Smooth Operator

by Risqué

  Arri rolled her eyes, ignoring Mare-Hellen. “Khris, you are so animated.”

  “No, I’m so serious with you,” Khris continued. “I have called him boo, quite a few times already, gurl. Like when he asked where his secretary was, you know yo’ ass”—she pointed—“I was like ‘Oh she’s running late, boo. I mean, boo-boo. Gurl, I been hot, bothered, and sweatin’ since I got here. Not even another round with Samara could undo how horny I am around this man. My God.”

  “Buncha raunchy heathens” floated from Mare-Hellen’s cubicle.

  “Anyway,” Khris continued, “go unload at your cubicle and then make your way in there.”

  “I will,” Arri said as she tiptoed to her seat. She eased her coat off and peeked into the VP’s office. He was sitting with his back to the door, facing his computer. Arri picked up the small mirror she had on her desk, made sure her hair was in place and her makeup was intact. She ran her hands over her teal knee-length skirt and fluffed the cowl neck of her cream-colored and sleeveless sweater.

  Her heels clicked as she entered his office and pretended to be utterly exhausted. “I am so sorry, Mr. Anderson,” she said, “but I just had the worst train ride over here. I was trying my best to be early but we were stuck in the tunnel at first and then we had to come out and change trains; it was terrible.”

  “Anderson Global is named after my wife’s family, I’m Mr.…” Lyfe said, turning around, and to his surprise he was staring at the same woman he had a round with on the train. “… Carrington.”

  Arri practically lost her breath. This motherfucker again immediately ran through her mind. She shook her head. This had to be a dream, but the longer she stood there the more she realized this was reality. “I didn’t … why are you … Oh I didn’t, hmph. I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Well, you can either finish your train-being-stuck-in-the-tunnel story, which was starting to sound really exciting, or we can kill the tension in the room and talk about the last time I saw you.”

  Arri was silent for a few moments and then she said, “I just want to do my job. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “I can respect that,” Lyfe said.

  “So, how do we start again?” she asked.

  “We can start right after you get me that cup of coffee you owe me.”

  Arri fought off a smirk she felt easing onto her face. “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh,” Lyfe snapped his fingers as if he’d just remembered something, “and pick up another copy of the New York Times while you’re out there.” Lyfe smiled as Arri sashayed out of his office to her cubicle for her coat. Afterward, he leaned against the door frame and inauspiciously watched her ass move like a gazelle as she disappeared into the distance. “Damn,” he said, feeling a hard-on building in his pants.

  California

  From the first time he hit it from the back, they simultaneously came, bit their bottom lips, and grunted out the other’s name, their plan of a one-night stand disintegrated.

  Four years ago they’d agreed to satisfy curiosity and dead the wonderment of their unspoken attraction by seeing what the extra glances, lingering gazes, and soft kisses on the cheeks—that were nearer to the ear or the neck—were about. And they planned to fulfill their conquest only once, because they swore that that would be enough to shake the undeniable magnetism between them.

  But it wasn’t.

  Payton lay in the center of her king-size bed, watching him slowly unbutton his dress shirt and pull it from the waist of his Versace suit pants. He placed his ringing cell phone on the nightstand and said, “I’ve been thinking about that ass all day.”

  Payton stuck her index finger suggestively in her mouth. “Oh, you missed this pussy?” She took her thumbs and showcased her swollen pearl, the face of it radiating with glaze.

  “That pussy better have missed me,” he said.

  “Oh, really?” Payton stroked her clit at the sight of his hard and luscious dick. Instantly, she salivated, as her heart traveled down to her heated sex and made creamy water between her thighs. She crawled to the foot of the bed, where he stood before her, his hard and swollen cock pointed directly in her face. Payton smiled as she grabbed his dick with one hand, made a fist around it and massaged his balls with the other. For a moment she thought about Lyfe’s dick; his was definitely an inch or so longer, but they were both the same width, like fat, hand-rolled, bursting sausages with muffin tops at the tip. Both of their dicks screamed “choke!” “gag!” and “throttle!” whenever she contemplated blowing them. But the challenge of it all was worth the pleasurable punishment.

