by Vera Roberts
Four
The vibe before this gala is a bit tenser than before.
I avoided speaking with Ian all day but it wasn’t unusual because I had classes and he had to supervise a special event at 3121. Even when I sent him a ‘Oops, my bad’ text, he didn’t respond.
I really fucked up.
After I closed up the studio, I headed straight home where I was met by my Glam Squad to get me together for this gala. Since it’s Christmas time, the fundraiser has a holiday-theme to it.
Joy chose a hot off-shoulder Parker Black number that shimmers with each movement. Shelly decided a slick bun would work best on me and Mario wanted my makeup to be as natural as possible with a lot of browns and nudes, but with a pop of red for the holiday.
When I arrived home, Ian was upstairs working out. I briefly heard him enter the bathroom to shower and he got dressed in his closet. He was currently waiting for me in the living room.
I guess my apology text didn’t make things better between us. I need to figure a way out to make this better and fast.
“Girl, it is so damn cold in this room,” Mario commented as he applied fake lashes on me. “I mean between you and Ian, I don’t know who’s the coldest bitch.”
I sigh. Even my squad knows what’s up. “We had a fight this morning and I think he’s still pissed at me.”
“Uh-uh,” Shelly put the finishing touches on my bun. “What happened?”
“One of my instructors was trying to flirt with him and I told him he allowed it to happen without checking her and it just went from there. I’ll admit I was being a bit of an ass towards him and he didn’t deserve it but I think he’s still miffed.”
“Well, some guys don’t know when a girl is flirting with them. They only know it when the girl is offering some ass or some head. But if she flirts with him and hypes him up, he won’t see it.” Joy replied as she watched everything. “He probably didn’t know she was flirting with him.”
“Now wait a minute, we don’t know all of the details yet,” Mario interjected, “was it a she?”
“Of course it was!” Joy replied. “She wouldn’t get upset if a man was flirting with Ian!”
“Hell, I don’t know! It’s not so black and white anymore. Shit, if a trans woman was flirting with Ian, would you have been upset with Ian, Domi?” Mario asks.
“I think I would’ve been more confused than upset,” I admit.
“That’s the beside the point!” Joy continued. “If one of Domi’s instructors know Ian is her fiancée, she should’ve backed off.”
“If Ian was a bus driver or a delivery man, she probably would’ve.” Mario started on the other eyelash. “Ian is a billionaire and that puts him in a different category of fuckableness.”
“Is that even a word?” Shelly asked.
“It is now, bitch!” Mario chuckled. “Domi, girl, you’re just gonna have to get used to it. You have no choice. Bitches are going to be after your man twenty-four-seven-three-hundred-and-sixty-five-make-it-three-hundred-and-sixty-six-if-it’s-a-leap-year. You can’t keep getting jealous or that’s going to get old real quick and Ian doesn’t have time for that shit.”
“The bitch has a point,” Joy replied.
“He is right,” Shelly chimed in.
Damn, really? Even my glam squad said I acted like an asshole. Now I really need to make it up to Ian – and get my jealousy in check. “What should I do?”
“Honestly? Open your eyes and look at me,” Mario instructed and I followed, “damn, I just keep getting better and better with this shit. I need to have a statue erected in my honor.” He dipped a brush into some bronzer and swiped it over my face. “The best thing you can do, Domi, and this is coming from a man’s perspective, is show Ian you’re sorry. Apologize, and if all else fails, blow him. Men will forget about a lot of shit when they’re getting their dicks sucked.”
Mario and Adrienne practically said the same thing. Maybe there’s something to what they’re saying. I need to keep that in mind. “Duly noted.” I stand up. “Am I ready to go?”
“You’re ready!” Mario beamed. “Ladies, is she ready?”
“She’s looking fabulous!” Shelly replies.
“Like a rockstar goddess,” Joy comments.
“Okay, cameras out! “ And they all take photos as I pose for their various IG pages and blogs. “Now, we’re ready!”
I grabbed my Dior clutch and walk out to the foyer. I see Ian standing by the window as he looks out into the Los Angeles skyline. He looks amazing in a tuxedo. It’s the same thing he wears to every gala, and yet, he looks more incredible each time he wears it.
