by Zane
Just then, Gavin came out of the bathroom with towels around his waist and neck. He walked over to the tray, examined it, and thanked the server for bringing everything he ordered.
I stood frozen. I didn’t know what to expect. Gavin simply handed Malcolm the towel from around his neck and told him, “Let’s give the lady what she wants.”
Malcolm did as he was told and undressed as he walked into the bathroom. Gavin walked behind me and rubbed my shoulders.
He whispered, “Anything you want, I can give it to you.”
Gavin spun me around and tongued me for what seemed like an hour. He led me to the bedroom and removed my robe. He laid me upon the bed and made me promise to let him control this evening. Just before he covered my eyes with a red satin scarf, I watched Malcolm come out of the bathroom. His naked body still glistened from the shower. His semi-erect tool danced with each step that he took.
“Gavin, what is all this?”
“This is about your pleasure.” Gavin teased my nipple with his tongue. “Well, baby, I know you’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted—sexually. You’ve allowed me another woman; you’ve been with another woman and allowed me to watch, in public places, in the rain. Whatever I wanted, you granted. All you ever asked for was one thing. So tonight, I return the favor. Me and another man completely focused on pleasuring you.”
Gavin kissed my lips and tightened the scarf. He warned me that if I peeked, I would be reprimanded. I heard them moving about. Suddenly, a pair of hands caressed my breasts. I could not tell if they were Gavin’s or Malcolm’s. Maybe it was both of them. At that point, I didn’t care. The touch was sensual and erotic. My nipples tightened as they became erect, showed their approval.
Next, a moist tongue tickled my inner thigh. I squirmed. I needed to see this. I reached for the blindfold and a hand slapped it away. A firm hand landed on my left outer thigh. The sting enticed my arousal.
“I told you, no peeking,” Gavin reprimanded. I could hear Malcolm laughing. “Don’t make me tie your hands up, too.”
One of them sucked on my big left toe. “Nice color,” I heard Malcolm say.
I could hear the cart moving. Then a cold liquid splashed on my firm tummy. Someone’s tongue licked it all up. Firm lips planted moist kisses all over my face before landing on my lips. The tongue did a sensual dance with my mouth. I thought I would swallow it whole. At the same time, another tongue was exploring my inner thighs. I thought I would explode. I didn’t know who was doing what and it turned me on. I had never been so hot.
“Open your mouth,” Gavin instructed. One of them placed a piece of kiwi inside and when I bit down, the juices ran down the sides of my mouth and my neck. Someone was there to lick up the excess. Another piece. This time it was mango.
“Tilt your head back.” Malcolm was more pleasant than Gavin with his commands. Next, I tasted cold Moët as it washed my teeth and gums. Before I could swallow, one of them kissed me and jacked me for most of my drink. Our exotic buffet continued until . . .
“Turn over,” they said together.
What felt like eight pairs of hands covered my entire backside. No skin was untouched. Then I felt more tongue than one woman should be allowed. They licked everywhere. And I do mean everywhere.
One of them flipped me over and buried his head in my mound. I didn’t have time to figure out which one. Since they were both bald and clean-shaven, I would probably never know. Whoever it was had to be the champion of oral sex because he left no area unattended. He kissed my outer lips, rimmed my inner lips, and plunged his thick tongue into me like it was his penis. I came so hard I almost flipped over. The other one grabbed me and showed what he could do. My body never had a chance to recover from the first orgasm. I contorted and convulsed. He grabbed my thighs and held me down until I could feel my juices flowing down my thighs. And he devoured it all.
I reached for the blindfold. This wasn’t fair. I should be able to see this. One of them grabbed my hand and began sucking on my fingers. The other lifted me by my legs and placed a pillow underneath the small of my back. He rested my legs on his shoulders and slowly rocked his tool inside me. I had felt this pleasure so many times before. Gavin penetrated me harder with each thrust while Malcolm’s hands and mouth explored my breasts and stomach. I howled through my orgasm as Gavin turned me on all fours. He slid underneath me and I could feel Malcolm entering me from behind.
Malcolm was so gentle. I had to have this my way. I moved away from him and told him, “Don’t play with it. Make it yours.”
