Zane's Z-Rated: Chocolate Flava 3

by Zane

  She glances down at her hand. “It’s in the safe.”

  I laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “When I spotted you at the airport in Miami, I noticed you didn’t have it on then, either. So … that says to me, beautiful, that your little getaway with ya girls is really for something more.”

  “Listen … look. I’m really flattered, but—”

  “Hold up, ma,” I say, cutting her off. “I’m not looking to wife you, or disrupt your life. All I’m saying to you is I like what I see. You sexy as fuck. And I wanna swirl my dick all up in that sweet chocolate of yours.”

  She almost chokes on her drink.

  I stand up. “Damn, you aiight, ma?”

  She pats her chest, then gulps down the rest of her drink. She’s staring up at me.

  “Look,” I say in almost a whisper. “I want you to feel something.”

  “What’s that?” she asks cautiously.

  I glance down at the bar and notice she and I are the only ones still out here. Wyndel is too busy cleaning up to even notice us. I take her right hand, lift it up to my lips, then gently kiss the inside of her palm. Then I take it and place it on my hard dick. Surprisingly, she doesn’t snatch her hand back.

  “You like how that feels?”

  She sheepishly grins, nodding.

  I lean into her ear. “Yo, tell me something. And keep it a hunnid.”

  She eyes me. “What?”

  “Is your pussy wet?” She nods again. “Good.” I take her by the hand, gently pulling her. She wants to know where I’m taking her. “Back to my room.”

  The minute we step inside, I pull her by her hair toward me and slide my tongue in her mouth, massaging her titties. She moans; tries to pull away from me. I hold on. Nibble on her earlobe, then kiss the side of her neck. “You know you wanna ride this dick.” She moans again. I lift her short skirt up over her hips, carry her over to the desk, then sit her up on it.

  “Oh, God … I don’t know what you’re doing to me. You have me about to do things I never thought I’d do.”

  “Oh, word? Like what?” I ask, sliding my hand between her legs, pulling at her G-string. I pop it up against her clit, then slip my middle finger into the center of her goodness.

  “Like this …” she pants. “Cheat on my husband.”

  “Obviously, the nigga isn’t handling his business right,” I whisper in her ear. “’Cause if he was, you wouldn’t be sitting here with ya legs spread and ya pussy all hot ’n wet, now would you?”

  I pinch her clit. She lets out a gasp.

  “Yeah, that nigga isn’t hitting this pussy the way you want, is he? Hell, he can’t be. This hot pussy needs to be stroked e’ery night, baby.”

  She moans.

  “Oooh, aaah, mmmmm … Wait, wait … aaah, mmmm … I can’t.”

  “Yes you can, baby,” I say, unbuckling my belt, then letting my jeans drop down ’round my ankles. I’m standing in front of her with my dick thick as steel. I pull her G-string, let it pop against her pussy, again. I reach over for a condom on the dresser, then roll it down on my dick before pushing it up into her. She gasps, grips my arms, digs her nails into my skin. I lift her hips up off the desk, then give her everything she isn’t getting at home—thick dick, waves of orgasms. I make her feel everything her husband can’t or won’t—wanted, beautiful, sexy. She throws her head back, closes her eyes. Lets my dick take her on a journey she’s never been on before. She screams ’til her body starts to tremble. I pick up my pace; speed-fuck her with half my dick, then slow fuck her with all of it. She wraps her arms ’round my neck. I take in her face. Eyes rolled back, bottom lipped pulled in.

  She moans louder.

  “Tell me. He isn’t giving you the dick like this, is he?”

  “Uh …”

  “That nigga probably gotta little-ass dick, doesn’t he?” I thrust my dick up into her, stabbing at the roof of her pussy. She matches my thrusts, slipping her tongue back into my mouth. She groans.

  “Aaah … oooh … aaaaah.”

  “This is my pussy now, baby,” I whisper in her ear.

  She moans again.

  “Tell me this good pussy’s mine.”

  I suck on her earlobe, kiss her on her neck, her lips, then suck on her bottom lip. We fuck ’til we’re hot ’n sweaty; ’til she’s dripped and gushed and stained up my dick; ’til I’ve flooded my condom with a thick nut.

