by Radclyffe
Soon my head was spinning and my breathing ragged. I shifted my pelvis, trying to bring you into tighter contact with my torso. You began a slow thrusting motion that left me desperate to feel your heated sex gripping my fingers. With the pad of one finger I traced your contours with light caresses, carefully avoiding the sensitive tip of your clitoris as you moaned softly in my ear. Your hand stole down my abdomen, sliding into my sensitive folds.
Your tongue flicked my stiffened nipple to the same rhythm as your finger at my center. I drove my hands into your thick hair and pulled you more firmly against my breast, forcing it into your mouth. Soon you turned your attention to the other breast, sliding your tongue across the valley between them as you moved, to perform the same ritual, alternately sucking, nipping, devouring while your finger continued to exquisitely torment the base of my clit. My blood roared in my head with the overload of glorious sensation that radiated through every nerve ending of my body. This was life itself. Life we might have lost.
I felt the delicious tingle of my building climax ripple from my stomach toward my center, the pressure intensified with each practiced stroke from you. Coherent thought became impossible as the buzzing in my brain blocked out any other sensations save your incredible touch. Both of us moaned with pleasure. Knowing your body, your need, I slid two fingers smoothly inside and your clit jumped and throbbed against my thumb. You shifted again, forcing my fingers deeper inside. You took my nipple in your mouth, and I felt the vibration of your satisfied chuckle against my breast as your superb torment drew a new gasp from my throat.
I leaned my head back and could hear us driving each other to orgasm through the water. Our arm movements made soft whooshing sounds. The combination of sensations and sounds sent my body soaring toward climax and your pulsing muscles gripped and pulled me more firmly inside. Deeper. Harder. Yes.
You dropped your head to my shoulder as I cradled you in my lap. The physical release gave way to a tenderness that threatened to undo me altogether, and I fought tears that burned my eyes. My hand was still inside you, feeling your tremors slowly fade. You wrapped your arms tightly around me and I surrendered completely into your certain embrace. You painted feather-light kisses along my neck and collarbone until I finally stilled. I raised my head to look into your amazing eyes, now a soft satisfied blue that gently gazed at me, and I was overcome once again by the depth of our love.
You smiled sweetly and placed a delicate kiss on my lips.
Then you whispered, “Welcome home.”
FUZZPLOITATION
Kris Adams
It’s a scorcher in the mad city. Hustlers plod through sticky asphalt to make that paper. Kids break into fire hydrants for relief, 5-0 be damned. Hookers advertise their expertise on Popsicles, their ever-watchful pimps keeping cool in the corner stores. Through the noise and haze comes a fine-ass sister, sauntering into Boss Charlie’s bar like she owns the whole street. Her armor: platform boots, paisley handkerchief top, pink hot pants and a full-length chinchilla coat. Ninety-eight degrees in the shade, and she doesn’t even break a sweat.
Charlie’s thugs in the back room are too busy counting bags of drugs to notice the six-foot-tall (with boots and ’fro) sister watching them from the doorway. Once they see her, they spring into action, wanting to know what this foxy Black bitch is doing in the boss’s hideout.
One of the goons has the audacity to place his meaty white paw on her. “Foxy broad like you will make a ton of dough for the boss.” He snickers. “Maybe I’ll just sample the merchandise first. You like vanilla, baby?”
“First,” she says calmly, smiling so they don’t notice the two shiny objects she’s slipping from her purse, “you assholes are all under arrest.” Before they can reach for their illegal weapons, she flashes her badge and lodges her pistol against the meat paw’s noggin. “And second…I ain’t your baby!”
The goons make a play, like they always do. The first three get it in the chest. The fourth, in the back. She’s about to take out the fifth when number six clocks her, making her drop her piece. Lip swelling, she lets the chinchilla slide to the floor before crouching into a low stance and lets loose a barrage of fast punches and strikes to disarm them. The roundhouse kicks that send them flying into the walls, those are for messing up the kisser. She’s just about to finish them off when a bloated, middle-aged white man in a powder blue leisure suit comes out of a hidden door.