I don’t say anything to him because I’m not sure if he wants to hear my voice after our big fight today, so I just keep it cute and mute. I’ll speak when I have to.
“It’s a beautiful night,” he finally says after what felt like an eternity in silence. He turns around and looks at me with the familiar twinkle in his blue eyes. He slowly walks to me and caresses my face, careful not to ruin the makeup job. “Remember when I said you were more beautiful than the Mona Lisa?”
How could I forget? I’m still screaming from the memory. “Yes,” I softly reply.
“I’ll forever mean that.” He kisses my cheek as he’s well aware of the no-kissing-before-public-pictures-rule. “Are you ready to go, angel?”
“Very.”
~~~~~
Tonight’s gala is being held at the Ferguson, honoring women who have made a significant cultural impact throughout the year. Over the past years, The Ferguson has honored pop stars, actors, athletes, and even non-famous people who have had a huge impact on pop culture and women.
This event has Lula Jean all over it.
The car ride is silent and there’s still a bit of tension from earlier. I practice numerous times what’s going to come out of my mouth but they all sound so stupid and idiotic. I know this fight was my fault this time and I just need to put on my big girl panties (figuratively) and just keep it real with him.
The words come out like a harsh wind in the middle of a storm: “I’m sorry.”
Ian squeezes my hand and nods. He looks over at me with a soft grin on his face. “Thank you.” He turns back to look out the window.
Normally, I would go on a diatribe on how foolish and naïve I was and how I overreacted and blah blah blah bullshit, but I don’t think that will help at all. Despite my apology, I don’t think things are really cool between us.
I feel the tension is still there, though it’s not as heightened as before. I need to figure out another way to make this better or it’s going to be a weird night between us.
Blow him. Blow him. Blow him.
It was advice given that I dismissed but it’s my last resort. I’m willing to ruin Mario’s makeup job if it means my fiancée will have a better night because of me and not a so-so night for the same reason.
I remember some of the things I’ve learned in the BDSM materials I’ve read that wasn’t fictional. I learned about hard and soft limits. I learned the power of no and the exploration of yes.
I also learned I need to stay in my place before Ian makes it uncomfortable for both of us.
I let out a deep breath and well, here goes nothing. “Sir, may this girl suck Your cock?”
I gauge Ian’s reaction and watch in nail-biting anticipation as I see his eyebrows slightly rise up before they come back down. Then it’s silence. And more silence. And more.
So much for that stupid suggestion.
“I don’t want to ruin your makeup job, angel.” He finally turns to me after what seems like an eternity in silence. “I’ll ruin it later.”
My cheeks warm and I think my vagina starting singing again? “Oh.”
Ian grabs my right hand and looks at the monstrous engagement ring. “I wouldn’t mind seeing what this looks like as it strokes my cock.” He kisses my hand.
Now I went from being a little horny to unbearable nympho. Shit, when am I not a nymph? “Sir,
may this girl stroke Your cock?”
“You may,” Sir adjusts His position and watches me unzip his tux and pull out His soft cock. I’m resisting the temptation to wrap my lips and mouth all over it, despite how strong it is. I use a little spit to wet it and begin stroking Him.
I’ve never given a hand job before and I’m not sure what the protocol is to this. Do I stroke hard? Do I stroke soft? Do I alternate? What if my hands get tired? What am I supposed to do?
“Enjoy the process, angel,” he softly moans as He watches me, “worry about the technique later.”
“Yes, Sir.” I stroke His cock more and let my mind at ease. My shoulders immediately drop and I feel more relaxed than before. As I did that, Sir’s cock became harder with each stroke. It seemed the more I stroked Him, the harder He became.
“Mmm…that’s it, angel,” Sir moves His hips more to meet my strokes. We’re in a steady rhythm now. Some of His pre-cum spilled out and now His cock is slippery within my hands. Meanwhile, the small song my vagina sang earlier became a full-blown choir.
“I want you on top of Me,” Sir ordered and He didn’t have to ask twice.
