by Zane
I ignore his curious voice inflection, signaling me to say my name. What fun would that be if I told him right away?
“Oh, I see,” I respond, waiting for him to say more. If he’s interested, he’ll part his scrumptious lips and talk to me. He looks at me more intensely as if he’s trying to figure out something. Then with a moment of realization, he inquires, “Hey, aren’t you the young lady at the gym who dances after the aerobics class?”
“Perhaps.” I’m not quick to say “yes” because I’m not sure what he thinks about my dancing.
The elevator dings at the twenty-first floor and more people enter. It’s always a long journey to the lobby. The metal doors close and we continue to descend.
“That is you. You look good out there.” His compliment makes me relax and enjoy our small talk.
“I didn’t know anyone watches,” I lie just to see what he says.
“I bet that you hear someone clap at the end of your routine. Who do you think that is?”
“I often wonder who’s applauding. Is that you?” I ask, drooling over what I know is beneath his stylish attire—the big bulge and muscles for days. I try to maintain eye contact with him but I can’t help but to look below his belt just this once. I don’t feel too bad. Hell, he’s looking at my 36DDs. Our eyes meet again.
“Perhaps it’s me. How long have you been with Clark and Howard, Miss…? And what floor do you work on?”
Yes! He’s diggin’ me, too. “My name is Connie Winslow. I’ve been here for six months and I work on the thirty-fifth.”
“The legal department, huh?”
“Yes.” Now watch him think I’m an administrative assistant or paralegal.
“What position do you hold?” he asks carefully. The brother has tact. I like that.
“I’m an assistant attorney.”
He clears his throat as if surprised at my answer. “Damn, that’s impressive. You look so young.”
“Trust me; I’m older than I look. People often think I’m younger than I really am.”
The elevator stops again and more people get in.
“Forgive my manners, sir, I didn’t catch your name.” “Sir” is so formal but he looks at least eight years my senior.
“Bishop. Bishop Thomas. Pleased to meet you, Connie.” He extends his hand and I feel strangely stimulated when we shake.
“Interesting name. Any particular reason you’re named Bishop?”
“Yeah, there’s a story behind it, but it’ll take longer than this elevator ride to tell you.” He smiles with each word and the people on the elevator pretend to look at the red numbers count down. I hear a man cough in the far-right corner, but I’m not fazed by Bishop’s obviously bold response. I take it as a naughty, playful gesture. I see where this sly remark is headed, right where I want it. Silly man in the corner just doesn’t know.
“Mmmm, let’s see…” I cup my chin as if in deep thought. “Perhaps at some point in your life, you anointed someone,” I say playfully.
“Yeah, something like that,” he replies with a devilish grin. The man coughs again. The elevator bell dings at the nineteenth floor and more people step in, pushing Bishop and me farther to the back of the elevator near the man in the far-right corner. The door closes and Bishop and I continue to play our inquisitive game, but in a soft whisper.
“Really? Maybe one day you can show me how the anointing goes? I’m curious to know what type of blessing a man like you can give.” I see the coughing man in my peripheral damn near choke at my response. I want to laugh because this is fun.
“Yeah?” Bishop asks surprised and as if interested in my request.
“Yeah,” I solidify.
Damn. The sound of the fifteenth-floor elevator bell dings and ends my entertaining conversation with Bishop. Mmmm-mmmmm, there goes Adonis, such a fine specimen of man.
“See you around, Connie Winslow.”
“Definitely.”
He winks at me and exits the elevator. I watch his tight athletic ass walk away as my pussy starts to quiver with lustful desire. I look at the man in the corner shaking his head. “Whew, you young folks are something else. You’re new here, right?”
“Yes.” I can’t believe he’s admitting to listening to Bishop’s and my conversation.
“Be careful, young lady. Everything ain’t what it seems.”
“Such as?” I ask, curious of the man’s statement and irritated he blows my Bishop high.
“Know who you’re dealing with.”
“Thank you, but I already do. What are you, my conscience?” I act like I know what I’m talking about ’cause I don’t want the man to know that his comment alarms me. He doesn’t reply so I grin and return to watching the red numbers countdown to the lobby. I tell the man to have a good evening and exit the elevator with my head held high and shoulders squared.
