FillingtheVoid

by Zenobia Renquist

  Closer but still not what she wanted. If she could get her hips up a bit higher, their combined motions would usher his dick inside her. The path was all slicked and ready for him.

  He said around her nipple, “Lean back.”

  Naomie bent her elbows and let gravity guide her down. The nipple ring jingled as it left Jaime’s mouth. After unwrapping and slipping on the condom, he repositioned so he was between her thighs crosswise with one of her legs trapped beneath him. While holding her pussy lips open and gripping her raised knee, he lowered his dick.

  As she’d thought, he met no resistance. Their placement allowed him to bury his arousal to the base in one stroke. They both breathed out satisfied breaths in unison but didn’t savor the connection long before Jaime started moving. Testing at first—a few thrusts to figure out how the position would go.

  Rocking worked best. Jaime hugged her thigh to his chest, looping her ankle over his shoulder, and moved in a scooping motion. Naomie was screaming her pleasure within a few seconds.

  This!

  This was what she wanted, what she craved. The position didn’t allow her much mobility. She had to take what Jaime gave her and settle on massaging his dick with her pussy. And that wasn’t the only part of him she wanted to massage.

  She wrapped her fingers around one of Jaime’s ass cheeks and tried to squeeze that round, sculpted piece of magnificence without thick fabric to impede her. Pure rock-hard, unyielding muscle greeted her. Unyielding because he used all his force to drive her toward another orgasm. And she was close again.

  He worked the fingers of his free hand over her clit. He knew. He knew she was close. Oh she loved it when her partners knew. Even if the position didn’t allow her much movement she still managed to roll her hips, to make sure Jaime’s dick was treated to all of her.

  “So good. So hard. So there. There! Right there! Yes, oh yes.” She screamed the words, which spurred Jaime faster until he grunted with the exertion.

  Her muscles tensed with her second climax. The power of the sensation shook her so much her satisfied moans warbled.

  Jaime pulled free a second before he had his own release. His cum filled the tip of the condom. He must have forgotten he had it on or else why pull out? Or maybe the sex had been so good he couldn’t stay in. It was for her. Oh yes, she had definitely been missing out by not having Jaime before now.

  He shuffled away from her, easing her leg from his shoulder to the bed, and sat on his knees. A long, tired sigh left him—that kind of sigh after a job well done. And he had done her very well.

  “About that landscaping,” he said in a breathy voice.

  Naomie chuckled as she trailed her fingers through the sweat decorating her body, not all of it hers. Considering how hard he’d done her, the poor boy must not be getting any, which was a shame. That would explain why he’d been so enthusiastic. She said, “Flower beds around the house and the front walk and a shade tree in the backyard.”

  “Type of flowers?”

  “I’ve always wanted a four season garden.”

  “Four seasons. Got it.” He played his fingers over her mons, rubbing it as if he would go lower to tease her clit but didn’t. “I can start on that tomorrow if you want.”

  “You’re not busy? I thought you were in high demand.”

  “The company, yes. Me, not as much as you might think. I can come earlier, before my first job. Say around sixish?”

  “If you want. I’ll be up.” Her coy reply belied her delight at Jaime coming again tomorrow. She had wondered what excuse she would need to get a repeat performance. His diligent work ethic—or maybe he wanted another go at her—had offered the perfect opportunity.

  “And it’s going to take at least a week to get everything set up.”

  “Of course. There’s no need to rush.”

  He paused his fingers and cleared his throat. That didn’t seem to do the job because he coughed a little. “And…uh…I might…this isn’t a certainty, but I might—really big might—need to have a buddy help me out.”

  And just like that, Naomie was dancing with joy—on the inside. Two young studs working out her sexual frustrations while Dane did overtime. How had she gotten so lucky? If she wasn’t seconds from falling asleep, she would have hopped up and kissed Jaime. He really did know how to do a woman right.

  She said, “So long as he’s as cute as you, I don’t mind.” She stopped herself from saying the more the merrier. No need to have Jaime inviting all his friends along for a ride. Naomie didn’t have issues with gangbangs, she just preferred them with men—or women—she’d known for a while. One awkward person could be handled. More than that was an annoyance.

