4 comments/ 36102 views/ 3 favorites Sydian By: sydian Unique. The only way to describe her. She had invented herself to be arresting. She liked stopping traffic. She was not quite 5’ 5”. This meant that in her favorite stilettos—stilettos, only—she was 5-9, maybe 5-10. She weighed a compact 140 lbs—“thick,” as the youngsters put it. But this was all muscle—she was cut—sculpted; not overly done. She traded on her contrasts: her skin was the color of polished ebony—she called herself after her color: “Sydian.” (Pronounced “Sid-jaan”—just plain “Syd” for short) She favored cobalt lenses; and for added effect she offset the entire look with very short twists the color of winter wheat. Her perfect face was all the elegance Africa contained; there was no mistaking that from the high cheekbones and the wide, flaring nostrils to the thick sensuous lips she kept lacquered like a work of Chinese art. She was drama without the theatrics; she didn’t like theatrics. Either she did, or she didn’t. The 38s were sculpted too—the best money could buy, with nipples that bore holes in almost everything she wore. Even covered they gave off heat to any body she came in contact with. The waist was a tight, flat 30, graced by a pair of 36 inch hips. She was a special package—in more ways than one. She was intelligent, in the extreme. The only way she could have gotten this far. A professional woman, nine to five. She lived comfortably. She was independent—again, in the extreme. No one owned her; though there were a few who wished she owned them. Her dress was stylish and always right for the occasion. The occasions she preferred were those that allowed her to wear her clothing short and tight, and many times in leather. She hated panties. But then again, that was because of her “special-ness”—she was hung. Something she never tried to hide; a fact some would say she flaunted. Oh no, she wasn’t about to hide that! On the occasions she preferred; in the special places she preferred, she wore her ten, thick inches strapped to her thigh, just barely below the top of her seamed stockings—sometimes nestled in it; held in place by an elastic band that moved with her and discretely exposed her as if it were nothing more than a clit—a very large clit, perhaps, but a clit nonetheless…. She loved being on display….On these occasions she meant to be seen by any and everyone who was attractive and of a similar persuasion—male, female, and otherwise. She was hot; she knew she was hot. And it was a heat she needed to share. *** She glided through the doors of her favorite establishment, the long, pale blue duster billowing behind her. The maitre d’ greeted her, smiled knowingly and led her to her booth, placed his hands to her shoulders for her wrap. Upscale. Peopled by people like her; all attractive in their way; most quite interesting; all omni-sexual. As she slid from the duster, it became quite clear to anyone observing—it was clear to her—that tonight, sexually, she was extremely dangerous. She loved being dangerous; being the dangerous one. The coat fell away from her arms and the most evident manifestation of her dangerous nature was obvious. The few people who took note, did so discretely, but with great intensity and detail. On this warm spring night, all of that body was poured into the tightest, shortest cobalt knit dress imaginable; a piece only long enough to keep some of her admirers guessing, and then not for too long. It was a turtleneck sans sleeves, with a back that plunged to the crack of her ass and literally gripped its fullness. Each time she dressed, she grew fonder of the clichés concerning this “asset.” Tonight, dressing was a little more difficult than normal. The narcissist in her got the better of her as she slid into the dress; she could hardly get it over her beautiful, black, hard, thick cock, and then strap it into to place and tuck it into her stocking band. She always found herself exciting. They found her exciting too. She slid into the booth, and her eyes adjusted to the room….The apple martini was already there; she had been anticipated. She glanced over the top of the menu and scanned the room; many of the regulars; meet and greet later….Her eyes fell on the bar—“hello”—he was new, and hard to place. Like the others, well-dressed, but down-played. Attractive? In his way. Professional…. international, maybe? The cut was entirely Italian; muted with flecks of color. The way the clothes draped the body, it was clear that there was a body—in all probability, a nice body—underneath. The hair and beard were closely cropped black and silver dustings. But, he didn’t look that old. They wreathed a mahogany face with strong matching hands. He wasn’t that tall—an inch or two taller than she