by Zane
She could taste blood and felt his hand in her hair. “Don’t worry, Raf-y, I shall not bite anything too precious.”
A chuckle, deep and throaty, came from him and she had to venture to his neck to lick around it. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed to keep up with her strokes.
“Enough.”
She conceded his command, but grabbed the discarded silk scarf instead. She secured his wrists together and stretched his arms over his head. Then she climbed back on top and licked a line down to his nipples. Scoring them with her teeth, she did not stop until they shone red.
He hissed when she kissed them. Oh, so tenderly, she tortured him with her lips. Until with a satisfied grin, she nibbled her way down to his cock. His movement beneath her gave her great direction.
“So close, so far,” she whispered over his tumescent cock. It lifted toward her words, her caress, and she caught it, drawing it into her mouth. Her lips wrapped around the head. “Mmmmm.”
Closing her eyes, she let herself enjoy the taste of him. The faint hints of condom had been cleaned away earlier by the T-shirt and what was left was him: skin and cock.
She sucked hard like it was a chunk of caramel. In her mind it was the best candy, ever.
He groaned.
She repositioned herself so he could watch her. Breathing in, she eased him further in, an inch at a time. His cock overfilled her mouth, but she kept drawing. Her tongue flat against his cock stroked a welcome as he eased down her throat, until she could swallow him whole. She held him there for a second, then withdrew from the place of honor.
His breathing was shallow. She could feel his pulse race as it thudded against her.
“Now.” The demand was solemn and strong. His voice rough.
Her mouth descended. She drew him completely down her throat. Giving him no mercy as she set a fast and furious pace.
Silk-tied hands came down and sank into her hair, changing the rhythm to one that wouldn’t drive him over so fast, but she had other plans, other things she wanted. Her fingers drifted down, finding the sweet spot between scrotum and anus. Pressure combined with the delicate manicured fingers played steadily, in cooperation with the beat and balance of tongue and mouth, until the rhythms spoke and he could do nothing other than answer.
“Isa!”
She lifted her head and he came in giant streaking streams of come. She started to lower her head, but he yanked her up even with him.
“I wanted to take you again.”
“I know, Raf-y, but there are other things we could do.”
He pulled her head down to his and kissed her. Long devouring strokes of tongue.
She pushed his hands above her hand. “These were supposed to stay up there. If only I had brought my cuffs.”
“Brought mine, they are in there.”
“Do we have time before the flight leaves?”
“Always.”
“What else did you bring?”
“Leather strap, a few more toys.”
“They must have gone nuts in security.”
“Told them the truth. I’m in Special Operations.”
She laughed.
“What?”
“I should have given the porter a twenty. This is the best page I’ve ever had.”
He nipped at her nose. “Better be the only page you’ve ever had.”
Red eyebrows raised and green eyes twinkled at him. “Really, Raf-y. I missed you terribly.”
“Missed you too, darling Isa. Next time, we cannot go this long or I won’t be able to make it as far as a table in an airline club’s conference room.”
She licked his chin. Her teeth grazed the skin and she licked it again.
“Yes?”
“Like sugar and butter, warmed by heat, and poured over muscle, the best caramel ever. Raf-y, you are eatable. I need more of you. Let’s skip the plane, the getaway, the whole thing and stay here. You are addictive. I cannot have you only once.”
Laughter filled the room as he drew her onto his lap. His hand rubbed her tush.
She wiggled into the caress. The ache pleasurable.
“Oh, I have much more planned for you this weekend, Isa, than you can imagine.” He leaned down, his breath teased her lips. His tongue laved the line of her mouth and she opened to him. When he lifted from her, his breath played over her. “None of it can be done here.” He rocked her against him and her breath shuddered. “I’m going to make you come so hard, your shouts will make the neighbors wonder.”
“Promise?”
“I am Latino, darling Isa. A Latino man, especially a Navy man, is always true to his word.”
Tie Rack
Estante de corbatas
SékouWrites
How long is your dick?” Ms. Ramos asked in Spanish, her smirk teetering somewhere between devious and delighted, the index finger of her right hand pointed directly at her manager’s crotch.
The new Macy’s store manager considered himself an expert in many things, including the seduction of women. After work, when his tie was loosened and he gathered his new coworkers around him at Dekk, a trendy SoHo bar where dim lights and strong drinks made everyone look gorgeous, he would brag that all it took was a compliment (the right compliment) to add yet another notch to his belt.
This was partly true. By use of compliments—but also by use of hungry smiles, cheap champagne, a voracious appetite for administering skillful oral sex and an uncanny knack for exploiting the biggest fear of pretty women (ending up alone)—he had found himself slipping and sliding within the moistened walls of many pairs of lips.
“That’s sick, man.” This comment was from one of the younger brothers in his newly created circle of men during their latest Dekk gathering. The young man wore his hair in a tightly tamped Afro and always found a way to keep his elaborate belt buckles visible, no matter how many layers of clothes he had piled on top of them.
