by Zane
I hadn’t noticed that my squirming had raised my knee-length dress to thigh-high. The huskiness of his voice made me smile. I shifted again, slower this time, letting my weight shift from one hip to the other, rolling as if I were already riding his dick. The skirt shifted upward again, and I thought I heard him groan. I daintily picked up my wineglass and sipped, ignoring the feel of the backs of my thighs against the embroidered chair cushion. My eyes were blankly directed toward the podium.
“My, my…stockings.” He sounded closer now; when had he moved his chair? Truth was, I couldn’t find a pair of panty hose that wasn’t already run and had to settle on the stockings and garter I’d bought last Valentine’s Day.
“How gauche of you to mention.” I was surprised my voice didn’t waver. I could have been talking about the weather.
“I’d be happy to make it up to you,” he purred, settling his fingertips ever so lightly on my knee. It took significant effort not to jump completely out of my seat. His hand was steady, confident.
“I see,” I answered more calmly than I thought I could, and uncrossed my ankles, letting my knees fall away an inch or two.
Let him work for it, I thought, somehow knowing he’d enjoy the challenge. His fingertips spread until his entire palm was over my knee, radiating warmth that spread up my thighs and seemed to radiate right through my belly.
“You haven’t touched your dinner,” I challenged, and nodded toward his plate.
“There are other things I’d rather eat.”
“Greedy, aren’t you?”
I spread my legs another inch. He took full advantage, circling his thumb against the mesh of my stocking. His touch seemed to echo throughout points on my body: my nipples, the sensitive hollow below my throat, the aching core of my pussy.
“You have no idea,” he promised, his voice conspiratorial.
His fingers inched higher, now at the top of my thigh. If the lights had come up, the sight of his sleeve disappearing beneath the white tablecloth would have been, at best, hard to explain. I inched my legs apart more, finally hooking my feet around the curved feet of the chair. My spine was no longer that of a finishing-school graduate; I’d pushed my back into the cushioned back of the chair. My quivering thighs were giving my anticipation away.
When his hand left my thigh to hover over the heat of my waiting pussy, I thought that I would kill him. When he used his thumb and pinkie to lock my thighs against any thought of them closing against his fingers and flicked my clit delicately with the fingertip of his middle finger through my panties, I could have kissed him. When he pushed aside the light fabric of my panties and did it again, I pushed a forkful of quail into my mouth to keep from crying out.
“Is it good?” he asked, clearly not referring to the well-seasoned poultry.
“Mm, hmm,” I answered, chewing thoughtfully.
His fingers were making brushing motions, up and down the folds there, painting the flesh with my arousal.
“I find that when it’s good and hot like this, it’s really enjoyable.” The tip of his ring finger pushed inside me briefly, then returned to brushing the hard, slick bud. “Don’t you?”
“Absolutely.” I took another bite and eased my hips forward to give him better access. Those dark eyes flickered toward mine, and I met them with a coy smile. “I see you’re a connoisseur.”
His finger penetrated me again, joined by his middle finger. “Oh, yes,” he groaned, a little loudly.
Someone glanced over and nodded approvingly, adding an “Amen!” Apparently Kenneth had just strongly agreed to something the speaker had said. I grinned in the dim light and squeezed his fingers gently.
“Enjoying the speech, are we?” I couldn’t resist.
Kenneth answered with a graceful stroke of his fingers, expertly pulling them almost entirely out, then gliding them back in. “The reverend is a brilliant orator,” he purred, doing it again, slowly so I could feel the ridges in his fingers. “A master of his craft.” He was sluicing in and out now easily, matching his words with his strokes. I imagined his hand must have been soaked. “He enjoys the pleasure of weaving a story, letting the audience’s interest build, and ultimately…” He paused for effect, his fingers still fucking me slowly and steadily while I tried not to pump my hips against him or beg him for more. “Bringing his tale to a climax.” His voice trailed off into a low moan as he felt the beginning flickers of my pussy around his fingers.
“I don’t know,” I huffed, trying to keep my breathing even. “Sometimes I prefer a more direct route.” I shifted again, widening the V of my legs and pushing his manicured fingers deeper, showing him the spot that would push me over.
