0 comments/ 13403 views/ 1 favorites Black By: emptyness The junk raced through my veins, icefire and numbing bliss, and in that moment of clarity I know I have to get out of here. Wild white roses sprinkle my vision, doing their best to block out the raunchy apartment I hid in. I almost smile, the muscles along my jaw clenching against the numbness. But then the roses start to bleed, blackened pus dripping down over their leaves and gathering on the tips of their thorns, falling like huge pearls of rain. Storm clouds fat with the drug billow so close to the ground I can reach out and touch them, feeling their tainted tears slide into the folds of my fingertips. I bury deeper into the inviting pillow of her lap, letting her hand brush the sweat and hair from my forehead, not entirely sure if she is actually touching me or if she is even here at all. I can hear my teardrops fall into the smooth silk of her lap as though they were the steady drumbeats of a lost and unheard tribe of no-ones and I knew I had to get out of here. I wasn't going anywhere. I clench the girl tighter and in the back of the fog and mess that covers my mind I wonder if my arm will go numb from forgetting to take the belt off. I wasn't going anywhere because I couldn't go anywhere, I realize; not like this. I stare into a velvet black that is speckled with tiny white explosions erupting at the end-tips of every nerve in my eyes. Besides, I didn't have anywhere to go. Black It was 6:30 p.m. He had a date tonight. In one hour to be precise. He had seen her the past 27 nights, each evening always new and refreshing. And he had never been late. But he had a few minutes to spare, so he leaned forward in his small shower stall and braced his powerful forearms and shoulders against the slick tile, the blistering stream of water sluicing down his broad back. It was amazing really, how they met. He had been free, unattached, and lounging on a wooden bench along the sidewalk, nursing a cup of black coffee. The day had been unremarkable, the wind blustery, pigeons cooing, people rushing in their private worlds. The comforting aroma of warm bread and coarse salt that made one wish they were home and hidden, away from the steel glare, concrete and bleakness of the job. No one took notice of him, but he wasn’t offended. Such is the way of his kind. And suddenly it had all changed. A teasing of wind, like a fine ruffle of fingertips along the dark matte of his hair, and he had glanced up with penetrating blue eyes. His best feature though few ever noticed. But she had. Weaving effortlessly through the throngs of people, her steps calm, unhurried but still with purpose. Her long black coat swung gently around her tall, lissom form, a perfect compliment to the thick luster of her wavy mane. A small, private smile curved the edges of her full, soft lips as she walked, oblivious to the other pedestrians. The rude blaring of a car horn never fazed her. He stared, entranced as she inclined her head towards him, the opaque darkness of her eyes clashing with the light of his for one stunning moment. The wind had strengthened, shifted. His cup of coffee toppled to the pavement, a bitter pool staining and unnoticed. Immediately rising, he had followed her down the busy sidewalk where shortly thereafter, she entered a large office building and disappeared into an elevator. Determined not to lose her, he had cajoled the reluctant receptionist to release the enigmatic stranger’s address and phone number. A brilliant smile combined with a secretive wink truly were potent persuasion. And he had seen his dark beauty that very night and each night since then. Pulled from his reverie by the now lukewarm water, he shook his head to clear the indulged memories of her, spiky strands splaying across his forehead. The shower had taken too long; he was late, and that was unacceptable. He had never disappointed her, and wouldn’t start now. The clothes he had chosen for the evening lay meticulously on the bed. Black pants, a black wool turtleneck, black socks and shoes. Even his boxer briefs were black. He wore this outfit faithfully each night, but she never complained. Dressing methodically, he palmed his keys and plunged the house into sepulcher silence, eager for the night to begin. Alternately slipping into shadow and reappearing in the orange glow of interstate lamps, the large motor purred as he guided his sleek, black truck seamlessly through the now familiar route to her home, his thoughts once again shifting to her. Though he had only known her for a relatively short time, she had become his world. He shared her joys, suffered when she wept, shouldered her weariness, and guarded her when she drifted off to sleep. He had even witnessed her intimately, the arch of her graceful back as she approached climax, the high airy cry that spiraled from her lips, deep crimson with arousal. The flutter of fingertips around the slender vibrating tube she pressed tightly to her pulsating clit. And he had come with her, male cream spurting hotly, cherishing her lazy smile of satisfaction and repletion. He groaned at the memory and pressed the accelerator harder, his growing erection bulging tightly against his jeans. Finally at last, he reached her neighborhood and parked in a dark alley, choosing to walk the last quarter mile. Her home was the last on the block, a simple yet cozy structure of dark pine, brick and glass secluded behind a grove of trees. It was this grove he entered, melting into the thick foliage, eyes reflexively adjusting to the darkness though it wasn’t necessary. He knew the path to the rear of her house by heart. Settling into the worn patch of pine needles partially hidden by a large branch, he breathed a sigh of relief. 