I hope rush-hour traffic is light today ’cause I can use one of Keith’s body massages right about now. He has great hands. If only he had the dick to match, what fun I could have.
Damn, my cell phone is always ringing when I got too much shit in my hands to answer it quickly. Uggh, how annoying, I’ve got to change this Bach ring tone to something funkier.
“Keith? Hold on. I’m putting my laptop and briefcase in the car.” He patiently waits as I place my stuff in the backseat. “Sorry for the wait. What’s up?”
“I want your naked, brown body next to me, that’s what’s up. How much longer will it take you to get home?”
“Looking at the traffic, at least an hour and a half.”
“Damn, girl, my pipe is gonna burst by then.”
“No, it’s gonna burst right now. Listen to me. Take your pants off and walk to the kitchen.”
“Word.”
“Now get some olive oil out of the pantry.”
“Got it.”
“Sit on the sofa and put a few drops on the head of your dick.”
“Done.”
“Now lie back, close your eyes, stroke your meat, and imagine me straddling your cock.”
“Ah, baby, you’re so good to me. I needed this. But I’ll still be waiting for you to get here.”
I listen to Keith jerk-off. The sound of his ecstasy excites me; I can’t wait to see him.
***
Shit! After driving through all that damn traffic, getting home in record time for a body massage and some sex, Keith didn’t touch the bottom of me again, and no damn pearly shower! I roll onto my side with my back facing him, look out of the bedroom window and think, Keith’s small Johnson has got to go. He peeps over and looks at my dead stare while I wonder how in the hell do I continue to deal with this situation.
“Baby, what are you thinking about?”
I want to say “Bishop,” but I don’t dare. “I’m thinking about Quincy’s BBQ that we’re going to on Saturday and I don’t have a thing to wear.”
“Is that all?”
I watch him reach into his wallet on the nightstand. “Here’s seven hundred dollars. Treat yourself to something nice.”
“Thanks, Keith. That’s so sweet of you.” I don’t mean that shit. I’m frustrated and just want compensation for a year of this neglect. I sure hope I run into Bishop on the elevator again tomorrow.
***
I give myself a final check in the mirror on this fine, sunny Tuesday morning. This short black skirt, tight-ass slate-blue blouse, and black, ankle-strapped pumps will do.
“Kiss-kiss, Keith. Gotta get to work. See you tonight.” I blow him a kiss from across the bedroom and try to rush out of the door.
“Hold up. Don’t a brother get a hug or somethin’?” I hug him and entertain his everlasting tongue kiss, then release my embrace just enough to look at my watch behind his head. Damn, now I’ll probably miss Bishop in the lobby.
I drive like a bat out of hell trying to get to work by eight a.m. Traffic is heavy and delays my commute by fifteen minutes. I rush into the building’s lobby and wait for an elevator.
“Eight-fiftee
n. Kind of tardy, aren’t you, Connie Winslow?”
The deep, tranquil voice penetrates my thoughts and the playful tone lets me know that the six-foot-two Adonis likes what he sees. Why else would he remember my name? My womanhood starts to throb as Bishop stands directly behind my short skirt. What is it about this man that strikes me so? I pretend not to hear him. He steps closer to my ass and breathes onto the nape of my neck, “Are you having a good morning, Miss Connie?” I refuse to turn around. I wait to see what he does next. He damn near presses his penis on my skirt. “Someone is definitely not having a good morning. Problems at home, Connie?” The elevator door opens. Interestingly, it’s empty for a change.
“Ladies first.” Bishop extends his hand with a gentlemanly gesture. My wet box is sending down uncontrollable juices. I feel the cotton patch in my panties saturate from my natural lubricants. The door closes. “Cat got your tongue this morning?”
“No. I have work on my mind. My manager is out this week and I have a lot of work to do,” I finally reply.
“Really. Yesterday, you mentioned that you’re an assistant attorney, but you didn’t mention what you do.” He takes two steps toward me and invades my personal space. I step back one.
