0 comments/ 58292 views/ 2 favorites Miss Lulu Comes to Hollywood By: jay.palin "The FHA inspector's here for your meetin', Hal," said the secretary over my cell phone. I was away from the office, checking on foundation work done that week in a 100 home government-funded housing development my company was building in Tennessee for victims displaced by Gulf Coast hurricanes. This was the third Friday meeting I'd had with the inspector – Lucretia – since the Phase One contract had been signed. A professional civil engineer, she was a stunning, light-skinned, 30-year-old African-American woman from southeastern Tennessee who'd lobbied her government agency for the watchdog position. She'd grown up in a little hamlet nearby and knew a great deal about the area near Manchester, plus she'd worked her way up in the Federal Housing Administration for eight years. I put on my funky tee shirt, which immediately clung to me with sweat from the oppressive southern heat. "Should've shaved and brought a real shirt," I mumbled to myself as I drove the pickup down the dusty gravel road to the project's office, a doublewide mobile home which included a small bedroom, bathroom and kitchenette. Lucretia would probably show up in jeans, boots and a simple top anyway, I thought. The blistering local climate had a way of dictating a very informal style of clothing on construction sites, regardless of one's high official position. So, in the design/build company in which I was a junior partner, I'd gotten used to boots and jeans on this project; those and the sweaty tee that now clung to my torso like an oppressive second skin. As I burst into the air-conditioned office, however, I immediately felt like a slob. Sitting near our secretary in a guest chair was a very curvy black girl – looking like a local high schooler – dressed in a wispy black skirt ending at her beautiful knees. On top she wore a skin-tight, white, short sleeved, ribbed cotton top with a scooped neck that hugged what must have been 36D breasts. In a split second my eyes devoured her lovely, V-shaped face, cluster of long mini braids pulled into a ponytail by a red bandana, and a large rhinestone "M" on a silver chain around her smooth, flawless neck that nestled in the deep valley of her dark chocolate cleavage. The large silver bag she was carrying on one satiny shoulder – complemented by a silver belt cinched around an impossibly small waist – and matching flip-flop sandals on her dainty feet, completed the appetizing picture. I stood over her and asked – a bit roughly – "Are you here to see me?" "No, suh," she responded. "Ah'm waitin' fo' Miss Lucretia," she purred sweetly in that Cumberland foothill accent which, after three weeks of hearing it spoken by local women, made my groin throb. Her eyes dropped bashfully to the floor as she finished her sentence. I continued looking down at her and felt a couple of quick, horny pulses in my genitals, since she looked positively edible. "Oh. Well, we shouldn't be too long," I grunted, a bit distracted by this girl's discomfiting effect on me. I entered the conference room down the hall, closing its door, and saw Lucretia standing and poring over house plans on my drawing board with her back to me. "Sorry I'm late, Lucretia. Did you get coffee?" "No thanks, Hal. Just wanta check your preliminary designs today, t' see if they're up to code," she said, virtually ignoring my presence. Like the young girl outside, Lucretia had dressed up, causing my horny juices to keep flowing. It was the first time I'd seen her except in baggy jeans. I scratched at my scraggly, three-day growth of blond beard and moved toward her, standing slightly behind and to the left, as she made notes in red on the draft plans and toyed sexily with a backless high heel on one foot. Since I'd moved to the site a month earlier, designated as my company's project's representative, I'd been attracted to the statuesque Lucretia. But I wasn't at all prepared for her today, an afternoon on which I felt particularly lusty. She was easily 5'9" tall in bare feet, with what looked like succulent chest measurements of 34C with a narrow, perfectly postured back, under a 23" waist, and – who knows? – maybe 35" hips. In her heels she stood just under six feet, 3" shorter than I, with muscular legs that appeared longer than mine. I groaned at the skin tight fit of her sleeveless top that showed muscular, bronze shoulders. Her matching pants were stretched tightly over her high, protruding butt and I tried to cover an involuntary groan with a faked dry cough. Lucretia stopped what she was doing at the sound and turned slowly with a slight smile, her back to my drawing table with breasts extended proudly. "Mmm...maybe I will have that coffee, Hal. Light...lotsa' cream and sugah," she requested, batting her black, half-inch lashes at me. This woman knows exactly what she's doing, I thought, which I'd sensed weeks earlier. She had her hair cut short, with large, one-inch ringlets, frosted with a blonde color at their tips. Her mocha complexion was delectable, covering rather wide cheek bones, an aquiline nose and vulpine jaw, with dimples in her cheeks. Her lips peeled back like pieces of the ripest, moist fruit, and her light hazel eyes spoke volumes about the glories of mixed race ancestry. From the outer office I brought us coffee, handing hers to her as she sat in the only easy chair in the room. "Thank yewww," she purred, stirring her brew with its wooden stick and licking its length with a pink tongue before setting it on a napkin. "Now, Hal," she said in a no-nonsense way, "after three weeks the formalities should be over. We can stop the chess game between designer/contractor and inspector. From what I see of your plans, you folks do good work!" "We've got two shifts churning out these drawings," I confessed. "Each shift sends 'em to me electronically from L.A. and we print and edit 'em here. Saves time, shipping costs, and keeps me busy almost six days a week sending back corrections!" "Yeah. Well, I'm concerned that – with your work load – you'll miss what's really goin' on with this development," she said. "Y' know, black folks've been isolated in this county for over two centuries. An' the guv'mint – in its infinite wisdom – has cut a deal that'll clean out N'Awlins of a low payin' black tax base an' transplant it to southeast Tennessee, an area that's been federally subsidized since the 1930s!" "Wow! Where'd you learn all this?" I asked. It was common insider knowledge but I was surprised at the unusual candor of an FHA bureaucrat. "I know folks from FEMA and other agencies, honey. I also went t' school at Vanderbilt...in Nashville. And I'm a proud member of the Black Women's Engineering Society. I also ran track. How 'bout yew?" "UCLA. Architecture. Got lucky with my company because I worked almost free as an intern for a couple of years, then worked my way up," I answered. "Rich, pretty white boy," she murmured. "Your people 're probably from Beverly Hills." "Sorry, but you're mistaken. I had to work my way through school and the internship...as a lifeguard at Manhattan Beach." She almost sprayed