7:23 p.m. The house was dark. He wasn’t late. The scant extra minutes providing him time to compose and prepare, straighten his clothing. He would not give her reason to send him away like the others did. They had labeled him dirty and unfit, his intentions black and obscene. But he wasn’t bothered their claims, it merely gave him reason to find another. And then he had found her. His goddess of the violet twilight. He would never abandon her. No movement save for the crisp autumn breeze drying his damp hair, he waited. Soft amber halogen appeared in the growing dim, the low whine of a slowing engine. A large gray vehicle materialized from the evening mist and turned slowly onto the paved driveway, disappearing under the garage door. It was her. Metal clicking to concrete, a drawbridge effectively closed. The queen was in her castle. The thud of his heart suddenly sounded painfully loud in the ensuing quiet. Blue heat in his eyes, he traced her path through the rooms, as one by one, soft lighting illuminated each window. An invitation. Unlike the others, only gauzy veil draped the glass, a glowing portal. And in the deepest region, the bedroom, there was no barrier at all. He reveled in this knowledge, that she wanted to hide nothing from him. Bare all her secrets. The others had been afraid of him, of his black demands. But not her, his nocturnal mistress. Shifting on the balls of his feet, he watched her mechanically flip through the day’s mail and fix a light supper, each morsel slipping into the dark recesses of her mouth. Dumping the remnants, she flicked the light off, once again the night covered her in its protective cloak, obscuring her from his merciless scrutiny. But he not was troubled. He knew her patterns by this time, knew her habits well. A low, mocking laugh rumbled his broad chest, as he stealthily crept closer to her bedroom, blending into a shadowed eave. Nothing could hide her from him. He was the night. Black, omnipotent, inevitable. Their date would begin in earnest now. She was ready, would perform for him, at his direction. There was nowhere for her to go that the darkness wouldn’t find her. With a defeated sigh, the window relinquished its treasure, and she was there, a shimmering vision of obsidian and ivory, long legs and velvet mysteries. Unable to breathe, he watched her light an iron candelabra, three crimson tapers flaring to dance merrily in her eyes. Crossing her arms, she lifted the edges of her sweater and pulled it over her head, the expensive cashmere tumbling onto the matching carpet of dove gray. She turned her back to him and reached for the fastening of her knee length skirt and unzipped it slowly, wiggling her rounded hips and stepping out of the pooled fabric. Shallow, rapid breaths now, he freed his throbbing cock from the confining denim, not taking his eyes off of her. Stroking the blood engorged shaft while she stood for a moment, tall and regal in black thigh high stockings, matching lace demi-bra and stiletto heels. Full, creamy breasts proudly jutting from the scant bra cups, he could see the dusky shadows of each areola. Stroking faster, his large thumb skimming the sensitized head, powerless in the enchantment of luscious curves and silky waves. Every sweet inch, all his to behold. He nearly groaned aloud in the perfection of her, of the night, when suddenly she pivoted sharply on one spiky heel, bending at the waist, searching. He wanted to slide his tongue between the top of stocking and the lush, sloping underside of her peach-shaped ass. Wanted to slap the twin mounds and taste the scented patch of flesh while she bent over for him. At last she straightened and depressed the call button on the cordless phone, holding the device against the soft shell of her ear, speaking in a low, warm tone. The sudden quivering in his limbs had nothing to do with the prolonged crouching, but instead was the fury, the indignance of who would dare interrupt their date. He should leave his patient vigil at her window and storm rightfully into her bedroom, watch her soft red lips form that O of surprise. He should punish her. Force her to watch him stroke his pulsating shaft in her face. No, she wouldn’t be allowed to touch. He wouldn’t permit it. She would suffer the absence of his cock in her silky mouth. Her hungry, heated gaze on his angry frown, the meddlesome chatter assaulting her ear, he would coax every salty drop into her smooth palm and silently command her to massage the scalding cream into the patent leather of those fuck me heels. Watching her struggle to conversate and rub, pinned by the warning in his icy stare, daring her to lick even a single droplet from her slender fingers. This would be her lesson, to never disrupt their precious evenings again. A mute order for her to walk about the room, the damnable modern device clutched in her hand. Black lace and lust incarnate. Candlelight gleaming in the slick leather of those shoes, in his cream encasing her small feet. Every step, an acknowledgment of who she obeyed. He would yank her to his stern face, fist coiled in the wild, ebony mane. Need, a yearning plea in her eyes; his own remote and derisive. She would