I crawled on top of Him and He moved my panties to the side. He sharply entered me and I cried out in pleasure and pain. I immediately claimed Sir’s cock like a vise; quivering around the length and thickness of it while He held onto my ass.
“Look at Me,” He ordered and I complied, “I want to see your face when you come.”
We couldn’t kiss before pictures; that was a non-binding agreement. Yet, I felt this strong urge to kiss Sir, to feel His lips pressed against mine. It was then how I knew how intimate kisses really were. It was why Vivian Ward was so hard-pressed about johns not kissing her. She knew how intimate and powerful they were. She also probably didn’t want herpes.
I stare into Sir’s eyes as He grabs my ass and rocks me. His rock-hard cock pierces into me, making me moan and shudder. My pussy tightly clenches around him and it was a release I didn’t know I needed. He fills me with every delectable inch, almost splitting me apart, but I welcome it like it’s a homecoming.
“Sir,” I cried as we lock eyes. This is one of the most intense sexual encounters between us and I’m floating on air.
Sir slaps my ass hard and the sting makes my ass nice and pink. “Is this My pussy?” He demands. I’m too incoherent to respond and Sir slaps my ass again. “Is this My pussy?”
“Yes, Sir!” I shriek. My body is trembling, I feel my pussy have small spasms and quivers, and I know I’m close. Sir knows it as well, and His thrusts become more powerful and dare I say, angrier at me. He takes my hands and holds them behind my back as His look encourages me to ride Him faster and harder.
Little fireworks explode within me and I know I can’t hold out for much longer. I need this release. I deserve it. “Sir, may I come?” I look into His eyes and read the power, the mystery, and love floating between them.
“You may,” He nods.
I screamed as the orgasm seized my body and rendered me helpless. It was a raw scream; something guttural and primal. My body shook beyond my volition. I couldn’t close my eyes; I wasn’t allowed to. Sir said He wanted to see me come and I wasn’t going to disobey Him.
He thrust inside me a few more times before He came as well. He stared deep into me, reaching my soul and I watch His eyes become dream-like. He was in a better mood and I know now all was forgiven.
“Do you feel better now, Sir?” I cautiously ask.
“I do. Thank you, angel.” He smiles at me. “Did you learn anything just now?”
What? Was this a pop quiz? I really don’t like Ian’s tests. “Not really.”
“Oh?” His eyes turn into question marks. “You didn’t learn anything?”
“Wait a minute, Sir.” I carefully think as He’s still inside me. It then occurred to me what Sir was referring to. I have an extra lipstick in my clutch I could easily reapply and Sir knew I did.
Yet, there was a reason He didn’t want us to kiss despite how much we both wanted to. “I learned about power and how carefully one should wield it.”
“A person’s mouth has more power than they realize. Sometimes people don’t realize how powerful their mouths are until the ability to use them is taken away.” He softly kisses my cheek. “Remember that.”
It’s a lesson I’ll never forget. “I will, Sir.”
Five
When we arrive at the gala, we’re immediately greeted by flashing light bulbs from a variety of news sources. Out of all of the galas during the year, this is always the biggest one and for good reason – it’s literally a Who’s Who in the socialite and celebrity world. It’s the L.A. version of the notorious Met Gala in New York.
There is a huge crowd on the outside. There are many news and fashion reporters/bloggers. There are many fans waiting to see a sneak peek of their favorite celebrity. There are tons of police and security keeping the crowd behind the barricaded gates.
Knowing how big the publicity was tonight, I made the conscience decision to wear my ginormous ring on my right hand, deciding to pair my outfit with a funky cocktail ring on the left. Here’s hoping the paparazzi would be too stupid to notice.
We walk upstairs to the Ferguson and are immediately greeted by well-wishers and onlookers. I make polite chitchat while Ian schmoozes and talks rich white people stuff with the attendees.
I excuse myself to go to the nearest bathroom to refresh my look. As I check myself, I see an older, regal woman exiting one of the stalls. Seeing her made my heart stop as my eyes widened. She looked like royalty.
Elegant. Class. Power. Wealth. She was all of that and then some. She wore an all-white ivory gown, with a matching head wrap. Large diamond studs graced her ears. Her makeup was bold in numerous purples, greens, and golden hues.
