Honey Flava

by Zane

However, Dirk didn’t seem to be in any hurry. “Say, ‘Fuck me.’” He sounded so calm, but cold.

  “No!” Jean whined. She had never used this word in her life. That was one word she’d decided never to use. “Please, zhuren,” she said pitifully, “don’t make me say it.”

  “Good. You remembered to address me correctly. For that I will reward you.” He massaged her clitoris. “Now, say, ‘Fuck me.’ Be a good doll.”

  “No, zhuren,” she whimpered again.

  “Well, it is your choice.” Dirk teased her by moving his penis in a circular motion at the opening of her vagina. “I’m not going to fuck you down here if you don’t ask me to. I can fuck your mouth again. I don’t mind coming that way. Is that what you want?”

  “No!” Tears leaked out from the blindfold.

  This time Dirk saw it. “Oh, poor doll.” He wiped her tears as he said, “You look so adorable when you cry. So, have you made up your mind? I can’t wait for too long. If you want me to fuck you down here, you have to say it. Now! Otherwise it’ll be too late. I know you will regret it if I come in your mouth.”

  Jean knew then that Dirk wouldn’t show her any mercy. She had no choice. Not having vaginal sex with Dirk at this point would be a torture to her. She would do anything to avoid that, including saying the word she would never say. She shook her head and smacked her lips briefly before she said, “Fuck me, please, zhuren.” Her voice was barely audible.

  “Speak up.”

  “Fuck me, please, zhuren.”

  “I will be more than happy to fuck you.” Dirk grinned in satisfaction. “This is what a good master should do—train his doll to ask for what he wants.” He laughed as he spread her vagina with one hand and guided his penis inside her with the other.

  Jean cried out in ecstasy. What pleasure! Finally he was deep inside her. Oh, God. Take me. Move. Thrust. Do it! she kept on demanding loudly in her mind.

  Even then, Dirk wasn’t in any hurry. Slowly, he pulled his penis out, leaving Jean breathless for a split second before he inserted it again. Slowly and repeatedly, Dirk took his time to thrust his entire penis deep inside her and then take it all out. But before long, not only Jean was breathless and burning in desire; Dirk was on fire, too. His thrusts became faster, and he no longer pulled his penis entirely out.

  As he moved quicker inside her, Jean moaned louder. For the first time since they’d started playing, she felt their bodies in tune with each other. Her moan wasn’t because of pain, but because of intense pleasure. A sweet smile radiated on her face as she welcomed every thrust from Dirk.

  Dirk saw her sexy smile and wanted to see more, so he removed her blindfold. “Look at me. Look at my eyes. Please!” This time he sounded gentle and warm.

  Jean opened her eyes. As she looked into Dirk’s downward gaze, she felt she was struck by lightning. She had to close her eyes briefly before she dared to open them again. He looked so different from what she’d imagined all along when they started playing. No longer a cold and demanding master, he smiled at her so warmly and was as out of breath as she was. His gaze was intimate. He seemed utterly pleased and satisfied.

  They stared at each other for a few minutes before his smile disappeared. His thrusts became so fast and mighty powerful. All the muscles on his body tensed. Jean could even see the vein on his forehead bulging. His sweat dripped on her face. His face turned serious, even painful. She knew it was time. How she wished she could hold him! After all the teasing and the pain, he did give her the ecstasy and the ultimate high she had never experienced before. But all she could do was lift up her hips a little more to welcome his final thrust and cry out with him when he finally came inside her.

  Dirk fell limp on her. They lay there a few minutes, in each other’s sweat. Finally, he lifted up his head and kissed her gently on her lips. Hungrily and appreciatively she returned his kiss.

  They kissed a couple more minutes before he pushed himself up. One by one, he untied the ropes on her arms and legs and took time to check and massage the bond areas. “You’ve been a good doll. Just need a little more training.”

  Jean shivered. She didn’t think she could handle any more. Not today.

  “Kneel,” he commanded, as cold as ice again.

  Jean didn’t know what to do exactly. She sat up immediately and knelt down on the bed.