  Payton’s full lips suctioned his balls completely into her mouth, as he swirled his shaft into her face. Her tongue skated from his scrotum to the tip—a trick he showed her how to do specially for him—before Payton ventured on to deep-throating him. A few moments after rolling her tongue over his member, he lifted her onto the bed and placed his dick between her double Ds.

  Payton loved it when he tittie-fucked her until he came and laced her neck and her nipples with one-of-a-kind pearls.

  Afterward, as he nibbled her nipples and fingered her clit, Payton reached her hand into her nightstand drawer and removed a few toys: red metal handcuffs, shackles, and a red leather noose.

  Hearing the metal clinking together caused him to look toward the direction of the noise. “What’s that about?” he said, giving her a devilish grin. “You want me to handcuff you?”

  “No,” Payton said, “I’ma handcuff you.”

  “I don’t want to be handcuffed.”

  “Yes you do,” she said as she ran her tongue over his middle as if it were her favorite flavor. “And you wanna be choked too.”

  “No.” He moaned as he fought to keep his eyes open. “Lick it right there, baby.” He slipped his dick out of her mouth and pointed to the side of the head, “Right there.”

  Payton stuck her tongue out and licked him as if the fudge from his dick were melting. She ran her tongue from the side to the tip, back and forth and back again. He rolled his eyes to the top of his head, grabbed the back of her neck and stuck his dick back into her mouth.

  “Payton—” he moaned as she took him to places he’d never been. His knees began to shake and “Goddamn” was all he could say. He took his hands and ran them up and down her back, as her lips continued their symphony and his mouth shouted their song’s bridge of “Shit, baby, wait.”

  He cupped her chin and she wiggled her head free and bit his fingers, quickly resuming her dick-sucking masterpiece. “You ready to play?” She swallowed him whole again.

  Unable to speak, he stretched his long arms across Payton’s curled back and shot off down her throat. “I don’t give a damn what you do to me!” he said with exhausted excitement.

  Payton stretched his arms across the bed and handcuffed his hands on their respective sides. Then she shackled his feet. Once he lay restrained to the bed, she placed the noose around his neck and eased her creamy trenches onto his cock. She pulled the rope tight and rode him like a G.I. Jane headed for war. She flexed her inner walls, causing her sugar to pour from within and make a vanilla cone between them.

  “Payton!” His eyes bulged out and he moaned, “Harder!”

  A menacing smile ran across Payton’s face as she tightened the noose as far as she could around his neck. His hands flagged hysterically and his feet twisted. His dick was as hard as a boulder. Payton wrapped the end of the noose around her fist and yanked it as if he were runaway cattle. She could see the rope marks burning a way onto his neck, as she rode his dick into space, and just when she thought being choked was the best nut, she remembered that choking someone else was even better. Quinton’s chest heaved up and down, his cock exploded, and his unconscious head dropped to his chest.

  Payton stared into his face as she convulsed into a double orgasm, drowning his long, fat, succulent pipe with more of her vanilla cream. Just as she thought about sucking her stickiness off of him and bringing him back to consci
ousness with her tongue, his cell phone rang.

  She loosened the noose and whispered his name, “Quinton.”

  He slowly opened his eyes and as he said, “You’re a beast,” his cell phone rang again. Payton faked a smile, but she really wanted to scream; the wet spot had barely begun to dry before his wife was steadily calling. Payton rolled to his side, flipped his cell phone open and placed it on speaker. “Please make this shit short,” she mouthed as she uncuffed and unshackled him.

  He shot her the evil eye. “Wassup, Dominique?” he dryly answered the phone, his throat parched.

  Dominique’s voice rattled as if she were loosing her breath, “Where are you, Quinton?”

  “I told you I had some things to finish up at work,” he said, agitated.

  “But … I just called your office and your secretary said you weren’t there.”