He grabbed my hips. “As you wish.” He rammed me from behind and each pump provided just the right amount of pleasure and pain. Gavin sucked my breasts as if there was nourishment in them. I collapsed into a heap of sweating flesh on the bed as my body shuddered uncontrollably.
They only gave me a few minutes to compose myself as they moved around. Still blindfolded, I felt one of them caress my lower back and separate my cheeks. I felt a head insert itself as whoever he was laid me on my side. One was behind me, loving me anally, while the other was in front of me, loving me vaginally. After a few tries, they were both inside me and had found a rhythm. One was in while the other pulled out. We were making beautiful music together.
Gavin moaned. Malcolm whispered obscenities. Suddenly, they both released me, but I assumed Malcolm had more to give. He placed me on top of him and I rode him until his hands bruised my thighs from their tight grip.
All three of us lay in complete ecstasy, panting and moaning. I was nearly asleep when I heard Gavin whisper, “Happy anniversary, baby.” I kissed him and fell asleep with my blindfold still on.
I woke to the stillness of our 1,000-square-foot luxury suite. I waved my hand over the spot where he should’ve been, but found nothing. As I removed the blindfold, I saw that the room was illuminated only by the moon inking through the drapes. Soft hums led me to the living area of the suite. Once my mind finally grasped the image before me, my heart sank.
Was my new lover’s forehead really bobbing up and down on my husband’s abs?
Surely, this was a dream—a nightmare. I want to believe I screamed, but all I heard was a whisper.
“Gavin.”
The men must have heard me because they disconnected. Gavin walked over to me with his aroused manhood bouncing in the air.
He asked, “Who told you to take off your blindfold?”
The Other Side of Midnight
Elissa Gabrielle
“Your walls are imploring me to have my way with them, I just know it. Because no one knows that pussy the way I do. And no one satisfies it the way that I can.”
~Tre’
HER . . .
The bane of my existence once again speaks an all-too-familiar tune to me. Actually, it shouts, sings, and tugs at my heartstrings. I constantly struggle with rhyme and sound reason, knowing that he must know that my love is so much deeper than hers could ever possibly be. I can’t believe the love of my life is married.
“Married,” I whisper, sadly, under my breath, ashamed, I whisper, “he’s married.”
Toasted vanilla votive candles give light to a seductively dim, chic upscale bistro in the heart of New York City on this March night. An unusually windy night for this time of year—where the weather almost kisses spring, but keeps one foot planted in the dead of winter—it is confused; just like me.
I’ve loved this man for what appears to be centuries. He says we’re married in eternity, throughout galaxies, and former lifetimes. I believe him. My heart and body won’t allow me to believe otherwise.
As clichéd as the term soul mate may be to some, I know with no uncertainty that Tre’ is mine. My soul mate. My man. My king in this lifetime, the next, the one prior—throughout eternity.
He’s married. But not to me.
And my love is so much sweeter than hers. Lucky bitch.
My eyes follow his chiseled jawline, around his sweetheart chocolate lips, and I take a voyage to his perfectly
trimmed goatee. Tre’s luscious lips part to reveal a majestic set of piano keys, pure white, pristine, like ivory straight from the Congo—the motherland. Yes, he was born of royal seed. Brought in my existence from Ghana, this man, amazingly splendid in physical beauty, adeptly regal in physical supremacy, commands all attention when he enters a room. His swagger is undeniable.
“What are you staring at?” he questions as he takes a sip of his Crown Royal.
“You,” I reply, as I take a sip of the chilled drink in front of me, in hopes of slowing down our time together. Stammering over my thoughts, trying to find something to say that won’t make me sound like either a complete fool or a slut. Whatever comes out of my mouth will only reveal the truth; I’m his forever, a faithful concubine.
“It’s almost midnight. Getting late,” he tells me as he takes a spoonful of his dessert; white chocolate bread pudding.
Leaning into the center of our quaint table, the votive candle illuminating my face, I whisper, “Then, we should get going.”
He grabs my hand. “I’m not ready.” His voice is seductive as he draws circles in the palm of my hand with his fingertip. Although he’s not ready, the words he really wants to utter are, “Please don’t leave me.”