“I review outsourcing contracts for the firm,” I reply, trying not to look or sound too interested.
“Damnnn. No shit. Sexy and smart.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment and you should watch yourself. I could report that comment as sexual harassment.”
“I know. But you won’t,” he says in an arrogant, matter-of-fact kind of way.
“Mighty cocky, aren’t you, Bishop? Does your wife approve?” His wedding ring blings in the elevator light like rare African diamonds. He takes two steps toward me. I don’t move, as I secretly desire him. His bulge comes to my mind. Is his dick a six- or nine–caliber? I wonder. He ignores my question—typical—and continues to walk toward me. I see right through his pants and can imagine his long dong bouncing in the air as it approaches me. He stops in front of me.
“Is there something over here that I can help you with?” I ask, trying to remain cool, but my wet pussy is a dead giveaway. I want his cock in me.
“No, there’s something over here that I can help you with,” he insists.
“And what might that be?” I look at the red numbers, only eight more floors before he has to get off.
“I can help you with this.”
He reaches under my skirt and into my panties, getting a handful of my lubricants. I stand motionless against the back wall. As excited as I am, I forget that anyone might be waiting for the elevator doors to open to take them to the next floor. Just as I want to say something to him, I see the red number “15” above the door and the bell dings.
“I’ll see you later, Connie,” he announces.
“Uh, yeah. See you later,” I reply still in a daze. The doors close. No, he didn’t just grab my snatch like that. He did it so quick and smooth that my pussy wants a repeat of his middle finger in my wet, enlarged opening. He doesn’t know that he’s playing with fire. I’m a sexually frustrated, twenty-eight-year-old young lady who is dying to get bottomed out. And he just lit my fuse.
***
The packed elevator stops on the fifteenth floor to let the lunch crowd in. I scoot to the side and stare up at the bright-red numbers and ignore Adonis’ entrance to the increasingly packed elevator.
“Bishop Thomas? How’s heading up the accounting department going? Haven’t seen you or your staff since we closed the books on the Miller account. Love the work you did. Absolutely on point with our goals.” The senior executive from upstairs obviously admires his abilities. I must admit that I want to know more about his abilities, too. Bishop moves closer to me. I stand catty corner to him and place the palm of my left hand behind my back and in position of his zipper. He covers my wandering hand with his briefcase so others don’t see. I squeeze gently and get a huge handful of what he’s packin.’ He struggles to reply to the executive. “Ah, yes sir, Mr. Steinman. Thank you. Just let me know anytime I or my staff can be of service.”
Mr. Steinman exits at the tenth floor. More people get on to journey out for lunch. The elevator is totally crowded now with lots of small talk. I slightly unzip Bishop’s pants. His hazel eyes monitor the crowd as I search and find what feels like nine inches. I squeeze and rub harder. I hear him swallow dry spit. I grin at the lady across the elevator who starts to look suspicious at us. I ignore her, look up at the red numbers, and squeeze harder. At the fifth floor, I release Bishop’s swollen dick and quickly zip his pants. I continue to look at the numbers, then at the lady. I’m certain she knows something is up, but I don’t care. I have my thrills to fulfill.
The elevator bell dings for the first-floor lobby. Everyone exits except the nosey lady who tries to linger, but Bishops escorts her off in a gentlemanly fashion.
“Connie, wait,” he insists.
He presses the “close door” button, then takes out a special badge, slides it across the sensor and presses “PH.” How the hell does he have a VIP badge to the penthouse? I wonder. He’s the director of accounting. Only senior executives have privilege to the penthouse floor. He must know someone important. His network connection turns up my fire another degree because someone of high status at the firm trusts him.
The ride to the penthouse is nonstop and for fifty floors we indulge ourselves with each other. He drops to his knees, raises my short skirt with his warrior hands, gnaws at my tissue-thin laced thong, then rips it away with one wild tug. My hotbox is so wet with anticipation. He lands his full, voluptuous tongue on my clit and teases my erectile organ like a madman, sucking it, pressing on it, and gently biting it. That drives me crazy. I grab the back of his perfect fade and hold his head right where I want it. He swirls his tongue all about my pussy, soaking my hair and inner meat. His tongue swoops inside my cavity.
