by Devon Scott
Michael watches intently, hand snaking down to feel himself growing hard under his suit pants. He moves to the bed and sits down, removes his shoes and gets comfortable, observing Kennedy reach under Makayla’s short dress. Her legs part as Kennedy’s fingers find their mark, feeling her moist sex beneath her panties. Makayla emits a low groan of satisfaction.
“Oh my God,” she utters as Kennedy massages the wet spot, slithering down until her knees are on the carpet, her near-perfect ass cheeks rising from her minidress. She grasps Makayla’s panties and slips them down her legs. When they are off, she tosses them in the direction of Michael, who catches them easily, staring absorbedly at the scene before him. Kennedy next grasps Makayla’s ankles and parts her legs. Michael spies a narrow patch of pubic hair, but then his wife’s face is lowered as Makayla grabs Kennedy’s head with intention.
“Oh my God!” she utters again, head thrust back, eyes rolling back into their sockets as Kennedy tastes her, licking at her clit before slipping her tongue down and between the slippery folds. Michael removes his shirt and slips off his pants and boxer shorts, before lying back down. He wraps his fingers around the girth of his rock-hard cock and begins to stroke himself, his stare riveted to the activity. Kennedy feeds on Makayla as she groans incessantly, sucking on her flesh as if this were her final meal. Her head is relentlessly in motion as Makayla, legs splayed wide, ass and pelvis bucking to Kennedy’s thrusts of her wonderful tongue, holds her head as she feasts voraciously. After a time, Kennedy rises; she turns to Michael, her chest heaving, lips and chin glistening with Makayla’s juice, and says to her husband, “You need to taste this.”
Michael meets Makayla’s stare. Her gaze flickers for an instant, roaming over his taut upper body and down to his hardened dick with its bulbous head. Makayla exhales a breath and licks her lips, contemplating all that he has to offer.
“May I?” Michael asks, his voice just above a near whisper.
Makayla answers simply. “Hurry, please. . . .”
Kennedy rises as Michael comes off the bed. She takes him in her palm and gives him a quick squeeze. He kneels, hands roaming over Makayla’s thighs, abs, and breasts. He kisses her softly, their lips and tongues becoming acquainted before his head dips down. Michael kisses her clit, flicks his tongue against her hot flesh, tasting her sweetness as Makayla opens her thighs wide, reaching for his head and pushing it down, commanding him to consume her.
Michael does.
He sucks on her, first slurping in one side of her labia before feasting on the other, opening his mouth wide to feed on her entire sex, consuming her whole. Makayla is beyond heaven. Her head is thrashing about, her hips bucking as she grits her teeth.
“You are gonna make me come!” she squeals, eyes roaming over to Kennedy, who has gotten naked and lies splayed on the bed, fingers embedded within her own slippery folds. Michael increases his licking, using his fingers to spread Makayla’s pussy wide as he fucks her opening with his tongue, digging deep inside of her, lapping at her with all the fury he can muster. Makayla rises off the chaise lounge as she unleashes, her pelvis bucking in a frenzy of passion. She cries out as Michael laps up her juice. Her sap glazes his chin and mouth, and Makayla collapses back into the lounger, clamping her legs shut as she turns on her side, shivering as the last of the delicious pleasure bombs go off inside of her, rippling outward to far-flung nerve endings that register the molten fire.
Michael reaches for his wife, and they kiss, mouths ajar as they savor Makayla on their tongues and lips, her scent hanging thick in the air. The music envelops them like an old, comfortable blanket. It is a slow, steady groove, a chill-out rhythm that is ideal for what’s to come next.
Chapter 9
Michael unwraps the condom. He glances down as he sheathes himself before looking up, observing Makayla and Kennedy in all of their glory.
It is a sight to behold.
