Succulent

by Zane

  A woman can find men from twenty-one to eighty-one at the Excelsior, my club of choice. Located on Beatties Ford Road, it has been open since 1944, and my parents used to watch Nat King Cole perform there. It is truly a Southern juke joint but I love it. I generally get there shortly after the doors open so I can have my pick of the puppy litter. I want men with a little ruff-ruff in them. Men who want to tear up some pussy and keep it moving. The last thing I need is some young buck catching feelings for me. I could never claim a man that young as my “public dick action.”

  The first one I ever picked up in there was named Devain. As soon as I spotted him, I wanted to do something deviant to his fine ass. He was only a few inches taller than me, making him around five-nine, but he had the sexiest, sparkling brown eyes and closely cropped, silky black hair. The skin on his face was flawless, and I wondered if the rest of him was a creamy mahogany as well. I was determined to find out.

  He stayed on the dance floor for nearly an hour, gyrating up against a young hoochie mama who swore she knew how to handle some dick but could surely not hold a candle to me. Once they took a break and she headed to the ladies’ room to drain her bladder, I made my move.

  “I like the way you move,” I yelled into his ear over the loud, thumping music.

  He grinned, looking me up and down. “Thanks. I enjoy dancing.”

  I wasted no time. “Do you enjoy fucking also?”

  He practically choked on his beer. “Oh, yeah, I like fucking.”

  “Is that your woman with you?” I asked, gesturing my head toward the restrooms.

  “Naw, I met her tonight. I’m here with my homeboy.” He quickly scanned the dance floor. “He’s around here someplace.”

  I intertwined my arm with his. “How about we go someplace not around here?”

  For a second, I thought I saw intimidation flicker in his eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Imagine.”

  “Imagine?”

  “Yes, you cannot possibly imagine what I’m going to do to you, if you’re bold enough to leave here with me.”

  He laughed uncomfortably.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Scared of real woman pussy?”

  He took another swig of his beer. “What’s real woman pussy?”

  “You eat ribs?”

  “Yeah, I eat ribs. Why?” he asked in confusion.

  “The difference between tough ribs that you have to gnaw off the bones and tender ribs that fall off the bones is the amount of time that they have marinated. Real woman pussy has marinated much, much longer than the kind you’re probably used to.”

  “But…you’re old enough to be my mother. I don’t know if I would feel comfortable.”

  “Is your mother as fine as me?” I lowered the right strap of my dress so he could see my cleavage. Then I grabbed his dick through his pants; it was a brick. “Does your mother make your dick this hard?”

  Before he could respond, the hoochie he had been dancing with finally returned from the ladies’ room; surely there was a long line as usual.

  “Devain, who is this?” she asked, having the nerve to be territorial even though she hardly knew him.

  Without letting go my grip on his dick, I responded, “I’m his mommy!”

  Her eyes almost popped out of her head as she lowered them and realized I was feeling him up.

  “She’s not my mother!” he quickly stated, throwing his palms up in the air at the mere hint of incest.

  I gazed at him and licked a trail from the center of his neck, over his chin, and drew his bottom lip into my mouth and bit it gently. “Oh, you’ll be calling me Mommy by the break of dawn, guaranteed.” I let his dick go and took his hand, beginning to lead him toward the exit. “Come on, let’s blow this joint so I can blow you.”

  “Whore!” the young woman yelled out at our backs.

  I turned around and marched right back up to her. She cringed like she was expecting a fist in the face. I smiled at her and said, “With enough practice, you might be able to be as good a whore as me. Don’t worry. I only want him for tonight. He’ll be back next week with his homeboys and you can have a crack at him. After tonight, he might be able to satisfy you better than he could have if he had left here with you instead of me. I’ll teach him a thing or two. Then I don’t give a shit if you marry him and have ten kids.”

  With that, I walked away. Devain was waiting at the door, ready to see where my imagination would take us. We ended up at a nearby hotel. I was ready for some action, and besides, since this was my first time doing something of this nature, I had zero intention of letting him know where I lived; rather less my real name. He was “still at home” so that shit was out; nor was I trying to go there in the first place. Neutral ground made me feel more at ease. Even though I was acting like a whore, I was far from one—at that time—and was a bit nervous myself but determined not to let it show.

  “So, Imagine, now that you’ve got me here, what are you going to do to me?” Devain asked. “You talk a good game; now let’s see if you can back it up.”

  I sat down on the bed and motioned for him with my finger. “Come to Mommy.”

  His cell phone rang. He yanked it out of the holster and glanced at the caller ID. “This is my homeboy. He’s probably worried about me.”

  “Then answer it and tell him that you are in very, very good hands.”

  “Yo, wassup! I’m straight.”

  “Your ass better be straight,” I said seductively as he stood before me.

  “I met a honey and rolled out.”

  I lifted my right leg onto the bed, reached under my sundress, and fingered myself through the sides of my satin panties. Then I licked my fingertip. “Yes, my pussy is sweeter than honey!”

