soon.”
That baritone voice sends desiring chills through me. How can he have such an effect on me? I turn and say, “okay,” with an appealing smile. The look that Ms. Claire gives me makes me wonder if she knows something.
I walk to my office thinking about Bishop’s offer to carpool. The freeway traffic is horrible and the commute would be better with others. Maybe it will lessen my stress at the traffic congestion, not to mention the cost of gas. I tell Keith all the time that I don’t need to drive the Acura MDX every day. But he insists because he says we can afford it. I know we can, but I still like to save whenever possible. That extra money could come in handy for something else. But as long as we’re not feeling the pinch, I guess we’re okay for now. How in the hell can I explain carpooling to him? And suppose someone sees me at the station? Nope. No way, José. I can’t carpool. It isn’t worth the argument. I sit at my desk and dial Bishop’s extension. Butter-flies dance in my stomach to a Terrance Blanchard jazz tune on my radio as I wait for his sexy greeting.
“Clark and Howard. This is Bishop Thomas.”
“Hi, Bishop. It’s me, Connie.”
“Hey. Hold on a second. Let me close my door.” He quickly returns to the phone. “So did you think about my offer?”
“Yes, and regretfully, I have to say thanks but no thanks.” I hear him sigh into the receiver.
“May I ask why? Does it have to do with this morning? ’Cause I—”
I interrupt him. “Bishop, this isn’t about you. It’s about me. I just don’t think it’s a good idea and it doesn’t meet my needs.”
“What do you mean, your needs?”
“It doesn’t fit my lifestyle. I really don’t need to carpool and I can afford the commute.”
“Connie, everybody carpools or uses the Marta, even senior management. Most of us can afford the commute, but think about how much you can save in gas, time, and effort. If you carpool only once a month, the cost for gas is split three ways, and you don’t have to deal with the stress of maneuvering through all the traffic. You know I’m right, so what’s the real reason? Is it about us?”
“Us? Since when is there an ‘us’? You’re married, remember.”
“Ohhhhh. So that’s it. Well, you don’t need to worry about that.”
“Who said that I was worried?”
“May I ask you something, Connie?”
“Sure.”
“Do you have someone in your life?
“What?” I nearly choke on my ice water. I fumble through my top desk drawer, searching for a napkin to wipe the drips of water from the front of my blouse.
“I assume that means, yes?”
Bishop wants to find out more about me, I think. Or he wants to find out if I’ll answer honestly to whatever research he’s been conducting on me. Which way shall I play his game? Mmmmm. Well, he’s not totally forthcoming, neither will I be.
“Well, I’m kind of seeing someone.”
He waits as if I’m going to say more but I don’t. Let him squirm and show just how much interest he has in my world.
“Lucky man. He has an intelligent, beautiful queen like you but he’s not treating you right. I know if you were mine, I’d spoil you with treats every day.”
I say nothing to his comment. I’m not putting Keith out there like that. He does treat me good, I’m his platinum princess, and he’s my stability. Unfortunately for me, he has a disappointing dick. A girl can’t always have it all. I’ve gotta get control of my weakness for this good-looking, educated, well-paid, respectable man with an outstanding cock. For the first time in my relationship with
Keith, I’m out of control because of my sexual frustrations with him. I could quit now and end this lustful venture with Bishop, but I can’t. His spell is upon me and I’m captivated.
“Yeah? What treats might that be?”
“I think you know. The main two reasons why a woman messes around on a man are for money or sex. We both know you’re well compensated financially, so the sex deposits to your bank must be insufficient, aren’t they? If you allow me, I want to give you a bigger deposit with a more favorable return on investment.”
“Why should I?” I question to see where he takes this.
“Because you know our chemistry is sizzling, satisfying, and explosive. You like the heat we create and I like your fire.”
Just hearing him speak these words to me sends surges of electricity straight down my spine, exciting my nipples and erogenous zones along the way. He knows that he’s right and I can’t tell him any differently.
“Yes, Bishop, you’re right. But I still can’t carpool. The North Springs station is too close to home.”
“Well, what about if I pick you up at the Sandy Springs station? It’s so busy there no one will notice. I can meet you early, if you like. I just want to spend more time with you. You do something to me no other woman has, and that includes my wife.”
