Another Time, Another Place

by Zane

  “That’s right, sweet Raghaba,” Toth says, urging me on, “suck Horus like you have sucked no other. Take him down into your throat so that he may empty himself into your belly.”

  I moan and gag and gulp and swallow until I finally have Horus deep down in my throat. Tears rim my eyes, threaten to blur my vision. I fight them back. Stare into the center of the sky; see the moon slowly creeping out; feel the day’s heat lifting; drag my long, red-painted nails along Toth’s back, breaking skin.

  Toth moans.

  Horus moans.

  I moan.

  We are all moving to the same beat—Horus’s hand rubbing my clit, my mouth and lips on his manhood, in sync with the thrashing hips of Toth who is trying so desperately to find a way to climb up into my vagina, crawl through my womb, then push himself out through my mouth. There is a hum, followed by a string of music playing in my ear. The sweet plucking of the harp, the jangling of the sistrum, the whistling of the flute, the ringing of bells, the thump-thumping of drums, the beat of rhythmic handclapping is all around me. I am coming, and coming, and coming.

  Horus’s left leg starts to shake. His head is thrown back; his eyes are closed; mouth wide open; face contorted with pleasure. It is a sign that he, too, is ready to release. I suck him harder as he grabs the back of my neck and thrusts deeper into my mouth. I am suffocating, gasping for air, but I am determined to bring him to ecstasy as I lose him past the hollow of my throat. Toth reaches up under me, and slides one finger, then two fingers into my anus, fingering me and pumping me at the same time. I am floating. I am losing myself in pleasure. I am craving more of Toth, craving more of Horus, gripping them both with orifices that are wet and dripping—the swish-swishing sound of fluids and air and friction rising in melody to the slapping of flesh against flesh.

  I forget about the air I am fighting to breathe in; forget about the tears I am fighting to hold back, and greedily bob my head back and forth, slurping and sucking, hungrily throwing my hips up and down and around, meeting Toth’s thrusts, greeting his slick penis, pulling his fingers deeper into my anus.

  Horus’s right leg now starts to shake. “Oh, yes…oh, yes…oh, yes…,” he says, jolting his body forward as he releases himself down into my throat. I suck and gurgle and pant, trying to swallow all of his thick, warm cream. I remove his penis from out of my throat, keep my lips wrapped snugly around its tip and suck forth the remaining droplets of his semen.

  He pulls his manhood out of my mouth and violently strokes himself, bringing forth another spasmodic orgasm that spills out onto the side of my face, my neck and chest. He rubs his penis on my face, then smears himself over my left nipple, causing a delicious current of heat and sporadic contractions to sweep through my uterus, pulling Toth further into the tightness and deepness of my valley.

  Horus reaches down, scoops a bit of his thick, sticky milk onto his finger, then feeds it to me. I moan and swallow. Toth is watching me lick the cream off Horus’s fingers. He whispers, “Yeah, eat the milk of his loins; swallow the bittersweet seeds of life.” Then he leans in and kisses me, passionately, reaching into my mouth with his tongue for a taste of Horus. I smile, knowing what else he longs for. He looks into my eyes, and knows I will keep the secret of his desires. Nothing done tonight on this rooftop will be spoken of, or revealed to anyone else. It is what we shall take with us to our tombs and, perhaps, share in the memory again in the afterlife.

  It is now Toth’s turn to release the pleasure building in his loins. I continue to pump my hips up into his while Horus presses and rapidly massages my clit.

  “Feed me your goodness…Oh, Toth,” I moan. “…You are stretching me beyond the wonders of any pleasures known to mankind. Make the gods proud tonight, ram yourself deep into my valley.” He thrusts himself harder, deeper. “Uh…mmm… don’t stop. Yes, yes, yes…”

  “Uh…uh…oh, yes…mmm…Raghaba…oh, yes…”

  “Fill her womb with your seeds,” Horus says in a seductive plea. “Make her womb beg for your release.”

  Toth grips my hips, then plunges ferociously in and out of me. “Uh…uh…oh, yes…mmm…uh.” And when he finally comes, it is with a short, sharp cry and final thrust that propels me forward as he collapses on top of me.