already know his answer. Words were never needed between them, their language existed in her shuddering sigh, in the back of his tanned fingers lightly tracing the curve of her flushed cheek. No, my love, my little cockslut. There will be no reprieve for you this evening. The loud smack across her soft flesh, her responsive purr. A bruise, black and marking. The exotic hoot of an owl floated through the chilly mist, and he exhaled harshly, easing the death grip on his throbbing shaft. Blinking rapidly, the vision had been so clear in his mind, he frantically searched the window for her. Her lacy bra hung on the bed post, the intrusive phone lay harmlessly on the luxurious black comforter. He gasped audibly as she exited the adjoining bathroom, framed in wisps of steam, wearing only the sheer thigh highs and a peaceful smile. His renewed lust surged almost painfully, swollen balls tightening in exquisite torture. Sinking into the mattress, she pointed a maroon toe and hooked her thumbs beneath the elastic band, deliberately rolling the hosiery down her supple calf and onto the floor. Completely nude, she lay back on the firm mattress and stretched, arching the long line of her back, raising both legs and spreading wide. He could clearly see her mauve, dewy petals, the hidden pucker of her fuckhole. Echoing her groan of contentment, the brazen temptress. She loved to torment him, unabashedly display what in so short a time had become irrevocably his. Tonight she would have mercy on him and refrain from pleasuring herself. He knew that she realized by allowing him to be with her each night was in itself a monumental gift. Surely, she must know that his every desire was hers to reciprocate. Rolling from the bed with catlike precision to stand on her tiptoes, she stretched one final time, pert breasts thrust impossibly high, her satin belly taut. She glanced once at the barren window, into the black void of forest and then slipped into the jets of steam. He gratefully used her brief absence to collect his scattered senses, breathing slow and controlled. The cramped muscles in his legs screamed for relief as he hadn’t noticed their plight earlier, having been totally enthralled with her seductive entreaty. Only his cock remained unswayed, its steely length still pounding, a single drop of precum adorned the head, its demand oblivious to the chilly air. A muffed click. The squeak of unused hinges. Sounds incongruous to the night. He froze, shrinking back against the brick as she stepped onto the patio adjacent to the bedroom. Still moist from the shower, clad in a silk robe of the purest snow, an apparition bathed in moonbeams, lightly curling her fingers around the iron railing. One lunge and he would be able to touch her, sink his trembling fingers into that inky spill of hair, gaze into the endless pool of her eyes. He could cover her hands with his own, let the black steel bite into her clean flesh as he tore the offensive cloth from her damp skin replacing it with his own. Loose himself in the frantic clamor of her hips against the unrelenting tumescence of his cock teasing her slick pussy. Biting, growling along her spine, branding. The night rejoicing in her agony, hoarding each whimper that escaped her throat. And she would welcome him, beg for him, surrender to his possession with each undulation of those splendid hips. No. NO. Knuckles bleeding pale with the effort to stay hidden, tiny pinpricks of desperation exploding behind the azure of his eyes. He would never defile her, never stain a single centimeter of her skin with his black motives, his bane of unrequited lust. She lifted a cigarette to her parted lips, igniting the thin paper and inhaling deeply. His angel. He could do nothing but worship her, stroke his cock harder with each pull of her mouth on the cylindrical tube. Tendrils of smoke circled lazily, forming an eerie halo in the radiant moonlight. Finishing, she crushed the remaining embers and retreated into the house. At the definitive latch click, ensuring her safety, he lost his erotic battle and ejaculated, the searing wave of semen splashing onto the still warm railing where her hands had curved only minutes before. A living pearl necklace, glimmering thickly on the dull metal. A man should always bring his date a gift. His desire sated, a black beast caged for now, he sat back on his heels as she removed the robe, draping it over the bed post and slipped under the soft cotton sheets. Sooty eyelashes fanning her translucent cheeks, she drifted into the arms of Morpheus. Hours passed, the moon reluctantly deferred to the insistent hint of the Eastern sky. He remained, protecting his sleeping beauty until the golden rays threatened to expose his black vigil. And then, only then did he leave her. But the darkness would come again, night would once more seduce the land, and he would arrive to claim her for another dance in the shadows. Until then, my love, he whispered, placing his hand on the window, a bedewed promise. Oh how he hated the morning. Black 2-Piece Swimsuit It was Saturday morning. I'd been up since eight o'clock and had made coffee and was reading the paper when I noticed what a nice day it would be to spend some time outside. She was still asleep but I knew she had carte blanc at her friends house and I knew they were out of town for the weekend. I finished a cup of coffee and without awakening her, I packed a cooler and some snacks and then found the overnight bag