in her stocking feet. She liked that. She liked looking down on her “prey” from the perch the heel afforded. (“Ah, heels,” she thought.) He wasn’t shy, either. The loose, full-cut, tailored slacks left nothing to her imagination, or to anyone else’s who took the time to be observant. When he moved—leaning back against the bar, glancing up at the TV—it was clear he was a “pony-boy”—hung like a horse. She loved watching, and being watched. Her cock twitched and a pearl of precum lodged itself between her thigh and stocking. “Mmmmm,” she thought, “what a way to fuck up a pair of expensive hose.” “How to do this….” She was born to heels. She crossed the room almost imperceptibly. He wasn’t the type to believe that anything would come his way that he didn’t go after, so he hardly noticed when she ended up at his back, her beautiful black back to him, framed in blue….She had gotten a good look at all that meat as she approached—he was huge—and she was growing. Even though she was strapped, her cock had swollen and extended down her thigh. One drop now had the consistency of a minor leak—lighting and positioning helped…. She leaned back slightly. The wheat colored twists broke the plane of his space without his noticing. She was close enough for him to catch her fragrance and her hot, husky whisper. “I’m buying whatever….”—the pause—long enough to make anyone pregnant—“you’re drinking.” He turned. Caught that exquisite noir face, the contrast of lenses and twists, and his tongue stuck in his throat. She had leaned forward against the bar, that magnificent ass protruding ever so slightly, her naked back exposed, her head tilted at him. He hadn’t had time to take in all of her. A step back. She noticed. A quick, subtle, but thorough appraisal. And she noticed. The pants tented a bit more, and maybe there was a bead of moisture. She played her strong suit—the bitch. “I’d like to be the cat that got that tongue; and a few other things,” she smirked as she dropped her eyes to his crotch. “A drink, beautiful,” she murmured, “a drink.” She pivoted on her heels to face him and he caught the thickness of her thighs. “I hate eating alone….” *** “I lie,” she continued, “I don’t hate eating alone. Only when the company is interesting.” He had watched her cross the floor. Smooth; fluid strides, her hips swayed like water. The long, powerful legs ate up distance… “eat?” Clearly, she liked to “eat”—many things, including her men…. The hips swayed, the stilettos clicked. She pivoted when she realized that he wasn’t at her side. She looked at him, took him all in, licked her enameled lips, then smiled wickedly and said, “You are coming, aren’t you?” Rolling off her lips, “coming” sounded too much like “cumming.” He was leaking like a faucet, and the tightness of the hem of her dress only emphasized her hardness. His gait was measured…he never hurried—tonight, as hard as his cock was, how could he? She had made it into an 11+ inch splint just by whispering in his ear, gazing at him, crossing the room. He could only muster a dignified limp as he moved to the table, the stain of precum widening on his trouser leg. She grinned—beautiful set of teeth; well suited to those thick scarlet lips—she missed nothing—“Did I do that?” Her eyes locked on the outline of that huge cock. Again, uncharacteristically, he was at a loss for words. In many ways, he couldn’t figure out what he was doing here. He had just come in from out of town. The hotel was round the corner, and the place was “recommended.” All right…the recommendation wasn’t from the most commendable of his associates—actually it had come from his brother, an aficionado of the wild and seamy and the sexually indecipherable, all on the upscale. He was his brother’s only confidant in the family—the only one to whom his brother would openly voice his homosexuality—the only one who would tease him about “letting loose” and letting a “girl” show him how that meat ought to be handled. His brother had assured him that it was a first class spot—he wouldn’t be hassled or harassed—he might be eyeballed however—the “family curse” could be hard to hide. Hard to hide, indeed. So here he was, with a “girl”—with her. And his cock was about to tear through his pant; which, by the way were already fucked up…. *** As she eyed the menu, her hand trailed from the juncture of his crotch down the massive ridge that had become his cock. The lacquered nails came to rest on the spot where his cock head was pooling in his pants. Abstractly, she said “What I want isn’t on the menu….” He shuddered; shivered a bit as his cock strained even more. She squeezed, gently, just to make him leak more—to chart his reaction…. She leaned closer, pushing the fabric of her turtleneck into the valley