  “Dominique,” he sighed seriously, “you’re about to make me hang up on you.”

  “What? Are you kidding me?” she asked in disbelief.

  “Does it sound like I’m joking? You’re getting on my nerves with this shit.” Before Quinton could continue Payton straddled him and said in a low tone, “You need to wrap this up.”

  Caught off guard, Quinton snapped at Payton, “Are you fuckin’ crazy?”

  “Quinton,” Dominique called for his attention, “who are you talking to?”

  He paused. “I’m … ummm … talking to you. Look, Dominique, I really don’t wanna go through this. I gotta go. I’ll be home in an hour.”

  “Two hours,” Payton mumbled, and held two fingers up.

  “You know, Quinton,” Dominique cried, “I’m really trying not to nag you … but it’s really important that you come home now. I need to talk to you.”

  “I told you I will be home in a while.”

  “I need you now, dammit! I swear I’m married to you and feel lonely as hell!”

  “Can we please,” Quinton stressed, “talk about this later, when I get home?”

  “But—” Dominique went on to say as Payton snatched the phone from Quinton’s hand, snapped it closed, and tossed it to the floor. A few seconds later it was ringing again.

  “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” Quinton grabbed Payton by her forearm, tossed her to the side of the bed, and pinned her down. He held her tightly by both of her wrists and her body shook as he spoke. “Don’t ever do no shit like that again. That’s my fuckin’ wife!”

  “And when did you remember that, before or after you came while calling my name?”

  “What,” he said, sternly, “matters is what I just said to you. And another thing, don’t ever in your life come at me like that again, ’cause I’m not Lyfe.”

  “No, you just suggested that I send him to New York.”

  “The point is,” he stressed, as sweat formed on his forehead, “you can talk crazy to him all you want to, but don’t try that shit with me, ’cause that’s the quickest way for you to get fucked up and left alone.” He roughly let her wrist go and stood up.

  Payton sat up, crossed her legs, and gave him a half smile. “Aww …” she said, “that was cute you were trying to take up for your wife. Isn’t that sweet.” She snapped her fingers. “You better work it, boy. Now, seriously,” she lifted her eyes and locked into his gaze, “don’t you ever come out the side of your neck at me again, ’cause I will have you out on your ass before you can even think to apologize to your fat-ass wife. So, let me remind you of Payton’s rules again: I’m in charge, and along with making me money you need to play your position, which is on your knees.”

  “I don’t have to take this shit.” He snatched his clothes from the chair.

  “Then leave.” She lifted her glass of merlot off the nightstand and sipped. “But if you do, consider this your pink slip.”

  “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

  “Well,” Payton lifted one leg on the bed, spreading her pink lips, “I don’t separate very well.” She flicked her hand. “Now go on and get your things, because I have work to do.” She fingered her pussy with her index finger, stirred her finger into her drink, and licked off the drippings. “Unless, of course, you’re rethinking your behavior.”

  Quinton didn’t respond and Payton could tell that a million thoughts were running through his mind as he looked down at how her pussy dripped. She knew he hated that he was attracted to how much of a bitch she was, but she also knew that it kept his dick hard.

  “This shit is going to be the death of me.” He slid to knees.

  “I knew you couldn’t resist.” Payton moaned, throwing her legs over his shoulders.

  California

  Dominique sipped her third glass of wine and held a lit cigarette between her fingertips. She sat on the edge of her bed and fought like hell not to stare at her reflection in her vanity’s mirror. Yet, no matter which way she turned there she was, beneath the crystal chandelier, looking into the reflection of her eyes and wondering how despair, bankrupt feelings, and fucked-up thoughts had etched their way onto her brow.

  She was supposed to be fly at all times, high on life, not wearing misery on her face. After all, she was never content with being a plain Jane from New Orleans. She always knew she was destined to have more, which is why she couldn’t contend with her first boyfriend, Harry Johns. Hell, she didn’t even like his name. He was too boring, too safe, had never been outside of Louisiana, and yeah, he had a big dick and a mouth filled with tongue tricks, but nothing about him satisfied her fantasy.