and packed the beach towels and some t-shirts and still, without her stirring, was able to find her 2-piece soft, black swimsuit and some suntan oil. I quietly placed it all near the back door, fixed her a cup of coffee and went into the bedroom and sat beside her. Gently waking her, I put two pillows under her head and eased the coffee into her hands, holding it until I was sure she was awake enough to handle it. "Good morning, sweetheart," I said, and began to stroke her thighs, through the bedspread, as she sipped her coffee and smiled at me, cautiously. She then asked what had she done to deserve this and I told her it wasn't what she'd done, but what she was going to do that deserved the extra attention this morning. She smiled, but I could tell she wanted to know more. When I had explained my thoughts, she was pleasantly surprised and, in less time than I'd anticipated, we were on the way to her friends house across town. They had a lovely house and, as you've probably guessed by now, a really nice pool with a fabulous 2-story pool house. Glass French doors lead into the downstairs where there was a fully operable 'Rowe' juke box full of 60's music and a nice sitting area with a bar/kitchenette to the left. Upstairs there was a large game room with a bedroom area to the right. It was a very nice layout and we had the entire place to ourselves. To start the morning, we changed into our swimsuits and I fixed two tequila sunrises. We then turned on some music, opened the doors and sat at a table on the veranda, where, looking out over the pool, we were trying to decide if the shrubs would hide us sufficiently from the neighbors' upstairs windows. In the end, we either felt they would or that it didn't matter. The sun was high enough now, that we moved over by the pool and helped each other put on some Coppertone #4 sunscreen. We relaxed awhile, mainly talking about how good it was to be able to fully enjoy life together as we do. In time, I felt the urge to get wet, so I got up and eased over to the edge of the pool and reluctantly stuck my foot down in the water. To be early June, it was pretty warm, I thought. Easing further and further down into the water, I soon found that it wasn't quite as warm as I had thought, and started smiling as I thought about the Seinfeld "Shrinkage" episode. When I was completely submerged, it felt much better and I was able to swim without any problem at all as my body adjusted to the water temperature. It took a few tries, but I finally coaxed her to at least the edge, and much the same as I, she eventually overcame her misgivings and swam into my arms. How very nice. Her skin was smooth and tanned and her legs were beautifully built. Her smile was magnificent as always, maybe a little more so today, even, with the glistening water droplets on her lips. We swam for a little while and when I was back at the shallow end, I sat down on one of the steps, still submerged, except for my shoulders and neck, and waited until she came close and reached for her arms. She pulled herself up to me and, at the same time, lifted her knees so that when she was close enough to sit down on me her legs were up beside me. It was very nice, indeed. She leaned forward and we kissed, and kissed, and I could feel the top of her 2-piece rubbing against my chest and her thighs moving ever so slightly with the movement of the water across my legs. I raised my body up slowly and pulled my swimsuit down and she reached back and helped me get it over my feet and then tossed it aside, into the clear water beside her. I was starting to get aroused by now and when we looked down, we could see the contrast of the head of my shaft against her suit's black semi-bikini bottom. Most of my hardness was hidden underneath her as the sensitive skin along it's underside was pressed tightly against the soft material that separated us. I could tell she wanted to feel more of me and she raised her body and floated effortlessly as I helped her remove the bottom half (if you could call it that) of her swimsuit. We were now pressed against each other's flesh with my shaft halfway buried along the length of her splendor and the head alone, again, was showing, this time, visible through the floating dark, curls of hair that so nicely covered her desire. Once more, the contrast was remarkable as we both looked again, and again, marveling at the intimacy we were both witnessing and experiencing. Slowly, more and more of my smooth, hard shaft came into view, continually growing harder and harder beneath the slow and tantalizing movement of her body. When I sensed she was ready, I braced my legs a bit and allowed her to slide back some and she leaned back, enabling me to reach down and guide myself into her. Fully aroused, I slid into her more easily than ever before. Easier, it seemed, than when she was soaking wet from foreplay or from just plain hunger and desire. Yet, still, I could feel the sensation of the lips of her finely shaped pussy as they firmly surrounded my shaft. Holding her smooth but firm ass, i slid her closer and closer and as i pulled her to me, I glanced over her glistening shoulder to make sure no one was hanging out their upstairs windows, watching in shock and amazement, this wonderful, sensual event. She pressed hard against me and we kissed again, passionately, hungrily. Then, moving my hands up to her waist, i helped her as she began to slide up and back on my thighs. She even leaned