Caramel Flava

by Zane

  “So, all you’re selling is ties, right?” He didn’t mean to sound wounded and insecure. He intended for his words to come off as a stern warning that any unseemly sexual behavior would not be tolerated. Not that he should be the one to cast stones, but still. He knew he had miscalculated as soon as his words hit the air. Ms. Ramos’ look was frigid and at least two of the men in her omnipresent line of customers snickered.

  “I’m just saying. I don’t want to have to fire anyone today.” He tried to infuse this with some bravado but it only partially worked.

  “Are you here to buy a tie?” she asked, her voice distant and sharp. He noticed that she spoke English without the slightest trace of an accent. He shook his head.

  “Are you going to fire me for selling ties?” she pressed. Again, he shook his head. She was making plenty of money for Macy’s so she was a commodity. If he let her go he’d have to answer for it.

  “Then I better get back to it,” she said, turning away. He looked around just enough to see that the faces of the men in her line were alight with smiles, which only intensified the sting of being dismissed.

  “Just make sure that’s all you’re selling,” he mumbled as he walked away, more for the men’s ears than for hers. He could already see how it would play out if he angered her. She’d be smart enough to claim sexual harassment and his pleasure playground era at Thirty-fourth Street would be over.

  For days, he tried to stop thinking about her, but he couldn’t. Even revisiting the conquests he’d already made was not enough to sate him. Frightened to confront her on the floor in front of her endless posse of men and equally fearful of what might happen if he called her to his office again, he settled for the only option available to him. He swallowed what was left of his pride and got in line to buy a tie with his employee discount.

  “Only one, dawg?” the guy in front of him said with a derisive laugh. “Must be your first time.”

  He tried to shake off the feeling of inadequacy instilled by the man’s comment, but when he looked around he noticed that everyone else in the line had multiple ties in their hand. He knew the tie prices by heart and saw that all the men had a single sale tie in their hands, in addition to a range of higher caliber ties, from Kenneth Cole to Joseph Abboud.

  He noticed other things too, like the fact that many of the men in line did not seem to be the tie-wearing type. Not at all. As he noticed the other men in line, they noticed him too. Invariably their eyes would fall to his single clearance-sale tie and smiles and whispers would follow.

  He thought about getting a few more ties, just to be on par with everyone else, but he didn’t want to lose his place in line and, even more, he didn’t want to feel like the other men had forced him into it. So, he stood there and waited his turn.

  Ms. Ramos acted like she didn’t know him any more than she knew the other men. Actually, even less so, since she seemed to have regular customers she’d been bantering with before she got to him. She held his tie up with her thumb and forefinger, examining it the way a woman might look at an expended condom after a disappointing sexual encounter. He heard chuckles behind him. There were outright laughs when she told him to take the tie back and find another. His pride flared and he insisted that she ring up the tie in her hand.

  “It’s not the right tie for you,” she countered, holding it up under his chin and letting it drape over the tie he already had on.

  “It’s the one I’m buying,” he said, trying not to snarl. She acquiesced with a glare and tapped on the cash register. With his managerial discount the tie came to $5.47. He reached for his wallet but she stopped him.

  “This, you don’t deserve to pay for,” she said in Spanish before making a show of pulling a twenty from just underneath the pink lace fringe framing her breasts and putting it into the till.

  “I’ll let the house keep the change,” she said, speaking in English again, and then she reached past him for the next customer. “Next time, get a better tie,” she said to his back as he walked away. Male laughter followed him all the way to the escalator.

  Over a greasy lunch procured in the food court of the Manhattan Mall, he mulled it over. He couldn’t fire her. He couldn’t write her up because she didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong. He couldn’t very well complain about the fact that she’d paid more than double the price of a tie and given it to him.

  What bothered him more than anything was that he couldn’t get her out of his head. In the days since she’d mummified him, his mind had become hardwired for Ms. Ramos and the mystery of her ties. It was an itch that needed to be scratched.