“True,” he agreed, pumping his fingers into me. I could actually hear the soft, wet sounds of his palm slapping against my mound. “A more forceful and direct route…” He broke off, concentrating.
“Can be…certainly…better…yes…more satisfactory,” I panted, not caring that I was giving up my cool, and clutched the arms of the chair, using them for slight leverage to lift my hips up and down on his hand. I could feel the familiar tickle of the beginning of my orgasm, the buzz in my head, the tightening of my muscles around his pumping fingers.
“Yes…,” he growled gruffly. Impatient. Wanting to see. I’d been right; his eyes were devouring me—the speaker, the audience, the charity dinner, completely forgotten. “You’re so wet, honey, come for me.” The words were low, almost slurred, as if he was as drunk from my pleasure as I was.
And I gasped with his request, my body rigid, hands clamped around the arms of my chair as if for dear life as his fingers twisted wetly inside me, his thumb pressing against the side of my clit, wringing every last drop of cream from my pussy. I bit my lip hard, fighting to not scream or cry out. My eyes fluttered shut as the initial shock wore off, and I felt his fingers ease from me after the last of the aftershocks and tremors of my thighs had ended.
At the burst of seemingly thunderous applause, my eyes shot open, fearing that we had been caught. I looked over to Kenneth with wide eyes, but he met mine with searing want. He was clapping along with the other diners, the digits of his right hand still glistening with my juice. His applause, though, was directed at me, along with a deep-dimpled grin.
“Dessert,” the waiter announced gently, sliding a dish of a raspberry mousse in front of each of us. He retreated, looking curiously at the high color in my cheeks and the light beads of sweat on Kenneth’s upper lip. I shifted in my seat, pulling my dress down discreetly with each wiggle of my hips. My thighs were damp, and my panties soaked. I looked over to see my dinner companion dip the blunt tip of his middle finger into the crest of the pink mousse and bring it to his mouth. I fought not to gape as he brought his tongue out to taste that cream—and my own. He smiled.
“Delicious,” he all but sighed. His eyes were locked on mine. “I’d love to taste more.” An open invitation. His hand was resting on the tabletop again, and I glanced down at the ring, shiny and forbidding. This had been fun, but Kenneth Prince Charming, lucky Mrs. Prince, and the two little heirs was more of a story than I was willing to take on. Not even with his magical fingers and probably even more magical tongue and dick. I’d be kicking myself tonight, but I didn’t want any “ever afters” with him, not even those that involved me riding his fine ass into the sunset. I held my hand out to his. The announcer was back, saying something about the charity auction after dinner. He took my hand as gently as before, his eyes expectant. My honey-sweet smile, I hoped, would soften the refusal. “It was nice meeting you, Kenneth,” I purred softly, barely audible over the closing remarks.
He nodded, disappointed, but still smiling. His dimple deepened. “And you as well.”
I stood up and took my leave, letting my hips sway just a little extra for Kenneth Prince’s benefit. I smiled on my way to the coatroom to quickly collect my wrap. A part of me considered leaving a dramatic token—a shoe? A room key? A phone number? But I shook my head and walked out ont
o the street to hail a cab back to my real life. Sometimes princes were better left in fairy tales.
Daydreamin’
Romeo Walker
Devon sat in class listening to the teacher drone on, his thoughts not on the Shakespeare play that he was supposed to be reading. Rather they were on many different things: music, women, and money.
“Mr. White, what is your opinion of Puck?” the teacher asked.
Devon looked down at his book, drawn back into the play by the question. He searched hurriedly for a passage.
“It’s your opinion, Mr. White,” the teacher quipped, and walked around the room, coming to a stop beside Devon’s desk.
Devon snapped his head up to look at the balding, middle-aged Latino teacher. He stared hard at him. The teacher barely took notice of Devon’s hard looks as he again paced around the class.
“Puck, sir, what do you think of him?”
“I don’t know—”
“He’s a troublemaker!”
Devon turned to see who had interrupted him. His brown eyes fell upon Shantrice Elway. She sat there looking at him with an air of indifference. Shantrice had been in several of his classes. They had spoken on occasion and had even exchanged phone numbers early on, but there was nothing there. She was pretty, Devon thought, but not really a dime.
