Despite my blindfold, I could just imagine the smirk on his cocky little face.
He thrust the rest of his hardness into me and slammed his hips into mine. I cried out again into my gag, thankful that there was at least something preventing the neighbors from hearing every last noise.
He pumped between my legs ardently once he was buried inside me. The pain melted away within a few strokes and gave way to pleasure that I had never experienced before. This was beyond the build-up to orgasm.
Pleasure pulsates deep in my core, from the depths of my wetness all the way up to my racing heart. Air forced it’s way out of my nose as I bucked my hips and fell headfirst into euphoria.
Listen to my senses, he’d commanded.
I could do that easily.
He pounded into me harder and my core came ablaze as I approached a climax.
“I can tell you’re about to cum,” he said, “cum for me baby. Don’t hold back. Cum all over my big hard cock.”
I exploded. I couldn’t scream but I lost control of my limbs as o climaxed. If I hadn’t been bound I might have hurt myself. I writhed like a mad woman as pleasure overcame every inch of me. Sweat pooled across my brow and I used my thighs to pull Brock deeper inside me.
I no longer feared his hardness, I craved more of it.
He pummeled me harder as I egged him on with the back of my heels pressing into his buttocks and thighs. He grunted and leaned forward, pressing his weight into me.
His sculpted abs grazed my chest with each deep stroke and within a few moments, I approached another intense climax. I breathed slowly, trying to control myself as I approached the hump of pleasure. I pulled him in closer and stimulated another climax.
I lost control again even more than before. I writhed, I attempted to scream and the apex of my thighs oozed spurts of my love honey all over Brock’s immense staff.
He grunted and thrust into me harder. We made love until the bed beneath me soaked through with sweat. My skin tingled with oversensitivity brought on by far too many climaxes.
He groaned and pushed into me one last time before exploding. His immense cock throbbed as he released large spurts of cum. I wrapped my legs around him, pressing his chest into mine as he finished.
He ripped off my blindfold urgently, then my gag, pressing his lips to mine before I got a chance to take my first breath through my mouth in hours.
“Amazing,” he whispered, “that was amazing.”
I nodded but couldn’t yet muster up words. He released me from my binds and tossed me my kimono.
“Are you leaving?” I asked a hint of desperation in my voice.
He smirked.
“Not tonight. But for now, no more sex.”
“Then what do you we do?”
Brock chuckled.
“I want to get to know you, that’s all. Is that cool?”
“Yeah,” Tasha nodded, “it’s cool.”
The End.
2
FREE SAMPLE: The Gardener
I hung up on Tasha half-way through her sentence.
Why that woman insisted upon bothering me instead of Kishawn was a total mystery.
I’m not into those sorts of things. I don’t talk about casual sex and in fact, sex is never casual — never.
It’s a beautiful gift between man and wife. That’s it.
I thought Tasha was like me, a little more loud-mouthed but she understood where I was coming from.
Now that she had her little plumber fixing her pipes and laying some pipes, she started acting like a young hussy rather than a woman of age and maturity.
Tasha insisted I get myself a younger man to “help” me out but I didn’t need one.
My husband was the only man I ever loved and the only man I ever would love.
The divorce had been his idea. I hadn’t wanted it! I planned to stick to my wedding vows even if he’d been with another woman. When the other woman got pregnant, I still loved Howard. When she gave birth to twins and he had to leave our anniversary party, I didn’t love him less either.
I hadn’t been with another man since our divorce ten years ago. The last time I spoke to Howard was when his mother passed. He told me not to come to the funeral.
Men were well in my past. I’d done it all and I had no need to turn myself into a young man’s trollop.
I went off to Bible study, desperate for a change in conversation. The girls at Bible study were much more understanding than Tasha.
I sat with sister Zelda, and we discussed the magnificence of our psalm reading until we had finished two glasses of Pinot Grigio. That week, Bible study had been at Zelda’s house and I stayed after to help her clean up.
“Are you alright, Shontal?” She asked.
“Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
“You were quiet today during prayer. Usually, you ask to lead.”
“Not up to it.”
“Did something happen?”
“No, nothing happened. I’m struggling with some of my girl friends, that’s it.”
“Oh. Is she sick?”
I smiled gently, seeing the care in Zelda’s warm walnut colored face.
“She ain’t sick. She’s just seeing this new man and it’s all she can talk about — sex this, sex that. Don’t women ever get tired of talking about sex?”
Zelda laughed.
“You’d think we would, wouldn’t we.”
“I don’t see why it’s so important.”
“It ain’t important. I’ve been celibate for fifteen years and my heart still beats the same.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Exactly. I mean,” I continued, “I don’t see what the big deal is. It ain’t that magical.”
“Or that special.”
“C’mon,” Zelda encouraged me, “Don’t worry about your friend. Focus on you and the Lord and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t let it bother me.”
“See? You already moved past it. Now let’s talk rose bushes.”
My eyes lit up. Finally, someone who understood what really mattered: gardening.
“They’re coming in big this year.”
“All colors?”
I sighed, “No. My black ones died.”
“The ones from Holland?”
“Yes,” I uttered morosely, “I had them shipping in special and now they’re a bunch of dead twigs.”
“My condolences.”
I shrugged, “It’s a part of life, right?”
“I guess so,” Zelda said.
“Do you still want a clipping of the red ones?”
“Why yes, I do! I thought you’d never ask.”
“The gardener is coming in tomorrow to do some landscaping. I’ll ask him to get you a clipping.”
I drove home comforted by the fact that there were still women like me who understood that sex wasn’t everything.
The next morning, I woke up early and exercised, prayed and made myself a cup of Earl Grey tea which I enjoyed with biscuits on the side. My mother was from Jamaica and that’s how she always enjoyed her tea.
The sun created over the cul-de-sac.
Howard and I were the first black folks to buy a house in this neighborhood and back then, the house cost us a whole $500,000 dollars — a lot of money back then and now.
The familiar sound of my gardener’s truck sputtered down the street. He parked in front of my gate and buzzed on it. I hit the button and allowed his truck to drive up to my front door.
I answered the door in my jeans and a plain white t-shirt and smiled at my gardener, a nice, respectful young man named Kai Lord.
“Good morning Mr. Lord.”
“Good morning Shontal,” he replied, grinning widely, “How are you doing this morning?”
“Not too bad. Are you here to do the rose bushes?”
“Yes ma’am but before we start, I gotta show you a little something I’ve got out in my truck.”
“Wha
t is it?”
“A little surprise. C’mon.”
Kai always had so much energy for gardening. At 40, he ran a successful landscaping business in the Heights and had a team of over 100 employees.
Despite all that, Kai always did my garden on his own.
I was delighted at the sort of surprise he might have in store for me.
I followed him out to his truck and he reached in through the front window and pulled out — a single black rose.
The plant wasn’t a cutting, just a flower, but the petals glowed with that indigo luminescence.
My hands jumped to my mouth.
“Oh my goodness, Kai! Where did you get that?”
“I have a contact. He’ll be sending out new shipments of cuttings next week.”
“Next week!” I squealed.
“But the other ones didn’t take,” I added morosely.
“Don’t you worry about it. I’ll get this new crop to grow.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’d do anything for this garden, Ms. Weekes.”
>END OF SAMPLE<
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The Plumber: BWWM Romance Series (The Handyman Series Book 2) Page 3