“Congratulations, Eboni Slicke. You’ve solved my over-employment problem.” He laughs, clapping his sweaty hands. Before Eboni can reach for her second gun, someone grabs her from behind. She squirms, but whoever’s got her is strong… skilled…and smells damn good.
“You won’t get away with this, Boss Charlie!” Eboni hisses.
“But I already have.” He laughs again as Eboni struggles to break free. “Let me introduce you. Detective Eboni Slicke, say hello to my new right-hand man—Fiona.”
Eboni finally wriggles free and spins around to find herself looking down the barrels of both her guns. The woman holding them offers a lopsided grin, to which Eboni snaps, “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m your worst nightmare, sweetheart,” drawls Fiona, the new soldier, now number two on the detective’s shit list. Eboni sizes her up: tall, hazel eyes, long brown hair, luscious mouth, tight body, white. Shit.
“Detective Slicke has been after me for years,” Boss Charlie says. “Thinks a man ain’t entitled to make a living anymore.”
“Not when your living is selling drugs, turning out our women and sending our men to early graves!” Eboni points an angry finger at The Man, the scourge of her beloved city. “I’m gonna take you down if it’s the last thing I do.”
Charlie’s evil grin widens. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Tapping Fiona on the ass, Charlie kicks aside the remains of one of his goons on his way out the door. “Take care of Miss Slicke for me, darling.”
Fiona watches him go, then aims right at Eboni’s mountainous hair.
“Tell me, Miss Slicke,” Fiona teases, “how do you get your afro so big?”
“Why don’t you put those guns down and I’ll show you?” Eboni hisses, ready to open up another can of kung-fu whoop-ass.
“I’ve heard about you. Badass sister thinks she can take on all the crime in the city by herself.” Fiona lowers the guns just a little, the smirk dropping momentarily from her face. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, Slicke.”
“You threatening me, white girl?”
Fiona’s cocky grin returns. “You gonna do something about it?”
Eboni takes a step forward, fists at the ready.
Fiona licks her lips in anticipation and then laughs at the sound of approaching police sirens. “Looks like you don’t get your man this time.”
Fiona backs away, guns still trained expertly at Eboni’s body. “Or should I say, you don’t get your woman?”
As Eboni watches Fiona’s nicely round ass disappear into the shadows, she contemplates how she’ll explain to her captain yet another pile of dead bodies left in her wake.
* * *
Two hours of forced desk duty is all Eboni can take. She needs to be out working her cases. She needs to be out busting heads. She needs some peace and quiet.
“When are you gonna give a brother a chance, Slicke?”
“Girl, your ass is too fine to be getting shot at!”
“Just give me five minutes alone in a cell with that!”
“You couldn’t even handle this,” she tells the uniforms, the plainclothes, the perps being led to the lockup. Like she’s supposed to go off with the first jive turkey that smiles at her. Sitting back with her platforms on her desk, she picks at her ’fro and wonders how she’s supposed to nail Boss Charlie now. The paperwork doesn’t tell her anything new. The only thing new in this case is that heifer that got the drop on her.
“Okay, Miss Thing,” Eboni growls to herself, “I’m coming for you next.”
Behind the wheel of her bl
ack Buick Electra 225, Eboni waits down the street from Boss Charlie’s favorite hangout. Eventually the gangster and his old lady emerge, pausing to share an awkward kiss before leaving in separate cars. Cursing, Eboni tails Fiona to a modest house in a modest neighborhood. She settles in for what she expects will be a boring stakeout.
After twenty minutes of surveillance, Eboni lowers her binoculars just long enough to switch out the 8-track in the dash. When she looks back, Fiona is gone.
“Where the hell did she go?” Eboni jumps at a heavy tap on the passenger window.
“You wanna turn down the Bobby Womack?” Fiona asks sarcastically, flipping her long hair and smirking through the window at Eboni’s astonished face. “People in this neighborhood are trying to sleep.” Her eyes sparkle under the bright streetlamps, Eboni notices, reluctantly. “So…you gonna open the door?”