“Puck seems to like to see comedic things happening in the play,” explained Shantrice. She smiled meekly at Devon.
“That’s good, Ms. Elway,” the teacher said. “When he sprinkles his dust, strange things happen.”
Shantrice beamed. Devon glowered. He ran his hand over the waves in his hair. Devon did not like to be discredited or have someone show him up.
“Mr. Devon, maybe you should study a little harder or come to class when you really want to be here.”
Devon sighed audibly. He heard snickers and giggles from the back of the classroom.
The class ended a short time later. Devon stalked out of the classroom, determined to get away from the embarrassment. He hurried and shoved his books into his bag.
The movement of the students startled Shantrice. She looked around for Devon. He was angry, she could tell; over what though, she did not know. That’s not good, Shantrice thought to herself.
Shantrice had harbored a crush on Devon since she had first laid eyes on him. That first time being when she had seen him enter Dr. Green’s English 101 class ten minutes late, standing in the doorway looking around.
The latecomer was dressed in a white Dallas Mavericks jersey, black jeans shorts, and white K-Swiss sneakers. All the seats were taken, except for the one next to her. For almost an hour, she had to sit in class inhaling his cologne, becoming more intoxicated with his scent. When he spoke, his gruff voice sounded beautiful to her. Shantrice was so preoccupied that she didn’t hear the professor at all during that first class period. Her panties threatened to be overwhelmed. They exchanged smiles throughout the hour. However, when class ended, Devon exited into the waiting arms of some light-skinned cutie. Shantrice surveyed the girl as she walked past. The girl was undeniably beautiful, dressed in a baby blue halter top emblazoned with the UNC logo across the front, a cream-colored miniskirt, and baby blue heels. Her long, curly hair was pulled into a ponytail that flowed down her back. To Shantrice, the girl looked as if she had just stepped out of a music video. Shantrice went back to her dorm room that day and eased her urging with her eight-inch, black dildo. Devon’s face, smile, and scent crept into her imagination, spurring her to satisfaction.
Sitting right next to Devon all semester was a torment. He began to appear in her dreams, romancing her, but ultimately leaving her for the nameless beauty in the Tarheels outfit.
Shantrice broke from the daydream, wondering how many times she would let him pass her by. How many times would she wonder what it would be like to have his hands roaming all over her body or to kiss him deeply on his full lips. She fixed her bra, propping up her already ample cleavage and raising her skirt slightly. Shantrice strode from the classroom, intent on her mission to find Devon. She stalked down the hallway purposefully, ignoring the looks from other men and their cat-calls and whispers.
Devon stormed out of the building. He was pissed about class, not just the smart-aleck teacher, but also Shantrice.
“What the hell was her problem?” Devon muttered to himself.
Devon thought back to the first class he had had with Shantrice—English 101. He had searched for a seat and eventually sat down beside the cocoa-brown-skinned female. While not on the scale of Narissa, Shantrice was nonetheless pretty. Narissa had been his girl for more than a year. Shantrice smiled at him invitingly as he walked over to sit down. Throughout the period, Devon noticed Shantrice continually fixing her breasts, causing them to sit up more prominently in her peach-colored, button-down blouse. The twin cocoa-brown mounds of flesh looked tantalizing. Devon’s dick sprang to life in response. He began shifting in the chair, trying to hide his growing erection. One time Devon spied Shantrice staring at him longingly. She blushed and turned away.
Devon stifled a laugh. He peered at her again. She was shapely, not model material like Narissa. This girl was more “down-home” thick in all the right places. If he didn’t have Narissa, he would holla at her. Right after class, Devon got formally introduced to his pretty “neighbor” as she spoke softly. Devon found out her name was Shantrice; she was from Philly and lived on campus. They exchanged numbers before they exited class. Much to his chagrin, Narissa was waiting for him outside. As he embraced Narissa, he watched Shantrice walk down the hallway, giving the couple a glance before stepping into the elevator.
Devon now headed into the library. Right then he needed someplace to cool down. The library was somewhat empty. He looked around, searching for a secluded, unoccupied study booth. He finally found one, back near the encyclopedias.