of her tits, exposing the huge nipples. Her breath was hot on the lobe of his ear: “But what I want is here at the table,” squeezing that horsecock again…. Then placing his hand on her thigh, “And I’ve got something for you too, Daddi….” “Time to go….” Sydian - Angela The first notion that was placed in Angela's head was this: 'one can be a slut and be elegant.' Sydian. Sydd went on: 'It—slutting; sluttish behavior—is something that one can put on or take off like clothes. Elegance is an enduring trait. Having said that, this one thing remains about being a slut—becoming one...requires work. Sluttish behavior is intellectual, particularly if it is to be exciting. Being a slut—for a person like you—is an acquired state of mind. And frankly, darling, that is exactly how I prefer a bitch...' Her instructions had been quite explicit: take a long, hot, luxurious bath—yes, they began that way—shave: no pubic hair, legs, under arms, the works. Oil the body—something that had been left in the hotel room on her arrival—the slight scent of almond. Perfume—already selected; a complement to the oil, a natural fragrance again. Rest. The room had an aura; as if someone had been there before her. The scents and fragrances she applied to herself had a lingering presence here. She was here... Round Two. An hour and a half before rendezvous, make-up. Again, the instructions were specific. They were in strict accordance with the philosophy—being a slut is a condition of mind. The essential for tonight's experience was not necessarily to look the part, but to be it—'Angela, can you be it?,' a voice in the back of her head asked. Sydian, always addressed her as 'Angela'; always insisted on a certain formality and decorum for their public personas...Sydian, always gently controlled. She dominated. But then, 'Sydian' was 'Sydd' too—playful, witty, kind beyond belief, super intellectual; artistic in her way. That was why Angela gravitated to her sphere... Angela had a somewhat Goth, Pagan sensibility about her. It was a sensibility that Sydian could work with... In fact, the contrast between the two of them could be striking: Angela, pale and dark; Sydian, black and blond. Both quite fit. Sydd, an inch or two taller. Angela, slender, boyish, feminine. Sydian, slim, feminine, hung... Angela was an artist; a sensibility that Sydian not only cherished, but nurtured. When Angela had inquired of how Sydian wanted her to present herself publicly—and she assumed privately, as well—really how Sydian wanted her to look, Sydian's response was in two parts: 'Look at me, Angela. What do you see?' The answer was almost obvious—almost: elegance with sensuality, almost lethal, seething beneath the surface. 'Now, after you've answered that question, how should you appear when you're with me—one, to complement me to that world outside, and two, to draw me into the world inside—to seduce me, Sweets. After you've made that assessment, I leave it to your formidable talents—with a little guidance every now and then,' she chuckled... So the 'guidance; came from time to time like this evening... Her make-up had been laid out for her before hand. She and Sydian had even discussed hairstyle and color before hand. Sydian had suggested a wig or a stylist... The stylist knew Sydian and would do whatever they wanted. Angela opted for an asymmetrical, 'oriental' cut, completely cropped on one side, dyed a bluish-black; playing up the contrast of her pale skin... The make-up on the counter top was a range of the colors Angela normally used: blacks, grays; Sydian had suggested a kabuki white, blues, and one or two purples. She had, however, insisted that Angela's lipstick and gloss be a violent, bright shade of red. Sydian had murmured something about wanting to be 'marked'...Angela knew exactly where she desired to place her 'mark...' Angela's talent got the best of her: her face was exquisite. One need imagine a Kabuki/Goth, or one of Michael Manning's graphics come to life. That was Angela on this night...Sydian had sent the clothes over. Something for an early fall night in the city...something to match Angela's Pagan sensibilities: black. The dress was a short, short, tight, tight, sleeveless turtleneck. There was a black knit duster to match, ankle-length. Black, Cuban-heeled, seamed, thigh highs... And the shoes, both she and Sydian's weakness—soft, black kid; five inch stilettos with a broad ankle-band that tied in the front... Angela gazed at her face in the full-length mirror. She felt the slight rise in temperature in her thighs... She loved these occasions—being with Sydian, of course—but what being with Sydian allowed her to become. She was mirroring one of Sydian's quintessential lines: 'I'm simply an illusion.' She loved