  He waited a whole agonizing week before he tried again. This time, he followed suit: one semi-cheap sale tie, and three expensive ties ranging from $75 to $90. He spent some time trying to choose ties that were complimentary too. When he got to the front of the line, she gave his ties an appraising look.

  “Much better,” she rumbled, more purr than voice. “What’s your home address?” He rattled it off without thinking before wondering aloud why she’d asked.

  “I’ll deliver these at eight o’clock. Be home.”

  “Ms. Ramos,” he said, feeling a rare opportunity to reassert control. “We don’t do home delivery here.”

  “I believe in personal service. Are you going to fire me for that?” She smiled the predatory smile again and reminded him she’d be over at eight o’clock, sharp.

  He pretended to be annoyed while he was still facing her in the store, but by the time the digital readout on his microwave’s clock read 8:00, he was waiting with chilled champagne, fresh strawberries and an assortment of chocolates. The intercom buzzer barked at him before the clock’s time shifted to 8:01 and he was impressed by her punctuality.

  She barged past him as soon as he opened the door, hardly giving him time to notice the fact that her trench coat wasn’t nearly cinched tight enough to hide the undulating ripples of her oiled skin as she stalked inside, the sound of her heels clicking firmly across his hardwood floors sending tickles of anticipation across his skin.

  “You’re not naked under there, are you?” he asked, trailing behind her slowly. He’d dressed nicely, as if they were going out even though he was certain they wouldn’t be. He was seasoned enough to know that an unkempt man and house were the easiest ways to botch a night of expected passion. She stopped walking when she got to the middle of his living room, gave the place a brief, assessing glance, then finally turned toward him.

  “You might want to take that off,” she said, putting a crisp Macy’s shopping bag down on his metal coffee table.

  “Take what off?” he asked, already feeling the power of control snatched away from him. He didn’t like the feeling, it made him uncomfortable, but he was intrigued nonetheless.

  “Everything,” she said, untying the belt of her coat and letting gravity pull it open only to be stopped and held in place by her ample breasts while the ornate jewelry dangling from her belly button sparkled in the light of the candles he’d lit for the occasion. He felt like he’d be a chump for giving in to her demand easily, so he fought back.

  “You first,” he said, making sure he didn’t sound annoyed.

  “We don’t have a lot of time.” It was not the response he wanted but he immediately understood that his opportunity for sexual gratification would dissipate if he didn’t act fast. Reluctantly, he took his clothes off, keeping a fake smirk in place the whole time and hoping she was impressed by his gym-toned physique. He stopped at his silk boxers, expecting her to take over from there, but she just jerked her chin toward him and said, “Those too.”

  When he was completely naked, and felt completely idiotic and vulnerable, she pointed to the middle of his blue leather love seat and followed him over to it, picking up the Macy’s bag as she did. When she straddled him on the sofa her coat fell away to reveal that she was wearing nothing but black lace boy-shorts, her belly button ornament, and two black pasties over her nipples. And the heels, of course. Green re
ptile-skin stilettos.

  She leaned close and he licked his lips, eager, excited, expecting her to dip some part of herself into his mouth. With his face nestled into her cleavage, the thick, spicy aroma of sandalwood and lust wafting into his nose, he closed his eyes, waiting.

  Instead of the delicate wetness of a tongue, he felt…silk. On his chest, up to his neck, past his chin, over his open mouth, his nose and finally coming to rest over his eyes. She was blind-folding him, he realized, and she was using one of his brand-new ties to do it. He smiled to himself. No wonder brothers were lined up for blocks to buy ties from her. He could get used to this.

  When he was securely blindfolded, all he could see were brief glimpses of black lace when he tilted his head backward and peeked out from beneath the tie. Every time he did, she would gently push his head back down, blinding him again, but he liked the game and sensed that she did too.