coffee as she burst into laughter. "A life-gawwd! I knew it! With that big football playa body o' yours! Why, I betcha yew've even had a black woman!" she said, watching me closely to see how I'd react. "From now on I'm gonna' call yew Hollywood!" "Call me whatever you like, Lucretia. Just give me a fair shake on the plans as they come through," I said, feeling that I'd finessed her reference to my interracial love experience by simply ignoring it. Regardless, women of color – particularly attractive black ones – had always been a weakness of mine. "Aww, relax, Hollywood!" she said good naturedly, looking me up and down. "Whatchya'll gonna do for a social life while you're down here?" she probed. "Haven't really thought about it," I admitted. "Well, maybe you should, baby," she said, soberly. "Stay outta the redneck bars, though, 'cuz they automatically hate what'cher doin'. The Klan's still active y' know. Yer bes' friends may be the black folk 'roun' heah. On second thought, better stay outta the black bars, too, 'specially on Saturday nights!" "It's quite a change from California," I ventured. "Not really, sweetheart. I got a cousin who left here t' move to a place in L.A. called Watts. She's the mama o' that li'l chil', Millie, outside in the waitin' room. She went out t' see Hollywood, hooked up with a pimp – got inta crack – an' now I'm her daughter's guardian." "Any kids of your own?" I asked, brazenly. "No, sugah...I lost my baby," she said quietly...sadly. "Coupla' years ago I pulled Millie from school – she was a bit slow – 'cuz I was afraid she'd get knocked up by one o' these welfare crackers. Got her started in a li'l laundry an' cleanin' business, an' now she's doin' okay, for an 18-year-old." "I'm sorry you lost your child," I mumbled. "S'all right. They took out my plumbin' too. Some o' us are breeders...others are professionals. Which are you?" she asked, fixing me with a serious look. "So far, a 35-year-old professional," I said. "Married once, didn't work out. Lots of time left to procreate." I don't know why I said that, since I'd hesitated to tell her the divorce had been caused by my marital infidelities, so I changed the subject. "Uh...you said your...cousin...does laundry. I've got three weeks' worth in my room. Sheets, towels, shirts, jeans, underwear, ironing that needs to be done. Does she pick up and deliver? I'll pay her well!" "Yeah! She's got that ol' Bronco parked out front. 'Course, from here she could hand carry it. We live in that li'l sugah shack 'bout a half-mile outside yo' project fence. Y' can almos' wave ta us. C'mon, I'll introduce y'all." "We already met, when I came in," I said. "Not in the southern way, y' didn't," she said. "Millicent!" she called sharply, as we walked down the hall to the waiting room. "Yes, ma'm," answered the beauteous Millie who suddenly appeared, her ripe breasts drawing my eyes as they heaved with youthful excitement. "This is Mistuh Hal, Millie. He wants t' retain y'all as his laundry person," said Lucretia. Millie curtsied and shook my hand as my eyes pored over her frame. The feel of her damp, silken palm struck me somewhere around the solar plexus as her eyes dropped shyly to the floor. Had her chocolate complexion not been so dark, I could've sworn that she was blushing. "How 'bout tomorrow, Millie?" I asked. "Can I drive the dirty laundry over, or...". "Oh, no," broke in Lucretia. "That's what the Bronco's for. Door-to-door service. She also does cleanin', so let her know tomorrow if you want that too, okay, Hollywood?" "Okay," I muttered, suddenly feeling embarrassed at her nickname for me and sensing that the line between my professional and personal lives had been compromised. "And," Lucretia said while standing in the office door before leaving, "...for that social life we talked about, you might wanta consider comin' up ta Nashville. Maybe we could meet. See ya nex' Friday," she winked. The silhouette of her body from the side made my genitals pulse repeatedly as she smiled suggestively and the door closed. She's the spitting image of Halle Berry! I thought, as I returned to my office. I slept late the next morning, since it was Saturday. At 8 a.m. I walked out to unlock the chain link project gate and there was Millie, patiently waiting outside in her old Bronco. "'Mornin' Mistuh Hal!" she beamed, showing perfect white teeth, and pulled inside the enclosure. "Want a lift?" I jumped in her car and we roared off to my office, a quarter of a mile away. She was wearing a standard, light blue hotel maid's uniform that ended at mid-thigh. Her shapely leg, closest to me, was highlighted by a deep hamstring muscle crease, hinting at what could be phenomenal lower body strength. I looked at her beautiful limb and she smiled shyly, noticing where my eyes went, which scanned her frame further. The middle of her uniform was gathered in deep folds with a belt, since her waist was so small compared with her hourglass hips. The buttons holding the tight garment together struggled vainly to hold it closed in front over her high, fulsome breasts. Her rippling calves and trim ankles ended in perfectly-shaped feet whose toenails were painted dark red in her sandals. Her adolescent profile, frozen in a pleasant, self-conscious smile, and long, mini-braided ponytail – like the day before, held in place by a red bandana at the back of her head – looked almost painfully innocent as I entertained lecherous thoughts about the voluptuous body that writhed smoothly under her dress like a small animal in a pillow case. We ground to a halt in a cloud of dust and she giggled, sounding almost relieved, "Door-to-door service for Mistuh Hal!" I smiled, knowing that her guardian, Lucretia, had coached her on how to treat me. "Start with the bathroom laundry, please, then strip the bed," I said. "I've gotta shower and shave when you've got the dirty linen and other stuff out. If you will, you might wanta use the vacuum. I live like a pig, and I'll pay extra just to have it done." I had a cup of coffee and checked e-mails while Millie worked, making the bed with clean sheets. In thirty minutes she came out and said, "Dirty laundry's in the hallway. If'n ya want t' shower, y'all c'n do it now, Mistuh Hal." I smiled and said, "It's okay, Millie, you can call me 'Hollywood'. Your cousin does." "Yessuh," she said, and turned to walk down the hallway, looking over her shoulder at me regard her magnificent butt. It seemed to beckon to me poetically with an easy, rolling – sublimely southern – invitation. I grabbed a clean towel from the cabinet and headed to the bathroom. Jeezus, I thought, I've gotta get laid soon. Maybe I should drive to Nashville next weekend, as Lucretia suggested. I hesitated to masturbate in the shower, since Millie was vacuuming the bedroom just beyond the door. After cleaning up and shaving I felt much better, though, and was thankful that I'd be working in the air conditioned office on the computer all day. I didn't hear the vacuum so assumed Millie had finished and left. I wrapped the towel around my middle and, with dirty boxers and shorts in hand, walked quietly into the bedroom. I stopped