Authors: Afton Locke
“Show me how hard your nipples are.”
Licking my lips, I ease the cups down, exposing the
elongated points.
“Mmm, I can’t wait to suck those,” he murmurs.
I can’t either. After unhooking the bra, I fling it off.
When it lands on my bookcase, I laugh again.
“You’re doing great, Janice. Now let me see that sweet,
shaved pussy of yours.”
His words urge more hot juices from my cunt, soaking the
panties I’m about to take off.
As I did with the bra, I ease down the waistband a bit at a
time. Despite the ugly clothes and cotton underwear, I’ve never felt so sexy. I
turn my back to him before dropping the panties and stepping out of them.
The song is over and I’m now just as nude as he is. When a
commercial comes on the radio, Carlos flips it off.
“That was a pitiful striptease, huh?” I ask.
“
Muy erótico
. Come here.” The urgent, steely
undertone in his voice pulls me with magnetic force toward the bed.
I make a self-conscious gesture to cover my breasts with one
hand and my cunt with the other. “You’re just saying that. I mean it, Janice.
That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
With a sudden movement that makes me jump, he flips back the
covers, revealing the glorious length of his bare, rock-hard body. His erection
juts out at a provocative angle.
“He obviously thinks you’re an excellent stripper too.”
I can’t resist running my palm over the velvety tip and
stroking the swollen veins on the shaft. He exhales a groan and removes my
hand.
“Tonight is about you,
querida
. You need a reward for
all the hard work you’ve done.”
“Actually it’s already morning and I have to get up at six.”
He squeezes my hand. “Forget work for the next half hour.
What I’m about to do will make you a better worker.”
“And what do you plan to do to me?” I ask.
Shivers of anticipation coast down my back as I try to
figure it out, but the long day, combined with the sight of his engorged cock,
has shut down my mind.
“Get up on the bed, face my feet and straddle me.”
Maybe he wants me to suck him. My mouth waters with the
possibility as I do what he asks. As soon as I’m in position, he grabs my hips
and tugs them toward his head.
“Sit on my face.”
“What?”
“I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the first time I
saw your bare pussy.”
Sitting on my calves, I prop my weight on my hands and stare
at his cock while he gets a better grip on my hips. The first thing I feel is
his hot breath on my cunt, melting it. He does that for so long my body
threatens to explode from frustration.
His cock, nestled between his powerful legs, looks bored and
lonely, so I reach out to stroke it.
“Get your hands off that right now,” he says with a growl.
“This is all about you.”
He seems to know what he’s doing, so I’m not about to argue
with him. When his tongue touches my folds, I yell out from the anticipation.
Because I’m shaved, my flesh is extra sensitive to begin with. My fingers dig
into the bedspread when his tongue traces the length of my labia with thorough
precision. Then he teases them open, exploring the innermost part of me.
I can’t even look at his cock anymore. To focus on this
heady pleasure, I need complete darkness, so I close my eyes.
Is his tongue scalding or is it me? Trembling, I try to hold
still during his exploration but soon reach the point where I can’t anymore. I
bunch up even more bedspread in my hands and whip my hips back and forth,
seeking and escaping that incredible tongue at the same time.
“Mmm, you like this?”
The vibration of his voice titillates my nerves down to the
tiniest fiber.
“Yes,” I half cry. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
“I don’t intend to.”
With no warning, his explorative licks give way to a
wide-mouthed assault. The cotton pillowcases crinkle from the force of his head
movements and the air fills with scent he unleashes from me—salty-sweet and
musky.
“Aah…so…mmm…good.” When he makes the sounds of a starving
man feasting on top sirloin, I realize he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
I howl from the helpless ecstasy that washes over me as he
devours every inch of my cunt. His grip on my hips tightens too, allowing no
escape. Alternately his tongue thrusts and his lips clamp, shoving me toward
the edge.
“If I’d known how sweet your bare cunt would taste,” he says
with a groan, “I would’ve eaten you up that first night.”
A mere half hour ago, I was slumped over my laptop, my brain
and body cramped from stress and burnout. How is it even possible to go from
that extreme to this? My entire body tingles with pleasure so intense it’s
almost painful. It’s as if I’ve been a foot, asleep for years, and now the
blood is filling me, swelling and prickling every nerve ending into a frenzy.
