Jeri was nowhere to be found, it was just the slut, Gertrude, receiving her exquisite punishment, and it was wonderful.
He said something, and it stopped – the cessation almost as shocking as the first impact. Distantly, I was aware that he reached down and helped me up, led me like a sleepy child deeper into his apartment.
After, I looked closer at the room, noticed the great bookshelf of dusty and dog-eared volumes, the rack of CDs, the small pile of dirty laundry . . . and the brass bed. But as he led me in, I didn’t see anything but his hard hand gripping my wrists, then the bed itself, vast and comforting.
“You have pleased me, slut,” he said, as if from a long distance. “You have pleased me with your performance, but there’s one last thing I require.”
I knew what was coming next, as if a deep part of Gertrude was following some passionate script. Again, my face was down, this time in a soft comforter, arms outstretched to grip the cool metal of the brass bed; again, my legs apart, my ass high, but this time not to receive the whip.
He entered me, cock sliding effortlessly into my hot cunt. He fucked me, and again, like with the whipping, time vanished and I became his object, his slut. I lived for his pleasure, existed to service him – it was wonderful.
We fucked that first time for what felt like hours, his strokes rocketing through me as the whip had, but this time the impacts echoed through my body, not just from my reddened ass. Slowly, he pushed me higher and higher, quickly up a slope I’d only climbed before with one of my forbidden magazines and a vibrator.
Then it happened – and shortly thereafter for him as well. The ecstasy was like a brilliant light in my eyes, a body rush and a dreamlike collapse onto the soft comforter, onto his brass bed.
That was the first – there were many times after. Officer Jeri may have knocked on his door that first time, but it was slutty little Gertrude who returned time and time again.
Fires die, people change – eventually it faded for both of us. There have been others since, more masters and even some mistresses, but he’ll always remain special, a first step on a long and wonderful road.
Every once and a while, I still take his photo out of my wallet and stare at his face, at those stern green eyes, and Gertrude smiles.
THE BIG REVEAL
Gisellerenarde
Tariq held his water glass suspended in mid-air. His jaw, too. “I can’t believe you don’t remember how we met.”
“Sorry, babe.” Marisa chuckled, clinking her glass against his. “I don’t remember any of this. Are you sure it was me?”
“Of course it was you . . .”
Darien chuckled from across the restaurant table. “I’m sorry, man – didn’t mean to put you in the doghouse.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Tariq replied. The butterflies in his stomach only let him pick at his steak and roast potatoes. “I’m not sleeping in the doghouse tonight. Your sister’s the one who doesn’t remember how she met her husband.”
Flicking his ear lobe with adoring fingers, Marisa said, “I do so remember. I just remember differently.”
“It seemed like innocuous dinner conversation.” Darien chuckled, loosening his tie. “This is the last time I ask anyone, ‘Was it love at first sight?’”
Marisa shook her head. “You’ve always been an instigator.” With a mocking glint in her eye, she told Tariq, “He always did this to me when we were kids. Darien was the goody-two-shoes of the family.”
“I was not.”
She raised her eyebrows at her brother, but didn’t stop talking. “When he was just three years old—”
“Not this again!” Darien groaned, digging into his roast potato.
Ignoring his objection, Marisa went on with the story Tariq had heard at least five times already – but he knew how dangerous it was to interrupt his wife. Damn, but he loved her smile. He watched her as she taunted her baby brother and laughed. Her big breasts jiggled, and that just about did him in. Those full tits, those luscious curves . . . Tariq could barely restrain himself.
All he could think about was the honeymoon, when they’d spent every waking hour making love and then eating to build up their strength, sex and food in alternation, sex and food together. Tracing chocolate-covered strawberries the length of his wife’s skin, then licking along the path of that melted sweetness.