when I saw her reclined on my bed, with her sandals sitting neatly next to it. She was engrossed in a photo album I'd brought with me, showing snapshots of me as a lifeguard with bevies of bikini-clad women of several ethnicities at Manhattan Beach. My heart leapt and cock jumped when I caught a glimpse beneath her short dress, since her relaxed legs lay slightly apart. She wore no panties, and at the nexus of her chocolate buns pouted the damp petals of her pussy, beckoning like a black rosebud covered with dew. In a fraction of a second she noticed me staring and gasped, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and looking down. "Ah'm so sorry, Mistuh, uuh...Hollywood," she said, then panned upward from my feet to the lump in my towel, which was getting larger by the second. "Ah wuz jes' lookin' at you an'...are these ladies...movie stars?" she asked softly, swallowing quickly and running a pink tongue over her lips as her eyes stayed fixed on my bulge. "No, Millie, just pictures of friends," I assured her. "I thought you'd left." She stood, folded her hands self-consciously and said, "Well, ah reckoned you'd want me t' clean the bathroom 'fo' ah left. See!" she said, showing me a caddy of cleaning supplies she'd gotten from her Bronco. "So ah'll do it now an' y'all c'n finish dressin' while ah'm in there." She stepped to one side and I walked to my chest of drawers for clean clothes. As I did, her curious glance never wavered from the rising lump in my towel, and in the mirror I noticed that her eyes kept scanning my butt, back and shoulders until she'd backed into the bath. "Y'all be sure an' let me know when you're finished, so's I know when it's safe ta come out, okay?" "You got it, Millie," I said, as the bathroom door closed with a click. Kee-rist! I thought, that dark little piece of trim could get me in trouble...the inspector's cousin! Discipline, Harold! I told myself, as I dressed and went into the office. I hoped that losing myself in work would get my mind off the teenage temptress. Miss Lulu Comes to Hollywood "Bless you," I said, which brought a shy look of thanks. Then, "Looks like you and I'll be seeing a lot of each other, Millie, since both of us work all the time and we live so close." "Yeah...well...did I do good on your bathroom? Ah did jus' a quick once over, 'cuz I had t' get home t' do all yo' sheets 'n' stuff. Lemme show ya where they's some bad mold in yo' shower, though," she said, getting up nervously and beckoning me with a curved finger. "That's okay, kiddo. It'll wait 'til later. Let's get the clean laundry out of your little red wagon." Eager to please, she trotted out to her child-like transport, lifted a huge bundle of laundry in her arms, and walked up the two steps to the deck, then inside the bedroom. "In the cupboard?" she asked, puffing from the heavy weight. "I'll take it, Millie," I said, reaching around the bundle and scooping it from her. It wasn't 'til I pulled away that both of us froze. Two of my fingers had slipped inside the front opening of her uniform and, in addition to the top button that was already undone, I'd popped off the one below it and unfastened the one below at her belted waistline. The red bandana at her neckline fluttered to the floor. She gasped and uttered an embarrassed yelp, picking up the bandana and clutching her open top together with both hands. She was braless, and her perfectly round, black-nippled breasts proved too much for their sparse covering. I turned quickly, sat the bundle on an old steamer trunk, and turned back to her. My groin throbbed. I took one step toward her, then another, feeling the blood flow hotly to my crotch. Her face showed confusion as the middle of her brow wrinkled into a worried frown and goose bumps appeared on her nearly naked tits. Her black eyes reflected a mixture of excitement and desire as she licked her lips once, wetting the upper one that looked like a Cupid's bow. Then, as I took a third step toward her she bit her fuller lower one slightly out of convincing fear, whined in her throat, and started to back up, wringing the bandana in her nervous hands. "Oh, Hollywood, ah'm so sorry. When I met you yesterday yo' blue eyes looked right through me an' I got all hot an' gooshy inside. An' now...you've seen me almos' nekkid an'...an' ah'm drippin' wet 'n' all...an' ah don' know wha'...". "Shh," I said, stopping her by lifting her face and kissing her softly, then more deeply. I held her lovely small face in my palms and tasted the sweet syrup of her 18-year-old saliva. She moaned, released the futile grasp on the front of her uniform, and quickly pressed her tits hard against my sweating, naked chest as her arms encircled my neck. My hands quickly navigated the hills and valleys of her body, all the while unbuttoning the rest of her dress. As it pooled on the floor, I dropped my shorts and boxers to display my rising cock, swelling with each heartbeat under her fascinated gaze, and she moaned again. We were about six inches apart and I traced my hand from her neck, lingering teasingly over her breasts and taut belly, and palmed her hot, moist mound softly amidst her tight, wire-like pubic curls. She whimpered. "Go ahead, sweetie. Touch me," I urged. She shuddered, not taking her eyes off my member as it reached tumescence, and she squeaked, "Ohh...Mistuh...Hollywood. I ain't nevah been wif' no white man before." "It's okay, honey. I won't hurt you," I soothed, stroking up her wet slit and brushing the tip of her clitoris with my fingertips a few times, causing another whine as she closed her eyes. I loved her combined rich tastes and smells. She reeked of musk, yet there was also salt, honey, soap, laundry starch, a hint of country cooking...good, honest, savory, working woman odors...the blended bouquets that presage impassioned sex. I took the red bandana from her, which she'd clutched in one fist, and smoothed it open, gently dabbing at her lovely perspiring face. Unlike the rapacious way I'd balled dozens of spoiled, mindless, Hobie-Cat sailing girls on southern California beaches, I swore to myself that I'd treat this sensitive, rural, black Tennessee girl gently. Her knees started to buckle and she became like feathers in my arms as I lay her on my bed. She spread her legs tentatively, assuming that I'd mount her immediately. But, no; for hours I'd been daydreaming on-and-off of the flesh of this teenage chocolate beauty and wanted to sate my tactile and oral hunger with its tasty subtleties. Her worried look continued until I cradled her in my arms, one thigh between hers, to sup at her face and neck. She still hadn't touched my cock, which to her must have looked intimidating as it waved at her between our bodies. "Oooohhh...Hollywood...ah mus' tas' so dirrrty!" she mewled as I licked inside her small ears, down her face, and sucked at the pool of sweat at the hollow of her throat. My hands milked her grapefruit-sized breasts, softly tugging upward at her nipples until she started a continuous mewling and soft thrusting of her mound against my thigh. By the time I'd reached her nipples with my slavering lips, she was breathing so