“How did you…damn.” It’s unlike Eboni Slicke to be at a loss for words. She’d love nothing more than to lecture this Barbie doll on everything from African decolonization to the war in Vietnam. Instead, she unlocks the door, shaking her head. “There’s a warrant out for you, girlie.”
“Sure there is.” Fiona sinks into the passenger seat, runs her hands over the interior. “Deuce and a quarter. Nice.”
Eboni raises an eyebrow. “What, you used to date a brother?”
Fiona sits back, making herself comfortable. “I used to date a lot of people.”
“And now you date Boss Charlie. Were you born with a silver spoon in your mouth, then to make Daddy mad you ran off with a bunch of convicts or joined the Moonies or became a communist or something?”
“Smart and funny! I like that.”
Eboni bristles. “What do you want?”
“Listen to me, Slicke.” The smile falls away and Fiona leans closer, her voice lowering when she murmurs, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of Boss Charlie’s hair…or you’ll be sorry.”
“That’s the second time you’ve threatened me. I could take you in for that alone.”
Fiona’s cocky grin returns. “I’d like to see you try—’specially since you’re supposed to be on desk duty. What would your captain think?”
“How did—damn it.” Eboni shakes her head, wondering which of the idiots down at the station let that precious information loose out on the street. “Whatever. I’m done playing for tonight. Now get the fuck out.”
“Yes ma’am.” Fiona gives a little salute before stepping out of the car. “Hope to…play with you again soon, Detective Slicke.”
“Bitch.” Eboni guns the 3.5L, but she stays to watch Fiona sashay back into the house before she pulls away.
A week of tailing Boss Charlie’s new moll around the city gets Eboni nowhere. Desperate for a lead, she heads back to Fiona’s house. The captain will have Eboni’s badge if she’s caught breaking and entering, but she’s too close to stop now.
She’s elbow-deep in Fiona’s underwear drawer when she hears keys in the front door. She tiptoes into the bedroom closet, hiding behind long hippy dresses and bell bottoms as voices come from the entryway.
“C’mon, Fiona. How long you gonna hold out on me?” It’s Boss Charlie, sounding well annoyed. “I promote you out of the ranks, make you my second, and for what? So you can give me blue balls?”
Fiona lets go an exaggerated sigh. “Not tonight, Charlie.”
Good, Eboni thinks, before she catches herself, wondering, What do I care who she fucks?
“I need to make some calls about the new shipment tomorrow. Good night, Charlie.” The door slams shut, Fiona makes a beeline for the bathroom and Eboni sees her chance to split—but she doesn’t budge. She’s never been afraid of anyone, least of all a smartass hoodlum white girl. So why she’s cowering in the closet, she doesn’t know. The questions racing in her head come to a screeching halt when Fiona trudges into the bedroom completely naked.
Eboni freezes, moving only her eyes as she peers through the closet door slats. She watches Fiona brush her long hair, rub night cream on her face, down her neck, between her breasts. Eboni bites her lip, reminding herself why she’s here, who Fiona is…what she is. That it’s all in a day’s work, sneaking into this outlaw’s house, fingering her unmentionables and watching her slowly, slowly run long fingers across naked skin while standing in front of a full-length mirror. Eboni wants to punch herself; she squints to get a better look instead.
Fiona must be about five-ten, Eboni decides, remembering those slim, strong arms holding her tightly the first time they met. So she’s half an inch taller, but Eboni has a bigger rack. The nipples are roughly the same size as Eboni’s, though lighter in color. They harden as Fiona massages her breasts, her head thrown back, her eyes closed. Eboni leans closer for a better look, in case she misses something important…for the case. She might have to add to her report that Fiona likes to smooth lotion all over her naked body at bedtime. The D.A. might have to know that the hair between Fiona’s legs is thicker and curlier than that on her head. Eboni might need to testify on the stand how sinuously Fiona slides onto her bed with her hands between her legs.