I pause to reflect on my answer. I should stop this now, I tell myself. I could stop it if I want. My pussy interrupts my thought as it pulsates with each of Bishop’s pleads.
“Please, Connie, let’s do this. I know you want to ’cause I sure as hell do. Nobody will know. I promise.”
I know his offer means more than just a ride to and from work. Oh, what the hell, I’ll let him bottom me out one more time, then I’ll stop.
“Never thought I’d agree.”
“So, that means yes?”
“Yeah, I’ll carpool with you, Bishop.”
“Terrific. I won’t let you down.”
“I’ll park on the deck, then meet you curbside at Perimeter near the underground entrance. I’ll be there at seven-thirty a.m. sharp. Don’t be late,” I order.
“Ah baby, don’t worry. I’ll come right on time. No pun intended.”
I laugh at the innuendo, end our conversation, and finish my workday.
I’m so glad it’s quittin’ time. Wednesdays are always filled with meetings and conference calls. With my manager out of the office on business, the staff is more laid-back but the work never ceases.
Finally, it’s five o’clock and my day is over. I drive home with the sunroof open, windows down, thinking about carpooling with Bishop tomorrow. I wonder what naughty tricks he has up his sleeve? I know I plan to have a couple of my own. I laugh at my mischievous thoughts while paying little attention to the road. Oh shit! I jerk the car to the right, cutting in front of an old Honda Civic barely making my exit. Whew, that was close.
Keith greets me at the front door with a hug and a delicious kiss when I enter the two-story, 5,000-square-foot home he bought shortly before we met a year ago. He says it’s a real estate investment and when it’s time to sell the house and invest in something larger, he wants me to be ready to join him. He often speaks of our future together and I wish with all my might that I could be totally happy with him. I just gotta find some kind of way to get past my stumbling block—his small rod.
Keith does well for himself as a record producer and distributor for underground rap artists. He’s like an educated roughneck. He applies his 1997 bachelors degree in business administration from Towson State to his music business, making deal after deal, most to his advantage. I admire his sound business mind and how careful he is with his finances. He doesn’t blow his money like a lot of young brothers who are getting paid. He’s intelligent, handsome, built, and more generous than any other brother I’ve dated. Every time I offer to pay half the mortgage, he denies my attempt. He only asks that I pay the utilities and groceries. It’s a sweet deal if I may say so. But there’s one thing I know for sure about Keith—don’t ever cross him. He’s got a mean streak that is respected by many in his business. I guess he’s gotta have that edge to be successful.
Occasionally, Keith asks me to review contracts, especially when he’s questioning his own attorney’s decisions. I don’t mind, particularly because we work well together. Our situation is perfect, except he’s not the best lover I’ve ever had—not because he doesn’t know what to do, but because of his small pecker. But for now, until I figure out how to improve our situation, I’m gonna continue to bank every penny I can, so that if things don’t work out with him, I can buy my own house.
“Hey, baby, how was work? Sit down and let me rub your feet.”
We sit in the family room waiting for the Chinese takeout he ordered. I look into his dark-brown, cheerful eyes and for a split-second feel a moment of guilt as I remember Bishop’s hard dick exploding in my aching pussy. The thought of Bishop’s cock overtakes my guilt and I’m horny as hell again, desiring another bottom-out feeling. I want Keith to be able to reach my cervix, to pound it like Bishop does. I sit up, straddle his lap, and kiss him passionately to get his engine going; that doesn’t take long. He is usually always ready for sex. He practically rips my blouse off, and throws me backward onto the sectional sofa. He kneels on the floor, yanks my skirt and new panties off, grabs my ass and pulls me closer to him. He throws my legs over his shoulders and eats my center meat so hard that I instantly cum.
“You like that, baby?”
I moan, “Yes, Keith.”
“Who’s your man?”
“You are, sweetie.”
“Who takes care of you?”
“You do, Keith.”
“That’s right. Remember that shit.”