  Dirk moved to one side of the bed. “When I say kneel, you kneel in front of your master.”

  Jean moved quickly to face him.

  “Good. And when I say present, you put your hands behind your head and open up your legs to me. Present.”

  Jean followed. Now that her head was up, she closed her eyes to avoid his gaze.

  “Good job.” Dirk was pleased. He moved a little closer to Jean and placed his right hand between her legs.

  Jean started to moan again as Dirk stroked her vagina.

  “You’ve done well,” Dirk whispered. “There is still lots to learn, but for now…” He thrust his finger in and out of her a few more times before he kissed her again and whispered in her ear, “I release you.”

  Jean took a deep breath and launched up to hug him. They embraced for a long while. Then, she let go of him. With a cry of relief, she plopped backward onto the bed. “I had no idea,” she commented in between her breaths, “about the meaning of zhuren, until today.”

  Dirk burst into a pleased laugh and went into the bathroom.

  Photo Shoot

  MITCH

  THE LIGHTS WERE BRIGHT, like in an operating room, but it was a photo shoot for Play Thing, the hottest exotic-modeling magazine on the market. Background and foreground scenery with an Asian motif was moved from place to place in the square, warehouselike room. Technicians were rats racing with cords, lights, and furniture. Camera assistants were setting up cherry pickers and tripods, and checking on film and filters as on a Spielberg set.

  It was almost 9:30 a.m. on Friday a week prior to Christmas. Lu Xun, the elderly but brilliant photographer, came into the room, crying in his Chinese accent, “Are we ready on the set?” Randy watched a parade of women moving to the middle of the room from his far right. A willowy female, robed in white, at the center of the procession was directed to a chair. She sat, and the other ladies fussed with her face and hair. “Ladies,” intoned Lu impatiently.

  Finished, the ensemble moved to the side out of camera range. The figure on the chair stood and shed her robe. She was average in height, curvaceous, and wore a white bathing suit splattered with purple; the top was held in place with narrow straps and swooped to a point near her navel, exposing the insides of large breasts; a thong bottom bypassed her rounded hips and derriere, revealing sculpted legs. Black hair hung loose to her waist. Her smile was dazzling, like that of a Kewpie doll with bow-shaped, mauve-colored lips.

  “Fabulous, Mali, you and that suit were made for my cameras; now move to the Chinese lanterns.” Lu indicated with his left hand and started taking pictures as she sauntered toward the scene.

  Randy stood at the back wall; he was writing an article for Still Photo Magazine, and Play Figure management had arranged for him to observe and interview those involved. He was in his late twenties, stood more than six feet tall, had striking facial features, and wore his all-white hair in a neat shoulder-length shag cut. Two silver chains embossed with the yin-yang lay loosely on his hairy chest between the folds of a red, long-sleeved shirt open halfway down his chest. Faded black jeans circled his narrow waist and tucked into dark, ankle-high boots with short, one-inch heels. He stood comfortably near the concrete wall and occasionally wrote a comment in his Mead spiral-bound notebook.

  “Fabulous, Mali, you’re a jewel to work with. Now change while the set is rearranged. Remember, people, it may be December but this session is for a summer issue. Give me more light and more motion.”

  Mali’s entourage hurried to the dressing room. Randy observed her graceful walk and took additional note of her physical charms; he memorized the details of her body.

&nb
sp; During the change the stage director stopped and asked Randy if he had any questions.

  “Who selected the model?”

  “Play Figure’s casting department.”

  “Who decides what outfits are modeled?”

  “Prada, they provide the outfits.”

  “Who selected the scenery?”

  “Prada. It’s for a special line for the Asian market.”

  “Is every shoot as scripted and structured as this?’

  “With Lu Xun, yes.”

  “Are the photos going to be used for other purposes?’

  “Probably, they belong to Prada.”

  “When will the layout be completed and will copies be available for my article?”

  “Yes, Prada would like the exposure in Still Photo Magazine.”

  “Thanks for your cooperation. When can I interview the staff and technicians?”

  “Anytime there’s a break and it doesn’t interfere with the shoot.”

