Marissa threw off the covers. “Sweetie. Stop! I have to get ready for work. I don’t have time.”
“Just a quickie, baby. Please. I don’t like it when you don’t cum. It’s not right.”
She eased off the bed, threw on a silk robe, and headed for the bathroom. “We’ll have to finish tomorrow. I really don’t have time.”
Isaac sat on the side of her bed, looking pitiful.
Better he than me, she thought to herself and trotted off to take a shower.
Later that evening, she licked melted chocolate from Basille’s scrotum while giving him a handjob with a palm covered with motion lotion. Basille also succumbed swiftly, busting a nut before he’d even touched Marissa.
And once again, she pretended everything was just fine, but sulked and was ominously pensive, giving the impression that Basille’s days in her bed were numbered.
Marissa refused to answer her phone for two days. Between Basille and Isaac, there were dozens of pleading messages on both her home phone and her cell.
Finally, she decided to show a little mercy. She called Basille first. “Hey boo.”
“Marissa!” he shouted. “Where the hell have you been?”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind and we need to talk.” She became quiet, allowing the meaning behind her words to sink in.
“Is something wrong?” Basille asked nervously.
“I’d rather talk about it in person. Can you come over tonight at eight?”
“Yeah, I can come through tonight, but I wish you’d tell me whassup. You got me feeling real fucked up. Why you being so secretive? Talk to me. Whassup?”
“We’ll talk tonight,” Marissa said firmly. “I’ll see you tonight, boo.”
She hung up and her lips spread into a big cheesy grin. One down, one to go.
She called Isaac next. When he answered, she took on a somber tone. “Can I see you tonight, sweetie? It’s really important.”
“Of course. Are you all right? I can come over right now,” he said sounding panicked.
“No, I’m fine. But what I have to say, I prefer to tell you face-to-face.”
She could hear Isaac swallow. In fact, it sounded like a frightened gulp. Then, he cleared his throat. “Are you dumping me, Marissa?” He asked in a tone that was clearly distraught.
“No,” she protested and then deliberately sighed and paused.
“Are you there?” Isaac asked.
“Yes, I’m here. What I’m saying is . . . I don’t want to break up. But maybe you’ll want to see other people after we have our talk.”
“Are you crazy! I’m in love with you; why would I want another woman? No one can compete with you.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” she said solemnly.
“It’s not empty flattery, Marissa. I love you. You know that.”
“I dig you too. I’ll see you tonight at eight.” She hung up and began to pace, cradling her chin thoughtfully. Should she write a script or just wing it? She flopped down on her cushy sofa and allowed her mind to marinate on the subject. Finally, she decided to wing it; she’d let the men set the tone.
After Isaac and Basille realize that neither had been her only lover, she’d let the scene play itself out. If things went according to her design, she’d be a very happy woman tonight.
* * * Marissa mixed together banana liquor and equal portions of light and dark spiced rum. A dash of grenadine sweetened the taste; a cherry and an orange slice made the drink appear harmless. But Marissa knew her Rumrunner was potent, a surefire way to loosen up her male guests—make them feel uninhibited. Make them willing to submit.
Basille arrived first. He was nervously puffing on a blunt. “Here you go, boo,” Marissa said, handing Basille a tall glass of her special tonic.
“What’s this shit? You know I don’t fuck with this girly stuff,” he said gruffly.
Marissa realized Basille’s agitation was actually a case of nervous jitters; he was more annoyed with himself than with her. He hated the position he was in—he despised being at her beck and call. She knew he’d prefer a more equitable relationship. It irked him to jump whenever she snapped her fingers; it was not a manly thing to do. But did he have a choice. Hell no! Not if he wanted to stay in her good graces.
“It’s rum, boo. I just sweetened it a little,” she said cajolingly.
“Rum?”
“Uh huh.”
“Bacardi 151? ‘Cause that’s what I need right now; I don’t need nothing diluted and sweet. I need a strong drink, something that’s beyond 100 proof.”
“Try it,” Marissa said with a knowing smile.