back some so I could watch as my white shaft repeatedly appeared and disappeared against the flowing curls of her beautiful mound. Soon, the pool was heaving with violent waves, as our thrusts began to increase in frequency and intensity. When it was time, we both came at once, simultaneously releasing all of our pent up passion, our overwhelming desire. We thrust our bodies at each other until we were spent and exhausted and when it was over, she collapsed into my arms. After we caught our breath, we kissed again, slowly, softly, lovingly. I leaned her back and we watched as the little clouds of semen floated in the water between us, some of which deposited themselves all throughout the soft curls surrounding my still hard shaft and some of which were floated away by the remaining waves. The now calm waves gave a hardly a clue to the passion and ecstasy that had just taken place in that nice, clear water. How very nice. Black The day was finally here. She was going to meet the man who had captivated her imagination and who had driven her nearly mad with desire. This is her story, the story of lust and longing brought to fruition, finally, after months of cultivation. She could only hope that it would be as good and memorable as she dreamed. She could only hope that she’d be able to relax with this man and make her steamy promises come true. It was so easy to be sensual when distance separated you, would it be easy in person. Could he pierce the wall she had built so carefully around herself? Could he thaw the “Ice Princess” as she’d been called. Could she abandon herself to this clandestine meeting? Could she let herself be taken at his will? The anticipation was smothering her, and it was time to find out. She took her time and dressed very carefully that morning. She wanted the first impression to be good. She had been talking to this man for about a month now, and they were finally going to meet. The night before, she had spent extra time on a pedicure and manicure. Her nails were done in French tips, and her toes were just shaped and topped with clear lacquer. She had chosen to dress completely in black. She had chosen to wear a black lace thong, black lace topped thigh high stockings, her black lace bra, and her black slip. She was going to wear her black dress suit and black ankle strap shoes, because she knew they made her legs and feet look sexy. Her perfume was applied to strategic spots, in her cleavage, inside of each elbow, inside of each wrist, in the bend of each knee, at the back of her neck, behind each ear, and on her tummy. She was dressed. She put the finishing touches on her hair that shone with blonde highlights. Her makeup was carefully chosen to bring out the green fire in her eyes. She was ready. She hoped. She arrived at the restaurant 30 minutes early, as was her habit with any appointment, and asked for a seat in the corner. This afforded her the opportunity to see everyone who came into the restaurant. She did not want any surprises at this point. She was waiting, breathlessly, watching closely for him to arrive. She recognized him at once, even though she had never seen even a picture of him. He was tall and muscular, shiny dark hair, and he was flawlessly groomed. He, too, was dressed entirely in black. He wore a black tee shirt under black leather bomber jacket and black slacks. So far, so good. He leaned down to ask the hostess for a Ms. X, and the hostess gave him a startling smile, spoke to him, and began to lead him back through the room to her table. "Is this acceptable?" The hostess asked, referring to the table. He smiled at her, a slow, easy smile, looked at Ms. X, and said, "It's perfect, just perfect, thank you very much," he answered. The hostess smiled and left them. She was sipping on a cup of coffee, examining him over the rim. He didn't move, he just stood there and looked deep into her green eyes and smiled that same slow, easy smile he had given the hostess, but his eyes had taken on a deeper color. "May I?" he asked, and motioned toward the chair across from her. "By all means." she said. He pulled out the chair and sat down with the slow ease of someone who was very comfortable with himself and his surroundings. The waiter asked for his drink order and he said "I'll just have ice water. I don't want to dull my senses," he added under his breath. She chuckled, deep in her throat, a low, growling, sexy chuckle. "You think you might be needing those senses later?" she asked. "Yes, certainly." he said. "You'll need yours also." The waitress brought a bowl of fresh strawberries and whipped cream to the table. She said "I hope you like strawberries, since it's early I took the liberty of ordering fruit." She reached out and picked up a berry, dipped it in the cream, and slowly raised it to her lips, sinking her teeth into the flesh. "Mmmm. Just right." she said. They sat there for about a half an hour talking about matters. They negotiated. They told each other that neither was looking for a reason to leave home, and neither wanted any strings attached. Only one bargain was made and that was they both agreed to email the other the next day with a one word review, critique, or assessment of the session they were about to embark on. "Have you made the arrangements?" she asked. "Certainly," he replied. He rose, held her chair, and they left the restaurant together. He pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. He got out, came around