Kennedy is splayed on the chaise lounge. Her legs are spread wide, knees bent, feet up on the arms of the lounger. Makayla is on her knees before her, hands stroking Kennedy’s inner thighs as Michael zeroes in on her honey ass. The light from outside paints that ass perfectly. Michael marvels at its form as he stands not far from her, noting the smooth lines and contours. Makayla leans forward, pressing her face into Kennedy’s crotch, her mouth on her clit and lips, inhaling her heavenly scent as she tastes her. Kennedy begins an incessant moaning, and Michael is stroking Makayla’s ass with his palm. Her skin is warm and flushed, almost hot to the touch—and there is a glow to her hide. But what Michael ponders is the tactile sensations that seem to course from his fingertips to the pounding in his chest and the seeming expansion of his cock, which bobs dangerously close to her opening. The feeling is indescribable; and Makayla is reacting and responding. She glances back for a moment, making eye contact with Michael, a gleam in her eye, a sparkle that conveys she’s enjoying his touch.
Makayla goes back to her feeding, head down, lifting Kennedy’s legs up until her feet are pointing to the ceiling. She applies pressure forward, pushing Kennedy’s knees to her chest as she attacks her pussy with a vengeance. Makayla takes Kennedy’s sex into her mouth, rubbing her lips, nose, cheek, and chin around, her entire face glazed as she feasts ravenously.
Michael takes both hands and lays them on Makayla’s ass. She bends forward, presenting herself to him, and Michael uses the back of his hand to feel her wetness. He can see it glistening, and a spike of pleasure courses through him. He wants to impale himself in this woman so fucking badly he can taste it.
So he does.
Michael enters her slowly. She gasps as his hard dick breaches her opening, not from any pain, but from the sheer pleasure of feeling him fill her up, brown inch by brown inch.
Michael glances downward, watching himself slide inside, disappearing amid the honey flesh of her plump ass. And when he is all the way in, Michael pulls out painfully slow, allowing himself and Makayla to feel the fullness of his member and her flower, which fights to keep him entombed.
Makayla has ceased eating Kennedy. Her head is down and between Kennedy’s legs, eyes shut as Michael begins to pump her, long, full strokes of his wonderful cock as she rocks against his pelvis. Kennedy takes Makayla’s face in her hands and kisses her, slipping a tongue inside as the lounger begins to shudder from Michael’s thrusts.
“You like that?” he asks, one hand on the curve of her back as his other hand reaches for her hair.
Makayla turns back and beams, eyes closing momentarily before reopening. A seductive stare that spikes his heart.
“God. Please don’t stop,” she says, and it sounds like pleading.
Michael reaches for Makayla’s waist and pulls her into him, the two of them melding into one as he slams against her. Her yoni is a glove; it wraps around him, impeccable leather—form-fitting, smooth, and silky as he buries himself to the hilt. Reaching for her shoulders, he pulls her up until she is almost upright, her torso parallel to his. Then he reaches for her pert breasts, palming the flesh as he pummels her from behind. Makayla cries out.
“My God, I feel you in my stomach!”
Michael and Kennedy grin.
Kennedy leans forward, placing her hands atop Michael’s and squeezing his fingers as they clutch those twin honey mounds, then shifting to caress her own wet clit before feeling Michael’s cock that jackhammers Makayla’s pussy. Makayla’s fingers are a blur, stroking her clit furiously from side to side as she’s pounded in and out, and Makayla feels her orgasm well up and take control. She cries out as she comes, Michael a fury behind her as he grasps her arms, whaling away with his member as the pleasure lets loose.
Soon Makayla is collapsing to the rug as Michael pulls out, tearing off the condom and plunging himself into the waiting cavern of his wife. He fucks her with reckless abandon, picking up where he left off with Makayla, mashing Kennedy’s breasts together with his hands as he pounds her, Kennedy crying out all the while. Michael joins her, their dual screams mixing
with the slow-jam music to create a symphony. And then husband and wife are coming together, Kennedy grabbing Michael’s ass and her fingers raking savage rows of crimson across the flesh there as Michael tilts his head back, eyes scrunched shut, grimacing from the pain of her fingernail digs and the pleasure of being set free.