hard and thrusting so fervently that I thought she'd cum immediately. Her soft little hands pulled my head – my mouth – down on her tits so hard I thought I'd hurt her, but a few vacuuming pulls on her aureoles showed me that she wanted me to continue. And I was going to. Whether she wanted it or not, I was going to taste her cunt. It wouldn't have mattered if she hadn't wanted me to. Tonguing her fragrant quim was something that I was driven toward. My mouth left her breasts, but my hands stayed, pulling rhythmically upward and outward in that instinctive way that males seem to retain from birth. "I'm gonna lick you now, Millie," I announced over her gasps and mewls. "I'm gonna eat your sweet little pussy!" "Oohhhh...noooo...Hollywood. Nobody's nevah done that...it's so filthy...ah mus' tas' so baaad!" she asserted, as she quickly gripped my hands tightly against her breasts. Not from where I lay, little girl, I thought lewdly. And, as I looked down at Millie's crotch, her little chocolate slit seemed to quiver – or at least swell and contract by itself – as if it, alone, possessed the foreknowledge of what my tongue might do. I grunted a feral answer in my throat as I gripped her muscular, trembling thighs and laved up either side of her opening. Parting her lips with two fingers, I spread the fuzzy labia to reveal their dark pink internal treasure, and teased the glans of her clit with the tip of my tongue. She yelled, "Aaahhh!" and gripped the back of my head with both hands, frantically pulling me into her seething center by the roots of my hair. "Oh, my Lawd, Hollywood. That feels so gooood!" she keened. "Oh, pleeze...ah...ah...ah luv whut you doin'!" Her nectar flowed freely now...a thick, syrupy fluid that soaked my face and poured onto my tongue. It tasted of ripe, tangy fruit, with a trace of salt and a tinge of unrefined honey. I bored into her vagina and felt uncontrollable seizures as my lingual probing sought her deeper, convoluted recesses. She was now puffing like some sexual engine, calling my nickname, thrashing her head from side to side, and clawing at my hair so that I'd continue my insistent sucking. "I wantcha to cum, baby. Cum," I grunted between licks, as I flicked at her clit, which had swollen with blood under its hood. "You cu' in my mouth!" I urged with purpose, thinking that a voice of authority might have a salutary effect on the outcome. It did. Little Millie started flinging her hips up at my face and crying plaintively as her orgasm built from mere gasping beginnings to a howling crescendo, then to a shrieking climax. She nearly tore out fists full of my hair, smothering me as she pulled my nose and slithering tongue into her vagina. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" she yelped as her dark, rippling thighs clamped against my ears and she trembled with orgiastic spasms for nearly two minutes. I stayed with her until I felt her muscles begin to relax, still tonguing her 'til her quivering nerves quieted and she pulled my face from her vulva to look down at me. Still hyperventilating, she exclaimed, "Ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo...Hollywood! Ohh..Hollywood! You jus'...precious," she nearly giggled. She made the word sound like "pray-shuss" as I moved up to cradle her in my arms and kiss her deeply. The bulbous head of my prick touched her over-sensitized pussy and she jumped. Then, watching me, she slowly drew her legs back 'til her knees were in line with her armpits. "Ohh...pleeze, put yo'...big thang in me, Hollywood. Ah wanna feel y'all...way up inside!" Like her cousin, Lucretia, Millie was blessed with steatopygia, that marvelous "bubble butt" so common among African-Americans, making it unnecessary to use a pillow to elevate her hips for penetration, as I generally like to do. All to the good. I'd have a clear view of her phenomenal chocolate body – and for her to be able to see me – as I made love to her. I moved to my knees and stroked myself a couple of times as she watched me, her eyes glazed in post-orgasmic bliss, and stirred her tight, black, smacking labia gently with my prick to test their resilience. She moaned as I did this, and I pulled back, reaching for her small hand and placing it on my angry white probe. She mewled slightly at the touch, then began sliding her hand softly up and down its length as if to familiarize herself with its veiny nine inches. "Put me in your pussy, sweetheart," I whispered, and her tender fingers very tentatively placed me at her tight entrance while her breathing came faster through her partially open mouth. Balancing myself on outstretched arms, I pushed in slightly and was immediately met by dozens of involuntary vaginal spasms around my glans. Another slow push of my hips gained a further inch into her, causing even more spasms. "You're so tight, baby!" I muttered, stating the obvious. I'd never experienced such a snug pussy, and I'd had more than one virgin, which Millie wasn't. She smiled up at me lovingly and reached for her breasts to pluck at her dark, puffy nipples – that looked for all the world like small, chocolate truffles – and I pushed on, twisting and turning until she began to moan with pleasure while trying to screw herself further onto my invasive cock. It took perhaps a minute or more for us to merge completely, a little at a time, since she was so nervous. When our loins were completely enmeshed, with her vagina still pulsing rapidly around me, she issued a sweet, vaporous breath at me an inch away from my face. "Pleeze hol' me close, Hollywood. This be so good I wanna 'member it mah whole life!" I made my embedded member pulse a few times in response to her continuing contractions and we kissed...just kissed...for perhaps another minute or so, reveling in a moment which I, myself, would remember for a long while. After our kiss she held my face in her two small hands and whimpered, "Ah'm so happy! Ah want yo' man juice. Will y' give it all t' me?" she asked, her eyes scanning mine deeply with the question. My brains, of course, were in my dick, and my answer to her question was a series of slow withdrawals and re-entries in the affirmative. I'd never before been received sexually by a woman in such a childlike way. At the beginning, each long, slow cycle was met with an audible whimper from my teenage companion and, as our pace quickened – though still measured to prolong our mutual pleasure – Millie's sounds became mewls, then moans, then sharp cries. Our smells were divine, given her copious juices and our sweat in the 100 degree heat. The sharp slapping of our thighs was punctuated by my feral grunts and her feminine affirmations, to the point that we both reveled in this, our first time together. Our bodies were taking careful note that it was but a prelude to an insatiable future. Her youthful hunger, though, desired that the future be now, because she locked her ankles around my butt and began grinding her cunt up at me, massaging her clit against my pubic bone. I growled deeply in my throat and began taking full strokes into her, pulling out and lifting my body with each withdrawal so that the top of