When I swear I can take no more, he puts his mouth around my
mons, sucking hard on my clit and the skin around it. While slowly increasing
the suction pressure, he flicks the tip of my swollen nub with featherlight
strokes of his tongue.
I collapse, yelling my orgasm against his hip. For a long
time, I dig my nails into the tops of his thighs, unable to move. Waves of
overwhelming peace flow through me as he slowly caresses my buttocks. His
breaths cool my scalding cunt.
Holy crap.
What the hell just happened to me?
I’ve never, ever felt like this.
My skin cools and I roll off him, pivoting around so our
feet face the same direction. After I tuck my face into the hollow between his
neck and shoulder, my hands play across his chest, studying the swells and
valleys, possessing it and the heart beneath it. The rapid pulse proves he’s
human, but this man is too incredible to be real. The pleasure he gave me
wasn’t carnal. It was divine.
I look down, noticing his supple cock is now half-erect. “I
didn’t satisfy you.”
He lets out a long, slow breath. “Oh, I’m satisfied. You’re
the sweetest, wettest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Being reminded of all the women he’s encountered jolts me
from the sea of bliss I’m floating in, but I decide to ignore it. He seems to
adore my cunt, so that’s good news. If he’d stayed away tonight as asked, I
would have missed out on this.
“Oh, crap!” I exclaim after turning over to peer at the
clock. “It’s after two in the morning. I’ve really got to get some sleep. We
should clean up. I need to find my nightgown…”
Fatigue hits me all at once. Speaking and even holding my
eyes open takes too much effort.
“No, I want to sleep with you just like this,” Carlos
whispers in my ear. “I need to feel your bare skin against mine until dawn.
Smell your scent.”
My scent. It’s as if I’ve marked him as mine in a very
primitive way. A small, naughty part of me is glad he isn’t washing it off.
I turn out the light and we burrow under the covers. He
spoons me from behind, draping a protective arm around me. A hard ridge digs
into my back.
“Shit,” he whispers in the dark.
“What is it?”
Don’t say anything to spoil the mood. This
is too right, too perfect. Let it last as long as it can.
“If I don’t fuck you, I’ll be awake all night.”
I laugh. “If you keep poking that thing in my back, I will
too.”
“I’m sorry. I know you need to sleep. I’ll be quick, I
promise.”
Is this gorgeous man actually apologizing to me? Half the
women in the world would love to be in my skin right now. The thought of him
taking me fast and hard in the dark brings my cooling pussy back to a full
boil. Yes, we need this. I want to hear him come. I want to bring him as much
pleasure as he brought me, or at least try.
He reaches across me and slides open the nightstand drawer.
Then I hear the crinkle of a condom packet.
“How did that get in there?” I ask.
“I put a whole pack in here tonight. My girl needs to be
prepared at all times.”
It reminds me of our condom argument at the club. Now I
realize preparation is a really good thing.
Barely visible in the streetlamp light filtering in from
outside, he sits on the bed with his legs folded under him. “Squat over my lap
with your back toward me. I’m going to take you from behind.”
I wriggle into position with my folded legs on the outside
of his. The scent of lubricant from the condom hardens my nipples until they
throb. He grips my upper thighs and my breath expels when he lunges inside me
to the hilt.
“You were already plenty wet,” he explains. “Are you ready
for fast and hard?”
“Yes,” I reply in a hoarse whisper.
Nothing prepares me for the powerful onslaught of this man’s
driving hips. Nothing has ever penetrated me as deeply as his driving cock. I
clutch a nearby pillow to my chest, gasping against it while his thighs bounce
mine, up and down. In and out he thrusts as if his shaft is a high-powered
piston. His flesh smacks mine, filling the room with the percussion of it.
He uses so much force I eventually pitch forward. My
buttocks thrusts high in the air, absorbing his onslaught. The bed squeaks so
hard I’m afraid it might fall apart. I’ll never be able to look my downstairs
neighbor in the eye again.
My entire body trembles. I’m half aware that I’m drooling
and panting worse than a dog, but I don’t seem to have control over anything.
It’s as if I’m being dragged behind a race car on roller skates. I lost control
the first time we had sex too. This could be dangerous…
His hips slam into my buttocks, harder and faster, with
resounding slaps. A low growl fills his throat. He’s climaxing and the sound of
his primal pleasure sets off a contraction deep in my belly, followed by
another and another…
Still inside me, he collapses on top of me. His fingers dig
hard into my shoulders as if he’s holding on for dear life too. The bed rocks
with our fast breathing, which slows little by little, breath by breath. My
eyes are watering. My entire face is wet and I know my lubricated pussy must
have drenched the sheets too. The bed is probably a total mess.
