Politics. Escorts. Blackmail.

by Pynk

  Seventeen

  Leilani

  Friday—September 23, 2011

  Leilani went to the arraignment, only to happily find that the DA had dropped the charges. For the last couple of days, she’d been dealing with her insurance company, trying to get the taxicab company to pay for damages to her car.

  Jamie Bitters, Money’s guy and the driver for Lip Service, took her to get her car. Turned out her license was not suspended. Jamie lectured her on the dangers of driving after drinking and on the dangers of taking a drink while on an appointment.

  The day she appeared in court, the judge, a middle-aged black man, heard and dismissed the case.

  Today, that very judge was in the throes of licking her pussy through a sheer dental dam. She sucked his condom-covered dick, in a 69 position in the Central Park View Suite at the luxurious Mandarin Oriental Tower. Leilani figured that Money must’ve pulled some strings, and that part of those strings probably meant the judge was getting the pussy hookup.

  Their bare bodies were intertwined upon the king bed. The curtains were wide open, exposing the floor-to-ceiling views of the park and Manhattan skyline.

  His expensive suit rested on the gold lounger and her dress was tossed on the carpeted floor, as he’d stripped her down with body kisses and carried her to bed.

  Her head was along a black pillow as he lay above her in reverse. She knew he was trying to please her, but the latex between her skin and his lips always seemed to limit her pleasure. He, on the other hand, was having a hard time concentrating. It was obvious that the 69 he was receiving was distracting him from giving, mainly because he was being served up by the best head-giver in town, who was taking him deep.

  He backed his face away from his pussy-eating duties, looked back, and said, “Wow. This is one helluva thank-you, here.”

  She kept working on him.

  He started grinding his penis into her mouth like it was her vagina. “You can take all that. Damn.” He was of course impressed.

  He didn’t have a large dick, but it was big enough to keep her focused on her technique of breathing and extending her tongue.

  She began stroking him with her hand and he said, “No hands. Don’t use your hands.”

  She moved her hand away so he could have it his way. But she knew, either way, he wouldn’t last long.

  He seemed to forget he was supposed to be the 9 and she was the 6. Being lazy, he asked while still looking back at her, “If I could just take that condom off…”

  She shook her head in reply, with him still in her mouth, making sure to suck that magic tip, the part of the dick that makes it all happen. She knew what she was doing. She knew the male anatomy very well.

  He resumed his pussy licking for a moment and then spoke again. “I’ve never done this before with the plastic. If I could take it off of you, I could really show you what I do.”

  Before she could reply, he bucked his hips in a fast motion and looked up at the ceiling, tightening up and giving off a sound like he was losing his ever-loving mind: “Awww, awww, ungh, nnnnnnooooo. Ughhhh.” He pumped a final, deep pump while she tightened her lip grip and took him deep so he could feel her throat swallow against his shaft, and he filled up the condom inside her mouth, yelling, “Oh yeah. This is the shit, here. Hell, yeah.” He stayed right where he was, even after she removed him from her mouth. It seemed he was fighting off come spasms. His crotch and behind were in her face. He said, as though in a trance, “Yeah. That was amazing.”

  He moved his left leg from beside her shoulder and adjusted himself to sit on the edge of the bed and catch his breath. He used his hand to keep the filled condom in place.

  She sat up and said, “I’m totally glad you liked it.”

  “That’s an understatement. We’re gonna have to do this again.”

  “An escort newbie, huh?” she asked, seeing the obvious wonder on his face.

  “You could say that.”

  She laughed. “I see.”

  He asked out of the blue. “You wanna have lunch with me sometime?”

  She grinned. “Oh, no. But thank you.”

  “I understand. Sorry if I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No. It’s totally fine. I’m flattered, actually.”

  He looked at her as if lust was playing tricks on his heart. “When I saw you in the courtroom, I was like, my, my, my. And now, wow. I’m just amazed that I’m here with you.”

  “That’s very sweet of you to say.” Leilani gave a soft grin and crossed her arms. She wondered if they were done.