  Mali and her company returned. She was wearing a sleek, black, one-piece suit with a plunging neckline and another thong bottom. A white bandanna around her forehead set off her ivory complexion and her dark brown eyes; her hair was pulled back in a single strand with three white coils separating it into four equal parts. Lu directed her to a scene of the Great Wall, lights were adjusted, a fan whirled, and Mali posed. Pictures were taken from a variety of positions. The scenery was changed to Shangri-la, the lights dimmed, smoke filtered across the scene like an early morning fog, and Lu, moving with the grace of a bird in flight, directed the poses and filled the room with flashes.

  During a break Mali was sitting drinking Gatorade, and staring at the dirty old man who had been lurking, like a barracuda, against the back wall of the studio. However, up close he was not the same, and his effect on her was sexually arousing.

  “Mali…Mali…Mali…” Breaking out of her trance, she heard her name. “Mali, I’d like you to met Randy Newsome. He’s a freelance writer working on an article for Still Photo Magazine. He’d like to speak with you,” Jerry said.

  “Okay, yeah, sit down, Randy. It is Randy, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Randy. God, you’re beautiful,” he said, taking her hand in his.

  “You’re not bad yourself,” she said, squeezing his hand and ogling his handsome, tanned face, “but you look much older at a distance.”

  “My hair fools a lot of people,” he said, smiling. “I’m gathering material for an article about the shoot, but all I want to do is make love to you.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you really want?” she asked. “Is your hair natural?”

  “Yes, but I really want you to go to bed with me. It started turning when I was eleven, and by the time I got to college, it had changed completely. My nickname is Whitie. When did you start modeling?”

  “Whitie is appropriate, but I like Randy better. I started modeling in high school. This is my first shot at the big time, modeling for Play Thing. Is that your aftershave?” she asked, placing her other hand on his.

  “Thanks, I prefer Randy, too; I’m wearing Old Spice. Why are you modeling?”

  “The possibility of becoming a supermodel—you know, fame and fortune.”

  “Will you sleep with me?” he asked as he covered her second hand with his.

  “Will it make me famous?”

  “No.” He hesitated. “But wait, the article I’m writing could make you famous.”

  “Okay”—she smiled—“if that’s the case, you can take me to lunch.”

  “Does that mean we can make love?”

  “No, it means I need meat after the rigors of a session like this.”

  “I have meat,” he said, smiling.

  “Protein, protein, protein as in food.” She laughed. “I like your sense of humor.”

  “Is that all you like?”

  “No, but we can talk about that during lunch.”

  “Great, I’ll meet you here at noon. I have interviews the rest of the morning.”

  Mali and Randy were ushered to their seats at the Elite Epicurean, one of the oldest and best restaurants in Chicago. Its high ceilings, large windows, and early-twentieth-century wooden furniture had a nostalgic look, even in winter. Mali removed her coat, revealing a formfitting brown sweater that would make Pamela Anderson jealous. Randy, who was already horny, took a deep breath and raised his hand for a waiter.

  They ordered soup and sandwiches from a tall male server wearing a white apron.

  “I see you’re wearing yin-yang medallions?”

  “Taoism was one of my favorite subjects in college; I’m a convert.”

  “What practices do you follow?”

  “I read the Tao Te Ching daily, meditate, belly breathe, and follow traditional sexual practices,” he said, staring into her eyes. “I’d like to introduce you to some of them.”

  She smiled. “I’ll have to admit you have tenacity and an unusual approach, but I seldom meet a man who doesn’t want to sleep with me.”

  “Will you?” he asked as their food arrived.

  They fell silent and smiled as the waiter expertly arranged their food on the table.

  “I haven’t thought about anything else since you walked on the set.”

  “The potato soup is good, although it’s too hot,” she said.

  “My cock is telling me how hot you are.”

  “I wet my panties when I saw you up close, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you.”

  Encouraged, he said, “This article I’m writing about the shoot is going to include your sexiest poses and introduce you to an untapped market. Now will you go to bed with me?”