  Jaime smiled. “The girls don’t complain. I’ve been telling him about you and he’s been begging to meet you. He’s a coworker and college buddy.”

  She made an affirmative noise, or she thought she did. Sleep was pulling her down quick. A good lay always knocked her out.

  “Naomie?”

  She couldn’t open her eyes or summon up the strength to answer him. The bed shifted and something soft enveloped her body. She thought she heard a door close but it was far away and didn’t warrant leaving her soft, cozy place to find out for sure.

  A contented sigh left her as the world faded away.

  Chapter Two

  Afternoon—Girl Talk

  Naomie pulled her car in behind the ones lining the sidewalk. Mia’s driveway was full. Hopefully they would be gone by the time Mia’s husband got home or poor Quincy would have nowhere to park. But then these get-togethers didn’t last long—two hours, three tops. With Mia hosting it might go to four hours since her two kids were teenagers who could drive and didn’t understand the concept of coming home right after school. To them that meant nine o’clock. Later on Fridays.

  Children.

  Naomie couldn’t imagine hers and Dane’s. She tried not to since it would never happen. Naomie couldn’t conceive. They’d found out after three years of trying—okay so they had been having sex nonstop and figured she would get knocked up eventually—and nothing had happened. A few clinic visits and several tests later, the doctor delivered the most devastating news Naomie had ever had in her life—unexplained infertility.

  She was perfectly healthy and always had been, despite her promiscuous lifestyle. There was no history of infertility on either side of her family. She and Dane had tried every treatment and sought second, third and fourth opinions. Five years later, they’d given up. It wasn’t going to happen. The more they had tried, the more depressed Naomie had gotten until Dane started worrying she might never come out if it.

  Dane had enlisted the help of friends and family to convince Naomie her life had meaning whether she had children or not. The weekly girls-only get-togethers started as a way to get Naomie out of the house and around the positive influence of her friends. Back then it had been every day and nonsexual. Dane had bundled Naomie into the car and dropped her off with Mia, Kristine or Arisa so they could spend the day together.

  A few months and a reality check later, Naomie had overcome her sadness. The daily get-togethers to pull Naomie out of her depression—both one-on-one sessions and as a group when the women’s schedules allowed it—graduated into weekly girls-only, this-is-why-husbands-suck gossip fests. A few months after that, a little alcohol and too much joking around led to kissing and then much more. The “much more” was around the time Fred decided she should be part of the fun as well.

  The men in their lives treated the time as sacred and only emergencies ever interrupted. And no, the company picnic Naomie hadn’t found out about until the last minute had not counted as an emergency.

  She still laughed about the kidnapping and wished she’d had a camera because Dane’s and his boss’s expressions had been priceless. Lesson learned though. Dane never again forgot to tell her about a company function and he’d resigned himself to attending alone if it fell on a Tuesday afternoon.

  Naomie usually looked
forward to Tuesdays. If not for Dane throwing her entire morning out of whack, she would be more enthusiastic as opposed to tired and resigned. Neither of which could be considered an emergency. More like a personal problem she would have to get over. Besides, this bit of normalcy might be what she needed to get her rhythm back.

  Naomie pushed her car door open, swiveled so she could put her crocheted-wedge-sandal-clad feet onto the curb at the same time, and rose from her seat. She had to adjust her top—a blue drape-front halter that tied at the back of her neck and hung loose. The seatbelt had shifted it off center and she was half an inch away from flashing someone.

  The soft silk brushed her nipples, which pulled a startled squeak out of her. Her left nipple was still sensitive from Jaime’s earlier attention. That was the reason she had chosen the loose top—so she wouldn’t have fabric pressing against her. Nothing at all would be better but she doubted the cops would agree. Public indecency, public disturbance and endangering her fellow drivers—from men rubbernecking to see her—she forgot the full list and didn’t feel like hearing it again.

  “I thought I heard your car.”

