by Zane
But when she turned and faced me, I nearly lost my breath. She was wearing the hell out of the harnessed, medium-brown colored dick. She looked so damn sexy with that big brown cock, I almost tripped trying to get out of my pants.
Completely nude, I stretched out on the bed. Sexual tension knotted inside my creamy core, but I squeezed my legs together to alleviate the pressure.
She sauntered over and straddled me. “Pretty titties,” she murmured in a husky voice. At first, Tristan flicked her tongue against my firm nipples, and then she sucked each dark bead.
I felt my body flush with arousal, began to feel a recognizable ache as intense heat flooded through me; my juices—hot and syrupy—ran down my thighs. She cupped both breasts, pushed them together and sucked the plum-colored nipples until they became sensitive, glistening peaks. I winced when she grazed her teeth against my pebbled flesh, which was now painfully engorged.
“Turn over and let me see that round, kissable ass.”
I flipped over on command.
She gave my behind a couple of soft smacks. “Mmm. Look at all that jiggle.” Lying on my stomach, I was in a sexual frenzy as Tristan alternated smacking and kissing my butt cheeks.
A bundle of pent-up anxiety had me humping and pressing my clit against the mattress. Noticing my distress, Tristan spread my legs, lifted me to a slightly raised position and licked my honey pot from behind. “Oh, God,” I cried out as she inserted her tongue deeply. The slurping sounds along with her tongue lashes inside my hot tunnel sent me to the brink of arousal.
She rearranged herself, and I felt the plastic shaft press insistently against my smooth backside. I assumed that beneath the male appendage, Tristan’s own vagina was wet and burning hot. I wondered if she needed me to probe her with my fingers.
With an arm draped over my side, Tristan used her longest finger to caress my clitoris. Slowly, sensually, she penetrated my soft, honey-coated passageway.
“I’m ready to fuck, baby. You want this dick?” she asked.
I replied with a long, tortured groan.
Enjoying the heightened sensation of dual stimulation, I rotated my hips and moaned softly as I rocked back and forth against Tristan’s finger while simultaneously accepting penetration from the plastic penis. Tristan’s penile thrusts were slow and steady.
“Deeper!” I moaned.
“You sure? I’m trying to be gentle. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Harder!” I insisted, losing control, pushing back as my body demanded more.
Tristan squeezed my buttocks and obligingly drove the dildo in to the hilt. She released one buttock and wound her hand around my belly to reach for my pussy, then took hold of my labia, pulling on one slippery lip and then the other. Her grunting sounds made me aware of her unfulfilled hunger.
“What do you want me to do?” I whimpered.
“Just let me fuck you, I’ll get mine,” she assured me.
With the intention of satiating both of our desires, Tristan plunged her male appendage in and out of my vagina with speed and intensity that had me perspiring as I struggled to match her rhythm. In the next blissful instant, we exploded together, bucking, shaking, shuddering. Crying out, our voices rang in shared passion.
As we dressed in silence, I took small peeks at her from beneath lowered lashes, my stomach dropping as reality crashed down on me.
What had I just done?
She opened the door for me, gallantly allowing me to go in front of her. I patted my hair in place, checked my clothing one more time and slipped past her, without giving her a glance.
We passed the register. “Good looking out,” Tristan said to the manager.
I bit my lip, not meeting his eyes. As we approached the door, her hand swatted my ass.
I glanced up at her. “You could be more polite,” I chastised her. “And anyway, how do you know about that room?”
“I work there part time,” Tristan divulged with a grin. “I stock the shelves after hours. Yo, Nina. I want to get to know you better. You down with that?”
I pressed my lips together, wondering if I dare take it to the next level with her. Was I out of my mind to even consider it?
I stared at her, torn, and that sweet dimple deepened in her cheek.
I reached out and grabbed her hand. Tristan turned, and moved my hand into the crook of her elbow, tucking it and me close to her side, and we ambled down South Street.
My decision was made.
The Queen of Seduction, Allison Hobbs resides in Philadelphia, PA and is the protégé of Zane, who believes that Allison will be the next erotic author to break out and sell millions of books. Her writing is unique, as proven with her vast collection of novels, all published by Zane: Pandora’s Box, Insatiable, Dangerously in Love, Double Dippin’, The Enchantress, A Bona Fide Gold Digger, The Climax: Insatiable 2, and the upcoming Big Juicy Lips: Double Dippin’ 2, Pure Pleasure: Gold Digger 2, and The Sorceress. You can visit her on the web at: www.allisonhobbs.com
In My Mind
Zane
T wice a week, when I entered the classroom, I would always see her first. Well, actually, the back of her as she prepared all of her materials for class. She sat in the first row, obviously a serious student who wanted to make the best impression. I admired that.
As I walked from the rear to the front, I would brush past her and catch her distinctive whiff. She wasn’t the perfume type, but she always smelled great. I recognized when she changed to the featured scent of the month at Bath and Body Works; I always did the same, but Moonlit Path would always be my favorite.
A few times I said hello to her. She whispered a soft response but never engaged in conversation with me after class, like many of the other students, especially the male students. All of them wanted to sample what they had come to know so well visually.