“Sick how?” the manager asked in response. Sick, he knew from a younger cousin, was one of the latest euphemisms for “cool” but there was something in his young coworker’s voice that made him think that there might be a more negative connotation at play. He was about to press the issue when one of the other men whispered Ms. Ramos’s name and all of them made the sharp sound of sucking air at the same time.
Over time, the manager had developed sexual preferences. When available, older Latinas were his poison of choice, for he had come to find them passionate, nurturing, deferential and sexually uninhibited. All of which made Ms. Ramos, who worked the men’s tie section of Macy’s, his most obvious quarry.
He’d called her into his office for an impromptu “performance evaluation” because he’d noticed that she was wearing widely spaced fishnets and black ankle-strap pumps; he wanted a much closer look at both. He felt certain that he was only a compliment or two away from getting his tongue wet with the warm juices just inside her panties but that was before he looked at her personnel profile. He had no idea, until she was seated across from him, her prodigious cleavage and sculpted calves tempting him mercilessly, that the Panamanian beauty had been to medical school, had been a practicing doctor before coming to work at Macy’s.
“Now, how is it that we have a medical doctor working in our tie section, Ms. Ramos?” he’d asked, striving to sound loose and conversational, hoping his tone didn’t betray his anxiety. He specialized in pretty but dumb or desperate women. Women of superior intellect or solid self-esteem never fell for his hollow compliments and thinly veiled efforts to remove their clothes. He was already correcting his posture, sitting up straighter, determined to make this look like the professional evaluation that it was never intended to be.
“There are different ways to heal besides medicine,” she’d said after a pause, her voice dreamy and distant, as if she wasn’t fully present in the conversation.
“Like what?” He didn’t care what she meant, but felt that this was the appropriate next question for a manager probing an employee. Sh
e shrugged and he fought to maintain eye contact as her chest shifted.
“It depends on the ailment,” she said. “Men, they tend to have the same one. All the same one.”
“Which is?”
“You should know. You have it.”
“Do I?”
When she just stared at him without offering any further explanation, he switched to Spanish and threw out a compliment (just in case), telling her that she was far too pretty to be a doctor. Her eyes had narrowed and a few moments later she’d asked him how long his dick was. Despite his attraction to her, he was taken aback by the question.
Leaning back in his chair, he reached down to cup the thick folds of wool bunching between his thighs with one hand and let his libido guide his response.
“What? This?” he asked.
“Sí. That.”
“Come find out.”
She was out of her chair and coming around his desk so quickly that he felt a rush of apprehension. She seemed to sense his discomfort and revel in it. Her left Via Spiga pump came off the floor and perched on his right leg, giving him a perfect view of the landscape underneath her short skirt: an expanse of fishnet-clad thighs made grayish by the combination of smooth, copper skin and black netting. And, further up, at the intersection of her legs there was a dim sparkle of ornate but obscured lingerie.
The stiletto bit deeply into his thigh but he didn’t want to reduce his masculine stock by acknowledging the pain. She shifted, her curvy hips gliding back to settle on his desk, and brought her right shoe up to dig into his left thigh. He tried to merely glance at the tantalizing tapestry in front of his face and then resume eye contact, but he failed and ended up staring between her legs intently, as if by sheer force of focused attention he could get her lips to moisten themselves, find their way to his lap, open wide for his entry and ease up and down on top of him for the rest of the day.
She leaned forward, bending at the waist between her upraised legs, and he licked his lips, parting them in anticipation. When she drew close enough that he swore he could feel her eyelashes on his forehead, he expected to be kissed but she only touched him enough to untie his tie and yank it suddenly from the folds of his shirt collar. His fear spiked with the sudden motion but, even so, he felt his body reacting to her proximity, her touch and the specter of danger. When she let her manicured fingers slide from his shirt collar down the front of his shirt, over his belt and below his waist, he was already stiff and throbbing. He couldn’t remember getting hard so easily.
Her fingers encircled him and he expected a handjob or a blowjob—something direct, quick and explosive that hinted at pent-up passion, limited time and the possibility of discovery. He was completely unprepared for what she did instead: liberating him from the folds of his slacks and boxers only to wrap his tie around him in tight circles, starting from the base and cocooning him up to the tip.
When she was finished, he was happy to note that there was more of the tie wrapped around him than not. She seemed happy about it too.
“It’s very long,” she said, sounding aroused, still speaking in Spanish. “Thick too.”
She smiled at him with her mouth, below eyes that seemed hungry in a predatory kind of way, then lowered her legs and backed away, pulling on the extra length of tie as she went.
She’d wound the tie so tight that he had to follow or risk having his circulation cut off, so he shuffled after her awkwardly as she led him around to the front of his desk. With his pants gathered at his ankles and his mummified member poking into the air like a makeshift flagpole, he felt more than a little silly but when she moved the guest chair she’d previously been sitting in out of the way, he got excited.