  He asked, “How much more time do I have?”

  Looking at the clock across the room, she said, “Your time is just about up, actually.”

  He turned to face her. “Okay. So, how does this work? Can I pay for more?” He looked in awe.

  She stood. “Next time. You can request me. As you know, my name is Manhattan.”

  “Okay.” He stared at her fit, curvy body without blinking. He slowly stood and went into the bathroom, and disposed of his condom, then turned on the shower. “You want to take a quick shower with me?”

  Before she could refuse, she heard: Knock. Knock.

  “Who’s that?” he asked loudly, stepping to the doorway of the bathroom.

  She put her finger to her lips. “Shhhh,” she said softly. “I don’t know.” She tiptoed to the door naked and looked through the peephole, hearing a voice that matched the face she saw.

  “Leilani. It’s me. Shawn. Open the door.”

  Her heart raced and she said in a whisper, tiptoeing back, “Oh shit.”

  He wrapped a towel around his waist, asking, “What’s going on?”

  “Umm. I’m sorry, but that’s someone I know.”

  “Someone you know?”

  She hurried to get dressed as she spoke. “Yes.”

  He whispered, too. “No one can know I’m here.”

  She nodded. “What I need to do is go out there and talk to him. I’ll get him to go downstairs with me. You just make sure you lock the door as soon as I step out.”

  Knock. Knock. “Leilani.”

  “Are you sure that’ll work?” he asked.

  “Yes. I can handle him. You just leave as fast as you can.”

  He shook his head and dropped the towel, stepping into his pants and following her to the door.

  She grabbed the key card and stepped close to the door. “Coming.” She opened it and closed it in one split second. She could hear the judge securing the inside latch so she said loudly, “What in the hell are you doing here?” storming away so he would follow.

  Shawn, a blond, handsome white man, six feet tall, said, “You tell me you got in an accident, then you don’t return my calls. You tell me I can’t come out and see you but you act like I’m really going to move on, just like that.”

  She only asked, “Why are you here?”

  “I had a meeting out here. I wanted to surprise you at first, then I thought I’d ask if I could come out. You said no.” He stood behind her as she pressed the elevator button, trying her best to ignore the sight of him. He continued, “But I came anyway and booked myself into this hotel, and bam. There you were going toward the elevators while I was heading to the business center.” He pointed back to the room. “Who’s in there, anyway?”

  “The question is, how’d you get my room number?”

  “The girl at the front desk told me.”

  She gave the sound of a single laugh. “Well, she’s about to get fired. What’s up with this elevator?” She looked up at the light and saw that it had stopped three floors above them.

  He asked, “Leilani. What are you doing here? Catering?”

  She still looked forward. “I live in New York. I have a right to be here. Plus. I’m single and available. But that’s not the question. The question is, what are you doing sneaking up on me instead of calling me to say you’re here? You totally should’ve called to say you saw me, instead of just coming up and knocking on the door, una
nnounced. I’m not having this. If this is, like, your way of getting me back, it’s totally not working.”

  He looked at her from head to toe. “What is wrong with you? You look like you just woke up.”

  “Stop with the damn questions. Just leave.” She looked toward the hotel room and then up at the light, seeing that the elevator car was one floor above.

  “I can’t leave. I’m staying here at this hotel. I already told you.”

  “Good. Well then, go to your room.” She shooed him away with her eyes.

  He took a deep breath. “Leilani. Wait. Have dinner with me. Please. I’ll be here for a few days at the least.”

  “No.”

  “Just call me.”

  “Good-bye, Shawn.” The elevator chimed. The door parted.

  She stepped inside, and he followed.

  He kept talking as she repeatedly pushed the button to the lobby. “You think I don’t know you’ve got somebody in there?”

  The doors closed.

  “I don’t care what you know.”

  He said nothing, looking forward.

  She said nothing, looking down at her feet.

  Then as the elevator door opened she said, “Good-bye.”