“That was perfect,” he says in a groggy but satisfied voice.
“I never knew muscles could be so…powerful,” I mumble into
the pillow.
“Working out has its advantages. I guess I should clean up
after all.”
Still lying over the pillow, I realize he’s turned my whole
life upside down. Tomorrow I have to give a big presentation on what may amount
to two or three hours of sleep and I’ve never been happier.
Competition with other women? The Stallion Palace seems a
million miles away now. Tonight he treated me as if I’m the only woman in the
universe. This boring apartment has become our private, beautiful world.
If you’re going to leave me, Carlos, do it soon. I’m already
hooked.
The next day, I return to my desk after a grueling meeting
in the conference room. The fact I only had a couple hours of sleep last night
is making itself known. My eyes sting, I can’t concentrate and every bone in my
body aches.
Apparently I’m too old for wild sex.
Of course, Tiffin Young, ironically the youngest girl in our
department, arrived today blue-eyed and bushy-tailed with one of those
expensive haircuts. As if her straight blonde hair didn’t look perfect enough
already.
Tiffin
. What kind of name is that? The extra work I did last
night was solid, but every time I strive to get an edge, it washes away in the
tide.
My life obviously doesn’t have enough room for Carlos, but
how can I give him up now? He was so sweet and understanding last night. So
powerful and sexy. The first time we’d had sex was the best I’d ever had and it
keeps getting better and better.
My cell phone rings. “Hey,
querida
. How are you?”
“Sore,” I whisper so no one can hear me.
“Good. How’s the job going?” Carlos’ voice works its golden
magic on me, slowing down my frantic pace.
“Don’t ask. I’ve got to work all weekend.”
“What?”
“Big deadline,” I tell him.
“Another one? Let me guess. If you don’t do it, the world
will end.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t make jokes. My job is very important
to me.”
“Then why do you hate it so much?”
I have no answer for that. “I have to go.”
“Wait. I called because I want you to meet my friends
Sunday. We’re going to watch the football game at my condo.”
“Girl…friends?”
He laughs. “Relax. It’s just us dancer guys.”
For the first time all day I smile. I do want to be a part
of his very different life and I can’t do that if we only see each other alone.
“I like those odds,” I say.
“We usually pig out because Sunday is our only
eat-anything-we-want day. We’ll probably do pizza again.”
I close my eyes. Thinking about those hungry, muscular men
brings up images of my kitchen and the need to cook.
“Skip the pizza, Carlos. I’m bringing the food.”
His voice lowers, taking the heat from my annoyance and
sending it to other places. “You already know what I like to eat, but what are
you bringing for the other guys?”
My cunt burns with need from his reminder of last night.
“It’s a surprise.” It is to me too because I have no idea
yet what I’m going to prepare.
“What about your deadline?” he asks.
“I’ll just have to work extra hard on Saturday.”
* * * * *
On Sunday afternoon, I pull up to Carlos’ condo. The fatigue
from working all day yesterday, grocery shopping last night and cooking all
morning melts away from the excitement of finally seeing where he lives.
I carry a large tray of meatballs with me. The rest will
require more trips to unload. He lets me in and wastes no time taking the tray
from me, setting it down on an end table and pulling me into his arms.
“I missed you so much,” he whispers into my hair. “I was
afraid I wouldn’t get to see you today.”
“Yesterday I got a lot done,” I tell him, clinging to his
unique scent and warmth.
He’s wearing a cream-colored cable-knit sweater and
relaxed-fit jeans today. I’ve come to the conclusion the man looks good in
anything. I’m not so sure about myself. The lemon-yellow cardigan I have on has
been buried in my closet for years because it always looked too bright for me.
Cooking must have put me in a colorful mood.
As if remembering the meatballs, he picks up the tray and
heads to a modern-looking galley kitchen where nothing has handles and
everything is either white or silver.
Carlos sets the tray on the black countertop. “What did you
make?”
“See for yourself.”
He lifts the foil and inhales. “It smells great. You made
this?”
I nod, beaming with a pride I never feel at work. He’s
right. It does smell good enough to make my mouth water.