Never in a million years would I have imagined becoming a nude model, even though I had sketched and painted many of them when I had been an art major at the same university where I now worked. Times were hard since my mother had passed away, and I needed to pay my bills. I had obtained a little success as a painter. but no one would ever take me seriously until I was dead.
Shane was her name. One of the other students had mentioned that she was originally from Atlanta and had moved to Washington, D.C. for college. She was taller than me but, then again, so were most women. Since I measured four feet eleven inches, most girls were taller than me before they finished elementary school. Shane had long brown dreadlocks, coconut flesh and a gap between her front teeth. She wore glasses and tried to hide the fact that she was beautiful by wearing frumpy clothes and no makeup.
I did not become a lesbian until I was in my late-twenties. In retrospect, I probably always should have been one. No man had ever truly appreciated my value or respected me, not until after I was gone and they were trying to convince me to come back. Pain recognizes pain, though, and I often saw agony on Shane’s face during class. I had nothing else to do but stare at everyone while they stared at my body.
The routine was always the same. I would come in, go up on the small riser, disrobe and then strike a pose, which changed weekly. The first week, the instructor had me lie on a Victorian chaise and strike a historical pose. The second week, I had to stand with my back to them and my head bent to the right so they could see my profile. I hated that. My neck had such a crick in it that I had to go home and use a heating pad. The third week, I sat on a stool with my hands folded on my lap. Now we were into the fourth week and I had to stand erect with my back slightly arched, my arms raised over my head grasping a pole, with my chin pointed a little down and to the left.
Class began and all eyes were on me. Pencils were out and the only sounds were the tips whisking across the paper and the low music playing in the background. “Bed” by J. Holiday was currently playing and all I could think about was putting Shane to bed. I had often wondered if she had ever noticed how much I stared at her over others in the class. My gaze
would remain fixed on her while I made love to her over and over again in my mind. I imagined her hands running through my curly, black hair and her tongue on my nipples, that would often become hard just from the fantasy. The third week, I had actually climaxed while posing. In my mind, I had been eating Shane’s pussy and she was screaming out my name: “Emile! Emile!” I hoped no one had seen the wetness of my pussy dripping down the legs of the stool. Then again, it was what it was. If I was going to sit there in the same position for three hours, twice a week, my mind had to do something. Shane had been not on my mind, but in my mind for so long and I decided that it was time to do something about it.
“Hello, Shane,” I said while she was packing up her supplies.
“Hey, Emile,” she whispered back.
“How are things going?” I asked, which took our normal conversation further than it had ever been.
She looked nervous. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
It was like she was trying to hide something, or feared that I had found out something. I knew next to nothing about her.
“I was just asking. We spend six hours a week together, so I was only wondering.”
Shane scanned the room, full of others. “But everyone is here every week.”
I shrugged, standing there in my plush robe and flip-flops. “Everyone else has at least held one conversation with me; everyone but you.” I started to walk away, admitting defeat way too easily. “Sorry if I bothered you.”
She grabbed my arm and, even through the thick fabric, electricity shot up my spine. My fantasy had touched me—for the first time but far from the last.
“Emile, I didn’t mean to come off the wrong way. It’s just that, well, it’s been a rough month for me.”
“I’m a great listener. Would you like to go have a drink and talk about it?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose on you.”
Was that a blush?
“Shane, it’s not an imposition. Everyone needs someone to talk to, and I’ve had a rough year, not just a month.”
“Really?”
“Yes, we all have issues, and it’s important not to keep things wrapped up inside.”
Shane giggled. “A drink would be nice, right about now. But only if you have the time.”
I brushed one of her dreadlocks off her cheek. “Just give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you out front.”
“Um, okay.”
While I was getting dressed, I hoped that my touching her cheek like that hadn’t scared her off. I had no idea if Shane was into men, or women, or both. I only craved for her to be into me.
When I pulled up in front of the building in my red BMW, left to me by my mother, Shane was standing on the steps.
“Get in,” I said, as I pushed the passenger door open.
Twenty seconds later, we were headed to the campus exit gates.
“So what do you like to drink?” I asked.
Shane shrugged. “I’m not a big drinker, so anything fruity is cool.”
“Great! I know a place in Georgetown that sells marvelous frozen drinks—all flavors of Daiquiris and Margaritas.”
“Cool.”
“They also have a smokin’ DJ. You like go-go music?”
“I really don’t know that much about it, except for ‘Da Butt’ by E.U. Have you heard that?”
“Damn, girl, everyone’s done da butt!”
We fell out laughing.
I continued, “I guess they don’t have a lot of go-go in Atlanta.”
There was that nervous look again. “How did you know that I’m from Atlanta?”
“Someone mentioned it.” I sighed. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Um, okay,” she replied hesitantly.
“Are you seeing anyone right now?”
A frown came across her face. “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering. You seem kind of on edge and most of the time when women are on edge, it’s because of relationship problems.”
Shane laughed. “You’re very astute. Actually, the person that I’ve been seeing has been tripping lately. They’ve been spending time with someone else, I think.”