  “I’ll get up with you tomorrow.”

  “But you’re going to get it up for me tonight!”

  I pulled him by his belt all the way to me and bit his dick gently through his pants. Then I undid his buckle and went to work to free my dick.

  Devain flipped his phone closed. “Damn, you aren’t playing around, huh?”

  “I can see that you’re still used to baby pussy. I’m about to throw it on you so hard that you will remember tonight fifty years from now, when I’m dead and buried.”

  “I don’t doubt that for one second.”

  His dick was beautiful, for lack of a better word. Unlike Alfred, who had gray pubic hairs—on top of his jacked-up breath—Devain’s dick was as smooth as a baby’s ass, with the exception of the big veins pulsating through it.

  “Umm, you look so tasty. Can Mommy milk you dry?”

  “Mommy can do whatever she wants.”

  I smirked because I had expected it to take him longer to get into the Mommy thing.

  He stepped completely out of his pants and I could see that he had also shaved his pubic hairs off. I loved that shit. “Hmm, you must be used to getting blow jobs since you shave down here.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve had a few.”

  “Then that means I need to step up my game,” I stated with conviction. “I’m going to wax it for you.”

  If you have ever seen those bobble-head dolls on someone’s dashboard, then you can imagine my head going back and forth on his dick. It was the perfect size to hit the back of my throat. I had also gargled with salt earlier, before I left home, so my throat could open up even farther. That’s a little trick for you young girls; remember that. Salt water is not only good for you when you have a cold.

  Devain came almost immediately and I was a bit disappointed but realized that the second nut is always harder to claim than the first one. Now he was ready for me to get down to the nitty-gritty.

  “Lie down on the bed, spread your legs like an eagle, and bring your knees to your chest,” I commanded.

  “What?” he asked, shocked.

  “You’re supposed to say, ‘Yes, Mommy.’ Not ‘What?’”

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  He looked mighty sil
ly doing what I asked, and I wasn’t even quite sure where I was coming from with it. I simply wanted to see if he would do it.

  I grabbed his dick and jerked and pulled and tickled his ass with my other hand, and sure enough, he was hard again within minutes.

  “Now let Mommy show you how it’s really done.”

  I drew his balls into my mouth first and sucked on them like a couple of gumballs. His dick got harder. I licked the pre-cum out of the head of his dick and then teased him: sucking the head, blowing on it, then sucking it again.

  “I’m about to cum,” he whispered.

  “You better not cum yet or Mommy will spank you!” I chastised him. “You’re a bad boy and you better not cum until I tell you to cum. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Mommy!”

  “That’s better!”

  For nearly three hours, I brought Devain to the brink of ejaculating and then made him stop. I did spank him. He loved it. I bit his dick, and while he seemed shocked at first, he ended up asking for me to do it some more.

  I have to be honest. I used to wonder how men could go out and pick up total strangers and fuck them. Then it dawned on me that the strangers were women who were doing the same damn thing. Now I was “one of them,” and in truth being in that hotel room with Devain, a stranger, was the ultimate turn-on.

  I eventually gave him some pussy that night, but he was so worn-out from my dick-sucking that he could barely move. I ended up doing all the work by getting on top. That was an empowering experience as well.

  After that night, I started hanging out at clubs near local universities to increase my odds of meeting younger men. Livingstone College in Salisbury, Johnson C. Smith in Charlotte, and Barber-Scotia in Concord were all “hot spots.” In a graduate dormitory at Johnson C. Smith I decided to test the Big Bang Theory with three men working on their master’s. I met them all at the same time and asked them to all work on mastering me. One of them seemed reluctant at first but then fell victim to peer pressure and ended up fucking me harder than the other two put together.

  Yes, I am a cougar. All you younger women out there who want to pretend like your pussies are lined with gold, you better watch out. Not only do you have to compete with women your age for men your age, you also have to compete with me. I make no apologies and I take no prisoners, but look at it this way. The more men that I educate on the art of pleasuring women, the more men will be better husbands. You can marry them and birth the babies; I just want to borrow them for a little while. If any young men are out there looking for an older woman to rock your world, hit me up on MySpace. I am easy enough to find, if you look in the right place.

  Come See Me

  Zane

  Do not get me wrong. I love money. I love making money. I love spending money. I especially love spending other people’s money more than I love spending my own. That was one of the reasons that I decided that I did not mind doing event planning for the large corporation that I had worked for over the past six years. The opening came up and was a chance for me to get out of the office and stop sitting behind a desk. It was a dream job for me, planning meetings, trips, and conventions for top clients. My expense account was practically limitless. All of it was a tax write-off for the corporation.

  I rented a pirate ship once in the Baltimore harbor for twelve dinner guests. It had cost a pretty penny but everyone had fun and I got all the praise. I had a wine-tasting at the embassy of Croatia and had the wine critic from the Washington Post teach everyone how to tell good wine from bad. I had organized a dinner at a restaurant that served emus, and everyone was so tickled and enjoyed eating the unusual bird. I had done a little bit of this and a little bit of that. However, like all good things, my happiness came to an end.

