by Zane
Since we were still in constant ecstasy by summer’s end, I took the big leap and extended an invitation to him to spend some time with me at the beach house my girls and I rented for a week. We usually tripped from Saturday to Saturday. We had an open house that first Sunday for family and friends. The rest of the week it was only us and we decompressed. All we did was beach, eat, shop, and chill. Oh! You could also import some dick for the day. Only one overnight stay; it was the law.
My baby worked overnight, so we’ve had the best conversations in the wee hours of the morning. Some of those conversations became my private masturbation pieces. I couldn’t be too explicit when he was on the company phone, but if I got him on his cell, it was on! His voice late at night got a little deeper, his diction was a little slower, and when he moaned my name, DAMN! I was in bed, under the covers, no undies, finger circling my clit, dipping it in every now and then as he described how he was going to eat me so good and so deep that he was going to leave his face print on my pussy. So, all I had to do was feel my way when I thought about him and know that he would always be there with me. Now tell me if that ain’t a pussy-eatin’ motherfucker! I would be walking around all day with my fingers feelin’ my pussy like I was reading braille. Because that was how often I’d been thinking about him lately.
This was the first time our relationship elevated to where all bets were off and we had thrown caution to the wind. Now since we’d taken this leap, the obstacles began to occur, testing us to see how badly we really wanted it. First, getting time off from work and arranging where he was really supposed to be. Then he called to tell me that the transmission conked out on his car the day before his arrival. My disappointment carried through the phone. Then he heard the ladies in the background and began to laugh. He couldn’t believe what they were saying.
When it came to one another, we had no shame, no blame, and no judgment. They wanted to make sure my dick got there, that I was well serviced, and all that it entailed. Because when the car obstacle popped up, my girls suggested we go get him, bring him to me, and take him back. Those were the kind of girls I rolled with. That’s why I loved those three ladies. I considered them my sisterfriends. They were more sisters than friends.
Everything that my love and I were doing was so out of character for us. We had really crossed all boundaries. I figured we might as well go all the way. Fuck it!
Lastly, he said, “Don’t be so pessimistic. I’ll think of something.”
After that, my girls and I decided to go to the mall. Guess where we ended up? Victoria’s Secret. Not interested in anything in particular, I was led by one of my girls to the thong table. Not impressed; didn’t wear them. They all egged me on: “Just try them, you’ll love them and so will he.” I did pick out these black, sexy ones, and they did look sexy as hell on, so I said, “What the hell,” and got three pairs. That picked up my spirit a little bit.
The morning of, with no call during the night, I tried hard to keep the faith. But, I also didn’t want to hype myself up so when the call did come in that he couldn’t make it, I wouldn’t be crushed. The day before, I did buy a beautiful bouquet of baby white carnations and three lavender roses for my room. I figured if I was going to be down, I still had something beautiful to brighten my day. I took my usual 7:00 a.m. walk on the beach with “Get Here” playing over and over in my ear. I was willing the forces to let my dream day happen. By one o’clock, the girls and I were sunning on the beach. My cell phone rang; I held my breath as I heard his voice.
He said, “Hello, what are you doing?” Then he said those magic words: “I’ll be there in an hour.”
I played it cool as I packed it in and told the girls, “I gotta roll. My baby’s on his way!”
Walking back, I was ready to explode. I think I came, just getting a visual. I had my outfit already picked out. I intended on showering quickly so I wouldn’t have to rush, but I was thrown off track by that damn handheld shower massager. I felt the need to take the edge off before he got there. When I started to think about how beautiful and big the man’s dick was and how he was going to leave his face imprinted on my pussy…All I have to say is every woman should go and buy a handheld shower massager, if you don’t already have one. If you do have one, then you can feel me. It’s a prime-time investment.
I was a little weakened after my escapade in the shower so I took my time to lotion and perfume myself. I chose a casual outfit. A floral, tiny-pleated, sleeveless blouse and an off-white jean skirt. Underneath I wore a black-and-white, floral lace bra that was a little too small. It made me look really boobalicious. And the star of this show was that sexy little black Victoria’s Secret thong. This secret weapon was undecorated in the front, but the back held all the artwork. You see, three thin straps led from the front to the back strap that went between your ass. And where each side strap connected to the back strap, there was a small black bow with a tiny crystal in its middle. This man was going to lose his mind. He hadn’t been exposed to the kind of freakdom I had on the menu for that night.
I found myself waiting on the porch after everyone had returned from the beach. One of my other girlfriends also had company that day. A whole lot of stuff was jumping off. As I lounged in a chair daydreaming, I heard a motorcycle close by. I take a second look as it parks in front of the house and a man takes off his helmet. It’s my baby, looking like Easy Rider.
DAMN! He looked good. He stepped up on the porch, smiled that boyish grin, and said, “Hi, baby.”
I wanted to fuck him right there on the porch. You couldn’t have told me that he would have used that mode of transportation at such a distance to come see me. We kissed and hugged and felt each other up as much as we could outside on the street, then I brought him inside and introduced him to everyone.
