Stranger in the Wharf

by H. A. Nicola

  The next you want to introduce the element of white loose pussy skank with crimson flaps.

  How do you suppose to keep it private by introducing another… unless of course you already know someone willing… perhaps my predecessor? Oh, it all becomes clear.

  Or else it’s your current squeeze… at least that would reduce the hotel fees, and I trust we could eat imitation tapas ’round at your place to satisfy the platinum scrooge in you.

  My suggestion:

  We enlist one of the black hunks who are forming a trail on my dating app account.

  Tall, dark, big black cock that actually holds it’s form. You could watch and take inventory to see how a black woman should be fucked… without hesitancy or fucking post slave owner fear. No pausing to muster the courage or dare I say stamina. Just fucking with rhythm and coordination which are admittedly attributes that your sort are hardly synonymous with.

  While you ponder my suggestion… I wouldn’t bother to reply… It will be automatically relegated to my spam list.

  Deluded Dan returns.

  Or is your current, suburban, squeeze-the-deluded-one thinking that she is actually being fucked correctly."

  “Erm, it was only a tiny suggestion.”

  “I’ve had my fill of ‘tiny’ suggestions from you.”

  “Fine…settle for low-grade black shit!!!”

  Cayenne gasped. Her hand on her chest. Wow. That was harsh. But admittedly her words were harsh also.

  He had riled her, she had riled him; though he was soon repentant.

  "Obviously, I never meant to irritate. It’s not in any way a big idea. Not sure why I mentioned it—apologies for any upset.

  Mmmm… I think sometimes you take me too literally. It is a good job I don’t do the same :p"

  Cayenne placed her phone down to charge and to examine the turmoil spiralling in her mind.

  “Hey you. I’m really hoping you’ve forgiven me for being a complete fool.”

  She picked up her phone again.

  “I am seriously having a bad time at work at the moment. The Queen has too much power over me… I can’t concentrate if I’m not in her court.”

  Cayenne smiled. A warm feeling spread over her, like a comforting blanket, as she assessed his grovelling.

  "I need a fucking spanking.

  I need to be put in my place.

  I need to be taught a lesson.

  I need to be tormented and fucking used.

  I’m having the executive week from hell. Hope you’re okay."

  “I’ve decided to enjoy low-grade black shit.”

  "I forgot I said that :(

  Should never have said that. I’m very sorry."

  “Don’t be sorry for true colours.”

  “They are not my true colours :(”

  The next morning, Cayenne awoke in forgiving mode.

  "Good morning, good-looking. Are we friends again?

  Only fair since you made it impossible for my cock to rise to white bitches. Let’s get back to what we do best."

  "Just when I think I know what that is…you persist on wanting to introduce outside agents.

  Clearly, we are not on the same page.

  Quite a contrary personality, aren’t you? Like the true politician that you aspire to be. Entice people with high-end promises, then once you think you have them captive, your words take on a holographic air. Be honest… I know it goes against the grain for you. Do you really want a threesome?"

  She was annoyed at herself that she wanted to know the answer.

  “No seriously, it’s not overtly important.”

  "That suggests it is a consideration.

  How would you feel about a threesome with myself being the only female? And perhaps the only chocolate counterpart?"

  “I get your point. Seriously—didn’t mean to offend. And no that’s a rubbish idea.”

  “Now now, let’s not be hasty. Let’s consider this option thoroughly.”

  “Cheeky :p”

  "Let’s consider the benefits.

  Halve the cost of hotel fees. Provide inspiration if you lack quality culinary choices.

  If your cock can’t take the heat… our guest could take over and complete the task with efficiency.

  If you don’t have the quality time, you offered during your underbelly campaign… And have to rush off after the lunchtime hour… our guest can continue to drink from my chocolate well.

  You could leave our guest to escort me to Agent Provocateur in your absence.

  He could open the champagne whilst you see to your numerous emails.

  Now… how’s that for a proposition?"