becoming. She glided into the stockings. Slid her feet into the stilettos and tied them. Then she stood in the mirror again and let her ego have its way. The heat that had started in her thighs now collected in her pussy...what had been damp, now became wet as she stared at her reflection... She glanced at the clock; there was time. There was the voice—Sydian's—'Always indulge yourself...' Naked in the mirror, stockings and heels, she spread her legs and became her own lover...anticipating the lover to come... Her left hand rose to her hard, apple breast; cupped it, kneaded it—hard—then slid up to the pencil eraser nipple. She twisted it in the mirror and the electricity slid from her arch to the back of her pussy. The familiar jolt was always unexpected. Naked in the mirror, her right had slid up the course of her thigh, following the electric trail, instinctively causing her legs to part further... 'Why waste time?' her inner voice said. The hand sensed the slickness of her pussy from the slickness of her thigh...it was a three-finger slickness... The three fingers parted the lips of her pussy and plunged in as she twisted the nipple again...no time for niceties. She stared at the beauty in the mirror finger-fucking herself until her eyes began to glaze. Her legs began to tremble as she pistoned herself, and she fell back on the bed. Her hand didn't stop. The one that had punished the nipple found its way to the rose of her ass... Another jolt; she shuddered and howled. The last word on her lips before sleep claimed her was 'Sydian'... Sydian - Angela She literally fucked him with her face. With both hands on the cheeks of his ass, her nails sunk in separating them, she pulled him to her and deeper down her throat... She had been well-coached. From the corner of her eye she caught Sydd's disciplined straining in the seat beside... She knew she was saving herself for her and the night's later activities...the sight of Sydd's big dick caused Angela to redouble her efforts...'places to go...things to do'... She slid one finger, then two up his sweaty asshole. He lurched. 'Yes, Babi,' she thought as he pushed deeper. Then she pulled back, just the cock-head in her mouth, a quick glance at Sydd...she twisted her lips round the head and pistoned her fingers in and out of his asshole. The roar was muffled; the load copious, sweet, hot... She made him pump til she was certain she had all of it. He thrashed and whimpered slightly. She stood up, grabbed the nape of his neck and forced her tongue between his lips making him taste himself. She leaned to Sydd, tongue out. Sydd's lips circled Angela's tongue tightly and sucked...her own cock bobbing... 'Time to go, Hun.' She looked at him. 'Service was excellent.' She pressed a scrap of paper into his hand, glanced at Sydd... 'You might want to come play with us, sometime... That is, if you're not afraid...' Sydd nodded, and the two of them head to the stairs... Sydian Ch. 01-08 Sydian/Chapter 1/Unique Unique. The only way to describe her. She had invented herself to be arresting. She liked stopping traffic. She was not quite 5' 5". This meant that in her favorite stilettos—stilettos, only—she was 5-9, maybe 5-10. She weighed a compact 140 lbs—"thick," as the youngsters put it. But this was all muscle—she was cut—sculpted; not overly done. She traded on her contrasts: her skin was the color of polished ebony—she called herself after her color: "Sydian." (Pronounced "Sid-jaan"—just plain "Syd" for short) She favored cobalt lenses; and for added effect she offset the entire look with very short twists the color of winter wheat. Her perfect face was all the elegance Africa contained; there was no mistaking that from the high cheekbones and the wide, flaring nostrils to the thick sensuous lips she kept lacquered like a work of Chinese art. She was drama without the theatrics; she didn't like theatrics. Either she did, or she didn't. The 38s were sculpted too—the best money could buy, with nipples that bore holes in almost everything she wore. Even covered they gave off heat to any body she came in contact with. The waist was a tight, flat 30, graced by a pair of 36 inch hips. She was a special package—in more ways than one. She was intelligent, in the extreme. The only way she could have gotten this far. A professional woman, nine to five. She lived comfortably. She was independent—again, in the extreme. No one owned her; though there were a few who wished she owned them. Her dress was stylish and always right for the occasion. The occasions she preferred were those that allowed her to wear her clothing short and tight, and many times in leather. She hated panties. But then again, that was because of her "special-ness"—she was hung. Something she