by H. A. Nicola
Please disregard previous plan.
Please make your way to Knightsbridge.
Agent Provocateur will be followed by cocktails."
"I am seething at your obvious tendency to devalue me.
Your audacity deeply astounds me.
I refuse to be dismissed as a mere distraction from the pressure of work that can only be utilised between the convenient hours of 12:00 through 2:00 p.m., as though I am somehow underqualified to receive qualitative attention.
Might I suggest that should you continue to lurk lewdly beneath the underbelly of the wharf, eventually you will solicit just the kind of simpleton you so obviously desire…who will fall for your disingenuous offers which come disguised as wanting to ‘please’ whilst you are fully intending to concentrate purely on your own personal greed.
Perhaps you should station yourself near some sort of immigration service where undoubtedly, queues of unsuspecting ethnics emerge who would prove ideal candidates with which to fulfil your every chocolate fantasy.
They would surely fall for your counterfeit ‘high-end’ promises and be so duly flattered by the prospect of fine-dining and escapism.
I am clearly of higher calibre than the prey you were hoping to snare, as I remain completely unbeguiled by your below par attempts to impress.
I wish you every success in your continued endeavours to indulge your fetishism for the seduction of minorities.
As for me, I shall continue my pursuit of an earnest Caucasian that longs for a Nubian Queen, whom he sincerely holds in the highest regard.
Perhaps I’ll try Mayfair."
Cayenne laughed at herself when she re-read the message. Yes, she had been a little offended by his oversight, but where had all this vitriol come from. Was she simply humouring herself and taking advantage of his willing nature?
She put her phone down to recharge the battery and resolved to think no more of Mayfair for the rest of the weekend.
Chapter 16
"Wow, happy weekend to you too…
This is a brutal thesis and requires a proper response, and there will be one.
Devaluation of your character was never the intent, and I’m hurt you think this is so.
I am drafting a full refute.
Leaving that to one side, are you being entertained by an appropriate squeeze?"
Cayenne was touched by his response. She could sense his sincerity, and she was most impressed that he considered her message worthy of a ‘proper response’. Her hardened heart softened just a little.
“No, for some inexplicable reason… you are consuming my thoughts. I’ll put a stop to that.”
"Good.
I still want a taste. You tormented me again last night. This time I was tied up watching you writhe in absolute pleasure as a woman tasted you.
I was dry. Desperate for your juice.
Are you okay? I am sorry that I am not the complete solution for you.
I think you are very impressive."
“Typically, you consider five lines a ‘full refute’. Is it a coincidence that this is not the only occasion that your perceived delivery far outweighs your initial promise?”
"Cheeky bitch!
No, the full refute hasn’t come yet."
"Where have I heard that before. You were never meant to be a full solution.
We shared a glass of wine in the Wharf, you were having a particularly bad time at work, supposedly.
Perhaps we should have left it there. Often in life, the very thought of something is better than the reality."
“I do like you though and your damning indictment of me has a number of scary truths.”
"I wondered whether you would recognise yourself in any of it.
There are plenty more tropical fish in the sea."
"Nah not bothered, as the three month estrangement showed.
You have a skill with words, you wrote very well.
I still think that we could explore our sexual desires in tandem."
“Anything is possible.”
“We both have a side to us that you don’t find often.”
“Affirmative.”
"We need to do something with that.
You were very wet at lunch. That can’t be denied."
“What can I say. I was turned on.”
“What colour were the panties that I told you not to wear?”
“Red with black lacing.”
“Perfect. I wanted to get inside them.”
“I know. Such promise.”
“We are NOT done… let’s explore.”
“What makes you so confident?”
“Because I am more than happy to be your toy.”
“I did consider experimenting with toys, though I had the artificial kind in mind.”
“Experiment and use ME.”
“If you insist. That’s an awfully kind gesture allowing me to take out all of my pent-up frustration on you.”
“Fuck me! Use me, indulge yourself. Exploit whatever dark desires you have.”
“As you wish.”
“I’m desperate for it… I want to see you cum. I want to make you cum. I want to be your dirty little secret that engages in all your dubious fantasies. You will know mine.”
“I’m soaking wet right now. Have been most of the day. I’d probably cum in an instant.”
“Do it…”
"Do you promise to lick my pussy incessantly? If I promise to open really wide, would you solemnly swear to bury your head between my legs and endlessly nuzzle?
Would you???"
“Yes-yes-yes. I want it. I want to taste it. Open wide and wet. I want my tongue to tease you first before diving in. I will be so desperate to please. I need my fix.”
“I shan’t be responsible for how drenched you may get. I trust that is okay?”
"I will not stop until you release.
Until you fucking orgasm on my face.
Until I taste your black juice.
Until you are satisfied.
I’m your bitch. I want to be covered."
“I’m not sure you’re ready for the deluge of richness.”
“I need my second blacking… do it… drench me. I want your black pussy juice on my hard white cock.”
At first, Cayenne was a little taken aback by his choice of words. Blacking? It sounded strange to her ears.