“Keep it right there, Bishop,” I moan.
Damn, this shit is off the chain. He tongues my kitty cat with his large, movable flesh and I cum on the substitute dick, long and hard. My creamy wetness covers his mouth. He stands and shares my pussy juice with me in a passionate kiss. I unzip his trousers and feel the heat of his desire to have me as I rub his overly warm penis and enlarged sacs. I continue to let him think he has the upper hand and allow him to slam his tongue into my throat while his middle finger goes into my vagina. I whisper, “more,” into his ear to let him know I’m not a beginner. He includes his index finger and just begins to thrill me. “More.” He gives me three. Now I’m starting to enjoy it. “More.” Yes! The four fingers of this fine, dark-chocolate prince pumping in and out of me sends me into a spin. He watches me as I hump his foursome. He’s more turned on. Damn, I want to let go of these two rails and do my thing, but he obviously likes this. I look up at the red numbers. We’re halfway to the top. Only twenty-five floors remain. Sorry, Bishop, but I got game, too.
I release the rails and push his hand away while still locked in our passionate kiss. I unbutton his starched, blue-and-whitestriped Sean John shirt, rip open his cotton tank undershirt, and rub his six-pack and chest with my free hand while the other drops his trousers. Now, what shall I do first to this panting, mostly naked specimen?
I quickly press him into the corner where the rails don’t meet. I kneel and deep-throat his delicious meat. I watch his head toss back and feel his nine-inch dick grow another inch as I release it slowly from the back of my throat. I lick the tasty lollipop, up, down, and around with long intentional strokes. When I place Bishop’s penis on my lips to enjoy his pre-ejaculation juices, I feel him motioning forward, wanting me to take it deep again.
“Not yet,” I whisper.
I go to the base of his ass, spread his cheeks apart and run my tongue all around the outer rim of his asshole.
“Shit,” he yells as he squirms with my tongue.
I spread his cheeks farther apart and poke his asshole with my tongue, making quick, wisp-like licks
. Now, he grabs the rails. I stay there a moment, eating the athletic booty. I release his cheeks and hear him take a deep breath. I hope he doesn’t think I’m done. I kiss his tight muscular thighs and venture to his scrotum. I engulf one ball, then the other. I hold Bishop’s sac in my mouth and suck it like an ice cube on a hot summer’s day. “Shit!” he announces, again. His satisfaction with my work makes me hotter. I release his nuts and look into his eyes; they speak with lust and desire. I place the circumference of his penis in my hand to lower him back into my throat. I can’t touch my middle finger to my thumb. I’m more than pleased. I smile at him. He smiles back. I deep-throat him again. I feel his dick pulsate as the blood engorges the long-dong vessels. As I suck and lick, I feel the big dick swelling as Bishop begins to climax. He pants heavily and his body tenses. “Shit! Damn, Connie.” His breathing is irregular and his dick is about to burst.
I hear the ding of the elevator bell indicating the arrival at the penthouse. “Fuck!” Bishop proclaims. I quickly released him from my mouth. He pulls up his trousers to find the badge in his pants pocket. He grabs it and hurriedly swipes the sensor just as the doors begin to open. I hear an executive say, “Hold the elevator, please.” Bishop rapidly presses the “close door” button, then “L” for the lobby. I get another ride for fifty floors.
Bishop looks surprised when he turns around and sees my bare breasts standing at attention for him. I keep the excitement going, undisturbed by the ding of the elevator bell. Bishop approaches me, lets loose of his trousers. I watch them drop to his ankles, exposing what I long for—his ten inches. He lifts me with his strong, Hershey arms and situates my anxious pussy atop his perfectly round, thick-headed penis. He doesn’t waste time. I’m glad because I want every moment to count. I grab the rails for more support and lock my long, espresso legs around his six-pack. The thick head penetrates me, in a little, in a little farther, in more, in deeper, in all the way. Bishop is huge inside my wet box. His girth reaches from one side of my pelvis to the other. His length touches my cervix and bottoms me out. There is no space left in me. He consumes the center of me, just how I like it.