never tried to hide; a fact some would say she flaunted. Oh no, she wasn't about to hide that! On the occasions she preferred; in the special places she preferred, she wore her ten, thick inches strapped to her thigh, just barely below the top of her seamed stockings—sometimes nestled in it; held in place by an elastic band that moved with her and discretely exposed her as if it were nothing more than a clit—a very large clit, perhaps, but a clit nonetheless... She loved being on display...On these occasions she meant to be seen by any and everyone who was attractive and of a similar persuasion—male, female, and otherwise. She was hot; she knew she was hot. And it was a heat she needed to share. *** She glided through the doors of her favorite establishment, the long, pale blue duster billowing behind her. The maitre d' greeted her, smiled knowingly and led her to her booth, placed his hands to her shoulders for her wrap. Upscale. Peopled by people like her; all attractive in their way; most quite interesting; all omni-sexual. As she slid from the duster, it became quite clear to anyone observing—it was clear to her—that tonight, sexually, she was extremely dangerous. She loved being dangerous; being the dangerous one. The coat fell away from her arms and the most evident manifestation of her dangerous nature was obvious. The few people who took note, did so discretely, but with great intensity and detail. On this warm spring night, all of that body was poured into the tightest, shortest cobalt knit dress imaginable; a piece only long enough to keep some of her admirers guessing, and then not for too long. It was a turtleneck sans sleeves, with a back that plunged to the crack of her ass and literally gripped its fullness. Each time she dressed, she grew fonder of the clichés concerning this "asset." Tonight, dressing was a little more difficult than normal. The narcissist in her got the better of her as she slid into the dress; she could hardly get it over her beautiful, black, hard, thick cock, and then strap it into to place and tuck it into her stocking band. She always found herself exciting. They found her exciting too. She slid into the booth, and her eyes adjusted to the room...The apple martini was already there; she had been anticipated. She glanced over the top of the menu and scanned the room; many of the regulars; meet and greet later...Her eyes fell on the bar—"hello"—he was new, and hard to place. Like the others, well-dressed, but down-played. Attractive? In his way. Professional... international, maybe? The cut was entirely Italian; muted with flecks of color. The way the clothes draped the body, it was clear that there was a body—in all probability, a nice body—underneath. The hair and beard were closely cropped black and silver dustings. But, he didn't look that old. They wreathed a mahogany face with strong matching hands. He wasn't that tall—an inch or two taller than she in her stocking feet. She liked that. She liked looking down on her "prey" from the perch the heel afforded. ("Ah, heels," she thought.) He wasn't shy, either. The loose, full-cut, tailored slacks left nothing to her imagination, or to anyone else's who took the time to be observant. When he moved—leaning back against the bar, glancing up at the TV—it was clear he was a "pony-boy"—hung like a horse. She loved watching, and being watched. Her cock twitched and a pearl of precum lodged itself between her thigh and stocking. "Mmmmm," she thought, "what a way to fuck up a pair of expensive hose." "How to do this..." She was born to heels. She crossed the room almost imperceptibly. He wasn't the type to believe that anything would come his way that he didn't go after, so he hardly noticed when she ended up at his back, her beautiful black back to him, framed in blue...She had gotten a good look at all that meat as she approached—he was huge—and she was growing. Even though she was strapped, her cock had swollen and extended down her thigh. One drop now had the consistency of a minor leak—lighting and positioning helped... She leaned back slightly. The wheat colored twists broke the plane of his space without his noticing. She was close enough for him to catch her fragrance and her hot, husky whisper. "I'm buying whatever..."