  My job began to get a little stressful. The one thing that I had not counted on was the attitudes from some of the people who were being wined and dined. A lot of them felt like they were better than everyone else. They started talking down to me, like I was their servant. I did not appreciate that shit at all.

  The two brothers who owned the corporation decided that they wanted to plan a trip to the Bahamas for ten of their top clients and their respective mates. I was relieved because I hoped to have a little fun in the sun once I got everyone settled. We had a lovely flight over on a private plane—for the most part, the limousines that took us to the hotel were on point, and then all hell broke loose.

  The hotel was top-of-the-line but the wife of one of the men on the trip thought she was the queen of Sheba. She had this Southern drawl that drove me crazy every time she spoke my name.

  “Mona, can you please get me some aspirin?”

  “Mona, I need a pillow for my back. This plane seat is uncomfortable.”

  “Mona, can you see about getting me a fresh cup of coffee? This tastes stale.”

  “Mona, can you find out how much longer it is before we land? My head is really killing me.”

  She had done all that whining on the plane, and her husband, Steven, seemed embarrassed, but he had picked her. Jill, the queen, was a straight-up trophy wife; that much was obvious. She was dumber than a doornail, but her fake boobs stuck out like a bottle of water in the desert. I did notice that the left one was higher than the right and I was dying to make a comment, but somehow managed to control myself.

  Steven was a cutie. He was about five-ten, dark-skinned with a goatee and a short, cropped haircut. Actually he was my type, and I had been without sex for a couple of months since an ugly breakup. On the plane, when I had a brief opportunity to sit down between Jill’s ridiculous requests, I did embark on an intense sexual fantasy about Steven as I watched him read the Wall Street Journal. The two brothers who owned the corporation were single, but I would not have fucked either of them for bone marrow. Their arrogance was beyond belief. Steven, even though he was equally wealthy, was humble and down-to-earth.

  Everyone was settled into their rooms and I was lying across the bed in my suite, looking out at the ocean, when my phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Mona, it’s Jill!”

  Shit! Not the queen!

  “Mona, this room simply will not do.”

  I sucked in some air. “What seems to be the issue?”

  “It smells…funky!”

  I wanted to ask, “Are you sure that’s not your ass?”

  Instead, I said, “What do you mean by ‘funky’?”

  “It smells like…like someone’s feet? Someone’s stinky feet!”

  “Okay, Jill, why don’t you call the front desk and ask them to have housekeeping come freshen up?”

  I could clearly hear the gasp over the phone. I had insulted the bitch. “But isn’t that your job? To make sure that we’re all comfortable?”

  “Yes, that is my job, but I do not own this hotel. I did not pack any air freshener in my suitcase, but I am sure that their housekeeping staff will do whatever they need to do to fix the situation.”

  “Can’t you get us another room, Mona?”

  I tapped my finger on the nightstand. “Okay, Jill. I will see what I can do.”

  “You do that, Mona, but make it snappy. My head still hurts and I need to lie down.”

  With that, the bitch slammed the phone down in my ear. I took several deep breaths, slipped my manicured toes back into my sandals, took one more long, admiring glance at the ocean, grabbed the pass card to my room, and headed to the front desk.

  I was not expecting what I found at that front desk.

  “My name is Yemi. How may I help you?”

  His name should have been Yummy.

  “Yes, I am with the group that checked in about an hour ago, and one of the guests is requesting a room change.”

  “Which room might that be?” he asked.

  “They’re in suite 508. Mr. and Mrs. Steven Lewis.”

  Yemi’s fingers sped across the keyboard and then he frowned; not a good sign.

  “I’m sorry, Miss…”

  “I’m
Mona Young. Forgive my manners for not mentioning that when I walked up. I’m the organizer of the trip.”

  “Well, Miss Young, I’m sorry, but we don’t have any more oceanfront suites available for tonight. We could possibly move them tomorrow night. What is wrong with the room? Maybe we can fix it.”

  I giggled. “That’s exactly what I told the bitch, I mean, lady.”

  He laughed. “Rough day, huh?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.” I paused and stared at him, realizing my panties were getting damp. “The lady said that the room smells funky, like someone’s feet.”

  “I apologize. We will send someone up there to take care of it right away.”

  “Good, but can you do me a huge favor?”

  “Sure,” he replied with a perfect set of white teeth, attached to a perfectly chiseled caramel face, attached to what I was sure was a perfectly chiseled body.

  “Could you call up there and make it clear to Mrs. Lewis that changing rooms is not an option in this hotel? She will not believe me; even though she should recognize that I have nothing to do with it.”

  “I would be delighted to do that.”

  I licked my lips, then bit the bottom one. “You are quite accommodating.”

  He leaned closer to me over the counter and I could smell his cologne. It was enchanting. “I try my best.”

  “Well, you are doing a bang-up job. You have certainly brightened up my day.” And dampened my drawers.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Young?”