to her door and held the door for her. As they walked in, he held her elbow and opened the door, guiding her through the lobby and into the elevator. As soon as the door closed on them, he pushed the stop button, and turned to her. Before she knew it, she was swept into his arms. "I've been longing to do this for such a long time now. I'm dying to find out if your fire burns as hot as your imagination and as your words convey." And then, his mouth was on hers, gently, questioningly. Her hands came up to cup his head softly, and her lips parted to grant him entry into her sweet mouth. He could still taste the strawberries there, and a muffled groan escaped his lips. He said "Just an appetizer, I don't want to rush this, I want to savor you like you did those berries. Your lips working on them was making me imagine them working on something else, and was quite distracting." He started the elevator, and they proceeded up. The room was plush. There was a small sitting area with a couch and comfortably over stuffed chairs. The bedroom area was spacious, and there was a king sized four-poster bed right in the center of it. A fireplace crackled against the wall. The covers were turned back, and she could hear soft music lilting through the air. There were roses on the nightstand on either side of the bed, casting an intoxicating aroma into the room, which blended perfectly with his fragrance. He was standing too close and she could nearly feel the heat coming from him. He had removed his jacket and casually laid it across the chair in the sitting room. He had also removed his shoes and was sock footed. "I hope you don't mind," he said. "Not at all," she said, and she lifted her leg to remove her shoe. He reached out his hand and said, "No, don't." "If those stockings are stockings as I imagine them to be, please leave them on, I've always wanted to make love to a woman wearing nothing but stockings and heels." She smiled and said "Well, then, you'll just have to find out, won't you?" He needed no further encouragement. He was behind her. He removed her jacket and was unzipping her dress, slowly, his breath feathering hotly on the back of her neck. He said "Are you wearing black everywhere? God, it looks so nice on your creamy white skin." She just sighed as he lowered her dress and hung it up carefully so it would not wrinkle. Then, he was back, and she stood there in her black bra and slip. She slid the silky slip down her hips and legs, slowly, wiggling a little bit as it went, and never taking her gaze from his eyes, smiling. Then, she stood there in nothing but a black thong, bra, black lace topped stockings, and the ankle strap heels. He smiled. "I knew it." "Sweet, very sweet." "The contrast of the black and your light coloring is breathtaking, especially with those fire emeralds you have for eyes." He was there, his arms enfolding her, kissing her deeply, exploring her mouth with his tongue, tasting, teasing, enticing. His hands were running all over her, her cheeks, her hair, her neck, and then he put a finger in the cleavage created by the lacy bra. "Mmm, you are so soft." Then her bra was gone and her breasts were bared to his gaze. She could feel the heat of his eyes piercing her flesh. "Oh, God, they're lovely." And his mouth engulfed a nipple as he pressed her lower body to his, making a grinding motion with his hips. "Feel it, he said. "It's all for you. I want to fill you with myself, every orifice of your body is going to be filled with me." She adjusted her body so that he could have full access to her breast as he nuzzled it, nibbled it, and finally sucked the nipple deep and hard into his mouth, biting the tip of it just enough to make it hurt. They backed to the bed, and he lay her down on it, removing her thong and looking down at her there, wearing only black stockings and heels. "I'm going to worship your body with mine." he breathed. Then he was on her, covering her body with kisses, firey, hot kisses. His finger entered her warm hot pussy as her legs opened for him. She moaned "mmm, yess, you make me want you so bad." He grunted, and kneeled between her legs. He poised there, holding his cock in his hand and teasing her clit with it like it was a dildo. Rubbing against her, feeling her getting hotter and wetter. She said "Oh, yes, you're so good. You're going to make me beg you for it, aren't you?" "Do you want it?" he asked with a raspy voice. "Yes, I want you." He plunged into her, all at once, fierce, hard, full, and held there. He took her legs and wrapped them around his waist, and conquered her mouth with his. He stopped and told her "Now, I'm going to possess you everywhere." His mouth crashed on hers, his tongue thrusting deep, over and over, matching the rhythm of the thrusts of his cock in her cunt. He reached around and inserted his finger into the tight little opening of her ass, and she heard his breath gush out and a muffled 'MMM." She said "Yes, yes, yes. fuck my cunt and my mouth and my ass all at the same time, make me cum." He took her mouth again and rhythmatic thrusting continued for an eternity. She felt the storm building and raging in her body and tore her mouth away. She began to moan and whimper, a hot, wanton sound. “ I'm going to cum and milk your cock with my hot wet pussy. I want your hot load deep inside me, oh yes," she chanted. The storm began. Her muscles tightened, her body became rigid, her cunt was contracting and squeezing him like a velvet