Tariq had realized then that, when a man is in love, even hard-core fucking is sweet. They’d been wild, that whole week. He’d straddled Marisa’s naked body, pressed those gorgeous tits together, and thrust his hard cock in her cleavage until he came all over her neck. And even that had been sweet. He’d flipped her onto her belly with her ass up in the air, and he’d fucked her doggy-style while she hollered and swore and rubbed her fat clit so hard he came with her. She’d leaned over the side of the bed while he fucked her standing up, and she’d come when he slapped her ass and called her a raunchy ho. Even that had been sweet, in its own strange way.
And she’d ridden him, too, when he was exhausted and couldn’t move any more. In the middle of the night, blinds half closed, their hotel room lit only by the gleam of a loving moon, Marisa had climbed on top of him and milked his cock with her hot pussy. The motion was slow that time, a steady rocking, her big tits swaying, nipples soft. She’d strummed her clit, but it seemed like an afterthought, like she had something else on her mind, something greater.
They’d decided, after the fact, that that had been the special one. They’d expressed their love so simply, so silently yet fully, that they’d beckoned another being into their hearts and into their lives. And now, oh God, they had to tell Darien about it.
Marisa was giggling, amused by her own story. Tariq could feel her shaking as she squeezed his hand. She laughed so hard her eyes watered and she had to dab at them with a clean napkin. “That was Darien,” she said. “Mommy’s little tattle-tale – always telling on his big sis.”
“Yeah, my big sis who just keeps getting bigger,” Darien taunted, eyeing her belly even though he couldn’t possibly have a good view of it from where he was sitting. Maybe he already knew. Maybe he could tell just by looking at her.
Reaching across the table, Marisa gave Darien’s cheek a playful smack before leaning back in the booth. She ran her palm across her belly, gazing pleadingly at Tariq as the laughter subsided. It was tough, working up the nerve for their big reveal.
“I’m expanding to accommodate my little guest,” Marisa finally blurted.
Tariq forced a smile, desperate to maintain his calm façade. His heart raced in his chest while Marisa squeezed the hell out of his hand. Even the split second her brother spent processing their news felt like two hours. Or three, even. Darien was the eternal favorite, the golden boy, the great success. He acted as the family barometer.
Marisa squeezed harder. Her fingernails traumatized Tariq’s hand.
“You two . . .” Darien shifted out of his seat, expression stone, and for a moment Tariq was sure he’d take a punch in the face before dessert hit the table. And then, buttoning his blazer as if on instinct, Darien beckoned Marisa out of the booth for a hug. When she was in her brother’s arms, face buried against his shoulder, Darien laughed again. “You sure put that honeymoon to good use!”
Overcome with relief, Tariq took a long sip of ice water. Darien grabbed his hand, shook it, then pulled him into a family hug. Man, oh man, even announcing their engagement hadn’t been this nerve-racking. “Well, that explains the steaks.” Darien chuckled, taking back his seat in the booth. “What a reason to celebrate! I’m going to be an uncle.”
“I was trembling,” Marisa confessed, pressing the button for the elevator. “Could you hear it in my voice? God, I thought I was going to toss my cookies.”
“No, you sounded totally calm! I couldn’t believe it. You just came right out and told him.” Tariq wrapped an arm around his glowing wife as the doors chimed. “But, honey, you tore my hand to shreds. Look – you broke the skin.”
“Aw, poor T
ariq,” she replied, kissing his boo-boo before pulling him into the empty elevator. “You’re going to be so jealous when I’m mollycoddling this baby and you have to kiss yourself all better.”
“Kiss myself better?” he asked, trying to be all boyish and sexy as he pressed the button for the twenty-third floor. “Nah, babe, I need your kisses. Can’t do that all by myself.”
Thank God they were finally alone! Tariq cuddled in behind his woman and wrapped his arms around her waist. He’d been surprised, in the restaurant, that Darien had noticed, but he could see it now, that budding little baby bump. This was for real. Real life, no turning back now.
Their reflections stared back at them in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors on three of the four walls in this spic-and-span elevator. Tariq rested his chin on top of Marisa’s head, watching her sparkle. His woman was a dream. She was curvy and brilliant and hilarious – Halle Berry with a little meat on her bones. Tariq was taller, darker, critics might say lanky, with the boyish grin of a high-school kid. An ideal husband? Maybe not for everybody, but Marisa seemed happy with him. If there was one thing she could never question, it was his devotion. He only had eyes for her.