  There were two floor lamps behind his love seat, one at either end, and he felt her using two more ties to bind his left wrist to one and his right wrist to the other. Even though she hadn’t tied them very tightly, he felt simultaneously thrilled and dismayed by the fact that if he moved either arm, he would topple his lamps and probably break them, so he found a comfortable resting position and settled in to enjoy whatever came next. He was very aware of the fact that she had only one tie left.

  She trailed the nails of one hand across his face, down the side of his neck and over his chest and she must have felt his body responding because she scooted back on his lap, allowing him room to harden. When he was ready, rock hard and throbbing, slowly, delicately she tie-cocooned him again. Taking her time, squeezing occasionally, until he felt pampered by the feeling of being completely swaddled in silk. He could feel that she was holding on to the tip of the tie again and he was both excited and disappointed in himself that he felt like doing whatever her bidding might be.

  She wrapped one arm around the back of his neck, leaned close enough that he could feel the heat of her body washing over his chest and put her lips to his ear.

  “You like to have control over women, don’t you? To feel superior.”

  He tensed, resisting the idea, fearful of reprisal. “Look, Ms. Ramos,” he began, the well-practiced lies, apologies and deceptions ready to pour off his tongue before she cut him off.

  “It’s Doctor Ramos right now. And it’s okay, I already know. Right?”

  He nodded and hoped that was the end of it.

  “You know, it wasn’t nice what you said about me being too pretty to be a doctor.” Again, he hesitated but a swift jerk on the tightly cinched tie was all he needed to remind him that she was very much in control and that she could hurt him if she wanted to. He nodded slowly.

  “I can be pretty and still be smart, you know?” He nodded again.

  “Bueno,” she said, switching to Spanish, “I’m glad we got that taken care of. Now, to matters of healing.”

  After that there was only silence and the feeling of her nails all over him. For a while he moaned and rocked his hips in anticipation of release, but soon, he found himself becoming calmer, as if she was putting him into a trance. Before long he became sleepy, and even though he tried hard to fight it, he found himself drifting off only to be awakened by her nails discovering another part of his body before he drifted off to sleep again. The pattern continued until he woke up and didn’t feel anything at all. He waited for a bit, called out for her and waited some more.

  It took him quite a bit of physical maneuvering to free himself and remove the tie-blindfold without wrecking his living room. Once free, he noticed that there was a handwritten note on his coffee table.

  Hold the tip of the tie with one hand. Pull it tight. Masturbate. Think of me. I promise you’ll have the biggest orgasm of your life. Next time, buy more ties. I always deliver.

  She was right. In his own hands, all over his brand-new tie, he came hard enough to introduce Dr. Ramos’s name to the neighbors across the street. He was no stranger to masturbation, but with the memory of Dr. Ramos’s touch still playing over his skin, the phantom feeling of her full hips warming his lap, the thrill of being bound with his own new ties all fresh in his mind, his self-pleasuring experience was more profound than any previous one. He let himself drift toward sleep right there on the couch with the candles he’d lit still glowing, feeling more satisfied than any of his conquests had ever left him.

  It was a blessing and a curse because he knew he’d never achieve the same heightened climax again without her. Maybe he would eventually, but for a while he’d need her to help him along. So, in the interim, he’d be buying a lot more ties—right along with all the other “patients” waiting in her line at Macy’s. A long queue of men, he realized, that she was slowly retraining to appreciate the beauty of an emotional sexual connection rather than endless empty moments of physical release. Dr. Ramos had all of them tied up helplessly, her ties both binding them to her by desire and trussing them up with the previously dormant need to be sexually responsible.

  “Never been whipped without having sex before,” he mumbled to his empty apartment with a laugh. “She got me all wrapped up.” Then he rolled over and went to sleep, dreaming of Dr. Ramos and her next home delivery.