  Naomie raised her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun as she turned to Mia. The woman’s dark-brown hair was pulled into a ponytail high on her head and she’d finally taken Naomie’s advice to wear something more suited to the occasion—a wraparound dress that dipped low between her large breasts. Naomie would bet the dress was high in the back thanks to Mia’s more than generous Latina ass—Puerto Rican to be exact, though she had become an honorary Cuban when she and her family went to Disney World a few years back.

  Mia called from her doorway, “Hurry your late ass up already.”

  “I’m coming,” Naomie yelled back then stuck out her tongue.

  “Come faster.”

  “That’s not what you said last week.”

  Mia started to respond but ended up laughing instead and Naomie joined her. When they calmed down, Mia said, “Just hurry up. Everyone is waiting on you and Arisa won’t let us even look at the cheesecake bites.”

  “Sorry. Sorry. I’ll be right there.” Naomie pulled her purse out of the car, closed the door and clicked the lock on her keychain before heading up the walk to Mia’s door.

  Naomie hadn’t meant to be late. She’d woken from her catnap a full hour later than she should have. It was Mia’s ringtone that had gotten her up since Naomie hadn’t thought to set an alarm.

  Jaime had covered her with a blanket and then vacated the house, leaving behind no trace of his presence. A truly considerate man. She would have to reward him somehow—beyond having sex with him.

  After apologizing to Mia and promising to arrive soon, Naomie had showered, changed and headed over. She would need to clean up the guest room and bath as soon as she got back home. But that was a worry for later.

  She entered Mia’s house, raised one hand over her head in a diva pose and said with dramatic emphasis, “Fashionably late.”

  Arisa, who had planted her petite, five-two Asian self between the covered tray on Mia’s dining table and the other women, said, “You are fashionable and you are late. You are however not fashionably late. You’re just late.”

  Naomie dropped her hand and her head. “I know. I’m sorry. I got all into my nap. If Mia hadn’t called when she did, I would probably still be asleep.”

  Mia made a knowing noise. “Dane gave it to you that good this morning, huh, mamí? Lucky you. He needs to teach my Quincy about morning sex.”

  Arisa said, “From what I’ve seen, no one needs to teach Quincy anything about sex. I’m still amazed you two don’t have more children.”

  “Oh yes, my papí is very good but he doesn’t do mornings. No kissing, no cuddling—don’t touch him at all. He wants none of it. But after work.” Mia scoffed with a shake of her head that set her ponytail wagging. “That man will strip down and do me on the hood of the car for the neighbors to see if I let him.”

  “Like I said, I’m amazed you two don’t have more children.”

  Naomie said, “Unfortunately Dane had to go to work early. No morning sex from him.”

  Fred stuck her tongue out, flashing the rainbow-colored ball of her piercing. “So who did you get it from?”

  Naomie shrugged as she tossed her purse toward the couch. “As cliché as it sounds, the gardener.”

  Fred snorted. “The gardener? Really? Who do you plan to do next—the milkman?”

  “If he’s my type and we had a milkman, I would consider it.”

  “God, I love you. Come here.” Fred patted her thigh and then opened her tattooed arms—full sleeves with a dragon on one arm and a tiger on the other. She also had a yin-yang between her shoulder blades with a string of Chinese knots connecting the symbol to her arms.

  Fred’s love of all things Asian was how she’d ended up with Arisa—third generation Japanese-American, born and raised in Hawaii. They’d met during Fred’s vacation to the beautiful island state and hooked up again when Arisa started attending the culinary school down the street from Fred’s tattoo parlor—they also did piercings.

  One year later, the ladies were living in unwedded bliss with a baby on the way. Arisa had gotten artificially inseminated with their son by Fred’s younger brother, who had hoped to do it the old-fashioned way and had gotten shot down. Fred had made an honest woman out of Arisa last year once the state legalized same-sex marriage.

  The wedding reception had been a joint affair to celebrate the union and their son’s graduation with honors. Though they didn’t say so out loud, it had also been to celebrate their son leaving home. Fred and Arisa loved their son but they had been counting down the days until they could stop being responsible adults.