“I want to shower in it, I want the smell of it.”
“You will be utterly saturated.”
“Feed me your wet black, juicy pussy.”
“I can hardly wait to relish your hot tongue teasing my clit.”
“Do you like having such an available slut?”
“I will feed you.”
"Heavenly. You won’t have witnessed such desperate hunger… all about YOU… all about giving you a release.
I’m a dog on heat in your company.
A dirty whore.
I need your black pussy juice."
“I only hope that you don’t tire before I am satisfied. Desperate hunger from you will only serve to create more juice. I’ve never had my pussy licked until my heart’s content. Be my first.”
"You know exactly what I am, what I get off on. What I go out looking for…
You know how I am desperate to please you, so I get fed…
I harden at the idea of having my face straddled and suffocated by your wet moist black cunt that I have to lick out for as long as you desire and need.
My white cock is so hard."
Cayenne suddenly felt a twinge of something that she didn’t like at his comment; it jolted her back to reality again. Here was a man that regularly went out looking for something. Was this something she should be concerned about? Was he inferring that his search would continue? Why did that bother her? Whatever it was she was feeling, clearly fuelled her next statement…
“Perhaps I’ll go out looking for the same. Maybe we can go out looking together.”
He must have picked up on her sudden burst of
terseness.
“I was referring to your damning thesis. Now that you mention it, does it spark interest?”
“What?”
“An orgy… a threesome?”
She wondered whether this was a serious question, or was he exhibiting a little fear of his own.
“No. Though perhaps I can be persuaded to scale Knightsbridge seeking adventure.”
“Horrible image cheeky. I couldn’t behave like this or reveal such depravity with just anyone you know.”
“You do seem to have a knack of putting your foot in it and pissing me off at the most inopportune moments. I think I may have to gag you just as I’m about to climax, as you’re bound to say something that will make me go cold.”
“Goodnight gorgeous. I’m going to dream that I got fed your juices. Don’t worry, nothing will get said to stop you. You need to climax!!!”
“I shall be incandescent with rage should you interrupt my release.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less gorgeous. Sleep well.”
Chapter 17
The email had requested her to meet him at Green Park Tube Station at 2:00 p.m. on Wednesday.
“I want you wet with anticipation.”
“That’s a given, which makes it all the more risky that I won’t be wearing panties.”
“How evil and delicious will it be when you push my face and mouth into your wetness for my next taste of your black chocolate pussy juice.”
“Now now. First, you must wait whilst I initiate as you watch. Only meander towards me when you can take no more. I insist on slow and controlled licks, both exploratory and for my pleasure. Finally… after I burst with unrestrained passion… bury yourself… disappear until you become molten in my chocolate furnace.”
“Don’t worry, I want to be a voyeur first to heighten my need.”
“Absolutely. Don’t forget I am accustomed to pleasuring myself. Introduce this new dimension to me slowly”
“I am hard with anticipation at what the next meeting will bring.”
“I too am tingling with excitement. Wait until you see my dress.”
“May I ask what colour it is?”
“Black, fitted and sexy.”
“Naturally. Mmmm, remembering how good it felt putting my hands on your legs at the Gaucho lunch, knowing what was nearby, desperate to inch closer. Such dirty reckless behaviour.”
“Yeah. I liked it too as I am sure you could tell.”
“I will have to find a discreet setting.”
“Yes, our intimacy must be closely guarded.”
“Are you aware of how corrupt and bad you have made me?”
“No. I am only aware that you are going to drool all over me tomorrow.”
“That’s all you need to know.”
Wednesday 9th
“Good morning”
“Good morning.”
“Getting ready?”
Later when Cayenne arrived at Green Park Underground Station, she realised that there were at least three exits. She messaged the stranger.
“Any particular exit? I seem to have intuitively gravitated towards the Palace.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Heading back to the main street. Too many pigeons at this end. One must ensure my courtiers do something about this.”
Cayenne stood outside the station at the opposite exit, where a coach was boarding as a small crowd congregated. She wasn’t yet familiar with the inner city and savoured the life energy all around, seeing inspiration in all the activity around her. She caught sight of the stranger, who was predictably straddling the balance of office attire and smart casual tones. She presumed that he must have unloaded the rest of his attire and baggage at the hotel already.
“Good afternoon, my Queen.”
He leaned in and kissed both cheeks. His facial expression let her know that the effort she had gone to was much appreciated.
He offered to carry her bag. She declined but noted that he was a kind of gentleman. He took her arm and guided her across the busy main road, in the direction, she was to discover, of the Mayfair hotel. He had mentioned earlier that he had already booked a table for lunch.
The reception area was buzzing with crowds of people coming in and out. The restaurant too was busy, although it was close to closing time for the afternoon, so gradually most of the tables became vacant. Unfortunately, this also meant that there wasn’t a great deal of variety available in the kitchen.
“I’ve ordered some tapas. Do you like tapas?”
“Erm… not really. I think I tried it once during my travels around Europe. If I’m not mistaken, it’s not really a cuisine that appeals to black people. But it’s okay. I’m happy to try it again.”