glove, milking, pleading. She said "I'm absolutely burning, put out my fire, put it out now, hose me down with that hot stuff, oh, now." She was lost in the throes of orgasm, writhing and jerking like someone convulsing, her cunt milking him, squeezing, squeezing, and he came ….oh God, he came.......... hard. He rammed his cock into her and grabbed her hips and held her there, shooting hot jets of cum deep into her body. She was screaming with delight, and he said "It's all for you, yes, mmmm, yes." His finger was all the way in her ass, and his cock was deep in her pussy, spraying hot thick cum deep inside her. His mouth took hers for the final thrust. The next day, he opened his e-mail and her message was "Mindfuckingblowing." She opened hers and it said simply .......... "Anytime." Black It was fucking cold. The wind whipped around the city mercilessly, snatching foliage from vulnerable trees and leaving garbage cans scattered in its wake. Fall came abruptly this year in Philadelphia. Only last week the temperature had been in the sixties, allowing the city's residents the option to go sleeveless. Now everyone wore jackets, whether they liked it or not. Ace slipped his rough, tattooed fingers around the cup of hot water he had just purchased and slipped out of the local bodega. Like everyone else, he was unprepared for the quick drop in temperature. Not a tea drinker, he'd ordered a cup and refused the generic tea bag before Mr. Bautista slipped it inside. The liquid warmed his cool fingertips instantly, leaving them with a tingling sensation. His alertness was second nature, a learned habit apparent by the easy way he scanned his surroundings as he walked toward Fifth Street. Ace's phone vibrated in his pocket with urgency, but he ignored it. It wasn't until the third series of tremors that he fished the BlackBerry out of his pocket. "Yes?" "You need to start answering your phone, I hate when you do that shit," An annoyed male voice scolded. It was obvious from the unusually deep and raspy tone that this guy had just greeted the sun. "I hate when you drawl like a bitch, but there's nothing I can do about that either. What's the deal, man?" Ace slipped his hood over his low cut and changed direction as he spoke to his best friendÑhis only friend. He knew without question that the early morning call was out of necessity, so his instincts took over and lead him towards Imar's house. He wondered if Imar's mother was home. If she were, his visit would either disturb her sleep or grind her gears. She didn't approve of her son having him for a friend and made no attempts to hide that fact from Imar. She was a classy lady, though, Ace acknowledged that. Miss Graham was nothing but cordial to him when he was around. She offered him juice or breakfast and asked how his family was doing-- to which he always smiled and declined to answer. Afterward, she would give Imar a knowing glance and lecture him about his choice of friends. It was a fifteen-year-old tradition. His smooth, tan fingers danced on the keypad, dialing Imar as he climbed the front steps that lead to the porch. "You outside? Its open." "Nah, come out. I don't want to get her started." "Its only me and Iverlei here. Stop being a bitch and come inside." His butter colored construction boots crossed the threshold, meeting the black carpet. The faint scent of jasmine and the lines in the carpet revealed that it had just been vacuumed. The small row home was immaculately clean and modestly decorated. Ace's phone vibrated quickly. Text message. Upstairs Papi. He trod the stairs quietly and entered the room in the center of the hall. Sparse plumes of marijuana smoke wafted around the space, eventually trailing towards the open window. Imar stood bare-chested and clad in plaid boxers that peeked over basketball shorts, padding the ash from end of his joint into a glass ashtray. His smooth, caramel skin still glistened with beads of water from the shower. Damp, shoulder-length dreadlocks were held in place by a black elastic band that was almost invisible amongst the neatly wound hair. Imar wrapped his pink lips around the joint and pulled before releasing smoke from his mouth, then sucking it up his nose like a vacuum. "Smoking before class? You the worst," Ace chided, taking a seat on the neatly made full-sized bed. "I'm going to a recitation, its not even lecture. I'm high during the lecture sometimes too, though. But yo, I called you over to ask you something serious. You know I wouldn't even fuck with your schedule like that." Imar peered out of the blinds, a pensive look on his face. He put his hand out, extending the joint. "I figured." Ace took it between his thumb and forefinger and took a pull only an experienced stoner could handle. He had been smoking weed since he was eleven. Ace was the one who influenced Imar to take up the craft. "Are you messing with those South Philly heads?" "I do my shit solo, y tu sabes. Something making you worry?" "I overheard one of them getting riled up about 'some Puerto Rican.' They seemed like they was on that jealous shit, and you- I know you handle yourself, but I know you're doing well, too-" Ace smirked, "You know how many rice and beans-eating motherfuckers in this city, Imar? I know what's going on, and it doesn't concern me. I know you're in love with me you fucking fag, but you don't need to worry." "They were talking about bodying this bull. You know who..?" "Yeah, I know who." Imar's face