My girls kept whispering to me, “Damn, girl, this man drove his motorcycle all the way down here to come to get to you. Shit!”
We went straight to my room so he could rest his gear and his bag. He had packed as if he was spending the night, but I did not know and did not ask. He could do whatever he wanted, and whatever arrangements he needed to make were not my concern. All I knew and cared about was that he was there and he was going to be there for a while. I guess he felt the family atmosphere, and anyway, whenever he was with me, he knew he was home.
And so my dream day began. We lounged in the living room for an hour or so, watching part of a movie we were not really watching because we couldn’t keep our hands and lips off each other. We sat on the porch for a while, deciding what we wanted to do next. There was no need to rush. This was our day. We walked two and a half blocks to the boardwalk and took in the sights. We were like schoolkids, laughing, playing, and holding hands. Every now and then I’d remember that I had virtually no panties on, and it felt strangely delicious.
We ate at my favorite seafood shack because neither of us wanted a big meal. No sense stuffing ourselves since we had some serious homework to do later on. All the while, as I was sitting across from him at the table, his eyes constantly dropped down to my breasts, which were about to explode out of the little-too-small bra. I also had one too many buttons undone. Baby could barely eat, and what he did want to eat wasn’t on the menu.
Back at the house we were all having such a good time. After a while we decided to go off by ourselves and just sit on the porch before walking on the beach. All the while I noticed him staring at me. He was staring as I was sitting in the lounge chair, he was staring as I was standing against the banister.
I finally asked, “What’s the matter?”
Looking at me with that shit-eating grin, he replied, “I can’t keep watching you and not have you.”
It took all my strength not to blow the dream and fuck him buck wild until he left. That was what I really wanted to do.
Instead, I said, “Let’s compromise. If we go to my room now, we’ll never get to take this walk. So if we walk now and not make it as long as I had planned, when we come back, you can
have me any way you want me. I promise.”
The walk on the beach was idyllic. We walked higher up on the beach so he wouldn’t get his clothes wet. He surprised me again when he came down with me in the surf; his pants got damp, and he didn’t even care. Every few feet we stopped to look at the horizon and talk about how amazing it was to be together like this. And when we weren’t talking, we were kissing. You would’ve thought we were brand-new lovers. It was like no one existed but us. We were sickening. But I loved every minute of it and so did he. All the while the background to our perfect picture was the sun setting with beautiful oranges, pinks, and purples. The sound of waves crashing nearby. It was so surreal.
Everyone was gone when we got back to the house. The only other place to go was to the bedroom. The scenario was set. I lit candles all over. I had downloaded hours of music for the occasion; all the right stuff. On a corner table there was my beautiful bouquet of baby white carnations and three lavender roses with blooms that were outstanding. I told him the three lavender roses were for the I love you s that we couldn’t say. I guess we did have boundaries on something. Once I told him to get comfortable, I slowly unbuttoned my blouse for him to get a peek. As he lay down in only his underwear, propped up on a pillow, I slowly walked to the double-door closet. I never turned back to see what he was doing as I started undoing my jean skirt. I had to shimmy a little to get the skirt down, and I was bending over a little bit too much to lift one leg out, then the other. I stood up straight, still facing the inside of the closet with my blouse still on but open. I turned only my head to him and smiled. He had that look of anticipation and surprise as I let my blouse fall off. His visual was clear; so was mine. My baby was completely mesmerized by the most sensuous pair of underwear I’d ever worn. Eyes as big as quarters and his mouth hung open in the cutest little O shape. Made me want to walk right on over to him and sit on his face, but not yet.
Finally he asked me, “What are those underwear you’re wearing?” He couldn’t even get his words together.
I said, “I told you that I had a gift for you and myself to share, didn’t I?”
Before I stepped away from the closet, I stepped into my black heels. As I walked closer to the bed, he was sitting up on the edge of the bed at attention. I didn’t stop until I was standing directly in front of him, so close that I could feel his breath on my rib cage. No words were spoken as his head rested between the cups of my bra and his hands were gliding up and down my skin. I was turned around and asked to model this new fascination. Then he brought me back into his arms and held me ever so gently, tracing the straps of my thong as if he were now reading braille himself.
I had prearranged a set of songs to do a lap dance for him. You couldn’t tell me I wasn’t a G-string diva. All I needed was a pole, but the closet door and the bed were good enough. You must be versatile and improvise when you have to; that I did. I was making my own self hot. My thong was getting wet with the thought of what I was going to do to him. I laid him back down on the bed so that I could straddle him; wet thong, heels, and all. But instead of straddling him at that moment, I decided to entertain him from above. Standing directly over his shoulders, I reached into my thong and had him watch me stick my fingers in my pussy so I could be extra wet when I lowered myself onto his waiting lips. One more extra touch; I crouched down on bended knee hovering above his face. So close that he could see the drops of cum dangling from my pussy. I had pulled the crotch of my thong over in case one of my droplets fell, then he’d be able to catch it in his mouth.