Her brown skin looked like the sun kissed it. I immediately felt the need to bow down. My gosh, she was gorgeous!
“Hello,” she replied with a thick accent from a country I couldn’t place. “How are you?”
“I’m doing well.” The woman immediately made me feel self-conscious though her attitude didn’t imply any negative thoughts. “How are you?”
“Doing well,” she washed her hands and the attendant gave her a hot towel. She opened her clutch and spritzed a few sprays on her skin. “Did you want to try this? I made it myself.”
I didn’t want to decline but I wasn’t sure if what would smell great on her, wouldn’t smell like cat piss on me. “Sure.” I let the older woman spray a little on me and I’m amazed at how great it smells. I recognize the floral and fruit notes with a touch of vanilla. It smells intoxicatingly sweet. I already love it. “This is amazing.”
“A woman has to possess certain panache to wear this. It’s not for everybody.” Her voice is like warm tea. She soothes her hands over my tightly pulled bun; the same way a mother would if she was double-checking her daughter’s hair before pictures. I don’t realize how much I missed my mother’s touch until that moment. She pulls back a little and smiles a great, bright smile. “There. Perfect. Just like a princess. You keep that bottle. I have a ton more back home.” She then leaves.
I turn back to see my appearance in the mirror. I have a fresh glow but it’s unclear if it was from the wild sex or the desperately-needed mother’s touch I just encountered. Maybe it’s both.
~~~~~
I rejoin Ian and the rest of the Fergusons as their talking to a group of people. The same woman I just saw in the bathroom a few minutes ago is chatting with them. I quickly join the group and stand beside Ian.
“Ah, Domi, you’re back.” Ian kisses my cheek. “I would like you to meet our honored guest for this evening. Dominique, this is Queen Esi. She has donated numerous amounts of money all over the United States, specializing in helping African-American children and teens pursue careers in the arts and sciences. Every year, she pays for them and their families to visit her kingdom in Ghana.”
I feel my stomach bottom o
ut. The woman who just nurtured me like if I was her daughter was Kwesi’s mother. That could only mean Kwesi is nearby. “Pleasure to meet you formally,” I shake her hand, “we were already acquainted with each other.”
“What a beautiful spirit she is,” Queen Esi begins, “Ian, you’re a very lucky man.”
“I am,” Ian smiles at me.
“Oh, and he’s finally here! I was wondering where you were!” Queen Esi admonishes someone who appears by her side. “Ian and Dominique, this is my youngest son, Kwesi.”
I turn to face Kwesi and my heart almost stops. He’s dressed in a tuxedo and his skin is almost shimmering, as if he was dipped into golden dark chocolate. His beard is trimmed and his teeth are blindingly white. “Dominique, we meet again.”
“Oh?” Ian turns to me with a curiosity in his eyes. “You two have met before?”
“When I was getting the ring appraised,” I slowly reply, knowing it’s a story Ian didn’t know about and carefully watch his reaction. “We were in the same jewelry store.”
Kwesi’s eyes go straight to the cocktail ring that’s on my left and he looks at me. “It was a beautiful ring.”
I feel the heat rise to my cheeks and I briefly touch one, hoping it’s not too obvious. “It is.”
“Great! I can have a picture of all you together!” A photographer comes towards us. “Can I have all of you stand together?”
“Sure!” Gerald chimes in. “This is a great opportunity for a photo.”
We all take our places in the photo. Anthony, Elise, and Emma are to the right of Queen Esi, while Gerald, Ian and me are to her left. Kwesi, and his brother, Kofi, are flanking their mother. To my left is Ian. To my right is Kwesi.
I’m literally between both men.
“Big smiles, everyone!” The photographer instructs.
I feel one arm snake around my waist and then another arm. Both men are holding me. This. Is. Awkward. “Smile!” The photographer says. We all smile and he takes several photos. “Great shot, everyone! Thank you so much!”
Kwesi turns to me. I feel his brown eyes bore into me and I have to remember to breathe. “I hope to see you later.” He rejoins his mother and other family members.