  "Ha-ha, cheeky bitch.

  Oh, you do make me laugh. Just in time before I get another mauling here in the office."

  Cayenne hadn’t finished making him pay.

  "Wouldn’t you like to watch while another man licks my chocolate delight?

  You said it would turn you on. Imagine seeing a big black cock protruding into my tight vagina. Ooh, I’m getting wet.

  Imagine the screams you’ll hear from the other side of the hotel room door that closes in your pale face."

  “I can just imagine you getting off on all of this.”

  Her phone was silent for many hours after that. She was tempted to message him. Wondering whether she had pushed him too far. Confused that he would switch from needing her, to the apparent satisfaction with not having her.

  In the early hours of the morning, she was awoken by her message alert.

  "Just got in the car service, for the second time this week; Leaving the Wharf at 12:30 a.m. in the morning is becoming routine.

  Shame you can’t join…

  The last week has been tough.

  I’d much rather be drinking berry juice… think I need it."

  “Pretty addictive, huh?”

  “Too tired to be eloquent, but yes, I want your wet black juicy cunt in my face.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  “Good night, you. I’m knackered, and the taxi driver keeps kicking off about Brexit.”

  The next morning…

  "Good morning, gorgeous. I have actually had to earn my platinum status these last few days.

  Should allow Thursday p.m./Friday a.m. to be good though.

  Want to teach me a lesson and make me lick?"

  "Should I decide to totally relinquish you from the spam category, then I shall indeed teach you lessons that will elevate you to Palladium-card territory.

  Provided a more keen knight, a more responsive knight, a knight who knows a Queen’s true value, not pit you to the post.

  You do realise, don’t you? That now that the Queen is aware that the exec can indeed earn his status with additional nightly hours… her expectations have increased immeasurably. No longer will she accept mediocre pussy-licking and half-fucking at lunchtime.

  The white knight’s allegiance must firstly be to her majesty. Any executive obligations are merely secondary to her needs if he has any hope of securing cinnamon-cunt rights in the future.

  Surely my nutmeg coolie is utterly wasted on an overburdened accountant."

  “I need to see the Queen.”

  “The Queen has desperate urgency also.”

  “Tell me. Be that filthy behind-closed-doors bitch that I harden for.”

  "I can scarcely put into words the insatiable hunger brewing within the inner sanctum…where steamy cum juice ferments awaiting its divine milk accompaniment and savoury seasoning.

  The lobes of my pussy ache for your touch and your tongue. The arch of my back anticipates your body heat as we intertwine.

  Spend quality time stroking the Queen’s pussy. Do not short circuit the entangled journey from the depths of her vagina to the peak of her euphoric orgasm."

  “I’m going to be your fucking white slave slut. Massage my face with your cunt and then sit on my cock until you fucking release.”

  “Oh yes. A full pussy facial is in store.”

&
nbsp; "I can’t wait for my feeding and blacking.

  Bad, bad Queen milf."

  "How fortunate you are… what gods of fortune favoured you the very day you encountered a Queen in disguise in the unlikely location of the Wharf slums.

  No greater prize could you have foreseen… black Nubian Royalty harbouring secrets of pussy-licking hunger having long since dismissed any notion of cunt escapades.

  How the stars must have aligned in light of our shared passion for erotic culinary delights.

  What mercy the Queen has shown to lower her standards to favour a lowly pale city executive over cultural princes and exotic Sheiks.

  For their fortune pales into insignificance when she considers the exec’s hunger for gateaux cunt and caramel soufflé pussy."

  “It’s completely deserved :)”

  "Oh to stem the flow of a dribbling pussy…

  And how to cause it to subside whilst you whisk me through an itinerary of excitement and luxury before our conclusion.

  Black British with a Caucasian exec having intercourse on Egyptian cotton, drinking French champagne and sampling exquisite Mediterranean cuisine, fucking in hedonistic fashion, climaxing in a universal panoramic intercontinental collision."