Basille placed the blunt in the ashtray and took a big gulp. “Oh ai’ight. I can fuck with this.”
He took a seat on the couch, relit the tobacco-leaf-covered weed, and alternated between deep puffs and taking giant swigs of the Rumrunner Marissa had mixed.
Marissa walked over to her sound system, clicked a button, and paused as soft music filled the room.
“So, whassup?” The muscles in Basille’s face had relaxed; his tone sounded more agreeable—more open for suggestions.
“Well, I was thinking . . . ” The buzz of the doorbell interrupted Marissa.
“Who’s that?” Basille inquired, his face scrunched up in displeasure.
“Oh, that’s a friend of mine—someone I want you to meet.” She opened the door and Isaac came inside, his neck swiveled curiously from Marissa and then to Basille.
“Isaac, this is Basille. Basille, this is Isaac. And I invited you both over so we could sit down and have a talk.”
Basille slammed his drink down and sprang to his feet. “You fuckin’ with another nigga? I’m not tryin’ to hear that dumb shit. I’m out.” He picked up his blunt and strode toward the door.
“Basille. Calm down. Just do me a favor and sit down and listen, okay?”
Turning up the side of his top lip, Basille gave Isaac a roving gaze, glowering as he looked his competitor up and down. He sucked his teeth with unmasked disdain.
Apparently the feelings were mutual, for Isaac gave Basille a long, lingering scowl.
Marissa went in the kitchen and came back with a drink for Isaac.
“Basille, I don’t usually smoke weed, but tonight I thought we’d all smoke a peace pipe,” she said reaching for the blunt.
“I’m not smoking that poison,” Isaac fumed. “And I’m shocked that you would engage in an illegal act with this….this thug.” He spat out his words.
“Yo, punk. Watch your mouth,” Basille warned and then advanced toward Isaac.
“Boys! Boys!” Marissa shouted in an authoritative tone and then got in between Basille and Isaac, using her small but toned arms to keep them separated. “You both need to stop acting like children. Sit down, Basille.” She nudged her head toward the sofa. “Isaac, go sit over there.” She pointed to a leather recliner and then picked up Basille’s drink and turned it to her lips. It was a gesture of familiarity that she knew wouldn’t leave any doubt in Isaac’s mind that she and Basille were intimately involved.
“Isaac, I guess you can see that Basille and I are pretty familiar with each other.”
Isaac lowered his head and nodded. He grimaced as if in pain. Basille straightened his shoulders, puffed out his chest triumphantly and blew out a thick cloud of smoke.
Then, Marissa walked to the kitchen and returned with her own drink. “Shall we make a toast?”
“A toast!” Both men exclaimed. “A toast to what?” Isaac asked incredulously.
“To honesty,” Marissa said.
“Aw, here comes the bullshit,” Basille muttered discontentedly, his face twisted in disgust.
“Seems more like a lot of deceit, if you ask me,” Isaac commented.
“You’re right, Isaac. I’ve been deceptive—sneaking around with two men.But no more. I want to be honest with both of you because I can’t go on like this.”
“Ai’ight. So tell dude, sayonara,” Basille said.
Isaac winched.
“Actually, I have to tell both of you goodbye,” she said sadly as she pinched the stem of the cherry that floated in her drink, pulled the cherry out, and placed it in her mouth. She sucked the cherry seductively. She cut an eye at Basille and could see the bulge beginning to rise in his pants.
She sauntered over to the sofa and reached for the blunt with an outstretched manicured hand. As he passed the cigar to her, she made sure her fingers caressed his hand. Marissa inhaled deeply and blew out a long stream of smoke. She returned the blunt and set down her drink.
She was wearing a clingy lace gown but no bra and no panties. She glided to the middle of the living room floor and began to sway to the music. She threw back her head and, as if entranced, she closed her eyes and began to cup and then fondle her breasts. She wet her index fingers with her tongue and then drew tiny circles until her nipples peeked through the lace. Slowly, ever so slowly, she raised her gown until her dark forest was revealed. Giving Basille and Isaac an erotic show, Marissa, still swaying in time with the music, licked her finger again and this time parted her vaginal lips. She moaned in ecstasy, backed up and lowered her perfectly round bare ass onto Isaac’s lap, and rotated her hips, giving him a lap dance.