  We are lying side by side. I am sandwiched in the middle—arms and legs enveloped. The temperature has dropped, and there is a soft breeze, fresh and cool against our damp, sticky bodies, glistening with sweat. The intermingling of juices, the sweet musky scent of sweat and unguents become reminders of our passion. There is nothing said between us, just the sounds of heavy breathing and hearts beating against the chorus of crickets.

  Horus is slowly grinding himself up against my backside. I can feel the weight of his penis pressing against the seam of my buttocks. I moan, gently pushing back against it. I reach behind me and slowly jerk it in my hand. Toth is kissing me, and kneading my breasts, gently rolling my nipples between his fingers. Instinctively, without saying a word, Horus lifts up my right leg and Toth slowly slides his manhood into my wetness. The thought of having both of them inside of me, filling me up at both ends, causes my warm fluid to gush out of me. I smile, knowing the two of them have longed for this type of closeness.

  Toth is now holding my leg up, and Horus spreads open my cheeks. He licks two of his thick fingers, then inserts them deep into my rectum. I moan and groan and grind. Toth flicks my clitoris and slides himself in and out of me. I offer him my breast and he sucks on my nipple.

  “Uh,” I moan.

  When my hole is open and ready, Horus presses the tip of his penis against its center, then pushes in. I gasp. It is the cue Toth needs to quicken and deepen his strokes as Horus inches more of himself inside my aching anus. It is an ache that teeters between pain and pleasure. They are both deep inside of me now. I am grinding and pumping and squeezing my vagina to meet the wants of Toth. And grinding and pumping and squeezing my rectum to satisfy the needs of Horus. They are both riding in and around me. Their arms hang over me, clutching each other’s. I have become a wet, willing vessel which they can enjoy, but they are so caught up in their own pleasures, that they become oblivious to me. They are pumping in me, but pulling at each other. I give them both what they want.

  “Oh, yes…oh, yes…oh, yes…,” I moan.

  Horus grunts.

  Toth grunts.

  They both swell inside of me, ripe and ready to explode.

  “Who am I?” I ask, moaning.

  “Raghaba,” they answer in unison.

  “Who am I?” I whisper.

  “The goddess of desire,” they respond. The heat from our naked bodies pressed up against one another causes sweat to drip from our faces and down our backs. There is sweat rolling between my breasts and down my stomach, then gathering into the dip of my navel.

  “Both of you,” I moan, matching their grinds. They feel so good inside of me. “Come…come…come…oh, yes.”

  And, again, as if rehearsed, with their hands clasped and their fingers interlocked, they shake and shudder and fill me with warm, sticky seeds. We lay in one another’s presence for a few moments longer before I lean in and kiss them both gently on the lips. It is a kiss full of secrecy and fulfillment. It is one that holds no promises. But it is what ties us, connects us, to our desires—and leaves us wanting more.

  I stand, leaving them both with flaccid penises and empty sacs—drained and exhausted, wrapped in each other’s embrace, knowing no other woman has pleasured them in the way that I have, nor allowed them to explore their hidden desires.

  I am passion. I am longing. I am carnal pleasures. I am not to be tamed. Not to be confined. Behold…I am Raghaba—goddess of desire.

  Dywane D. Birch, a graduate of Norfolk State University and Hunter College, is the author of Shattered Souls, From My Soul to Yours, When Loving You is Wrong, and Beneath the Bruises. He is also a contributing author to the compelling compilation, Breaking The Cycle (2005), edited by Zane—a collection of short stories on do
mestic violence, which won the 2006 NAACP Image Award for outstanding literary fiction; and a contributing author to the anthology Fantasy (2007), a collection of erotic short stories. He has a master’s degree in psychology, and is a clinically certified forensic counselor. A former director of an adolescent crisis shelter, he continues to work with adolescents and adult offenders. He currently speaks at local colleges on the issue of domestic violence while working on his fifth novel and a collection of poetry. He divides his free time between New Jersey and Maryland. You may email the author at bshatteredsouls@cs.com or visit www.myspace.com/dywaneb

  A TWISTED STATE OF MIND

  JANICE N. ADAMS

  With downtown Atlanta in my rearview mirror and Sandy Springs north of me, I start my long commute. Thank the Lord, it’s Friday. I’m completely exhausted and can’t wait to get home. My crazy-ass manager, Ms. Collins, has worked my fingers to the bone. Every time that heifer plans to go out of town on business, she dumps so much work on me that I damn near lose my mind. She makes sure that I earn every penny Clark and Howard International, Inc. pays me.