my prick rubbed her engorged little nubbin. I hugged her tightly to me, squeezing her so hard that her breasts were flattened between us, and her breathing became raspy as we fucked. That's when we both started our ascension. Our cries became one prolonged rise in vocal pitch and volume, and we thrashed away at one another as if the world were ending. Then we exploded in a simultaneous orgasm. She screamed and her legs flew straight out, vibrating as if some demon had possessed her, and I shouted several times, pumping huge gouts of semen deeply into her each time my prostate cycled. It probably only took a minute and a half, but it seemed like an eon. At the end, we melted into one another and lay interlocked for the longest time. After a short slumber Millie rolled away suddenly, wiping her crotch with her red bandana. "I gots ta get home! Miss Lulu'll kill me if'n she knows I saw y'all t'night!" She threw on her uniform and I stumbled to my feet. Before I knew it she'd emptied her wagon of the remainder of my laundry and was leaving. "Millie! Take this key to the back gate," I said. "That way, you can visit after hours. I'll leave this light on to let you know when I'm here," I continued, pointing to a small lamp on the chest of drawers in front of my bedroom window. She took the key and put it on a ring with the one for her car. Then, with a move redolent of Shakespeare, she reached around my neck and gave me a kiss worthy of Juliet. "I'll see y'all tomorrow night, after Miss Lulu's gone back ta the city!" she said, her eyes flashing conspiratorially. Sunday was drudgery. I forced myself to work, but my mind – and glands – kept hearkening back to the feel and smell of Millie in my arms...so giving, so compliant. How could I be so flummoxed by an 18-year-old? I wondered. I was old enough to be her father! I watched a football game, drank beer, and finally gave up, barbecuing more chicken and steaming some veggies. After dark I sat on my small bedroom deck, leaving the lamp on inside my bedroom window, and drank more sour mash, also smoking another cigar. Finally it got late and I went inside, stripping naked to lie on top of the bed, since the oppressive heat precluded anything else. Disappointed that Millie hadn't come by, yet sleepy from the whiskey, I dozed. I was awakened by the rumble of the Bronco's engine outside the fence. The telltale clink of the lock being unfastened and fastened made my pulse quicken. I heard her running to the open sliding door to my bedroom and she was suddenly inside. Still a bit sleepy, I leaned up against the headboard, stark naked in front of Millie, who whispered, "Hi, Hollywood!" She was wearing blue jean cutoffs stretched over her lovely thighs and a cropped top over her sumptuous tits, which she soon discarded, grinning wildly at me. "Sorry ah'm so late! Lucretia took fo'ever ta leave!" she gasped, as she jumped naked onto the bed between my legs. Then she leapt at me, smothering me with a slobbery, open-mouthed kiss, and moaning in her throat. The twin pillows of her full, soft breasts felt extraordinary against my chest. "Ohhhh...Hollywood...ah c'n stay late t'night! An' ah wantcha ta teach me ev'y'thing!" As she said this, both of her hands were moving smoothly up and down my hardening shaft. Her trusting eyes searched mine continually as she masturbated me, then – suddenly – she dropped her lovely lips to my glans and captured it with a swirling motion of her tongue around its crown. I hunched upward with a groan and she murmured, "Mmm-hmmm!" as if to prove to herself she'd done the right thing. "Eeeeasy, sweetie!" I gasped. "Watch your teeeth!" I groaned. "Mmm-hmmm. Mah frien's tol' me a little. They say a man wants a girl ta take his whole thang down. Y'all jus' gimme time, Hollywood. Ah'm gonna make y'all mah man!" she asserted, and continued to work my cock more deeply into her mouth. "Tha' feel good?" she asked, as she licked up and down either side of my pole. "An' that?" she murmured as she laved my balls with dollops of saliva. She must have been looking at my face, thrown back with slackened jaw and closed eyes. "Tha's good, 'cuz I gots ta take care o' y'all when we cain't do it. Gots ta take yo' baby juice in mah mouf' 'n' my ass!" she muttered, as I looked down at this woman who apparently needed no sexual training at all. "How 'bout this?" she asked suddenly, bringing a groan to my lips as she pulled her velvety mouth off of me and moved up, squishing her breasts around my cock. "Fuck mah tits, Hollywood!" she urged, a directive which was needless since I was already spearing upward between her firm twin mounds of flesh. Her mouth drooled on me each time I thrust upward and brought me ever closer to an orgasm. We repeated this dozens of times and I gave up, deciding to relinquish my load to this suddenly – surprisingly – demanding teenager. The numbness crept from my curling toes up my legs to my balls and soon I felt the hot jets of semen spurting out of my cock into Millie's sucking mouth. She milked me with her small, strong, laundress's hands and pulled every drop from me that I thought I had, swallowing with satisfied mewls as my seed coursed down her throat. My hips quivered in her tender hands for a full minute thereafter. "Ahhh...Gawd...Millie," I groaned when it was all over. She looked pleased with herself, but not prideful. "Ah'll always 'member the firs' tas' o' y'all, darlin'," she said, moving up to cover my torso with hers. "This mornin', in the Pentecostal church, when the choir was goin' wild an' folks wuz gettin' crazy, ah had a sign from the Lawd...a spell. Ah 'membered how ah felt las' night when ah melted in yo' arms, an'...ah got so excited ah fainted an' fell down, mumblin' yo' name. It was the Lawd talkin' ta me 'bout y'all. Miss Lulu di'nt know what ta make o' it." "Millie...Millie...Millie," I said. "This is just...because we like each other. God's got nothing to do with it." "He always tol' me ah'd fin' that special man," she persisted, "...an' he's you. Now, kiss me once, 'cuz ah'm in a hurry ta git ya hard again. Ah'm gettin' the curse this week an' ah wanna practice what else we gon' do!" She gave me a quick, cum-laced kiss and went back to my cock, bringing a groan from me as she once again inhaled my dick in her warm, welcoming mouth. "Let me lick you!" I gasped. She looked up, puzzled, apparently unfamiliar with the "69" position, but allowed me to maneuver her 'til her knees straddled my head. "Aaagghh, Lawd...Hollywood...the Lawd Jeezus tol' me the dirtier y'all get wif' me the better! Y'all do anythin' ya want wif' me! Ohhh...yeeaah, darlin', you jus' eat me all you want! You so baaad!" We licked at one another until Millie climaxed. Her pelvis slammed down onto my mouth so hard I thought I might bust a lip, but I wasn't worried. Once her shrieks stopped and she relaxed, I spun her around so she could ride me. This was what I wanted: to spear up into her hard while grasping her 21" waist and pumping into her. I wanted to fondle and watch her luscious breasts bounce as her snug, pulsing vagina writhed around my probe in movements as old as time itself. Somewhere