His face dropped, forlorn infiltrating his features. “Oh no.”
“No, really it’s okay.”
“Are you sure? We can go somewhere else.”
“Not at all, it’s fine.” She couldn’t deny she was enjoying his focused intention to keep her happy.
When the tapas arrived, it did nothing to change her first impression, and even the chips had clearly not been prepared fresh. The squid looked unappetising and overdone. The hotel had attempted to be economical and quartered the scallops. To add insult to injury, they had saturated the scallops in some sort of acidic vinaigrette laced with an undefinable herb which, if intended to enhance the flavour, was failing miserably. The mini burgers were perfectly average and unexceptional. Cayenne would never profess to be an expert on authentic Spanish cuisine; however, she was quite certain that this was not it.
She got the distinct impression that their late arrival had conveniently provided the near-closing kitchen an opportunity to discard of whatever leftovers that the lunch period had produced.
She had built up in her mind that the Mayfair Hotel would be an extravagant experience from start to finish.
She glanced over at the stranger who was devouring his meal as though it had been prepared by Michel Roux Jr himself. Not a hint of distaste was visible on his face, and Cayenne almost choked when he asked expectantly… “Try the scallops? What do you think?”
This clearly wasn’t a good start.
“The burgers are okay,” he commented, chewing avidly, absent-mindedly, unconsciously.
“Erm, a little tasteless I thought. I can’t seem to detect any seasoning.”
His face dropped again. He seemed very sensitive to her response to things.
She wondered whether he usually ate without really expecting flavour. It must be a white thing, she reasoned. She considered whether his acceptance of what was offered, as though to receive anything at all is all one can expect, was an attitude that he applied to his life. Why expect more?
She drained the wine from her glass. He had ordered white again. She couldn’t help but feel sorely disappointed with the Mayfair offerings.
They rose from the table, and she walked towards the reception area whilst he took care of the bill. Once he had joined her, they headed up to their suite which turned out to be rather small and basic.
Had he really wanted to impress her, he could have chosen better.
She questioned whether it could even be legitimately described as a suite. The curtains, which were beige with deep burgundy swirls, were tightly shut which made the space feel even smaller. The walls were beige too as was the velvet throw that covered the queen-sized bed. There was a large desk that ran alongside one wall which had a small safe built into it. A kettle and a selection of cups, saucers and spoons were nestled on a tray alongside a dish containing packets of tea, coffee, sugar and milk. A smaller desk by the window was adorned with the usual array of hotel stationery, with a smaller selection on each of the bedside tables.
Before she could put her bag and coat down on the chair, he appeared behind her and clamped her head in his hands, turned her towards him and stuck his tongue into her mouth mercilessly. Each stroke was clearly not meant for her pleasure.
She felt u
ncomfortable and cold. Erotically cold. Completely turned off. His approach was abrupt and unsensual. How did he get away with this in his real life? She would expect this kind of behaviour if she were a mature cougar in the company of a teenager or some kind of opportunistic gigolo. After his masterful embrace, he disappeared into the bathroom looking decidedly pleased with himself. He turned to throw her a glance before the bathroom door closed behind him as if to assure her ‘don’t worry, there’s more to come’. She hoped her face offered him a ‘I-can-hardly-wait’ expression and hoped even more that it appeared believable.
Before long, they were lounging on the bed in their courtesy white robes.
“So what is it about your job that you’re not enjoying anymore?”
He sighed a heavy-weighted sigh, “I don’t know. I stopped enjoying it a long time ago. I think I may just need a change. A new challenge. In fact, I was speaking to an old colleague today about a possible transfer to New York. Would you come and see me out there?”
“New York? Is that a real possibility?”
“Well, my old boss has a company out there, and I did send him a discreet email some months ago. It’s something I could possibly follow-up. But then again, I’m not sure that’s the answer. I’ve got…”
He paused a lengthy pause as though contemplating how much to share.
“I’ve got responsibilities. You know family stuff.”
She recalled some of the details of their earlier conversations and remembered how concerned he had appeared about being solely responsible for his elderly parents.
He dipped his head and soothed himself by fingering his hair.
“Does the family tend to rely on you a lot then?”
His deep sigh provided the answer. She guessed he would probably feel disloyal saying anymore. She wondered whether he was so accustomed to letting life happen to him and not standing up for himself, that this had contributed to his discontentment. Rather, he had allowed it to be of other people’s making. Whilst on the surface, he appeared to be a high flying executive, to a lesser degree, she could see that he was the kind of soft soul that would allow people to bulldoze their ideas and then privately grimace and stress about it later. A trait that he clearly hadn’t grown out of in his formative years. She couldn’t help but wonder how this played out in his working life. Hadn’t he claimed to have some sort of managerial role, making mention of his ‘team’. Perhaps in the working environment, he was able to assert himself whereas it was still a challenge in private. She could just imagine him getting home at the end of the day and breathing a sigh of relief that he had managed to pull it off one more time.