It’s a bit surreal, Eboni realizes, to be a police detective hiding in the closet of a suspect that she’s investigating, watching that suspect touch herself. Even more surreal, Eboni can’t help wishing she could see more. From her position she can only view Fiona in profile: one fluttering eyelid, a tightly squeezed breast, one long, tanned thigh.
“Fuck.”
Eboni winces before she realizes it wasn’t her voice, though it could have been, as hot as she’s getting just watching Fiona pull at her nipples and slide shaking hands over her belly. View obscured, Eboni can only imagine the rest; how swollen and moist Fiona’s vulva is…if her clitoris is well-hooded or exposed and slick…how many fingers she’s using to fill her vagina.
“Yes,” Fiona continues, “fuck me.”
Eboni wants to cross her legs. No room for that. Only room in her head, imagining what Fiona would look like in front of her, spread apart and hard and wet, what she would smell like… what she would taste like.
The detective is so busy imagining that she nearly misses Fiona climaxing with a squealed, “Oh…Eboni!”
Soon after, the bedside light goes off, and Fiona’s sighs turn to the soft purrs of sleep. It takes some time, but Eboni eventually crawls out of the closet, out of the bedroom and out of the house.
After a reckless drive home, Eboni stumbles to her bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes on the way, hand sliding into her panties as soon as she hits the bed. She’s mortified to find herself still wet, even more so to find that she’s picturing Fiona’s soft breasts and tight ass as she strokes herself. On her knees, thighs spread, aching nipples crushed to the sheets, Eboni fucks herself and can almost picture that luscious bitch kneeling underneath her, mouth open and buried between her legs.
When she allows herself to replay Fiona’s last words, Eboni comes like a freight train.
For the first time since getting promoted to detective, Eboni Slicke is nose-deep in paperwork and not complaining about it. Something’s going down tonight, and she will be damned if she’s not there when it does. If going through every last report on this case will give her a clue, so be it. And if fixating on the job keeps her mind off last night’s activities, even better.
She’s so engrossed in her work that she barely takes notice of an unfamiliar messenger delivering a plainly wrapped package. Eboni rips it open absentmindedly, only noticing when she’s down to the box and tissue paper that whatever is inside is moving.
It’s not a bomb. She’s had enough experience with nut cases in the city to know that. Whatever it is can’t be good, and if she wasn’t so distracted lately she’d never have opened an unmarked package by herself. Too late for gloves, her prints are all over it now. Carefully, she pushes aside the mass of tissue paper and peers inside.
“Fuck me.” Eboni stares at the box for a minute until the blood runs back into her face and she ca
n breathe. When she’s collected herself, she removes the attached note card and reads:
Miss Slicke,
I hope this note finds you well, and that you’ll heed my warning about the Boss. Give up and you’ll have nothing to worry your pretty little head about.
Yours,
F
P.S. After your little Peeping Tom stint last night, I thought you could use this.
Eboni reads the note a third time before crumpling it and shoving the box, tissues and still-humming vibrator into her bottom desk drawer.
“That’s it,” the detective growls to herself, “I’m taking these suckas out tonight.”
Eboni knows someone’s broken into her place as soon as she steps out of the shower. She would be impressed if she wasn’t so pissed off. Ignoring her robe, she walks right into her bedroom and heads for her dresser. As expected, the sight of her beautiful naked blackness elicits a complimentary whistle.
“You must have a death wish coming here,” Eboni murmurs, her back to the intruder but her defenses high. Slowly she opens her underwear drawer and feels around for the—
“You looking for this?” The sound of her .38 cocking sends Eboni spinning around, and for the second time in a week she’s face-to-face with Fiona holding her own gun on her. Fiona smiles, but at least has the decency to blush as her eyes fall over Eboni’s body.
“It’s only fair,” Fiona explains, though she has to clear her throat first. “Since you broke into my place last night. That wasn’t very nice, Detective. Wasn’t very legal, either.”
“What do you know about legal?”