“Did we always look this good?” she asked, giving him that sly sort of smile he loved so much. Taking both his hands in both of hers, she ran them from her hips all the way up to her chest. The stretchy fabric of her tight purple dress made his legs weak, but the thing between them didn’t seem to be having the same problem – it was long and strong and hard as ever.
“You always looked this good,” Tariq replied, giving her breasts a playful squeeze. Oh, those massive globes of hot flesh felt so good in his hands. He wanted more. He needed it.
Marisa watched in the mirrors as Tariq circled his hands around her spectacular tits. “Can you believe these puppies are going to get bigger?”
“Mmm . . .” Tariq growled in her ear, catching the lobe between his teeth. He’d be a tripod soon, his dick was getting so big. “I just love your puppies. I’m going to be humping some legs, I love your puppies so much.”
“Legs?” Marisa laughed, raising her skirt. “No husband of mine’s gonna be humping no legs.”
“Oh, I see.” He smirked, watching his wife’s keen expression in the mirror. “What is your husband gonna be humping?”
Grasping his hand, she pressed it to her mound and made him squeeze. It was hot. A titillated tingle ran through him, toes to nose. His cock surged inside his pants. “I thought you might like to pet my pretty kitty.”
He growled deep in his throat, rubbing her wet pussy over the top of her black satin panties. “You know just what I like.” His hard cock pressed between her ass cheeks like a steel rod. He rocked his hips against her backside while his fingers stroked her front. Her breath fluttered – he could hear it and even feel it through her skin when he pressed his cheek against her temple. The slick fabric of her underthings made him tremble.
“You get me hot, mister man,” Marisa cooed, holding up the hem of her skirt as he slipped his fingers under her panties.
“That’s just the hormones talking,” he began, “but, hey, I’ll take hormones if this is what it gets me.”
She was so hot down there, and so wet he had trouble finding her clit among the juicy folds. Her flesh was satin, pink satin, though all he could see in the mirror was his hand, a writhing bulge beneath those black panties. Watching turned him on just as much as the act itself, and he couldn’t keep himself from pulling down on her low-cut dress, pulling the firm cup of her bra until her gorgeous tit spilled out. Half and half, one in and one out – the image brought Tariq so close to the edge he had to close his eyes for a moment.
Marisa whimpered and moaned as he stroked her slick pussy lips, grinding his fingers against her clit, hearing in her voice how much she loved it. The thought never left his mind that they were in an elevator, essentially in public. Anybody could get in at any time, and if those doors opened right this second, somebody would get an eyeful of Marisa. God, her body was beautiful. He was watching again, trying to get her there before the elevator did. She was so horny these days, so eternally close to climax, that he was pretty sure he could get her off before they arrived at their floor.
When he pinched her hard nipple that did the trick. She reached back, right behind him, and managed to grab his ass as she hollered and whined. He just kept at her, rubbing that engorged clit, squeezing that dark tit, until she slid down his legs, all the way to the floor. “Enough, enough, enough,” she whispered. And then, “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Of course, the elevator door chose that moment to open. Twenty-third floor. Honey, we’re home! Tariq sighed. “Why don’t we live in a taller building? I got a tent going on here that could survive a hurricane.”
“I guess you’ll just have to take me and my hormones to bed,” Marisa sighed, letting Tariq haul her up from the floor before dragging him out of the elevator by the belt.
“Aww,” he moaned. “We do it in bed every night.”
Marisa chuckled, jingling her keys against his fingers. “And you’re complaining . . . why?”
“I was hoping for an impromptu elevator fuck, that’s all.” He tried to keep his voice down. It really carried in this hallway, and he didn’t exactly want his neighbors to know what they’d been up to. Well . . . OK, maybe he did.
“Sounds magical,” she teased, sliding her key in the door. She pushed it just hard enough to get it over the woven mat in the front hall, but not so hard she’d bop Chloe in the nose. Poor girl acquired her share of injuries running into the front door.