  Then there was Sheldon Lewis, the assistant pastor she dated. But after six months she’d had enough. All he wanted to do, in between screwing her, was keep her in church all day, preparing her to become his first lady. There was no way in hell that she wanted such a responsibility. She believed in God, but being the head of a church was a whole other level. And she didn’t want to settle, because ever since she was a little girl she knew exactly what she wanted in a man: wealth, power, a ruler of men, Super Man … Obama’esque. A real man, who, when she strolled her size-fourteen hips down the street with him on her arm, every bitch in her path hated and salivated because they weren’t Dominique, the baddest bitch of them all.

  Dominique knew that sluts may have had more fun, but meek and mild women always won, because men chose them to be their wives, to have their babies, and to stay by their sides. So she placed herself in a position to quietly be noticed. She moved from Louisiana to Hollywood, where she became a real estate agent. Worked her way up the ranks until she finally landed the right client—the Chief Investment Officer of Anderson Global.

  She’d sold him his house and on the day of his closing he asked her on a date. She accepted and six months later they were married. Finally her fantasy had come true; she rubbed elbows with the stars, befriended all the Hollywood wives, and quickly became pregnant; striking gold the first go-round: twin boys.

  She had only one problem: Quinton’s affairs.

  He’d gone from late nights, to overnights, to two and three nights out of the house. He treated her as if she were at the top of his shit list and he barely interacted with their now four-year-old twins.

  Dominique knew that the only thing left for Quinton to do was pack his shit and never come back again … but there was no way she could let that happen. Not when she’d wasted the last five years of her life loving this man; and she’d done everything to keep him, from searching through his things, to hooking up a surveillance camera to see what he was doing when she wasn’t around. She was desperate for anything she could find that would give her a clue of what she needed to do to get her husband back where she needed him to be.

  Dominique heard Quinton’s keys jingling in the front door and she quickly mashed her cigarette in the ashtray, stood in front of the mirror, and ran her hands along the sides of her white lace negligee. She hoped Quinton would find it appealing, since in the last year he hadn’t touched her much.

  She heard his footsteps coming closer to the bedroom door. She
hurried and lay across the center of their oval king-size bed.

  Once Quinton entered the room Dominique pushed thoughts of where he’d been out of her mind and pressed forward. “Quinton.” She did her best to give him a full smile. “I’ve been waiting for you, baby.”

  Quinton stared at her lying across the bed and she could tell by the look in his eyes that she drained him. “I’ve had a long day.” He sighed.

  “I know, baby.” She forced herself to smile, her eyes tracing the redness of his neck. She wanted to ask him what had happened, but she didn’t want to give him any excuse to turn away. “And it’s okay,” she rose from the bed, “because I know exactly what’ll make you feel better.” She walked over to him and began kissing him. “I just want you to know that I love you so much. And no matter what, I will always love you.” She placed her hand on his crotch and began to rub his dick through his pants.

  “Not tonight, Dominique.”

  She ignored him and led him by the hand to the bed. Though he was obviously reluctant, he allowed her to undress him.

  “Quinton,” Dominique whispered in his ear as they now lay on the bed and she straddled his lap, “I just want us to work this out … please.”

  He looked at Dominique and she knew he was turned off. Tears of desperation streamed down her face. She felt like she was having sex alone. Quinton’s hands were folded behind his neck, as he watched her bounce up and down on his dick.

  Dominique placed his hands around her waist and they simply rested against her skin. There was no gentle guide of “Go ’head baby, work that pussy,” or “Whose pussy is this?” Just the sound of her desperately climbing up and down on his erotic log, and for a moment she wondered if it was even hard.

  She knew that continuing to make love like this was useless, so she slid off of him and he immediately rose from the bed. She watched his defined back as he walked out the bedroom door, and in between bouts of shock and a flooding of tears, the faint scent of perfume oozed from the heap of Quinton’s clothes that lay on the floor.