  Ahhhh yes, home sweet home. I enter through the garage, open the kitchen door and am hit with the aroma of sizzling steak, onions and peppers. The enticing smell leads me through the family room to the deck out back where I find my boyfriend, Keith Nelson, manning the grill. I stand at the sliding-glass door for a moment, taking in the sight before me: a well-groomed, buff, caramel brother wearing only a grill apron and a pair of kneelength jean shorts. Sweat beads on his forehead and glistens across his upper body from Hotlanta’s ninety-eight-degree temperature and the heat of the grill. Mmmm-mmmm, he’s simply scrumptious. He makes me want him every time I look at him. I open the door and his welcoming eyes greet me.

  “Hey, baby. How was your day?” He presses his soft and sexy lips against mine and I can’t help but to kiss and slurp them.

  “Insane. Boss lady is at it again. She’s out of town all next week and gave me a pile of crap to do between today and when she gets back.”

  “Well, that’s what happens when you’re the star. She trusts you. That’s a good thing.”

  “Yeah, well, she doesn’t have to work a sista like this to show her confidence. Some of the other assistant attorneys can share the load, too. Anyway, enough about work, what are you preparing?”

  “One of your favorites, a big juicy steak, veggies on the barbie, and baked potatoes.”

  “Mmmm, you’re making my mouth water.”

  “Yeah? Well, after dinner, I plan to put something else in your mouth.”

  “Oh really.” I grab his sweaty shoulders, draw him closer, put my hand in his pants and take hold of his dick and scrotum. “Is this what you’re gonna feed me?” I squeeze his groin harder.

  “Oh, so, it’s like that? Aight. We’ll see who’s holding what. Dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes.”

  “Fine.” I release him with a smile and watch him regain his composure.

  “Are you hanging outside with me?”

  “Hell to the no. It’s too damn hot out here for my cocoa behind. I’m going inside and get comfortable. Call me when dinner is ready.”

  “Cool.”

  After changing into a soft, cotton summer dress, I lay my head back and relax on the sofa with a glass of white Zinfandel. As I watch Keith’s gleaming, athletic body put a hurtin’ on my steak, I drift and reflect about him.

  ***

  The rainy season is gone, been gone, and doesn’t seem like it’s ever coming back. I miss the days when I dated a freak as freaky as me. I wish Keith would let his cum rain down on me like I really like it, all over my face, tits, and belly. What better way to find out the taste of a man than to have him skeet on your face, right? I like to take my hands and rub the warm cream on my face like moisturizer. Every man’s cum is different, some tart, some bland, and some downright sweet. Those are the ones I like the best. Keith thinks letting his creamy, hot fluid run down my pussy and thighs is exciting enough. Hell, I like that shit in my cookie, up my ass and all over my dark espresso skin. Quite frankly, his conservative attitude and behavior is getting on my last nerve. The drought sets in like the Sahara Desert and this shit is getting harder to endure.

  I crave the dangling, long dong between a robust man’s legs. Watching a huge cock bounce toward me with each step a man takes excites the hell out of me. How many more days and nights can I stand watching my boyfriend walk toward me with his six inches of dick that’s only going to saturate my pussy and thighs? I’m dying for nine inches and my creamy, pearly shower.

  I remember the first time I saw Keith’s half-naked body. I knew I’d hit a homerun with his fine, athletic build, big hands and large feet. But when he dropped his boxers and I saw his thang, I snickered “pencil dick” in my mind but I didn’t dare show my amusement. Hell, he spent two hundred dollars on dinner that night. Most ladies are happy with six inches of lead pipe but not my golden kitty. I need a dick that consumes the center of me. If I can close my thumb and middle finger around the dick, and the dick doesn’t bottom me out, it’s a small dick to me.

  Damn, look at the time; it’s four-forty-five p.m. on Monday already. Where did the weekend go? The last thing I remember is sitting down eating dinner with Keith. Anyway, let me stop sitting here thinking about his dick and leave this nine-to-five. Besides, I’m just trippin.’ The brother treats me like a platinum princess. I get anything I desire. I’ll just continue to deal with his thang and fantasize as usual.