“How’s my baby girl?” Tariq squealed, picking up the little blonde. Chloe yipped and licked his face while Marisa sought the pink leash. “Daddy loves you, yes he does. He missed you all through dinner, yes he did.”
“You are ridiculous with that dog.” Marisa kissed Tariq’s cheek and, in return, received a series of sloppy licks from Chloe. “And you, Dame Chloe, are going for a walk with us.”
Pulling the front door open, she gave Tariq’s bum a smack. He shot her a deliberately coy smirk as he sauntered into the hallway. The elevator took its fine time, as usual, and Marisa stared at him. She was up to something, oh yes she was. The moment that elevator dinged, she grabbed hold of his package, squeezed the life back into his waning erection. It felt so good he nearly fell over. “Not in front of Chloe!” Tariq teased. “She’s impressionable.”
“Oh, I apologize.” Marisa laughed while the elevator doors hurled open. “Could I at least give you a kiss?”
“Are you talking to me or Chloe?”
“I’m talking to my smokin’-hot husband,” she replied, cornering him in the empty elevator. Running her hands along his sides, she stood on tiptoes to reach his lips. She kissed him, parting his teeth with a forceful tongue, and writhing against his hard body. At first, she managed to ignore Chloe’s little licks at her neck, but when the elevator came to a stop, she spun around. Past a certain age, making out in public became poor etiquette, though with the pregnancy all semblance of good manners seemed to be heading out the window.
“What floor are we at?” Marisa asked, gazing upward. Penthouse. They’d gone up instead of down.
“We forgot to press a button,” Tariq realized as a meticulously coifed woman stepped into the elevator. A happy little Yorkie dressed in a Burberry sweater followed.
Tariq sank to his knees to greet the pup. “What’s your name, little lady? This is Chloe.”
He looked up at the dog’s owner, expecting pleasant conversation. The white-haired woman’s response was a distant, “Lobby, please.”
Marisa’s lips quivered for a moment before pursing tightly. She stared daggers at the woman. The little Burberry dog licked Tariq’s outstretched hand, but his heart had already stopped beating.
“Lobby,” the woman repeated, scooping the Yorkie up into her arms.
When Tariq rose to his feet, the woman cowered in the corner. His stomach fell. Why would anybody be afraid o
f me? He looked at Marisa in dismay as she punched the lobby button with her thumb. The air was so thick, even the inane pop music playing through the speakers couldn’t slice it.
Thank God for the gay guys who boarded the elevator holding hands. They had a pug named Socrates who’d taken an indisputable liking to Chloe. Tariq felt vindicated as he watched the old woman’s expression in the mirror. Cruel, perhaps, but what could she possibly have against him and Marisa? They were neighbors, for Christ’s sake! Tenants of the same building, paying through the nose to live in a safe, quiet apartment in a nice part of the city. Still, they would never be on equal footing.
When Marisa, Tariq, and the gay guys stepped out of the elevator, the old snob sped from the lobby, shooting them dirty looks over her shoulder.
“Who does she think she is?” Marisa said to the guys. “You should have heard the way she talked to us! ‘Lobby, please,’ like we black folk are all at her beck and call. It’s infuriating.”
“She’s the same way with us,” the plump guy with bleach-blond hair consoled. “Acts like we’ve got a disease . . .”
“And it’s catching,” the taller one continued. “Don’t let it get to you. She’s a dying breed.”
“But she’s not dead yet.” Marisa sighed as Tariq extracted Chloe from Socrates’s loving embrace. “Oh, no! I forgot to grab poo bags,” she said.
The tall guy reached inside the right pocket of his cargo pants and handed her a few plastic sacks. “Here you go.”
Marisa smiled and tied them around Chloe’s leash. “Thank you.” Tariq could see in her eyes how touched she was by the small gesture of kindness.
“No probs,” Socrates’s parents bid as they headed out back. “Have a good walk.”
The Mammoth Book of Erotic Stories Page 37