—the pause—long enough to make anyone pregnant—"you're drinking." He turned. Caught that exquisite noir face, the contrast of lenses and twists, and his tongue stuck in his throat. She had leaned forward against the bar, that magnificent ass protruding ever so slightly, her naked back exposed, her head tilted at him. He hadn't had time to take in all of her. A step back. She noticed. A quick, subtle, but thorough appraisal. And she noticed. The pants tented a bit more, and maybe there was a bead of moisture. She played her strong suit—the bitch. "I'd like to be the cat that got that tongue; and a few other things," she smirked as she dropped her eyes to his crotch. "A drink, beautiful," she murmured, "a drink." She pivoted on her heels to face him and he caught the thickness of her thighs. "I hate eating alone..." *** "I lie," she continued, "I don't hate eating alone. Only when the company is interesting." He had watched her cross the floor. Smooth; fluid strides, her hips swayed like water. The long, powerful legs ate up distance... "eat?" Clearly, she liked to "eat"—many things, including her men... The hips swayed, the stilettos clicked. She pivoted when she realized that he wasn't at her side. She looked at him, took him all in, licked her enameled lips, then smiled wickedly and said, "You are coming, aren't you?" Rolling off her lips, "coming" sounded too much like "cumming." He was leaking like a faucet, and the tightness of the hem of her dress only emphasized her hardness. His gait was measured...he never hurried—tonight, as hard as his cock was, how could he? She had made it into an 11+ inch splint just by whispering in his ear, gazing at him, crossing the room. He could only muster a dignified limp as he moved to the table, the stain of precum widening on his trouser leg. She grinned—beautiful set of teeth; well suited to those thick scarlet lips—she missed nothing—"Did I do that?" Her eyes locked on the outline of that huge cock. Again, uncharacteristically, he was at a loss for words. In many ways, he couldn't figure out what he was doing here. He had just come in from out of town. The hotel was round the corner, and the place was "recommended." All right...the recommendation wasn't from the most commendable of his associates—actually it had come from his brother, an aficionado of the wild and seamy and the sexually indecipherable, all on the upscale. He was his brother's only confidant in the family—the only one to whom his brother would openly voice his homosexuality—the only one who would tease him about "letting loose" and letting a "girl" show him how that meat ought to be handled. His brother had assured him that it was a first class spot—he wouldn't be hassled or harassed—he might be eyeballed however—the "family curse" could be hard to hide. Hard to hide, indeed. So here he was, with a "girl"—with her. And his cock was about to tear through his pant; which, by the way were already fucked up... *** As she eyed the menu, her hand trailed from the juncture of his crotch down the massive ridge that had become his cock. The lacquered nails came to rest on the spot where his cock head was pooling in his pants. Abstractly, she said "What I want isn't on the menu..." He shuddered; shivered a bit as his cock strained even more. She squeezed, gently, just to make him leak more—to chart his reaction... She leaned closer, pushing the fabric of her turtleneck into the valley of her tits, exposing the huge nipples. Her breath was hot on the lobe of his ear: "But what I want is here at the table," squeezing that horsecock again... Then placing his hand on her thigh, "And I've got something for you too, Daddi..." "Time to go..." Sydian/Chapter 2/ By the Way Gently she took the hand that she had placed on her thigh in hers, sniffed its fragrance, lightly snaked her tongue over the longest digits, then grasped it firmly and led him from the booth. "By the way, I'm Sydd...short for Sydian." He took it in for a moment, as he took her in. His composure, returning, slowly, he spoke for the first time, "Sydd..." softly. He thought on the name... "Sydian." It came to him: smooth, sleek, blackness. She flicked her head at his murmuring and answered back just as softly, squeezing his hand, "Yes?"...the click of her heels across the parking lot the only other sound. *** He had gotten her wrap in the restaurant, a swirl of pale blue, perfect contrast with the cobalt of her dress and eyes—she mocked and played from the inside of her head to the meticulous nature of what was first seen. Nothing was as it appeared. He placed it over her shoulders in the narrow passage between checkroom, restrooms and exit. Fluidly, like a thick, hot liqueur, she turned on him, pressed him against the wall and groped. Her fingers were flashes at his zipper. Unable to pull all that cock out, she stroked it in his pants, felt the knotted leather thong at its base, sighed, "uhmmmm"; slid her hand from base to head, milking her capture, her tongue stabbing the back of his throat while her wide, thick lips smothered his. She pulled back. That wide smile crossed her face. "I just wanted to see if you were real. Now look what you've done to me..." He looked. Even in the gloom of the corridor