  He promised to amorously reward her poetic prose at their much-anticipated rendezvous.

  Chapter 37

  March 2017

  The unusual entrance to the Park Plaza Hotel in Westminster was accessed via illuminated twin escalators either side of a spiral staircase which opened up into the vast reception forecourt, with its white marble floor and low ceiling. She couldn’t help but rest her case down momentarily and stand in the centre, turning around on the spot, trying to take in every last detail. The low ceiling adding to the cosy yet opulent ambience.

  One of the many features was an unusual installation consisting of several beautifully handcrafted, painted teacups which looked as though they were suspended in mid-air in a circular formation, depicting a whirlwind frozen in time. It had to be at least 8 feet tall and appeared to be held in place by a succession of wires attached to a stainless-steel frame.

  When her eyes were satisfied, she approached the middle of the three white long desks that made up the whole of one side of the space.

  “Hello,” a friendly voice came out of a short blond woman dressed smartly in a navy blue uniform. Her name badge read, Claire Reading, receptionist. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, is there a reservation under the name Halpern-Smith?”

  “Can I take your name please, and I’ll just check for you.” She peered into her computer screen. “Ah yes, here it is. I’ll just get your key ready for you. Will you be having lunch in the restaurant today. Would you like me to reserve you a table? Actually, I can see it’s already been reserved for you.”

  Cayenne waited whilst the receptionist produced the key, watching the staff busying themselves behind the desk and disappearing in all directions to meet the constant needs of demanding clientele.

  “There you are, Miss Richards.” The receptionist handed her a folded card with pictures of the plaza and details of some of its services and features. Tucked inside was the electronic door key.

  “Thank you very much.”

  Her heart began racing as soon as she emerged from the elevator. It didn’t seem as though he was there yet but she couldn’t be sure, though he had mentioned that he was likely to get there after her planned arrival due to a meeting at work.

  She slipped the key into the slot at the side of the door. It was silent as far as she could tell. When she went inside, the lights were on but remained dimly lit, and the curtains were closed. The room had been designed beautifully. The space was mostly white with a cool grey marble floor, off-white walls and ultra-modern furniture arranged for the convenience of a visiting family. There were even flowers and plants strategically positioned, and she almost felt as though she were intruding in somebody’s home. The scene could have been taken straight out of an ideal home magazine. Outside of the large doors that framed the perfect backdrop of Central London, there was a partially decked terrace complete with tables and chairs and potted exotic plants. She glanced into the first bedroom which housed two double beds side by side, a black shiny desk and swivel chair and several framed pieces of abstract wall art.

  She threw off her leather jacket and pulled off her boots and wandered into the second bedroom which was dominated by a king-size bed, adorned with silk quilt covers and purple and gold velvet throws which matched the beautifully draped curtains. Orchids stood proudly in a contemporary vase on the bedside table. A decanter of water and two glasses were set on a tray on the desk. She could feel the quality of cashmere carpet between her toes.

  She checked the time. It was almost 1:00. He had said he hoped to arrive by 1:30 p.m. She had just enough time to get ready.

  By the time, she heard a faint clicking noise on the outside of the door 20 minutes later. She had draped herself seductively at the far edge of the bed and tilted her body towards the door.

  She had taken the time to shave her delicate area, and the cocoa butter oil that she had caressed her skin with was glistening in the semi-darkness. This, along with strategic dabs of Chanel were her only garment.

  She heard him enter and listened to the sounds of him dropping his bag and coat on the table which echoed the sound of jangling keys.

  Excitement mounted as she followed the sound of his hard office shoes tap dancing across the marble floor. The staff downstairs would have alerted him of her arrival. He would be following her deliberately positioned trail. The high-heeled boots by the front door, the coat draped over the high-backed chair, the dress hanging on the bathroom doorknob, and her bra laying across the short corridor towards the bedrooms. Her stockings framing the African wall art, and her thong pinned to the bedroom door.