  • • •

  By Monday, I have Chocolate Beauty sprawled out naked on a beach towel at Playa Kenepa Chiki with me, one of my favorite island beaches. Weekends the small cove is packed, but on days like today, this gem of a beach is practically empty. Today, there’s only one other person out here, snorkeling.

  Our bodies, slick and shiny with coconut tanning oil, are baking under the sun. Her succulent pussy lips are warm and sweet and sticky against my lips as I kiss and lick and tongue her slit. “Yeah, baby. You like that shit, don’t you?” I whisper in between wet tongue strokes.

  She arches her back and moans. “Ohhhh, yesssss …”

  I flick her clit, slipping my middle finger inside her slippery cunt. Her insides are hotter than the sun blazing on my muscled back. Yet, the ocean’s breeze cools my skin and defies the heat. My dick aches. And I can feel pre-cum seeping out of it. She begs me for the dick, and I oblige her.

  “Open up for me, baby,” I urge, slow winding my hips into hers. She spreads her legs wider, invites me deeper into her wetness. I give her what she wants: deep, steady thrusts. Then ease my dick out to the head. “No, baby,” I whisper in her ear. I suck her earlobe. Tip drill her slit. I ease back and watch her pussy milk the head.

  I plunge back in. Then pull back out. Watch as her juices coat my dick. I plunge back in again.

  She gasps. Reaches for me, tries to pull me into her. I grab her by the wrists, extend her arms up over her head, pinning her hands down into the white sand. “You want this dick?”

  “Yes …”

  “Then you’re gonna need to open up and release.”

  She pants. “It is … I am. We are … oh, God, it feels so good. I am open …”

  “Nah, I’m not talking ’bout your pretty-ass legs being opened.” I lift her left leg up and place it over my shoulder. “I’m talking ’bout you letting go. Release them inhibitions, baby.”

  “I am … uhhhh … I have … mmm … how do you want me to open up?”

  “Let your pussy enjoy this dick. Let me please your pussy.”

  “Ooooh … my pussy is pleased.”

  I thrust harder. “You sure?”

  “Oh, yes … my pussy’s … so … fucking … pleased … mmmm … aaah … you make my pussy feel sooooo good …”

  Her cunt muscles clamp around my dick.

  I grip her by the hips, and under the heat of the Caribbean sun, pound her pussy, until it is quivering and erupting into multiple orgasms, coating my dick. She yells out, not caring who hears her. She begs and pleads for me to keep fucking her with this dick.

  Yeah, this beauty will return to the States in two days well-fucked. And on them lonely nights when she’s lying in bed, feeling alone next to her hubby, her thoughts will drift back to her time here on the island of Curaçao being fucked under the sun. She’ll smile, always remembering the Pussy Pleaser.

  The Brother

  Alegra Verde

  He thought to punish her, but she was slick with need. So, he surged forth, the eager head of his penis ramming and thudding against her welcoming womb. Her thighs tightened around his. She mewled into his ear, the heat of her breath a caress, her fingers on his shoulders tugging the stiff cut of his suit coat tighter over his shoulders. He could feel the cloth, taut, straining against the skin and muscle of his arms and back, the sleeves pulling, trying to restrain him. The seams could rip, the jacket could tear straight down the center for all he cared, but he wasn’t going to stop.

  His fingers clutched the firm flesh of her ass, trying to hold her steady for hi
s assault, but she squirmed. The wet lips of her sex gripped him tight, hugging, holding him as he tried to pull away in preparation for another thrust. With her eager little pussy lapping at him, he couldn’t bear to pull too far out. He pushed forward again into the lava-coated cavern. Eyes closed and mouth open, she ground herself against him, even as a tear slid over her cheek. He licked it off and covered her mouth with his, his tongue claiming all that it touched in a wild siege.

  Suddenly, her eyes opened and she sucked on his tongue as her sex quivered around his straining cock. She raised her haunches higher and he lurched forward, sinking further into her, onto her, his chest heavy on the cushion of her breath. The tie that he had tugged loose because he couldn’t breathe when he’d first entered the church was suddenly far too tight.

  Then she was on top. His head was pressed into the aging, wine-colored carpet. She was riding him, sliding her heat up and down the sensitive skin of his pulsing rod as the soft pads of her ass slapped against his straining balls every time her hot, wet pussy slid down his cock, taking him completely; the slick lips sliding against his groin in a musky kiss.