“I’m going to get fat hanging around you.”
When he rubs his stomach, I get the urge to slide my palm
under the sweater to bare abdominal muscle and rub it for him.
“I doubt that,” I add, inspecting the large blender he
probably uses to concoct healthy vitamin shakes.
“There’s beer, soda and green tea in the fridge,” he says,
pointing to it.
“Green tea?”
Avoiding my gaze, he opens a drawer and pulls out some
serving utensils. “I don’t drink.”
I pause to process this new information. Because of what
Zena told me about the stripper lifestyle, I assumed he’s the typical party
animal. It seems I have a lot to learn about Carlos.
With this new fact filed away in my mind, I head to the front
door. “There’s more food in the car.”
His eyebrows go up. “More?”
I look around. “I planned on feeding a bunch of hungry guys.
Where are they?”
“They’ll arrive soon. I wanted a few minutes alone with
you.”
We make a couple more trips to my car to bring in the rest
of the food—salsa, buffalo chicken sandwiches, potato salad, garlic-cheese
bread, spicy beans, and brownies for dessert. When it’s finally laid out on the
kitchen counters, I realize how much food there is.
“Did you really do all this?”
“I guess I did.” I laugh, hardly able to believe it myself.
“Everything is homemade. Even the salsa.”
He reaches for his wallet in his back pocket. “Let me pay
you for this.”
I shake my head, remembering the joyous blur of working in
my kitchen this morning. “It’s my treat.”
He dips a chip into the salsa and closes his eyes as if
savoring it. “
Excelente
. If you ever need a job, you could probably work
in my brother’s restaurant.”
Me? Work in a restaurant? I can’t imagine it. “You have a
nice place here.”
He takes my hand and lifts it in the air. “Allow me to give
you the grand tour,
señorita
.”
The living room has wood floors and a black leather couch
with a brightly patterned throw and matching pillows on it. His wide-screen TV
puts my old one to shame so I’m glad I didn’t suggest watching the game at my
place. The room looks out to a balcony.
“I’m impressed,” I say.
He waves. “This is nothing. I’m saving up for the house I’m
going to buy when I retire. Like I told you, I invested my money for the
future.”
The way he gazes into my eyes when he says
future
unhinges my knees.
“What kind of house do you plan to get?” What am I doing
asking these kinds of questions? It’s not as if we’re engaged.
He stares out the sliding-glass doors. “The particulars
don’t matter. It just needs to be a home—warm and comfortable. Maybe some nice
shade trees and a big deck in back for cookouts.”
Next, he puts his arm around me. “What kind of house do you
want, Janice?”
It’s a good thing I’m not drinking anything because I’d
choke on it. “I don’t know. The apartment is enough for me.”
“Come on. You deserve better than an apartment.”
“Okay. How about a nice kitchen with a window so I can see
outside when I cook.” As if I ever have time to cook. “Throw in some copper
pans hanging on the wall and maybe a spice rack. Better yet, fresh spices
drying in the rafters.”
He squeezes me closer. “That’s more like it. A woman like
you needs a home.”
Something unspoken hangs between us. What is he trying to
say? It can’t possibly be what I think it is, so I clamp my mouth closed. Damn
him for tempting me with the idea though.
A home with Carlos. It’s much too easy to picture.
He points to a red sports car pulling into the parking lot,
breaking the spell.
“Brian is here. Oh I almost forgot. I left a gift for you in
here.” He pulls me toward the bathroom. “I want you to wear it all afternoon.”
What in the world can it be? Does he expect me to dress up
as a cocktail waitress or something? This man is anything but predictable.
He flips on the light, revealing a room as large as my
bedroom. Shiny white surfaces, a mirror-smooth black tile floor and gleaming
chrome tell me he either really enjoys cleaning or has a maid service. Even the
thick gray towels look new and large enough to dry off an army. The only personal
touch is a nightlight shaped like a black bow tie.
My gaze follows his hands to a black velvet box on the
vanity. He opens it to reveal two shiny silver balls connected by a string.
I blink hard. “Ben Wa balls?”
“Good. You must already know what they are and what to do
with them.”
My throat convulses. “You want me to put those in now and
wear them all afternoon? Why?”
He traces a finger across the breast of my sweater. “Because
I’ll know they’re inside you and you’ll be wet and ready when I finally fuck
you.”