Right then and there he lifted his head to meet my pussy, and his face disappeared as I made my touchdown and held on to the goalpost. I mean, bedpost. And believe me that he said he was going to go so deep and so good that he would leave his face print. I would have told anyone to take a mirror and see whom they saw looking back at them from down there. After that, the rest of the night was pretty much a blur. I don’t remember how or when my bra came off. I do remember riding his dick and reaching behind myself to massage his balls because that always made his dick harder and larger. I never got to do my other performance piece involving the sucking of dick extraordinaire. Unbeknownst to me, the night was supposed to be all about me. My baby had an agenda of his own. It was my night to be pleasured to the tenth degree. What was clear was that baby had fucked me so long, hard, and good that when we came together, he had so much dick in me that my screams and moans became inaudible. Once it was over, we were still shaking and weak from the physical explosion of the love we had just shared. He stayed as long as he could before taking the highway back home in the wee hours of the next morning. I will never ever forget one moment of my dream vacation. I wrote the vision so long ago. And this summer it was realized.
Breath of Love
Teresa Noelle Roberts
Gaston showed up for our first official date at eleven, later than I’d normally start an evening out. I’d been dozing on the couch waiting for him. But if you’re going to date a vampire, you have to get used to odd hours.
I could have got up and met him at the door, but it was more fun to buzz him in and then watch him strut, in all his café-au-lait elegance and long legs in black jeans and supernatural hotness. Gaston doesn’t walk like mere mortals do. Even when he’s not trying to be impressive, he moves like the bastard child of a martial artist and a runway model. When he’s trying, he throws in some prowling panther for good measure, and tonight he had his slink on but good.
He’s not tall, but he carries himself like a prince. He was never one, just a prosperous free black man in Louisiana back when it was still a French possession. But, in his day, that was enough to make you royalty in a small territory. Tall or not, he was plain gorgeous.
He’s also technically dead, animated by a symbiote from another dimension that lives on sexual energy and blood.
A little off-putting at first, sure, but once he explained that the blood-drinking was kind of like a tapas bar—a little here, a little there, not enough to do any harm to the donor—I decided I was all for helping Mr. Friendly Symbiote get its regular hot-sex fix.
Not that we’d gone there yet. We’d met online (in an email group for people interested in African-American history), discovered other interests in common, and hung out a few times. Each time, it had got harder to keep our hands off each other, and each time I’d got more and more intrigued by what lay inside the gorgeous shell, the intelligence and depth that seemed to go way beyond his years. (How was I supposed to know he was over two hundred when he looked younger than me?) The last time we’d seen each other, we’d confessed our mutual attraction and made out like horny teenagers. Then he’d outed himself as a vamp, touching my heart with his trust in me. That was taking a big risk. I mean, I did think he was probably nuts. Until he showed me his fangs, that is, and then I wondered if I was the one who was nuts, because I still wanted him. I was attracted enough—and intrigued enough by the man beyond his good looks—to take the chance.
Then, in one of those frustrating twists of fate, I had to leave because I was off on a crack-of-dawn flight for a weeklong romance writers’ conference, then had to work desperately to get a book in for a deadline. That was two-plus weeks ago, and we were finally able to get together in the flesh to consummate the teasing we’d been doing via email ever since.
Okay, I was a little nervous about how I’d actually react in a clinch to the whole lack-of-heartbeat and cold-skin aspect. But I’m a thirty-plus single woman in New York City. I’ve dated men with worse issues than a slight case of death. (Impotence? Check. Severe fear of commitment? Check. Criminal record? Check. Over thirty and still living with his mama? Check, and that one made Mr. Criminal Record look good by comparison.) Dead or not, Gaston was dead sexy and, more important, seemed stable and sweet. Plus, he was a primary source for the historical romance I was working on. Research and a boyfriend in one sexy package: now that’s efficiency!
“Good evening, my little flower,” Gaston said. (The “littl
e flower” thing is absurd, especially since I’m Amazon-size, a tall woman with broad shoulders and childbearing hips, but he could call me his little jar of peanut butter in that slight, adorable accent and I’d still get all swoony.) He drew me into his arms and kissed me.
Ugh!
Bad breath.
Beyond bad breath. I didn’t remember it being anything like this horrific before, and we’d done more than enough serious kissing for me to get a good sample.
Stale blood, and death, and rot, all blending together in one putrid mess. Kind of like the way our dog’s breath used to smell when it found a nice, overripe deer carcass in the woods upstate.
I pushed him away.
He didn’t budge.
Turns out that trashy novels and B movies are right about vampires having exceptional strength. You can’t actually push a vamp unless he wants you to.
So I turned my face away instead, muttering, “Brush your teeth, Gaston!”
“But I’ve missed you so much. I have been saving myself for you since we made our date!”
The words were corny, but what he was doing wasn’t corny at all. He ran his hands down my body, grazing the sides of my breasts in the most teasing way possible. Then he gripped my butt with a sure hand, pulled me closer, and ground against me. His symbiote-enhanced little friend, always eager to go, was hitting right where it counted, even through his jeans and my suede skirt, and since I’d been whiling away the early evening writing a particularly racy scene in my new novel and fantasizing about a moment like this—sans the killer breath, of course—parts of me were very happy about this.