from the depths of our respective gene pools came the memories of forbidden, taboo, interracial desires that psychotherapists had ineffectually been trying to figure out for over a century. My hands grasped her waist and – brutally – I pulled her onto my thick lifeguard's probe, only to be rewarded incessantly by the most grateful of moans. Once again she orgasmed, this time crying into the side of my neck as she shuddered and moaned Hollywood until...silence. She lay atop me for a while, kissing me deeply, then rolled off to one side, relaxed. She reached between her legs with two fingers, soaking them with my cum, and brought them to her mouth, saying, "Ah luv yo' tas'...yo' cummm." I watched this 18-year-old – who now appeared as mature as her cousin of 30 – as she languidly licked her fingers clean of my semen, and something let go inside me. My earlier desire to merely fuck her had suddenly faded. That had been based on a habitual quest for sex and a persistent, gnawing appetite for black women. It had also been a desire to prove myself superior in terms of social class and education, a knowledge of history and events, architecture, familiarity of...for God's sake...familiarity with southern California! Miss Lulu Comes to Hollywood I couldn't believe it. After a few hours in the sack with this black, southern, teenage beauty, I was beginning to feel a much deeper affection! I looked at her innocent face, with her head nestled in my pale armpit as she continued to replenish and lick my spunk from her fingers. I looked at her dark body pressed against mine and marveled at its exaggerated curves. Here was a "breeder," I thought...to use her cousin's word. And my animal libido stimulated a perverse desire to fill her full of sperm! How many thousands of white boys had been tempted over the centuries by the extraordinary physiques of African-American women into planting their seed without a responsible thought as to the consequences. How many millions? "Millie, honey. I've noticed you don't wear underwear," I said. "Don't got but two pair. They too hot when ah'm washin' an' ironin'. Ah wears 'em ta church an' then jus' panties when ah gets the curse, jus' to hold in the...you know. Why? Y'all want me to?" she asked. I chuckled, "No, baby, just curious. What are you? 36D-21-36?" "Mah Lawd, Hollywood. You amazin'! Betcha knew 'cuz o' them movie stars y'all know. Mmm-mmm-mmm. Mah man got sharp eyes!" she murmured, leaning over and planting a wet kiss on my jaw. I was silent. Then she breathed, "Hollywood?" "Yeah, honey?" "Wuz wonderin'. Ah c'n stay 'til mornin'...maybe six. T'night, could you, ya know, show me what it's like ta do mah butt? Ah mean, since ah'm gettin' the curse this week, ah'll wanta keep y'all satisfied, so...ah cleaned mahself out wif' the douche bag an'...ain't never done it befo'...but ah trus' y'all." As I moved to my knees and placed Millie in front of me in the canine position, I kissed and licked her all over her beautiful, hourglass back, waist and ass, then lovingly licked up her deep crack to taste her rich fluids. She gasped with each pass of my tongue and moaned as I finally pierced her tight anus with my cock. We proceeded on, for what seemed to take hours, before we were completely fused together. As we gently humped, with her fingering her clit at my urging and me holding her tightly by her wasp waist, I decided against telling her that I'd be visiting all of her openings during the upcoming week, regardless of any of her phobias...regardless of whether she menstruated or not. Part 3 Early Monday morning, after Millie had left, I went online to Frederick's of Hollywood and ordered four sets of sheer, lacy bras and panties for her. Hoping for the correct fit, I chose an Hispanic model with a similar figure and specified black, red, pale blue and gold for each set. The panties were cut very high on the side, to emphasize my little lover's goddess-like hips and thighs. FedEx would deliver them within two or three days, I was told. Late Monday night I heard her Bronco slide to a halt on the gravel road outside the fence. As usual, the noise of the lock clicking closed brought anticipatory pulses to my groin. Millie entered, looking disheveled, and flopped on the bed in her maid's uniform. "Mah Lawd, I'm tired. I got the curse t'day. Hollywood, c'n ah jus' maybe lemme suck y'all an' ya drain in my ass? Ah'm so tired ah could sleep all night!" "Sure, honey. But we don't have to do a thing if you don't want to. Lemme undress you," I said, which I did, noticing for the first time her white cotton panties, designed for a 60-year-old. "Let's get rid of these," I said, pulling them to her ankles amidst protestations. In their crotch was another red bandana, matching the one anchoring her ponytail. "Oohh, Hollywood, no! Ah'm a mess." The word sounded like may-uss. "The curse be the Lawd's punishment fo' mah filthy dirty thoughts." No, sweetheart, I thought, this is your body's way of telling you that you haven't conceived in the past 28 days. "Here, baby, put these towels under you if you're worried about soiling the bed." I placed two burgundy bath towels on the sheets and she scooted atop them. "Now, let me hold you...kiss you...and let the chips fall where they may!" I added, cheerily. "Aaahh...Gawwd...Hollywood...you be so good ta me. When y'all look at me with them baby blue eyes...and hol' me, ah melt...ah cain't stop mahself!" The tampon was quickly stripped from Millie's vagina and for the next two nights we made sloppy, bloody love, adding to a growing pile of dirty towels...and red bandanas. The FedEx package didn't arrive 'til Thursday. That night Millie arrived shortly after I'd turned on my "signal light," the lamp on my bedroom table. She'd regained her energy after the onslaught of her period, and kissed me deeply as she swept into my bedroom. One hand was already into my shorts – which I'd left on – before she realized that tonight was different. "Thought you might be able to use these," I said, boyishly, handing her the uniformly descriptive FedEx package, which didn't last long in her small, strong fingers. "Mah Lawd...Hollywood," she said, suddenly through tears streaming down her smooth cheeks, "ah luv 'em. Nobody's ever...nobody's ever gave me nothin' nice as this!" "Try 'em on, sweetie. I hope they fit!" I urged, which they did. She chose the gold set which, I was pleased, contrasted so beautifully with her dark skin. She slipped into them, pranced around and posed, and a half dozen times jumped on the bed, lavishing me with kisses. "They beautiful, Hollywood; I wish y'all had a camera! Then y'could put me in yo' album!" "I've got a camera, Millie. I'll take our picture!" I said, "...and I'll print one out for you!" I threw on a pair of shorts, set up my digital camera with a six-second delay on the nightstand, and we took a series of shots. The one Millie chose as her favorite was of her pressed against my side, her chain-like braids against my naked right torso, with her black right arm crossing to my left pectoral. Her heavenly smile was radiant and – to put the signature stamp on our tryst – she'd lifted her right