  When he finally appeared, her thongs gagging his mouth, she was relieved to see that he had a more self-assured appearance today. The uncertain, guilty look that usually pierced his eyes had been abandoned. His smile revealed his satisfaction at seeing her there, waiting for him.

  Today she needed more. He would give her more today. He had to. It was time.

  He sighed, and she could see his shoulders visibly soften. She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes and listened to the sound of him disrobing. She wanted to heighten the sensation, and the anticipation of not knowing which direction he would approach from, and how he would embrace her. Tentatively or aggressively.

  She felt her legs being uncrossed and spread apart, then wider apart. Then she felt his hands at the back of her legs, sensitively moving the back of her knees up and folding them outward until she found herself in the diamond position that she practised in yoga. Silence hung in the air. She imagined him standing watching her. She could feel him drawing nearer, or was that her imagination. She could hear him breathing heavily and deeply. Taking full intakes of breath, filling his lungs with the smell of her—his favourite smell. His nose moved up and down her legs, slowly following the scent of her, his tongue joining in the search, licking the cocoa oil from her skin.

  He was taking his own sweet time. He clasped both her hands in his until their palms were adjoined above her head. The intensity coursing through both of them.

  She lay back, eyes still closed, savouring every moment. After smelling and licking the opening of her treasure, long luxurious licks that threatened to bring her to her fullest joy, he delicately prized her open further still with his moist fingertips and deepened his search, furtive and hungry, the tip of his tongue forging ahead in a single-minded serge to the source of liquid gold.

  She gasped and groaned and writhed in ecstasy, the strength of his hands holding her in place, so as not to thwart his expedition. She knew that this part was not just for her pleasure, but for his insatiable need. She opened up voluntarily, allowing him to sup amorously from her well, and he continued there for some time, long after she had been spent. When he let go of her hand, she r
an her fingers through his hair, as though stroking a sleeping child. He arose from his feast, invigorated, determined, wanting to please her, to not leave her in lack anymore. To reward her for her generosity, he began thanking her over and over again with forceful thrusts, indenting the walls of her vagina with determined gratitude. Pounding her in complete recognition of his good fortune for as long as he could possibly, humanly, hold. Until the thrusting gave way to his pent-up release. He shuddered over her as their bodies lay entwined, quivering with coordinating tremors.

  He pulled her on top of him and swathed her in his mouth as though she were a tantalising dessert, cupping her head in his hands, forcing her to him.

  “I want more.” Her hunger remained unabated.

  “You’re gonna get more.”

  He positioned her over his penis and let the warmth of her harden him again. Elevating her hips before bringing her gently down whilst thrusting himself upwards to ensure she was in the right spot. A slight adjustment saw them collide again, rhythmically, sensually. Her pleasure filling him with contentment. He knew she had needed this for far too long. His Queen could no longer be denied. When she began to tire, he swiftly placed her down on her back and continued the course; his senses overwhelmed as his body took over. His need for her building by the second.

  There was noise coming from the streets below. He was almost certain it didn’t sound like general traffic noise. Some sort of commotion that sounded unusual, but the maelstrom of emotions whirling inside and around him was dominant in his thoughts.

  She thought she heard screeches, somewhere in the distance. Was it in the hallway, or was it outside? She couldn’t be sure. The vaginal vortex taking place inside her was far too riveting to give it much thought.

  Suddenly, the unmistakable prolonged wail of sirens, and a confused mixture of diverse alarms interspersed with the tooting of vehicle horns pierced the air.

  She thought she could hear his phone ringing and vibrating. Then her message ringtone competed for her attention.

  He paused raising his head, and they both listened panting and dripping under the covers.

  “Is something going on?” She watched resting her head on her propped elbow as he padded out towards his belongings. He returned phone in hand with an aghast expression on his face. He turned his back to her. He was assuring someone that he was okay in hushed tones. He would ring them back when he had the chance.