almost turned sullen. He took a pull and decided to head to the closet to find something to put on for the day. "He deserves it?" "That's not my place to say, I'm no God. He crossed a line, though." "Nobody deserves that shit, Ace. Nobody," Imar quipped, more aggressively than Ace expected. He leaned over and handed the statuesque figure on his bed the joint before sliding into a pinstriped button down. A rap at the door pulled Ace from his musings. He pointed and mouthed Iverlei? Imar nodded and responded with an annoyed, "Yes?" "I'm making break-" The soft voice paused. The door creaked as it opened slightly. A woman's oval head appeared between the door and its frame, surrounded by wet, inky black hair. She appeared surprised to see Ace sitting on the bed, holding half of a fat joint. Her pink lips, identical in thickness and tone to her brother's, formed a slight smile. "Hey. Um, Imar? I'm making myself breakfast, do you want anything?" "Toast," he grumbled. "Thanks." "Yeah." Ace gazed into her inky black eyes unabashedly, watching as they darted guardedly between her brother and himself. He caught a glimpse of her bare shoulder. A droplet of water beaded down from the tips of her soft, spongy coils. He swallowed, aware of the taut feeling in the bottom of his stomach. His stomach grumbled. Loud. "I'll put some toast in for you, too." She slipped out as quickly as she came, knowing that he would not gratify her with a response. "Fuck him, he can go buy a breakfast hoagie or something. I bought that bread," Imar joked, grabbing a pair of jeans and socks. "Keep your bread, I was just leaving." Ace stood, walking to the door in an almost trans-like state. He skipped stairs on the descent, not bothering to say goodbye to the man he considered a friend, or his sister. Well, he didn't intend to. "I just put in your toast." He stopped at the door, his curious hazel eyes turning to meet Iverlei's gaze. Her wide, doe eyes were the color of the darkest coal, and glistened like glossy marbles. She wore an oversized community service tee shirt that was damp in places, clinging to her soft brown thighs. She was short in stature, almost a full foot smaller than him. Ace wet his bottom lip with his tongue unconsciously. "Not hungry." Ace was a mystery to Iverlei. His tall, slightly muscular figure was ever-present in her life but she knew little to nothing about him. He was about 23. Of Puerto Rican and Nigerian descent. A naturalized citizen, but she was unsure where he was born. He spoke the Pidgin English of the Nigerians as well as he did Spanish. He went to school with her brother and graduated a few years ahead of him. He was from the Badlands originally, the predominately Latino section of North Philadelphia. She was unsure of where he lived now, but Iverlei knew it was close because of how quickly he came over after Imar's calls. He drove an old, black Expedition. He was beyond sexy. Although she could rarely recall seeing him with women, she had frequently heard gossip and stories about chicks fucking with him. He had quite the reputation. "You're a bad liar. Come?" There was something about the soft manner that she said the word 'come' that weakened his resolve. Although he decided not to leave before his toast, Ace stood firm, refusing to come into the kitchen. Iverlei smiled softly, turned, and walked to the kitchen. Ace turned his head instead of staring, but mental pictures of her wet hair invaded his mind. Unlike a lot of the girls in the city, Ivy didn't straighten her hair with heat or products. In its natural state, it was extremely coily and dense with a fluffy texture. It was woolen, with the tiniest spirals at the ends of each strand. She was a different kind of girl, and her hair was just the surface. Ace would watch her come home from school, always alone. In skinny jeans, a simple camisole and Chuck Taylors or Nike Dunks most of the time, with an oversized backpack slung over her shoulders. She would go to her room, isolating herself from the rest of the world. The smooth sounds of some obscure music artist would waft out of her closed door not too long after. "Here. Have a good day, okay?" Iverlei handed him the pieces of buttered toast wrapped in a paper towel. He took them gratefully, his eyes lingering on her gaze a bit too long. She stared at the tiny cross tattoo below the corner of his bright eyes. His wet lips. Her nipples strained against the tee shirt, causing her to cross her arms over them. She's just a baby, Ace mused as he pulled the doorknob. Body is grown, his unconscious replied, flooding his thoughts with pictures of her soft, brown flesh tangled in his moss green sheets. They would compliment her tone. He wondered if her body would accommodate him. Whether she was a screamer or a crier. Maybe she purred. Maybe she was a 'gripper', one of the girls who could force their pelvic muscles to contract around his girth, holding him in place. That drove him insane. He sighed, releasing his thoughts with a breath. This was not the first time he had thought about Ivy in the biblical sense. No harm, he thought. He knew that he would not act on his thoughts. She was a good girl who deserved a good guy. A college guy like her brother. Maybe a pretty frat boy. Or one of those radical, intellectual Afrocentrics who would call her his Isis or Auset. Yeah, she would dig that. He took off towards the street, steeling his mind and preparing for a day of the roughest kind of work.