  That meant being able to host girl talk, since they hadn’t wanted to chance it while their son was still home. But their turn was next week. Today was Mia’s house and Arisa’s cheesecake bites.

  Naomie joined the ladies at the high-top dining table and plopped down sideways on Fred’s lap. Fred hugged her, nuzzling Naomie’s neck and flicking her tongue stud over Naomie’s earlobe. Naomie giggled while pushing at Fred’s shoulder, pretending to fend off the woman.

  Fred tightened her arms. “Don’t act like you don’t want it.”

  “I want cheesecake, not you.” A statement that got Fred sucking Naomie’s ear while inching her hand up Naomie’s stomach.

  Mia said in her mom voice, “Ladies, dessert first then the meal. You know the rules.”

  Naomie shoved at Fred’s hands, trying to keep the woman from fondling her breasts. “What Mia said. You heard her.”

  Fred laid another kiss on Naomie’s neck and then leaned back, ending her teasing. “You’re supposed to be on my side, baby doll. Us black girls need to stick together.”

  With a snort, Naomie said, “Not when you’re keeping me from the cheesecake bites.”

  “Always gotta leave a sister out there.”

  Naomie found it amusing when Fred talked like this. It was an affectation Fred did to remind people she race-identified as black. Fred looked as black as Naomie looked white—not at all. The woman’s skin could be described as dark fair, not even tan. She was lighter than Mia. But Fred subscribed to the one-drop rule…on purpose.

  She’d found out—after lots and lots of digging and hurdle jumping—that her maternal great-grandmother had been black. Her grandmother had married a white man and her mother had married a white man. The only indication that there might be something else in Fred’s family tree besides white was her shoulder-length kinky red hair, which most people took to mean she might be Jewish.

  After learning the truth, Fred had rebelled against her family’s wishes to let it remain hidden. She’d started identifying herself on all paperwork as black and if anyone asked she self-declared as black. When Arisa had introduced her to Naomie and Naomie asked why Fred insisted—Naomie hadn’t been insulted, just curious—Fred had said if lily-white, blue-eyed blonde-haired bitches fr
om California could claim Native American, then she could claim black.

  The answer had sounded so much like something Naomie would have said in a similar situation that she and Fred had been close ever since.

  Fred was a tactile person. She insisted on hugging and being intimate with those she loved. That usually meant Arisa, except when Naomie was there. Fred treated Naomie as a snuggle buddy whenever they were together. And no matter the place or audience, Fred always had wandering hands. Her favorite resting spots were between Naomie’s legs and cupping her breasts. According to Arisa, Fred did the same with Arisa all the time so she was happy when Naomie visited, granting her a reprieve.

  Fred said, “So long as Naomie stays on my lap, I can wait.”

  Naomie wiggled her ass on Fred’s thick thighs. “And where else would I want to be? You’re the best seat in the house. My tushy has lots of cushion.”

  The woman was padded. Not fat, more like thick and comfortable. With Arisa as a wife, it was a wonder Fred wasn’t bigger. But then Fred said the only time she ate sweets was at the weekly get-together.

  Fred tightened her arms again. “Oh, right there, baby doll. You know what momma likes.”

  Arisa crossed her arms with a sigh. “I should be jealous, right?”

  Mia said, “That is the natural reaction to seeing your wife cuddling up to another woman.”

  “Then why am I so turned-on right now?”

  Fred grinned. “Because you know what’s coming. But first we have to play like we’re civilized and actually talk to each other and pretend like we aren’t just meeting up for a once-a-week orgy.”

  Arisa and Mia asked in unison, “We aren’t?”

  Naomie said, “You two are here for the orgy. I’m here for the cheesecake.” She smacked the tabletop. “Let’s do this.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Fred beat the table in rhythm. “Cheesecake. Cheesecake. Cheesecake.”

  Mia and Naomie joined along, getting louder and banging harder until Arisa yelled, “All right already. Damn, you’re a bunch of greedy bitches. You only love me for my cheesecake.”