  On the Temptation Tip

  Al borde de la tentación

  Michelle De Leon

  So what do you think?” Irys asked as she drummed her fingers on the desk. “I mean, you’re moving back here anyway in a few months. You can make a special trip to celebrate my engagement, can’t you?”

  “Irys, you know I’ll be there. It’s your time and I’m happy for you. But this other thing concerns me.” Ileana confessed.

  “I know it sounds a little far-out, but it would ease my mind.”

  “What I don’t understand is if you feel you have to resort to this shit, why are you even marrying him?”

  Irys considered her friend’s question. Quentin claimed he was a reformed player and she believed him. At least she hadn’t ever caught him cheating on her and was reasonably sure he hadn’t. However, almost certain wasn’t good enough if she was going to marry the man. “Ileana, you know no man alive has been able to resist you. If you come on to him and he passes, then I know he is indeed the man for me. If he responds, then I know to send his ass packing.”

  “You’re crazy, you know that, don’t you? I knew I shouldn’t have left you behind in New York City; you’re corrupted now.” Ileana laughed. “All right, I’ll put homeboy to the test for you. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I know exactly what I’m doing. Thanks, girl. So you’re sick of Sin City, huh?”

  “Hey, Vegas is cool, but I’ve been offered a better position with the company if I move back to the Rotten Apple. Besides, a lot of the men out here have gambling problems.” Ileana laughed again.

  Irys looked across her desk to the full-length mirror on the other side of her bed. She knew she was attractive in an unconventional sort of way. She’d turned plenty heads. Ileana on the other hand was the ninth wonder of the world. Her girl was Dominican with dark exotic features. She had a small waist with curves to die for, but Ileana’s ass made men do her bidding and wonder what happened later. Irys was not jealous of her girlfriend. They’d grown up in the same Washington Heights neighborhood and knew each other since elementary school. Even then, Ileana drew a lot of attention. She was a beautiful child and seemed to skip over that awkward stage most teens went through. Irys’ own father had made a pass for her after his divorce from her mother was final.

  “How is your job going?” Ileana asked.

  “I got a promotion myself last month. Work is where I met Quentin, as a matter of fact. He’s in a different department, but we’re still the talk of the office. There are quite a few women there who wish they had my man.”

  “At least he has sense enough not to shit where he eats,” Ileana told her.

  Irys took the phone from her ear so she could read the caller ID screen on
the hand set. “That’s him calling now. Hold on, Ileana.”

  As she waited, Ileana still couldn’t help thinking that her friend was borrowing trouble. She wasn’t conceited about her looks at all, but Ileana knew that she had a strange effect on the opposite sex. Was it even fair to set this guy up? Then she thought that Irys was probably right. If he didn’t take the bait, then he had to be the real thing. Irys clicked back over to her. “Go and talk to your fiancé. I’ll go online and purchase a plane ticket. I’ll get back to you with my flight information.”

  “Thank you, amiga. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “I can’t wait to see you either. Behave yourself.”

  Irys laughed herself then. “What kind of fun would that be?”

  Quentin was waiting for Irys to come back on the line. He was thinking how fortunate he was to be marrying her. She was a great woman; all that he could ever want in a wife. She was pretty, intelligent and had a great sense of humor. He truly cared for her and felt ready to be married. He found being a player was getting tired. Quentin had sown more than his fair share of oats, wild and otherwise. It was just time to slow his roll.

  “So is your friend going to make it to our party?”

  “Yes, she’s going to get a ticket online right now. I can’t wait for you to meet her, Quent. She’s like a sister to me.”

  “Then I can’t wait to meet her either. But right now I have more immediate needs,” he said to her, turning the charm way up.

  “And what are these needs?” Irys purred.

  “I think you know. If you’re going to be my wife you have to anticipate each and every need,” he joked with her.

  “And what about my needs? Can you anticipate what I need right now?”

  “Oh, most definitely. If you were here you’d see how ready I am to meet that need.”

  “Well, bring it to me, then,” Irys teased.