Chests heaving, pulses racing, faces contorted in pleasure. His cock turns to steel as he discharges into Kennedy. Michael collapses on top of his wife as he struggles to find his breath. And then he feels Makayla on him from behind, her warm, smooth breasts brushing across his back. Pressing into him, her slender arms wrapping themselves around their bodies like a vine as the three of them, Makayla, Kennedy, and Michael, surrender to the feeling that has just consumed them.
Pulses return slowly to normal.
Breathing becomes less harried and stressed.
Eyes close, and they dream.
The room is soon quiet. There is no longer any movement.
Nothing . . . save for the pulsing fervor that, like the soft, smooth jazz from the clock radio, surrounds, invades, and completely fulfills....
Chapter 10
“MOM-MEEEEEEEE!” Zack cries out.
Michael and Kennedy are clad in white terry-cloth robes with the hotel crest on the front, hair still wet from the shower. Kennedy is on the bed, BlackBerry Pearl to her ear as Michael deals with the room-service staff that has just arrived.
“Over here is fine,” Michael says to the young Middle Eastern man who pushes a white cloth-covered table with their breakfast into the room.
It is close to ten AM.
Makayla is gone.
Gone during the night—around four-thirty AM.
“I miss you!” Kennedy exclaims into the phone as Michael palms a fiver into the departing staffer’s hand, shutting the door behind him.
“I miss you too, Mommy. What did you buy me?” Zack asks, through with pleasantries.
“Well, Daddy and I are going out today to find you something nice, I promise.”
“Jeremy has Halo 4, Mom. It is SO cool!”
Kennedy frowns.
“That’s nice, Zack, but I don’t think that game is appropriate for your age.” She glances at Michael and rolls her eyes.
“Miss Lori says that Jeremy and I can play it as long as we’re good. And I’m being real good, Mommy.”
“I’m very glad to hear—”
“We went to the movies yesterday. Miss Lori bought Jeremy and me our own popcorn!” Zack giggles. “And Miss Lori let us stay up until eleven-thirty! She is so cool. How come you never let me stay up that late?”
“Well, honey—”
“Jeremy’s dad is taking us to Costco later. He said that if Jeremy and me help rake up all the leaves in the backyard, he’ll buy us a toy. EACH . . . But, Mommy, there are so many leaves!”
“I’m sure there are. That’s nice of—”
“He said a curse word last night.”
“Who?” Kennedy gets up and heads over to the table, uncovering the entrée plates. Michael smacks her hand away, but she grabs a piece of crispy bacon anyway, stuffing it into her mouth. Michael shakes his head.
“Jeremy’s dad. What are you doing?”
Kennedy chews, then swallows, grinning.
“I’m eating, honey. A piece of bacon.”
“Miss Lori made us a big breakfast today with pancakes and sausage. But there were blueberries in the pancakes, and I don’t like blueberries!”
“I know, Zack. I hope you ate them anyway.”
“I did, Mommy. After I cut them out.”
Kennedy removes her BlackBerry from her ear and stares at it for a moment, shaking her head.
“I’ll let you speak to your daddy. Love you!” She hands the phone over to Michael, who takes it and begins talking. Kennedy makes her way back over to the table and removes the plate covers, staring at their breakfast.
Western omelet, honey-glazed pecan French toast, an order of thick, well-cooked bacon, a side order of pancakes, and two coffees. Kennedy seats herself, pouring a cup of java for herself and for Michael. Grabbing a plate, she forks some of the omelet onto it before adding two pieces of French toast, three pieces of bacon, and a pancake. Satisfied, she begins to eat as Michael says his good-byes and hangs up.
“Thanks for waiting,” he says with a smirk.
“You know I’m hungry, baby,” she retorts.
“Yeah. That was some workout last night.”
“I’ll say.”
They eat for a moment in silence. Michael revisits the evening in his mind. He sees Makayla and Kennedy, their nude forms pressed together on the chaise lounge as the light from the window illuminates their bodies. As they lay there, eyes closed, breasts rising and falling evenly, soft jazz enveloping the room, Michael had reached for his BlackBerry Curve and framed the two women within the tiny screen. Makayla, her foot resting atop Kennedy’s, her honey-colored sculpted legs and curved ass against Kennedy’s mocha-complexion loveliness, a sight to behold. Michael snapped a few pictures before Makayla stirred and got up.