There it was. She was definitely into women. The use of “the person,” “they’ve,” and “someone else,” instead of “the man,” “he’s,” and “another woman,” had said it all. It takes one to know one. I grinned like a Cheshire cat. Since she was into kitty kat, half of the battle was already won.
I decided not to fake the funk and turned the car around to head to Southeast. “I just thought of another place we can go. You’ll like it a whole lot better.”
We entered Too Deep, my regular spot near the Navy Yard, and Shane’s eyes almost popped clear out of her head. Wall-to-wall fine women were socializing, drinking, and engaged in public displays of affection. I did not ask her if she was down with the program, but simply led her to the bar and ordered two frozen Pina Coladas.
A blob of the drink landed on Shane’s chest when she picked up the overflowing cup. She was about to wipe it off with a cocktail napkin but I stopped her, leaned in closer to her and licked it off. I took my time and ran the tip of my tongue down the middle of her breasts, as much as I could with her shirt still on. I couldn’t wait until I could suckle on them for hours at a time. My breasts are my most sensitive part, and thus, I like to suck on them the way I want my women to reciprocate. Knowing how much pleasure I derive from it makes me want to pleasure others.
I sat back and gazed into Shane’s eyes, to gauge her reaction. Her mouth was hanging open but she didn’t look upset. While her mouth was already open, I took advantage of it and slid my tongue into it. At first, she did not move hers as I explored the inside, flicking my tongue over the roof of her mouth. Then she got into it and it was on; we were making out like two teenagers and Shane was a fantastic kisser. The thought of her moving her tongue like that inside of my pussy had my panties on fire.
“U Got It Bad” by Usher started playing and I asked Shane to dance. We ended up in the middle of the dance floor, grinding on each other and my head only came up to her chest, just like a normal size woman’s would to a normal-sized man. We were the perfect fit. I got lost in her, laying my head on her breast as she wrapped her arms around me and we got caught up in the words. I had it bad and I knew it. I only hoped that Shane was feeling me as much. Whoever had fucked up with her was a dumb-ass sister!
Shane had on a skirt. I reached down between her legs and worked my index finger inside her panties, which felt like cotton.
“You smell so sweet,” I told her as I gazed up into her eyes.
She flinched as I started fingering her pussy. It was so wet.
“You smell sweet yourself, Emile.”
I pulled my finger out and licked it. “And you taste even sweeter.”
I dove back into her panties, with two fingers next, and worked her damn near into a frenzy for the remainder of the song and the next: “No Love” by Kevon Edmonds.
We left the club an hour later and headed to my apartment. Shane never asked me if I was seeing anyone and I never bothered to offer the information. For the past three years, I had been living with Madonna, but she was out of the country for four months on a contract assignment. It was my intention to end the relationship as soon as she returned. I needed a lot of attention, more importantly affection, and Madonna was too caught up in her profession to sustain me as her woman. She saw it exactly the opposite. Madonna felt that I was wasting my life away on a silly dream and that I needed to do more to contribute to the household. That was one of the reasons that I had reduced myself to nude modeling.
When we got to my place, luckily I had taken down all the pictures of Madonna and me cuddling and grinning from ear-to-ear, back when we had been happier. Sure, all of her clothes and belongings were there, but unlike a man, who has to hide hair bows and perfume bottles when a chick comes over, I was expected to have feminine items at my place.
“Wow, you’re an artist!” Shane said when s
he noticed the easel, all the paint brushes, charcoal pencils and other supplies.
“Yes, I have an art degree from the university,” I said. “That’s how I knew that I could get a job there. Professor Andrews used to teach me back in the day.”
“Oh, that’s wild.” Shane snickered. “I never would have guessed.”
“Being that all you ever knew about me before tonight was my nude body, there was no way for you to have guessed.”
I should not have said that. I could tell that Shane was beginning to ponder the fact that we really did not know each other. Plus, Shane had someone else. And even though her lover was probably cheating, Shane obviously still cared. I could have backed off, but Shane was in my mind and I had to have her—all of her.
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the couch?” I suggested. “I’ll go get us a bottle of wine.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I should mix liquors,” Shane said in protest.
“It’ll be okay. If you don’t want any, I could still use some.”
I got a bottle of Chardonnay and two wine glasses from the kitchen and when I returned, I was shocked. Shane wasn’t on the couch. She was standing in the middle of my living room…naked.
“I realize that my body is nowhere near as great as yours, but this is who I am,” she whispered.
“You’re stunning!” I set the bottle and glasses on the coffee table and started taking off my clothes. “I know you’ve seen this all before,” I joked.
“Yes, but now I get to touch it, and lick it, and suck it.”
No, she was not turning the seduction table on me!
“Oh, so it’s like that, Shane? I never took you to be a freak!”
“Like you said, before tonight, who could have known what?” She paused. “I’ve wanted to suck on that pussy of yours since day one. It’s always glistening, and it’s shaved into a heart.” She spread her legs and pointed to her own pussy. “See, we’re twins.”
Shane had shaved her pussy hairs into a heart, just like mine. Damn, I was in love!