  Her dress must have felt confining, too, because she was pulling the slinky black fabric up like she wanted it off now. As she did, she exposed a line of thigh, the deep side curve of her waist, the flatness and the dimple at the pit of her stomach, and then the plump mound of her pussy with its sparse, dark curls as she slid forward. He held on to her hips, his grip increasing as he watched her tightness consume him.

  There was a fleeting glimpse of the rounded underside of her high breasts, then the fullness of glowing skin, nipples tight and puckered, eggplant purple against her smooth brown skin as she pulled the slip of black cloth over her head. She pressed forward, taking him in again, her pussy swallowing his heat, her juices flowing free, her nether lips making a smacking sound.

  He was so hard he couldn’t breathe, the slide of her tight, wet sex down his an aching bliss. His hands caught the curve of her thigh, the dip of her waist, stroked the flat of her stomach as he strained toward her, lifting to meet her as she leaned in to him, surging forward. Her body was hot and he wanted to cover her, to feel her beneath him, to bury himself face-first in the sweet heat of her searing body.

  A hand at her back and another cupping her ass, he rolled her over onto her back before she could toss the dress away. The sheath of black trailed off one of her arms, obscuring a hand as he pounded into her, the long, hard length of him pinning her down, legs splayed and arms flailing. His hips and thighs surged forward, forcing her thighs wider. Nearly oblivious to the rub of the coarse hair that peppered his thighs as it grated against the tender skin of her inner thighs, she squeezed, contracting her muscles around his length, tightening and tugging as he surged forward. His swollen flesh burned and rasped against her walls. The stiff muscle of his sex pounded and lashed even as it grew, lengthening and becoming more inflexible as it rubbed and stroked her sensitive inner flesh. Her mouth opened as buds of heat ignited trails of light until she was consumed. Deep in her throat, a sound fought the waves of heat, trying to come forth as she bathed his cock in her come. He jerked within her, trying to surge forward again, but it was a wild push as his penis twitched, spurting seed and spraying her walls until he finally slid forward, seating himself fully within her to spend the last long rush against the base of her womb as he collapsed onto her.

  “Bitch,” he said a long while later as he pulled himself up, staggering as he rose to stand over her. He wasn’t sure what he meant by it, only that now, after that, after some of the best sex he’d ever had, he was angry. When she said nothing, he reached for a neatly folded altar cloth that rested alone on a nearby table. After using one of its pristine ends to wipe at the shiny wetness that coated his spent penis, he began to right his clothes. He dropped the cloth into her lap and then pulled his shorts up over his still damp sex and stuffed his shirt into his pants. With a soft sardonic chuckle, she closed her legs and pulled the dress back over her head. She sat on the floor in a sprawled heap like a once well loved but newly discarded rag doll. The skirt of her dress was rucked up around her hips, and other than the short laugh, she was silent.

  “You didn’t even wear any panties?” It was more accusation than question.

  “Like that would have stopped you,” she spoke to her lap.

  “You’ve always been a whore.” He meant it as a slap, but she didn’t seem to feel it, so he continued. “Dressing like a puta, breasts hanging out, and those sly looks across the dinner table. Even that first day, the first day he brought you home.”

  She laughed again, the same mocking sound.

  “You never loved him. Why did you marry him?”

  “I loved him.”

  “Then how could you seduce me, his brother?”

  “Seduce?”

  “Look, Mígda. He’s been dead less than a week and you come here in that dress with no panties, and no bra.”

  When she didn’t respond, he nudged her with the toe of his shoe. “How could you come here dressed like some brazen whore?”

  She looked up at him as though searching for something, but when she realized he expected an answer, she said in a voice almost too low to hear, “I don’t like bras. They’re too tight, and I didn’t want to have a panty line under my dress.”

  He smirked, “Puta, I told him not to marry you. Coming from that family, what could anybody expect?”