leg up so that her knee covered my groin, which was clothed in shorts. There was little doubt as to what had cemented our relationship. Like the pictures of innumerable gorgeous women in my album, this digital photo would communicate what had brought us together. I printed one and gave it to her, after which she outdid herself in showing me her thanks. That was the night, much to my dismay, that she confessed her love for me. In the morning she was gone, along with her new underwear and our suggestive picture. I was exhausted, given our strenuous coupling. It was Friday, the day when her comely cousin, Lucretia, would return from Nashville and meet with me about the project, and both Millie and I agreed that we might not see one another again 'til perhaps the next evening, which was her cousin's usual night out. The meeting with Lucretia was light-hearted but productive. She never failed to let me know she could be a difficult hurdle to jump on the project if push came to shove. Lots of changes were made on our drawings. And she kidded me continually, trying to get me to drop my guard. "Notice y'all learned ta shave this past week, Hollywood! Could it be y'all 're tryin' ta get on my good side?" "Whaa, whatever do you mean, Lucretia?" I deadpanned, playing along in a bad southern accent. "I mean, when are ya comin' up ta Nashville?" she said, smoothing her paper thin, multi-colored, flowered skirt around her thighs. The mocha skin of her smiling knees and rippling calves flashed shiny under the fluorescent lights. I flashed on the thought that there's nothing as erotic as a woman with great, tanned legs – without nylons or pantyhose – who wears a flimsy, translucent skirt ending just above her knees, as I looked at her. On top she wore a thin, sleeveless, yellow top that ended short of her waist, showing an appetizing slice of brown midriff and a glimpse of navel. I was beginning to wonder why all women didn't wear the see-through rayon or cotton clothing that these southern women preferred. Was there also? – yes, there was! – a thin gold link chain surrounding her hips just above her skirt's waistband! At that point, even the way her golden, ankle-strapped, heels hugged her feet had me nearly drooling. "Nashville's quite a ways away," I countered, wanting to bite my knuckle from repressed lust. "Booshit, Hollywood! Gimme a call on, say, Wednesday, an' I'll fix ya up with a room an' we c'n do some music nex' weekend!" "I'll think about it," I mumbled, dreaming of how much easier it would be to spend the following weekend in the worshipping arms of Millie, who now loved me. "You do that, Hollywood. An' this weekend, if y'all run outta things ta do, gimme a call at home. Here's the number." It was absurd for her to give me her phone number, since all I had to do to gain her attention was to walk onto the deck outside my bedroom and wave my arms at her bungalow a half mile away across the grassy meadow. But, she was a pivotal decision maker on our project, and this act of hers was one of pure, bureaucratic style rather than substance. "Thanks. I'll stay in touch," I mumbled to her as she got into her government-issued vehicle and sped away. She'd looked scrumptious – like Halle Berry – and I felt little guilt at feeling so lusty for her, even after spending the week banging her teenage cousin. Out of sorts and refusing to dwell on my sexual hang-ups, I took to the bottle. I'd bought a case of Jack Daniel's when I'd arrived in Tennessee, and had made quite a dent in it. This night, I ached when I thought of sweet Millie...and drank. Eating a few leftovers and continuing to sip whiskey, I stripped naked and sat on my outdoor bedroom deck, once again sweating my ass off. After a while I moved inside, drew the curtain across the open door, and flopped on the bed to pass out. It was nearly midnight when I snapped awake to the growl of the Bronco's engine outside the fence. My heartbeat picked up as I listened to the gate lock click closed and heard feet running toward the open sliding door. I switched on my bed lamp just as heels sounded on the outside deck and, there she was. Standing in the doorway was Lucretia...glowing with a sheen of perspiration and carrying a bottle of Southern Comfort, which already had some booze missing from it. "How'd you get in?" I asked, dumfounded. She shook Millie's key ring at me in response, with a tipsy but riveting smile on her face that said, Gotcha! I grabbed for my cargo shorts on the floor next to the bed and she laughed, "Oh, don' cover up 'cuz o' me, Hollywood!" She staggered a bit as she walked toward the bed. "I been itchin' ta git a look atcha' naked, anyway!" I threw the shorts over my groin haplessly. She nearly fell onto the bed at my feet, landing on one buttock with one leg crooked and the other on the floor like an outrigger. She was wearing a filmy, dark brown, micro miniskirt and I caught a flash of naked pussy underneath it. On top she wore a short-sleeved, knit, cropped top in a copper color with a huge scooped neck that looped over one shining, light brown shoulder, revealing her finely boned clavicle. She leaned toward me and purred, "Y'all gonna get us some glasses 'n' ice, baby, or you gonna make a lady drink outta the bottle?" The stiff nipples on her full breasts drew my eyes immediately to her revealing top. I hopped off the other side of the bed and struggled into my shorts with my back to her. My ears burned as she exclaimed, "Mmm...nice buns, Hollywood, fo' a white boy!" Returning from the kitchen with the glasses, I discovered that she'd switched on my porch light and was waiting outside, with her bottle sitting on the railing. "Here you go," I said, after pouring her a half glass. She was wearing a pair of backless, copper, sequined heels that could have been bedroom slippers. No matter, they clacked on the wooden deck as she paced unevenly back and forth. "Y'all couldn't wait, could ya, Romeo," she grumbled. "'Spite all the signals I gave ya, y'all had ta go 'n' nail my poor li'l retarded cousin!" "Retarded?" I asked. "Thas' right!" she spat, wheeling toward me. "Why d'ya think I took her outta school? She's got the IQ of an eight-year-old! I mean, that picture o' you two – so pathetically sweet – an' all that sexy underwear? An' now you've gone 'n' fucked her...done her good, too, I hear, more'n once! She thinks The Lawd sent you here to give her babies! What happens when you knock her up, Hollywood? Y'all gonna marry her?" she cackled, sardonically. "Y'all gonna take her back ta Manhattan Beach?" "Well, I didn't think...I didn't know...". "'Course ya didn't! What happens when y'all leave...in about a year? You've seen the girls 'round here! After a baby or two, by the time they're 20, they fat. At 25 they like blimps an' broke down from starchy food, back breakin' work 'n' child birthin'!" I raised myself to sit on the L-shaped railing, trying to process what she was saying and feeling a bit ashamed...as any good white liberal would. I took a deep pull on my drink. "She's the sweetest girl I've ever known," I muttered. "'Course she is! I've raised her since she was a toddler! Or didn't you