Kennedy felt her lover rouse and did the same.
Michael asked if it was all right to take some photos.
Makayla nodded her head yes.
While Kennedy forks a bite of French toast into his mouth, Michael reaches for his Curve and flips it on. The screen comes to life. Michael chews as he glances at the pictures before him.
“Let me see,” Kennedy says.
He scoots over, and together they go through the photos. There are five.
Three of Makayla and Kennedy. Naked on the chaise lounge, lying together cheek to cheek, arms lazily across each other, breasts touching; on the bed, both on their stomachs, Makayla’s legs slightly spread, while Kennedy’s leg drapes across Makayla’s thigh—both staring back into the camera; and one by the window, a close-up of the two women embracing, eyes closed, mouths opened, tongues intertwined.
Two photos of Michael and Makayla. Michael standing behind Makayla, his hands cupping each breast as they stare into the camera and smile; and the two of them on the bed, her head in his lap, her mouth on him as he grasps her hair.
Kennedy takes his Curve and studies the photos. Michael eats, watching her.
“Last night was wonderful,” he says, breaking the silence.
“Indeed.” Kennedy examines the photos some more. She fills her plate with the remains of the omelet, a few pancakes, and a slice of bacon. Michael takes what is left.
“Makayla is a very sensual woman. I really enjoyed her,” Kennedy declares.
“I could tell you did,” Michael replies.
“Yeah, looks like you did, too.”
She eyes Michael for a moment. He nods while chewing.
“Most definitely. We’ll have to hook up with her again. Hopefully soon.”
Kennedy gets up from the table and crosses the carpet to the nightstand. She picks up a business card and fingers the edges while glancing at it. Michael, meanwhile, has reached for his BlackBerry Curve again, and is flipping quickly through the pics captured by the camera phone. He presses a few buttons, e-mailing the photos to his AOL account.
“We’ve got her contact info, and she said she’s game for another go-round,” Kennedy says.
“Perhaps she’ll meet us in Baltimore,” Michael says.
Kennedy returns to the table with the card. She places it on the table; Michael picks it up.
“We’re just a short train ride away from there.”
Kennedy refreshes her coffee and goes to the window, staring out at the new day. Michael wipes his mouth with a napkin and pushes back from the table, sipping his coffee. He watches his wife silently.
“I love what we have,” Kennedy says, her stare still trained outside the window.
Michael rises and goes to her, standing behind her. He wraps his arms around her torso and holds her tight, the two of them rocking gently on their heels.
“Me, too, baby.”
“I’ve never felt this sa
fe,” Kennedy continues, holding on to Michael’s arms and nuzzling against his neck. “Never felt this honest . . . never felt that I could express myself sexually the way I do with you.”
“Even with your ex-husband, Joe?” Michael asks.
“Jesus, Michael, you really know how to ruin the moment.” Kennedy attempts to pull away, but Michael tightens his grip, restraining her.
“You know I was just joshing, baby. My apologies for being stupid.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
Michael makes a face and pulls her to the bed. Kennedy yelps while putting down her coffee. Michael gets on top of her and parts the terry-cloth robe as one hand feels her breast.
“Well,” he says, “you can’t be all that smart, since you married me!”
Michael bends forward, kissing his wife on the lips. Kennedy wrestles against him for a moment, but then her arms go to his neck, pulling him down on top of her.
“I married you, Michael, because of your big dick. ‘To have and to hold, and to fuck in sickness or in health.’ ”
In the brief tussle, Michael’s robe parts. He rubs his already hardened manhood against Kennedy’s moist opening as she moves her hips sensuously against him.
“So fulfill your wedding vows, Husband. Fuck me like you vowed to do . . . like you fucked her last night. . . .”
Chapter 11
The man walks briskly from his parking space and into the cool morning air. The sun is out, and it’s blue sky to the horizon. An otherwise perfect day, save for the migraine that threatens to debilitate his entire day.