  She righted herself, smoothing the dress down, and as discreetly as possible, used an unsoiled end of the cloth to wipe away the wetness between her thighs before putting on her shoes, a pair of black high heels. Then she wrapped the altar cloth into a manageable heap and dropped it back onto the table. He watched silently as she tried to right herself. The high heels made the muscles in her legs clench. In that dress, with those shoes, her ass seemed to ride higher, to plump up. She smoothed the dress down over her hips again. It really wasn’t very revealing. In truth, it was rather demure with its modest V-neck, but the faux wrap at her waist made the dip at the small of her back incredibly tempting. He wanted to put his hand there.

  His groin tightened again. “Shit.” He’d just had her; the bitch was a bruja. She ran her fingers through her dark, straight, shoulder-length hair. It was a good cut and fell easily back into place. She looked like the good, Catholic, grieving widow again with the tiny golden cross just below her throat, but he knew she wore nothing beneath that slip of black cloth. He knew what those breasts looked like without the covering, that they rode high and buoyant without aid. The image of her nipples, the dark purplish shade they became when they were aroused and puckered, assailed him. His penis rose and twitched anew when he remembered how she’d bathed him in her wet heat when she’d come. He could smell her, not just the fertile scent of her sex, but also the subtle sweetness of some flower as the cologne she wore heated against her skin. He was covered in that scent.

  “Puta,” he said again to her back as he willed his stiff cock to quiet.

  “You’ve always been an asshole, Julio. Luis was sick a long time, and I never fooled around. I was there for him. Even through that long, horrible sleep.”

  Another tear. He wanted to taste that, too. He wanted to follow its trail down her cheek with the tip of his tongue.

  “You’ve always tried to tempt me, even before Julio got sick.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Wearing those blouses that hugged your tetas. Hugging and rubbing against me.”

  “Wishful thinking, pendejo.”

  “I wouldn’t take what you offered when he was alive, but since you’re giving it away now that he’s gone I might as well take my fill,” he said, pulling her toward him.

  “I never offered when he was alive,” she said, trying to dodge his hands, but he held fast. She struggled silently, not wanting the mourners gathering in the chapel to hear. He was a head taller and a good fifty pounds heavier, so restraining her was not difficult. Before long, his hand was under her sk
irt and his fingers trailed through the still sensitive lips of her sex, toying with the rampant clitoris that protruded just there. It was still damp and slippery from their mingled juices.

  He pushed her roughly over the armrest of the ornate wooden chair that probably served as the priest’s resting place after a strenuous mass. The armrest caught her just at her waist; her hands splayed, grappling against the velvet of the seat’s cushion as she tried to balance herself.

  Julio was behind her, pushing her skirt up higher until her ripe bottom was on display to him. She could hear as he unzipped his pants and as the cloth fell to his ankles. He leaned down, his teeth grazing, then nipping the smooth flesh of one cheek as a finger teased and tested her moist sex. He stood again, kneeing her legs, opening her wider. Then, with no further preamble, he was pushing into her, the distended head of his penis bumping and grazing the engorged labia, finally slipping past and into the newly made wetness that greeted him. She grappled for support, her hands slipping over the plush fabric as he rammed himself into her, the hard length of him heaving and shoving its way to her center, his hand gripping her hips.

  “You bitch,” he said as he pounded into her. “You fucking bitch.”

  Her muscles clenched around him involuntarily, sucking and straining against his rapid thrusts, his insistent intrusion.

  “Fuck,” he groaned as she tightened around him. “Fuck,” he said again as she slid back against him, all wet and juicy. And then, he couldn’t say anything else. He could only continue to give her all he had as he pounded into her, the rasp of each thrust sending shooting sensations that caused his groin and his thighs to tighten and tremble. He held her hips firmly, his fingers denting her skin. There would be bruises later, but she let him grip and hold her, tight and still, just the way he needed to.

  He took her hard, aiming himself so that each time he drove into her, he slid all the way, the head of his penis nudging at her womb like that and like that. She mewled and moaned beneath him, her pussy holding him fast like it was made for him. She was so wet and hot and tight and her ass was so soft and buoyant, he gripped her hips harder trying to hold on, to maintain his stance. The sweat and a shattering light filled his eyes and his head, and he was coming into her, long and hard. He wanted to paint her pussy with his seed, to tattoo his mark inside her. His seed gushed forth, filling her, filling his pussy, his “Mígda,” he cried out. “Mígda.” The echo was torn from him as the muscles of her canal trembled hard, squeezing him, milking the last of his seed from his spasming cock.