think I was capable of maternal feelings?...or par-en-ting?" she glared, still pacing. "Y'all 're 35! Shiiit! You jus' another big-city white boy who's so smart he's dumb!" Suddenly she stopped, took a long sip, put her glass on the railing, and her mood changed. "I will say this, though. For her first real man, she sho' picked a pretty one," and walked toward me to nestle closely between my spread knees as I sat on the railing. "Uuhh...Lucretia...this is really, uuh," I murmured, as she brushed my cheek with her full lips and caressed my thighs. "Sshh, darlin'. She 'n' I talked 'bout y'all...how them baby blue eyes o' yours undressed us both when ya saw us, 'n' how ya made us both as wet as the month o' November when ya did it. How horny ya mus' get...all alone down here." Then, manically, Lucretia's mood changed again and she stepped back a foot. "But, dammit, she's jus' a baby, an' I'm her guardian!" "She's 18," I blurted out. "Don' matter! I'll always be her adopted mama, an' I won't have you breakin' her heart! I'm puttin' her on the pill an', jus' ta make sure, I'm takin' other steps ta keep her where she belongs." Just as quickly as before, she stepped again between my legs and her manicured nails crept up my thighs. "Now, gimme one o' them 'Hollywood' kisses she tol' me about!" "But she can...". I was stopped as her mouth covered mine and she stuck her long tongue in and out wantonly, to which I responded in kind. Our hands worked as well as our mouths. Dammit! I had no fucking self-control!...no discipline! As her fingers unfastened my shorts, mine stroked her breasts, tweaked her nipples, and slid down over her hips under the skirt to her moist treasure. We both moaned as our organs responded to each others' caresses. "She can see us out here!" I gasped for a moment as we broke our slobbery mouthing. "I want her to," she breathed, as she tried to tug my shorts down. I knew I'd do it, damn my weakness. I raised slightly and the shorts fell to my ankles, then to the deck. "Mmm...yeeaah...," she mewled, as she squatted – knees widespread – and brought me to a full erection with both hands, plus many well-placed kisses and licks on and around the bulbous crown of my cock. Sluurrp...sluurrp...sluurp, was all that I heard from Lucretia, except for a few million crickets in the darkness beyond the fence in the grass and an occasional hungry mosquito. But not for long. I began moaning at her phenomenal, languorous, laving as she very softly asked, "Like my mouth, baby? It likes you! 'Fore we even get started, sweetness, ah'm gonna take yo' big, creamy load. C'mon...c'mon, gi' it ta me...aaanggsllppp. "Jeezus...Lu-cre-tia..." I gasped, as she took me further, slowly, down into her throat. "You're...". "Yeah, darlin'...I know I'm good," she said after pulling off, gaining her breath, and wanking me with copious amounts of spittle. Then she went back onto me, sometimes shaking her head sideways violently to get past reflexive obstructions. Finally, she established a continuous rhythm that – after several minutes of periodic breaks for air – brought me to the beginning of an orgasm. The last thing I consciously remember was looking down at the bronze goddess, whose eyes had never left my face, and giving her what she wanted. I howled into the night, feeling absolutely taken by this southern sexual powerhouse. And she knew exactly what she was doing. My first shot nearly went deeply into her throat, yet she pulled off at exactly the right moment to take it into her mouth, which she gulped down noisily. At that point I watched her pull my spewing dick out to paint her lower face, then her copper-colored top, down her front across her belly, then onto her filmy micro-mini. She continued milking me with her hands, squeezing my seed onto her clothing until I was spent, then sucked me clean of any residue. When I'd finished my orgasmic babbling, she pulled me off the railing and into the bedroom. Once inside she switched off the outside light and stripped naked, wiping her face and dropping her messy, cum-laced garments on the floor. She did, however, leave her heels on her feet. The gold chain around her waist, with its ¼" links, shone brightly against her mocha skin in the dim bedroom light. "Jeezus, you're a vision of loveliness," I gasped, without thinking, sounding much more poetic than I'd intended. "Why...thank you, sir. So are you!" she said, as she walked, naked but for her high heels, to my chest of drawers to place her arms atop it with her back to me. She spread her legs about a foot apart and murmured, coldly, "Let's get started, sweetheart." My cock was still flaccid after her blow job, but that soon changed. Her stunning hourglass figure, not as full as her younger cousin's though twice as muscular, started to tremble around her hip line. Soon her ass began to vibrate as I'd once seen on a Brazilian dancer in a strip club in Atlanta. The gold links on the chain encircling her waist began to quiver as if in response to the energy that was fairly bursting from her butt. Captivated, I whispered, "Fuck, Lucretia," as my dick began rising at the sight of her incredible muscular exertions. "Exactly, Hollywood! I've waited weeks for y'all an' thas' long enough. Gimme yo' big cock, honey! Nail me like ya did Millie!" she implored, almost in a pleading tone. "Mmmmm, yeeaahh!" she intoned as my hands grasped her luscious brown hips and I moved behind her. The perfect roundness of her butt nestled beautifully into my stroking palms, and her gluteal dimples provided the ideal recesses for my thumbs, as I caressed her bronze fundament. "Nnngghh, aww, yeeaah!" she gasped, as I reached one hand between her legs to cup her vulva and gather fingers full of juice to smooth it onto my nearly-erect prick. "Put it in, honey...I wanna feel ya!" she cried, as I lubricated myself again, then teased the head of my stiff member through her swollen labia. "Thas' it!" she shouted as I entered her a few inches. "Aww, fuck!" she shouted again, as I dug more deeply into her, twisting and turning as she spread her stance more widely on the floor. "Hol' me up, baby...then do me real gooood!" she begged, as she turned sideways and bent over to grab her ankles, thrusting her luscious, vibrating pussy back against me. With her high heels and unusually long legs, Lucretia's opening was exactly the right height for me to fuck her from behind while standing. Her vagina was also deep and remarkably elastic. I could feel her cervix, but it gave way with each deep thrust, allowing me to sink myself to my pubis with each push. I growled deeply in my throat as I pummeled her, from her G spot to as deeply as I could, and she began yelping with pleasure and clamping down around me as I withdrew. Our loins smacked together as our tempo increased and her gold waist chain jumped from each impact, glistening in the dim bedroom light. After several minutes both of us began to gasp for air and she rose up, turning half right to place her hands on my bed to support her upper body. It also allowed us to look across the bed into the mirror atop my dresser and see the pleasure we were bringing one another.