She gave Basille a cautious sideways glance, thinking he might be enraged and about to leap off the sofa and stomp toward the front door. She expected him to be deeply offended, and thought she’d have to rush to him and soothe his bruised ego, but Basille stared at Marissa, mesmerized, his lips slack with carnal desire.
Marissa reached behind her and took Isaac’s hand and guided it between her legs. Isaac didn’t need much encouragement; he eagerly obliged. He rubbed her clit, delicately parted her pussy lips, then worked his finger in as far as it would go.
Breathing hard, Marissa humped his finger, riding it as if it were a dick. Finally, breathless, she removed his hand and began to lick the thick finger, which was coated with her own sticky honeydew.
Without preamble, Basille ventured to the other side of the room and joined the couple. Kneeling before Marissa, Basille eased her legs apart.
Marissa stayed in place on Isaac’s lap as Isaac cupped her breasts and then used his fingertips to make tiny circles around her nipples until they became hard knots. She could feel Basille’s warm breath on her thighs as he buried his face between her open legs. Her back arched; her breathing came in quick short rasps.
Basille’s shaved head felt smooth and sensual as it grazed her thighs. The feeling was intense; it was utter bliss—an adventurous tongue in one place and strong capable hands on another.
Now Isaac was biting her neck, whispering in her ear while Basille concentrated on her clit, sucking it with his lips; licking it with his tongue while an insistent finger probed inside her, causing her to shudder—her arms to flail, her face to contort, and her head to roll back and forth as if she were possessed.
Marissa was caught up in the rapture of a fantasy come true. A fire raged inside her, starting at her neck and spreading down to her loins, making her thrash about and speak in tongue. She felt for a moment that perhaps she was going insane. The intense stimulation—it was exquisite torture—too much to bear. Her mouth formed and tried to speak the word, stop! But she only managed to emit an unintelligible utterance—a sound of passion. In her mind, she screamed for Isaac and Basille to stop; she had to get a grip before her body went into shock. Or worse, it would be a disgrace and the waste of a fulfilled fantasy if she couldn’t hold back the orgasm that threatened to erupt.
Isaac’s hands left her breast; Basille removed his head from between her legs. As Marissa struggled to catch her breath, Isaac lifted her flimsy gown and pulled it over her head. Basille cupped her butt checks while Isaac placed her upper body in the crook of his arms. Together, they lifted Marissa and gently lowered her naked body to the carpeted floor. Her locked hair spread out like a crimson crown.
Isaac and Basille, both still fully dressed, lay on opposite sides of Marissa. As if of one mind, their mouths were simultaneously drawn to her nipples. Basille captured the right nipple between his teeth and softly bit and licked while Isaac drew moist circles on the other nipple with the tip of his tongue. With one hand she caressed Basille’s smooth head and with the other she ran her fingers through Isaac’s thick, wavy hair.
Suddenly her hand felt nothing; her nipples were abandoned. Large, strong hands clamped her hips and moved her into a position where she was down on her hands and knees. Then, Marissa was straddled from behind—by whom, she was not quite sure. But when she was penetrated and smacked on the ass she was able to identify the thick dick that rammed into her drenched vagina.
“Oh, yes!” She whispered and then her voice grew louder. “Fuck me hard, Basille,” Marissa exclaimed. She was prepared to beg him to fuck her until it hurt, but her words were cut off by Isaac’s penis, which he pushed inside her open mouth.
Marissa balanced herself on the floor with one hand and used the other to lightly scratch Isaac’s balls. His tiny moans became loud groans as he drove inside her mouth with the same force he’d used if he were inside her vagina.
They were all in a sexual frenzy. Their passionate cries— intermingled with pounding flesh, slapping, and sucking created—a cacophony of erotic sounds.
Unexpectedly, the two men switched positions. “Want some chocolate, baby?” Basille asked Marissa, his tone, low and guttural.