Staring into his eyes, I reveal, “We eventually have to go home, Tre’.”
“I am home.” He smiles. His fingertip slowly runs up the side of my arm.
The cocoa-colored silk shirt lays over his firm chest softly. The two top buttons are undone. He knows that drives me wild. He’s fucking with me and I like it. The smell of his cologne penetrates all my senses and as I inhale his pheromones, my pussy gushes and releases in anticipation of him. A sticky wetness announces its presence.
“Still hungry?” he asks as he places a spoon of white chocolate into my mouth, dangling the spoon around my lips, making me smile as I try to capture it.
“Let me see your tongue,” he commands.
I obey.
As my tongue parts my lips once more, I reach for what he has to offer. As I place the pudding on the tip of my tongue, the sweet sensation arouses my senses. I lick my lips, wanting more.
“Lick it slowly,” he tells me.
Once again, I obey.
“Good girl. You like the way it tastes, don’t you?” His eyes watch my lips with envy.
“I do.”
“More where that came from.” Lust lingers in the air as he licks the spoon behind me, showing a bit of his skill.
I want to fuck the shit out of him.
“I know.”
I smile. Missing the smell of his day’s work. The smell of his erection then eventual release.
“So, why did you marry her?”
HIM . . .
In a seductive upsweep, long curls of wavy jet black hair adorn her crown. There’s a whole lot I’d like her to do with those big, juicy lips of hers—namely, use them to meet and greet every inch of my body. Thoughts of the warmth of her mouth around my dick make me slightly hard. The discomfort is inviting.
Damn, I want her in the worst way.
I keep reminding myself every ten minutes or so that I’m not here to kiss those pretty, luscious, crimson-stained lips; and that reminder has me going crazy inside. Unapologetically, she’s built. Cornbread fed, thick, like she grew up eating shrimp and grits. Truth be told, I have no business being here: dim lights, candles all around, close to midnight, in the corner of a restaurant that has been our place of reconnection over the years. In a strange way, it is home—our own private, secluded place in the universe where she is mine and I am hers, alone. Our home, I think, our place of refuge where everything that is so wrong about our love affair is so unequivocally right.
But I have every damn right to be here with my woman, my lady, my heart, my life, the love of my life . . . but she’s not my wife.
Sitting alluringly, she crosses one long, curvaceous leg over the other and softly feathers a loose curl from her brow.
With the boldness of a cobra, I believe, in my world full of fantasies, that she is all mine and that during this lifetime, we just never got on the same page at the same time. We each somehow ended up on the opposite sides of the tracks.
I fucked up, and I know it. She moved on. I grew up. She was gone. I fell in love again. Newly married now. I’m happy. I love my wife.
But Tia is my soul mate.
She laughs when I use those words. But it’s the truth. Her heart sings the same song as mine. Our hearts beat to the tune of the same drum. Richly appealing to the senses and my mind, she is without a doubt the best lover I’ve ever had.
“I married her because you were already taken.” I smile as I lean in to watch those lips of hers go to work on this spoonful of white chocolate bread pudding.
“Right.”
A look of sarcasm comes over her face and the writing is once again on the wall.
“Well, you are, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Taken, Tia.”
“Yes.”
“So . . .”
“Tre’, I’ve always been yours.”
“I know I fucked up.”
“You did.”
“I love you, Tia.”
“I love you too, always.”
“Be with me.”
“I’d have to murder you, Tre’.” She smirks and is fully aware of what that does to me.
Bowing my head in shame, I smile, and at the same time she rubs her foot across my leg.
My eyes gaze down at her leg—big, thick, juicy, sweet, caramel-coated piece of heavenly perfection. And those shoes. Those come-fuck-me-daddy heels, with the peep toe and cherry-red painted nails making an entrance, force me into temporary psychosis as I try to regain my composure. The blood rushes to my dick and I’m solid, like the Rock of Gibraltar. She knows it. She knows this dick so well since she was the one who’d trained it. I miss the stickiness of her nectar.
Smiling as she wickedly rubs my leg with hers, she tells me to touch.