He drops his pants, climbs on top of me, and straddles my face, letting his dick and balls hang into my mouth. He lowers himself onto my face and I take him whole. I suck his small dick like it’s the best thing since sliced bread. He’s moaning so hard I know he’s getting ready to cum. I squeeze his cock with my hand and slap it on my face. I deep-throat him again. I want my pearly shower. Please, Keith, just this once, let there be a rainy season, I silently hope. I feel the blood rushing harder to his dick. I suck harder and wetter. I keep his cock close to my face. Please, oh please, let this be our first. Keith moans as he grabs the back of the sofa. I think he’s gonna stay over my face. I’m so excited, I moan with anticipation. He humps my mouth with hard, deep strokes as if the moist palette is my wet box.
“Oh shit, Connie, I’m gonna cum!”
I don’t stop; I can’t wait to share this moment with him.
“Connie, don’t stop, baby.”
Doesn’t he know I don’t intend to stop?
“Damn, Connie, this shit feels so good!”
Almost there, I tell myself. He starts to quiver and I suck harder. He convulses and I beat his meat deliberately with one goal in mind—my man is gonna cum on my face. Yes, finally, I can’t wait! A few more strokes should do the trick.
“Fuck!” Keith yells.
“Hell to the no,” I scream. We’re both pissed at the sound of the doorbell and the Asian guy hollering, “Chinese delivery.” Keith tries to finish his last crucial strokes but it’s useless. His concentration is further broken by the loud slam of the brass doorknocker. Being the protector that he is, Keith ceases our moment of truth to answer the door.
“Baby, I’m sorry. I gotta get that,” he apologizes, then scrambles for his pants. I lie on the sofa disappointed as hell. I can’t believe this. The one damn time I have him at the breaking point, fuckin’ Ming Lee shows up at the door. Disgusted and unsatisfied, I get dressed and join Keith in the kitchen.
“Why did you put your clothes back on, baby? I ain’t done with you yet,” he informs as he places the delivery bags on the granite cook island. He walks me back to the sofa, stripping my clothes as we venture to pick up where we left off.
“Lay your sexy ass down,” he says with a playful smile.
I oblige him kno
wing that the worst is about to happen. He enters my deep cavity and I can barely feel him, but I kiss and suck on his chest and neck to make him feel good. I can’t let on that anything is wrong. He fucks me wildly and I go with the flow as usual. I moan and pretend like it’s good to me. If I’m lucky, he’ll cum quick. I’d much rather that he eat me. I always cum and get pleasure out of that. But this business about his dick in my pussy has got to get better, but how?
Keith grunts intensely, rapidly shakes his right foot like the little rabbit Thumper in the old Walt Disney movie, indicating that he’s cumming. I hug and kiss him, making him feel loved and wanted. I know he can’t help what he’s blessed to work with.
“Did you cum?” he asks, always aiming to please me.
I don’t want to lie to his face so I answer, “I came when you ate your snack.”
“Word. I just want to make you happy, Connie.”
“I know. I am,” I lie. Damn, this situation makes me feel awful.
“Are you ready to eat?” I ask, hoping this fiasco is over.
“Yeah.”
We dress and Keith holds my hand as we walk to the kitchen. Even for that short distance, he displays his affection for me. I’m lucky to have a caring man like him.
***
I look at the crystal dial of the watch Keith gave me on Christmas last year. Thursday, six-fifty-five a.m.—five more minutes. Suddenly, I feel a little uneasy about my carpool activity. I know this is wrong, but I yearn for the sex Bishop gives me. I think about my sexual encounter with Keith yesterday evening. Lord, why didn’t you bless him with the right equipment? There’s no way I can tell him how I really feel. It would kill him. What am I supposed to do? My decision comes quickly. I just want to feel Bishop one more time, then I’ll cut him off. I promise.
At seven-thirty a.m., Bishop pulls up in a 2005, metallic silver Mercedes 500. I hope he doesn’t think that I’m impressed. I often see cars like this and nicer. Some of Keith’s clients have some serious James Bond-type rides, loaded with all kinds of gadgets. The doors unlock and I step off of the curb and into the plush vehicle. Bishop leans toward me for a good-morning peck. I oblige him with a warm, friendly greeting. I’m going to make this the best time ever, then leave his ass alone.