  I step onto the elevator, leaving the thirty-fifth floor, and as usual, it stops on almost every floor as we descend. I’m still getting accustomed to 191 Peachtree, a fifty-story skyscraper. Parked at the twenty-second floor, I hear a deep voice request, “Press fifteen, please.”

  I look up from searching my purse for my car keys to see who possesses the sexy baritone. Oh, my damn! It’s the guy from the fitness center downstairs. What I wouldn’t give to see what he’s packin’! The brother goes to the gym as religiously as I do. I work out three times a week on my lunch hour, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And each day, I wait until twelve-thirty when this six-foot-two, Hershey-dipped Adonis walks through the door. I play cool and pretend not to look at him, but any girl would be out of her mind not to. I study him intensely and know his routine by heart—thirty minutes on the treadmill or elliptical, thirty minutes of free weights, and two hundred crunches. One thing is for damn sure: The brother has strength and stamina, perfect for my sexual fantasies with him.

  I freeze every time I see him do squats. I position myself in the room so I can watch his tight round ass go up and down while he balances the barbell. I lie on the leg machine to do my hamstring curls, rest my chin on the padded part and enjoy the sight, muscles flexing, sweat dripping, energy and strength exploding, man, what a turn-on. Usually, in his last ten squats, he makes an ugly face as he grunts to complete the set. I wonder if that’s how he looks when he cums. Men can make some crazy faces when busting a nut. With all the weight he lifts, I know his legs and glutes burn like hell. If his legs can handle all that weight, I can only imagine what his strong legs can do when popping a coochie.

  Personally, I just want to sink my teeth into his ass—better yet, grab him by the booty and navigate him deep into the center of me. He wears loose-fitting shorts over his spandex biker-like apparel, but I can still see the large bulge in the front. I know he’s packin’ but how much is the question. When he releases the barbell, I drool at his upper body that is exhilarating as well.

  His arms are cut to a tee; every bicep, tricep, and pec flexes with each movement. I wonder what it’s like being held in those muscular arms. I envision him standing, holding my five-foot-nine hourglass frame around his waist, while I ride his wild, black stallion. Keith is built, but not like this guy. To top everything off, this fine specimen of a man has those sexy, bedroom eyes like the well-known DJ, Donnie Simpson. His hazel eyes bring radiance to his chiseled face. And may I add, the faint shadow beard he s
ports isn’t bad, either. Whew! The brother gives me chills and makes my pussy want him every time I see him. Six months of watching him, and I’ve yet to learn his name. Everyone at the gym is so into working out, I don’t dare break the flow or expose my desire to know him by asking someone, who is he? That’s how office rumors start.

  After I lift weights, I wait for the boring step aerobic class to end. I go to the wooden dance floor to do my own aerobic routine. I open the closet door where the stereo equipment is stored and put in my own CD of hip-hop remixes. I turn that sucker up, face the mirrors, feel the rhythm in my bones, and let go of my own pent-up energy. I love to dance. I’m my own video vixen. I mostly combine moves from Janet Jackson, Ciara, and Beyoncé and generally end my routine with some Latino salsa. I gyrate my hips so fast I wanna holla, “You go, girl,” when I see my reflection. By the time my workout is over, sweat beads down my face, and my cotton tank top displays puddles of absorbed sweat. Even my socks are damp with sweat. Some days, I hear clapping at the end of my routine from someone in the workout area, but I never see who it is because the equipment blocks my view.

  When I walk to the closet to retrieve my CD, I admire my workout efforts in the mirror as I see my well-toned body. I love being in shape. I have strength and stamina, too. Mmmm-mmmm, what wonderful things Adonis and I can do with these healthy bodies. I chuckle at my nasty thoughts of having explosive sex with him.

  The sound of the elevator closing jolts my mind from the gym back to our present close proximity.

  Well, here’s my chance. It’s now or never. I break the ice. “Aren’t you leaving work like the rest of us?” Stupid question, but that’s okay; he’ll say something. I just want to watch his sexy, delicious lips move.

  “I need to get something from my office first, Miss?”