Devon had been moving fast, making it difficult to keep up with him. Shantrice did her best by catching fleeting glimpses of his khaki, one-shouldered bag. She watched him enter the library. She trailed him inside and saw him take a seat at a solitary study booth.
Shantrice stopped right inside the double glass doors of the library. She wondered if she could go through with what she was planning. Her nerves were all jumbled. However, her hormones were working her into a fever pitch. She steadied herself, then glided over to the booth. Devon was completely unaware of her. Shantrice stood back and marveled at him.
“You are so sexy when you’re mad,” Shantrice breathed into his ear.
Devon moved slightly. He leaned back, his head coming to rest in Shantrice’s ample bust. He looked up at her.
“You tried to show me up,” he shot at her.
“No, I tried to help you out.”
“If you would have let me handle it, I would have came at him with something intelligent,” he gruffed.
“Next time I will,” Shantrice shot back. She looked at him incredulously. Arrogant bastard, she thought to herself. Even like this he’s still sexy.
Devon’s head was still resting on her chest. The scent of his cologne was overpowering. It silently urged her into action. Shantrice laid her hand on the side of Devon’s head, slowly massaging his ear.
Devon shifted slightly. He wanted to be angry, but her hand on his head was making it difficult. His ears were sensitive and she was massaging one. Her touch was magical. It was as if she knew exactly where to touch and how much pressure to apply.
Shantrice stood on rubbery legs. The skin-to-skin contact with Devon was powerful. His head resting against her breasts was causing her nipples to harden. Her other hand snaked down to his shoulder.
“You know, I’ve waited a long time to have you like this,” she breathed.
“You have?”
“Yeah, but you’ve always had someone else,” Shantrice whispered in his ear, her lips grazing the tip.
Devon’s hand found her leg and slowly slid up her thigh. He wanted to test her. Let’s see how far she’ll let me go, he tho
ught.
Shantrice inhaled sharply. Devon’s hand was raising goose bumps, as well as shocking her, as it moved slowly up her thigh. She moaned softly in his ear. His hand eventually found her pussy, which was thoroughly wet. Devon used a finger to play with her and slowly drew it across her lips.
“Ddddaaammmnnn,” she moaned. Shantrice grabbed his shoulder to steady herself.
Devon guided her into his lap. Shantrice felt his erect dick poking her ass through his jeans.
“Where did all this come from?” he asked.
Shantrice closed her eyes and leaned into the side of his neck and began planting kisses on it. “I’ve always wanted you, from the first time I saw you. I found out that you and Narissa weren’t talking anymore, so I figured this was my chance.”
Her kisses eventually found their way around to his lips. Her hands caressed his body.
“I’m going to take what I want,” she breathed heavily. She tugged at his bottom lip playfully.
His lips were as soft as she had imagined them to be. If this is not heaven, she thought, this is the closest thing to it.
“We’ve got to stop before someone catches us,” Devon said, breathing heavily and breaking the kiss.
“Be bold; let’s do this right here,” she said, stroking his dick through his pants. “I see someone is ready to get it on.”
Devon leaned back. Shantrice’s attention was causing his dick to strain to escape from the confines of his boxers and jeans. He was becoming intoxicated with her attention. Somewhere, he thought he heard Maxwell’s “Fortunate” playing softly. His mind was ablaze with ideas.
“Right here?”
“Yeah, right here.”
Shantrice continued to kiss his neck, weaving a trail of kisses from his neck to the bottom of his earlobe. She placed Devon’s finger that had been in her pussy in her mouth. She sucked on his finger, taking delight in watching him squirm in the chair. The taste of her essence and his attention was becoming intoxicating.
Devon’s other hand climbed up to her breast and began to rub her nipple. He twirled it between his fingers and looked around. Most of the other people in the library could not see him and Shantrice. However, he was still not satisfied. Shantrice had gotten busy on freeing his straining dick from its confines. When it finally sprang free, surprised by the size, she eagerly began to slurp on it, trying to take it fully in her mouth. Devon moaned loudly. He looked down at Shantrice, who tried to smile with her mouth full of his dick.