  He stepped off, but she stayed on and pressed the button to her floor. Shawn stood there and watched her, looking lost. Just as the doors joined together and shut him out of her sight, she saw a glimpse of the judge exiting the stairwell, walking fast, wearing his suit, without giving a second of eye contact. The elevator went back up.

  She arrived at her floor and hurried from the elevator back into her room. She sat on the bed and said, “I’ll be damned. He’s got some nerve.”

  She took a moment, just thinking about how he showed up out of the blue.

  She checked her phone but he hadn’t called, so she turned on the TV. The shower was still running from when the judge had turned it on.

  Just as she turned to go into the bathroom, she saw Senator Darrell Ellington with his wife on Headline News. He stood at a podium and she stood behind him, smiling lovingly. He addressed a group of supporters in Florida. He was now one of the five remaining Republican candidates.

  She picked up the remote and turned up the volume. Senator Ellington spoke about family values and how his fellow candidate, Robert Sally, hadn’t paid child support for ten years. He spoke of the importance of the sanctity of marriage, and how parents need to be devoted to their children.

  She gave a smirk and took off her clothes, then picked up her phone, texted, Done, and stepped her high-class body into the shower to clean it up for the next stranger’s pleasure. A man who was having impotency problems. She’d need to work hard to get him up.

  She said aloud, “Damn. If the world only understood the power of the pussy. It can make a man lose his ever-loving mind.”

  The debate at Dartmouth College turned ugly when Darrell Ellington and Kalin Graves again sparred on the topic of gay marriage. Candidate Marla Goins agreed with Senator Ellington, though they disagreed on the topic of health-care benefits for unmarried same-sex partners.

  Eighteen

  Kemba

  Wednesday—October 12, 2011

  Kemba and Beryl’s penthouse suite in Harlem had the ambiance of an erotic love nest. Juniper breeze candles burned along the fireplace in the bedroom. The flames of the black oak log threw off a romantic shimmer of light. And seductive music by Marvin Gaye serenaded their movements.

  It was sexual healing time.

  And Beryl howled.

  Her head met the floor.

  Her back was against the wall.

  Her legs were wall-to-wall, similar to the off-white shag carpeting.

  Her split was an upside-down equator.

  Kemba was northbound, bending his legs to just the right height to hit it.

  His ten-inch pole did some serious deep-sea fishing. He held onto her thick thighs, keeping her legs wide open.

  He drilled his fullness and length and power and might as far inside of his woman as he could get, tightening his glutes and working his legs to get as deep as she wanted. He even wore his Air Jordans for traction.

  Her years of gymnastics came in handy as she raised up a little higher, much like she was doing a handstand. The definition in her arms showed the strain of her weight, but the pleasure on her face said it was worth it.

  She did a full split with glee, aiding his ability to cut her white bald vagina in half with his massive black dick.

  She spoke upside down, sounding soulful. “Oh, yes. Fuck the shit out of me. Get that. Make it cry. Fuck that cunt like I slapped your momma. You Kenyan, Egyptian, Mandingo, Swahili, stud ass, sex king, tall, dark, hung Negro mothafucka, you.”

  He grinned at her thrill. “Look at you talking shit upside down. Got your ass prone.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet none of those bitches who pay for your big dick can handle all this pipe without being scared out of their minds.”

  He didn’t dare answer her, for real for real, so he said, “Nope. They can’t. Only you, babe.”

  “Yeah. I’m serving you a deep-ass pussy on a platter while standing on my head. Beat that. Freaking like this makes me wanna buy you that damn black Jag you want.” She was a notch away from yelling, even upside down.

  “Oh really?”

  She was hella loud. “Really. Make me come. You know what to do.”

  He pulled out and she adjusted herself from up against the wall, flipping her legs over and coming to a stance from her position. Her face was flushed and her body was hot. He picked her up like it was nothing, even though she weighed over one-sixty, and placed her on her back at the very end of their poster bed.

  He stood before her, moved her ass all the way to the edge, nearly hanging off the end, and pulled her legs toward him with his forearms. He aligned her just right and penetrated her again.