I gulp. Does he plan on doing that when the guys are still
here or afterward? The thought infuses my pussy with juicy tingles. I don’t
need balls to get wet.
The doorbell rings and we both jump.
“Lock the door and just do it, okay? Please?” Before I can
answer, he closes the bathroom door on me.
When I take the balls out of the box and set them on the
vanity, they echo. I can’t deny those dark, pleading eyes anything so I undo my
jeans and push them to my ankles, followed by my panties. The balls are cool as
they slide in, making me shiver. I push them so they’re far enough inside.
The voices outside make my hands shake. What if someone
really has to use the bathroom and breaks the flimsy lock without meaning to?
This is not the way I care to be seen when I meet Carlos’ friends.
Satisfied the balls are in far enough, I give the string a
good tug to check. The last thing I want is these balls to fall out. Why do I
keep letting that man talk me into things? I canceled last week’s date and he
showed up anyway. I told him I had to work this weekend, yet here I am.
The thought of him pulling the hot, wet balls out and
sliding his rigid cock in swells the lips of my cunt, making the spheres seem
twice their normal size. Okay, sometimes I like his surprises and this is one
of those times…I think. He has me so turned-on I almost need to climax before I
go out there, but there’s no time.
After pulling up my pants and washing my hands, I’m ready.
When I open the door, I see two other guys in the living
room. I walk with mincing, gingerly steps to make sure the balls stay put. If
only I weren’t so wet.
Carlos winks at me. “It’s about time you came out of there.
Why do women take so long in the bathroom?”
A scalding blush spreads across my face. Luckily the doorbell
rings again, taking the attention off me. Two more guys arrive, knocking fists
with Carlos in greeting. In total, I recognize the four other dancers from the
night at the club. Their footsteps echo on the wood floor.
Carlos beams with pride as he introduces me to everyone. “By
the way, Janice made the food.”
“Yeah?” Brian takes another bite from a piece of cheese
bread. “I figured this came from your brother’s restaurant.”
Monty, the one who danced as a mountain man, steps toward me
with muscles bulging under his plaid shirt. Offstage, he still looks his part
with wild green eyes and bushy, shoulder-length brown hair.
“Well, let’s show the little lady a big thank you.”
When they all come toward me, I fight the urge to hide under
the couch. They’re so big they could tear me to shreds if they want to. What do
they plan to do? Rip my pants off and pull out my Ben Wa balls?
I hope they’re not expecting group sex. Knowing Carlos’
unpredictability, anything is possible.
Monty grabs one of my legs and Vince, the vampire dancer
with a long, black ponytail, grabs the other. The other guys grab my calves and
I even feel a broad hand against my butt. I squeal as they lift me into the air
and walk me around the living room as if I’m a piece of furniture.
Oh crap!
These balls are going to pop out for sure.
They barely feel stable even when I just walk around with my legs close
together.
Carlos stands near the TV with his hands in his pockets,
grinning from ear to ear. Being accepted so quickly by his friends makes me
grin too.
“That’s enough, guys.” He flips on the TV. “Put her down.”
Vince helps lower me with a gallant flourish. “There you
are, my lady.”
In daylight, I realize his skin is naturally pale and he
wasn’t wearing makeup at the club. His blue eyes aren’t much darker. Cochise
just squints out the sliding-glass door, as if he’s searching for a distant
buffalo on the beltway.
These dancers are certainly unique. There’s one here to
please every type of woman and I know which one pleases me.
For the next several minutes, the men pour drinks and load
their plates with food while talking shop. By the time they’re done, my head
swims with runners, sets, group acts and side stages.
“Where’ve you been hiding her, Carlos?” Bombastic Brian asks
after devouring his umpteenth meatball.
It’s a good thing I made extra food. Brian could probably
eat at least half of it to feed his rapid metabolism.
Carlos takes a drink of green tea. “Our relationship is
pretty new.”
“Relationship?” Vince chortles. “Do I smell retirement,
bro?”
As he is about to take another bite of his sandwich, Carlos’
hand freezes in midair. “Sorry to disappoint you, but not yet. Both younger and
older women dig me right now.”
Older women.
That would be me.
While the other guys are deeply ensconced in the couch and
armchairs, I notice Carlos perches on an arm of the couch. Although the other
plates are loaded with food, his is spare, though he’s sampled everything I
prepared. They drink booze and soda, but he sips his green tea.