  Lowering her eyes, she reached across the table, placed her hands on his, and flipped her hair to one side. “I have an itch between my big toes. Is there a Taoist solution for such a problem?”

  A big smile spread across Randy’s face. “I believe there’s an old-fashioned remedy for that specific malady,” he said excitedly.

  “Is it something I can sink my teeth into?” she asked, staring shamelessly at him.

  “That’s not exactly what I had in mind, but it could be part of the process.”

  Randy kept a suite of rooms at the Rubicon, a residential hotel, a short distance from the restaurant. Inside the sitting room they kissed with tongues of fire. Her coat dropped to the floor, and they clutched each other in seeming desperation. Her sweater was over her head and arms when he unfastened her bra and pulled it from beneath her pendulous breasts. He stepped back to admire the ivory beauty of her twin curves before he bent and kissed her pink nipples.

  Sweeping her from the floor, he carried her into the bedroom, turning on the lights with his arm. “Are you in a hurry?” she asked, removing the sweater from her arms and hands.

  He sat her down and they undressed.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful and built for pleasure,” he said.

  “You’re as hairy as a bear, and I’ve been dying to meet a cock like yours.”

  He sat on the bed holding his bulging, blue-veined erection. “Here’s your chance.”

  Laughing, she dropped to her knees. “I could take a bite, but I won’t,” she said, looking up at him.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, stoking himself.

  She licked pre-cum from the tip, kissed it, took the head into her mouth, swirled her tongue around it, then licked the length of his shaft. He shuddered when she swallowed as much as she could. Waves of pleasure surged though his body as she plunged up and down his cock with firm lips.

  “Did I tell you I have a breast fetish?” he said as he bent over her and stroked, fondled, and manipulated her dangling flesh until her nipples were rigid. The soft, smooth texture and weight of her hanging tits calmed the itching of his palms but further aroused his emotions.

  He stood her up, and they kissed with tongues dancing like whirling dervishes. The taste and texture was intoxicating, and their excitement rose. Holding her upright, he buried his head in h
er cleavage. He kissed and licked between her mounds until she was soaking wet, and then like a kitten he took a nipple and areola into his mouth. Licking, tugging, and sucking one breast, he manipulated the other nipple with his hand.

  She uttered a low moan, swaying to and fro to increase and decrease the tension on her nipple. “Oh, you’ve got a wonderful mouth.”

  When he changed breasts, he toyed with her moist labia, which were spreading as she was stimulated. He inserted his finger into her pussy, searching for her G-spot. She arched her back and moaned when he found it.

  “Oh, Randy, that’s wonderful.”

  He changed positions and plunged his finger into and out of her canal. Her juices were flowing, her breathing was fast and shallow, and her nipples were aflame with passion.

  His finger sought her clitoris. When he found her mound of pleasure, he gently manipulated it in all directions. She went rigid and cried, “Yes, yes, yes,” as she climaxed. He continued to finger her and suck on her breast until she pulled back and said, “Oh God, oh God, oh God, the feeling’s fantastic, but I’m ready for bigger and better things. I’ve never had this many orgasms.”

  He sat her on the edge of the bed, spread her legs, and dropped between them. Picking up her legs, he placed them over his shoulders and nuzzled her pubic hair.

  “What are you doing?” She said nothing further as his tongue was like a snake searching for its prey. She moaned as he lifted her ass from the bed, pulled her toward him, and used his tongue as a rapier to dart back and forth around her clit. She squirmed in delight, and her cries of pleasure increased until a loud scream coincided with another orgasm. He continued to drill her clit until she pushed his head back and said, “Stop, stop, stop, that feels so good it hurts. Now I want your cock. You promised to soothe the itch between my big toes.”

  Smiling, he took her by the ankles, spread her legs, and placed his dripping cock onto her pubic hair. Hesitating for a moment, he stared at her pleasure-contorted face, and heaving, perspiring breasts. He leaned forward and slipped the head of his cock into her pussy. He could feel her vaginal walls separate as he entered because of the tight fit. She gasped as he stretched her to new widths. “Oh, I’ve never been this full,” she said with widened eyes.