  She followed his rhythm and at first, kept her hands along her chest, playing with her breasts, in full control of what she was doing and what she was saying.

  She kept up her fuck talking. “Yeah, that’s it. Do that. Standing there looking like a king. Fine-ass pussy killer you. Hit that spot. Work that spot. Make me squirt like a damn faucet, God damn it.”

  He said, “Oh, I hear you. I think you’re ready.”

  “Oh yeah. I’m ready. Shit yeah.”

  He readjusted his grip on her legs, leaned forward a bit, and got his footing right so that his shoes were positioned along the white carpet, and he got a motion going so smooth, it was in the exact beat of the next song, “Let’s Get It On,” playing in the background.

  Kemba sped up and bucked and fucked, while Beryl made a noise, a long moan that revved up to a deep groan, and then she spoke short, unrecognizable words, sounding like she was speaking in tongues. Her voice got shakier the more he poked a steady stream of friction at the right angle, over and over, dipping down to make sure he aimed upward, keeping his rhythm.

  Her hand had moved from her breasts, to somewhere above her head, one hand cupped and then relaxed, the other hand gripping the sheet and then letting go.

  She sounded like she was losing her mind as he started to grind her into stupidity. She rambled on as her titties flopped every which-a-way, and the sound of his skin hitting her ass was loud. She closed her eyes, and then just as she said, “Uuuuuhhnn, uuuuhhnn, uuuuhhnn,” Kemba reached down and yanked his dick out. She bore down, and he swatted her large clit with his long dick and beat it senseless. A stream of liquid expelled from her middle that shot so high it hit his chest and ran down his belly. She yelled like she was either dying or being born. It smelled of sweet clover and was semicloudy. It was nothing like his granny lover’s spill. This was the real thing, female ejaculate.

  He reinserted and she said, “No. Yes. No.”

  Mind-blowing.

  He bucked again and she made those crazy sounds again. He pulled out and beat her clit and she released her stream again, first a short one, then a long one. He inserted again, b
ut this time Beryl sounded like she was crying.

  “Stop. I can’t take it. Dammit.”

  He inserted again anyway and fucked her, feeling her pussy clench. Her groans were loud and nasty as her intermittent shudders vibrated along her spine. He shot his own orgasm deep inside of the woman who he turned out each and every time they fucked.

  She was bonded from her orgasms, saying “I love you,” while sniffling.

  He was in Erotic City. “Ahhhhh, shit. Yeah. Uuuuhhh. I love your ass, too,” he said, just as he waited for the stream of sperm to finish its journey through his lengthy dick. He pulled out and stood over the bed before her, as she scooted to lay flat on her back, panting.

  Beryl and Kemba could fuck so pretty. It was award winning, deep, intense, and 100 percent mutually satisfying.

  He knew Beryl felt it was the way it was because they kept it new and fresh, and because they had the freedom of an open relationship.

  Kemba felt it was the way it was because he was the only one who was ever able to bring on the aerobic waterworks of his freaky sugar momma.

  Her next sentence got his attention. “I want Ryan to join us.”

  “What the hell?” He stepped away from the wet spot on the carpet—even his Jordans were wet—and he rubbed her liquid from the skin of his abdomen.

  She said again, wiping a tear that had fallen along her face, “Ryan. I want him to see what you do to me.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m dead serious. He’s down if you are.” She didn’t even blink.

  He asked, looking astonished, “You invited that dude to our relationship? To be with us?”

  “Please, we fuck other people all the time. I thought it’d be cool to go to the next level. Have a threesome.”

  He looked at his dick as it went down. “Not with some dude. Oh hell no. Two hard dicks in a room is one too many.”

  “Kemba, you’re acting like a prude.”

  “I’m not.” He stepped over to the dresser, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

  She stretched out the kinks in her legs and rubbed her thighs. “I thought you were more open-minded than that. I thought pleasing me was something you enjoyed doing.”