She told him not to move and then she backed all the way up to the door of his office like she was about to get a running start. He spread his arms out for leverage—her body was voluptuous and he didn’t want to run the risk of dropping her. Watching her, he saw her eyes narrow again.
“Too pretty to be a doctor, huh?” she asked in English.
“What?” he replied, genuinely perplexed. He had no idea what she was talking about. Then it came back to him and he realized that she might have taken his compliment as an insult. This thought was just taking form in his mind when she abruptly opened his office door and walked out, leaving it all the way open.
Coño, he thought, as he scrambled to hide his disheveled nakedness from the view of the coworkers walking past his office door. He scampered behind his desk, knocking file folders and papers to the floor as he streaked by, and ducked down to straighten himself up, all the while fearful that the people he could hear passing his office would come in to check on him.
After he finally got himself together enough to walk over and close the door, it took him the rest of the day to calm down, feeling frustrated and angry but somehow extremely aroused by the encounter.
Since he made most of his decisions based on the potential for sex, the idea of managing the Macy’s at Thirty-fourth Street had appealed to him immensely. The place was so massive that he could conceivably “book and bang” for most of a year without getting caught, slapped or fired—probably in that order. He envisioned the Thirty-fourth Street Macy’s as a player’s paradise and, from his first day there, he had made the most of his new home-court advantage.
Early on, he’d made a few predictable choices. There was the short sister with an enticing tangle of natural hair that begged to be pulled and an athletic body that rippled and flexed under anything she wore. She had a penchant for wearing miniskirts that showed off thickly chiseled thighs powerful enough to crush his hips into submission. She worked in the beauty products section and, by virtue of sampling the wares, smelled enticingly different each time he sucked her clit into his mouth and licked it until she folded herself into a corner of his bed, panting and spent. He liked to enter her then, while she was still dripping wet from his saliva.
Then there was the tall receptionist from the corporate offices upstairs who wore colorful glasses but otherwise seemed subdued. He’d run into her in the elevator when he was on his way out to a music industry party. He invited her to come with him just to be polite and was annoyed when she agreed. Once there, though, he’d seen that there was a devilishly lusty side of her personality by the way she rolled her hips against his and the things she whispered in his ear. They’d rubbed and bumped against each other all night, until they were drenched in sweat and needful longing.
In the taxi to her place, he’d slowly coaxed his hand under her skirt. She resisted at first and then surrendered, spreading her legs wide enough to welcome any part of him inside her. Her moisture was so abundant that it felt like he was dipping his hand into a cup of water. The feel of her wetness flowing onto his fingers and dribbling into his palm made him want to keep his hand inside her for hours. He slipped his middle finger past her sodden panties and let it get lost in her flood. She came three times before they got to her house.
He liked to imagine that it was the power of his job position and his natural good looks that ensured an evening would end with his hands cupping cheeks and his fingers pinching nipples. Inwardly, though, he knew it was his ability to find the dumb or desperate ones and apply the right amount of “man shortage” pressure that worked to his advantage.
Not that it mattered. He was addicted to the chase and conquest of women the way some people couldn’t function without a morning cup of Starbucks. For each new woman conquered, he felt a little better about himself. He’d sex them for two or three weeks and then stop returning their phone calls as he searched for the next woman he could make insecure enough to let him into her bed.
He’d first seen Ms. Ramos as he was walking through the men’s clothing section on his way to lunch. He slowed when he saw a long line of men in the tie section and was about to come over, apologize for the delay and get another sales representative to help when he caught a glimpse of her. Suddenly he understood why the men were waiting.
She filled
out the golden dress she was wearing with curves so forceful they looked capable of cutting through metal. The crystals rimming her shoes would have kept him ogling what he could see of the firm calves just beneath her hem, if he hadn’t been distracted by the beauty of her face and the fact that her sautéed butter complexion melted into her blond tresses so seamlessly that her face seemed to be shrouded in a halo of light.
He certainly wouldn’t be doing the men any favors by getting another salesperson to ring them up, so he left well enough alone—but found himself wondering if she was the type of woman that would let him come all over her chest.
When he came back from lunch an hour and half later, he was surprised to see that there was still a large number of men waiting on line for her help. When he got closer though, he saw none of the same faces from earlier. This was a brand-new crop of men vying for her sartorial attention.
He asked around and found out that she had been consistently outselling everyone else in the store since the day she started. Even the folks who worked expensive counters like jewelry couldn’t understand how she was leaving them in the dust with tie sales. But she was.
He observed her closely for a few days and decided that the compliment that might work on her was that if she was his woman, all those other men would have to buy their ties elsewhere. He got distracted by easy conquests for a while, but the day he saw her wearing those fishnets and ankle-strap stilettos was the day he decided to make his move.
A lot of good it had done him, though. If anyone had seen him running around half-naked with his dick wrapped up like a goddamn Christmas present, he’d have been fired for sure. He decided to let things calm down for a while before he tried again.