“Go ahead. Touch it.” Authority dictates her words.
“Touch what?”
“Whatever you want, Tre’.”
I’m going straight to hell after tonight.
“You look so damn good tonight, baby.”
I want that good ole feeling. The sensation of our bodies as we arrive together. Need that like I need this air I’m breathing.
“Talking like that will get your dick sucked.”
Straight to hell I go, but not until I get knee-deep in that pussy that’s been drowning me so good for the last two decades.
“So, how’s the family?”
HER . . .
The walls of my pussy are set on fire just by the pure thought of him. Sensing the heat on my body, I feel his eyes pierce through to the depths of my soul. I know he’s watching, scoping, observing all of the lumps, bumps, curves, peaks, and valleys better known as me these days.
I’m remembering nights of unbridled passion. I was his godless bride, who sinfully, yet delightfully, received a plethora of deep dick—so deep, I breathed for him.
My favorite nightmare. In my dreams, he is my reality. In my reality, he is all I’ve ever dreamed of. Even in those places and times where our souls collided, and then made love, in this lifetime, in the here and now, and eternities past, over decades, through our ancestors, and beyond; every time I close my eyes, he’s been right there. He says we’ve been married in every life we’ve ever known. I believe him.
When I’m in his arms, I feel free. I’ve fallen, head over heels, for two decades with this man, in this lifetime, others, and throughout eternity.
I remember him . . .
A decade ago, we met once again. Our souls cried to the heavens, shouted aloud to soft clouds; our spirits yearned for the comfort of each other’s pillow. Our bodies, riddled with uncontrollable desire, anxiously waited long enough, too long, for the chance to rekindle, reconnect—to love, to suck, to feel, to fuck, over and over again. Limbs and fingertips, ho
t skin, weak and weary flesh called, our spirits yearned, our souls begged; we put the call out into the universe, she heard our pleas, and placed “us” into the midst of each other, once again, to put closure to a love of the past; a stubborn lust, infatuation, dependency, a rare love, a delightful combination of fire and desire that, over time, became impossible to extinguish.
We met in the parking lot of a mall that we had fucked in, in every crevice and corner allowed. That mall parking lot had seen my ass in the air in the back of a Grand Cherokee. Same mall became privy to a long, thick, chocolate-coated staff that delved into a hot, wet cave that had his name engraved on its sweltering flesh.
He opened the door to his Infiniti and I hopped in. We gazed into each other’s eyes for an eternity, and as his foot pressed the pedal to the floor, we woke up, and cruised down Route 1 and 9. Small talk ensued, and the comfort level that had laid a foundation of love soared through the air, until those words parted from his lips, “I’ll always love you.”
A raging, untamable, hot, wet pussy screamed his name, and I crossed my legs to shut her the fuck up. His right hand rubbed up and down my thigh and landed on my love; he covered it with his hand, felt my heat, he smiled; I turned red, embarrassed. “That pussy is hot for me, already, Tia. I’m pulling over.”
I had no words for him. He was and still is the boss. I exhaled. He switched lanes. Ninety miles per hour. He drove to the nearest exit. I leaned in to kiss him. Gave him my tongue. He received it, gave me his in return. Nipples hardened. I planted my hand on his crotch. Rock solid, beautiful dick of a gorgeous black man, made me release. I exhaled in his mouth.
My face found its way to an unfastened zipper. I kissed the bulbous head of a dick that only arrived into my life straight from the motherland. Kissed it. Licked it. Sucked it. Loved it.
Parking lot. Corner space. Couldn’t get into the backseat soon enough. My legs wrapped around his neck and landed on his shoulders where they belonged. His hands ran up my thighs, hiked up my skirt. Pulled my panties to the side. Deep dick he gave me. He cried out as he entered me. We fucked each other like we were mad, happy, sad. We made love like we owed each other something. He stroked me like he was teaching me a lesson. I gave him back those glorious thrusts like I had to do it. Like a goddamn gun was pointed to my head, I fucked him, well, because he deserved it. He fucked me like I was his whore. Made love to me like I was his wife. Kissed me like I was the love of his life.