Overcome with emotion, Marissa found she was unable to speak; nodding her head was the best she could do. Finally, the words that were forming in her mind found their way to her throat and were released in a wanton scream, “Yes, baby. Give me some of that good dick.”
Obliging, Basille gave Marissa a mouthful of chocolate. At some point, Isaac crept behind her and pressed against her writhing body. Isaac’s penis sought out her hidden opening and penetrated; his lips kissed her back, his teeth scraped against her skin. Marissa’s body was under the command of Basille and Isaac. She wanted the scene to last forever; she couldn’t bear for it to end because nothing had ever felt as good as this. It was forbidden love. But in their world there were no rules.
She wondered if she would ever again be satisfied with just one man. She doubted it—not after the sweet taste of three-way lust.
Having two men panting and pumping dick in separate orifices was surreal—like a dream. It was so good, she thought she’d collapse from delirious pleasure.
Waves of pleasure coursed through her. The feeling began at the tip of her toes and then moved slowly, creeping up her legs, her thighs, tantalizing her loins, making her love muscles go wild. Her clenching muscles took Isaac over the edge. His penis throbbed, but she fought to hold on—she wasn’t ready to cum.
Apparently sensing that a premature eruption loomed, Basille stopped moving, but his dick continued to pulsate and demand attention. Unable to restrain herself, Marissa couldn’t keep still. She rotated her hips and pushed backward, yielding to him, silently instructing Isaac to finish what he’d started. Her hungry lips worked on Basille. She sucked until he rhythmically began to undulate inside her juicy mouth.
And then she felt it, that familiar hot feeling that began in pit of her stomach and then coursed through her entire body, leaving a trail of raw nerve endings until the hotness worked its way to her loins. With their three bodies in sync, they all clenched and tightened themselves as they braced for the inevitable explosion.
* * * The long and audible moan that escaped her lips surprised her, causing the door key to slip from her fingers and clatter down to the tiled floor outside her apartment door. The sound of the ringing telephone instantly erupted, bringing her out of her reverie. How long had she been standing there enjoying her fantasy?
Feeling panicked, Marissa bent down and quickly picked up the key. With trembling fingers, she fit the key into the lock and hurriedly turned it.
She rushed inside her apartment and raced to get to the phone. When she reached it, she snatched the receiver o
ff the base. “Hello?” she said in a frail, desperate voice. But there was silence on the other end. Marissa hadn’t reached the phone in time; the caller had hung up. Feeling dejected, she hung up and cast a frantic glance to the caller ID. Restricted. The word mocked her; told her she was a fool.
The caller had to have been RJ, her elusive lover. He never left messages and always called from various undisclosed places—pay phones, blocked cell phones and, although it pained her to admit it, she knew he also called from the homes of his other women.
RJ was the love of her life, her sexual addiction. He went by many aliases: RJ, Black, Basille, Isaac, and even Mustard (because he was so smooth). But Marissa preferred calling him Sweetie or Boo.
Damn, she hated the fact that she’d missed her baby’s call. There was just no telling when she’d hear from him again. He might call again in the next hour. It was hard to predict. Sometimes weeks would go by without a word from him. There’d been times when he’d eluded her and deprived her of his sweet meat for months at a time.
RJ was always on the move—on the go; he was a veteran of the streets. He had that hard-to-get dick, and she was so hopelessly addicted; no other dick could satisfy her. Her desire for him consumed her to the core.
It was a damn shame the way she let him treat her. He gave her love in small doses, doling out dick as if there was a high demand for it and a short supply.
But damn, when he came through, the chocolate tasted so sweet and felt so good, it was worth the torturous, long wait.
Marissa released a deep sigh of regret. She supposed she’d have to please herself until the next time she was in the arms of her thugaliscious chocolate lover.
But in the meantime, she’d continue to fantasize about the sexual fulfillment and emotional freedom of being a woman who treated herself to the pleasure of two sweet and tasty lovers.
Damn, she sure wished could grip up RJ and clone him.
K. Elliott presents Fantasy
Headhunter
Fantasy (Lipstick) Page 3