he could tell. Like him, she had lengthened, thickened. Her cock was drooling down the expensive Cuban stockings. She made no attempt to hide her arousal, or her pleasure as they exited. None of this went unnoticed by the rest of the patrons; particularly those who had to negotiate this interlude, their bodies brushing—some even pressing—against the pressers—possibly deriving their own pleasures as well. She moved him down the corridor, through the door and into the night air. And there he began to play the music to her ears...softly he spoke her name... *** Searching for conversation. "So..." Sidelong glance; the smile... "Yes?" "Do you always dress like this?" "No Babi, usually, I only dress like this... to fuck and be fucked...this time you got the eye-candy, too." Stuck again, "hmmmm...," was all he could muster. "Cat got that tongue, again? Well, I'll see if I can remedy that. Over here," she motioned. It was small, two-seated, fast—her. She pressed the key ring; it opened up. Pressing buttons, he noted...his, hers or both? She slid in behind the wheel—always sliding in—he dropped into the passenger seat. The cabin smelled of leather and her—another sign? Another "sliding" as her skirt slid above her thighs exposing her crotch—ten inches worth, balls and all. The key inserted; the ignition engaged, he could imagine the spark plugs firing. The pistons roused to life, rhythmically pumping and thumping at her insistence. He could imagine horse-power—he had just seen it...She depressed the clutch, slid the car into gear and they drifted along the dark streets... She glanced at him from time to time. He caught snatches of her as they passed under lights, stopped for signals. He stopped being coy and let his eyes lay wherever he pleased, and she obliged. She slid her hand to the top of her stocking, snapped her "cock-band" and the stocking's elastic and her beauty sprang free. She turned the car onto a long, straight stretch of beach front highway, glanced at him and the way in which he was fixed on all that beautiful cock and smirked, "So, you wanna help me, here?" as she pushed the throttle to the floor. Sydian/Chapter 3/A Long Straight Road A long, straight road; coastal, along the sea, heading into it. In the distance, a sun that had not decided if it was setting or rising. A long, straight road, purpled mountains out his window. Enough light to catch the contrasts: the cobalt of her turtleneck against the flawless black of her high cheek bones; the slight slant of the cobalted eyes...the shock of winter-wheat twists that blended with the soft, deep leather of the seats. Strong, black arms smoothed into strong black hands—manicured nails glistening—gripped the wheel, pushed the car into fifth. They not so much flew as cruised. Calculated or not, the stilettos on clutch and throttle had pushed the hem of the dress well beyond its limits—it had climbed above her waist and he thought he heard a distant sigh as her balls came into contact with the cool leather of the seat. A sidelong glance revealed the pale leather cupping that beautiful black ass... The other gear knob glistened. It mushroomed atop a stiff, thick ebony column. A clear pearl forced its way through the slit, and then a copious stream followed. The head of her cock glinted in the fading light. The car in cruise—70, 80 miles an hour—she placed her arm across the back of his seat; caught him in a glance. The full set of perfect teeth flashed as she ran her tongue over them, smiled and then hissed, huskily: 'So, can a girl get a hand, or what?' His hand crossed the divide of the console to the full space between her thighs. She winced...sighed...then moaned, ever so slightly (was it 'Yes, Daddi...' he heard, almost inaudibly?)... His fingers played over the broad, mushroom head, smoothing the pearls of precum into it. When his grip dropped to the ridges below the crown, her hips jumped involuntarily. She tightened her grip on the wheel to control the car and herself. It was then that he began a relentless and methodical manual assault on her cock. She pushed back in her seat as far as possible, opening her thighs as wide as she could. Her stretching extended to the throttle. The cruise-control disengaged. The vehicle move from 80 to 85 to 90... 'Ummmm...yessss, Daddi. Work Mami. Work my "gear-shift"...put this racing body through her paces...' The voice was caught in the back of her head...given her physical duress she could never have gotten the words to her tongue and through those beautiful lips. Lips that were now slightly parted by shallow breathing...her eyes glazed now and again as she fought to focus on the road and his pleasure-giving... 'Damn! This boy is too good! Shit! He's had practice at this...Ooooo, shit, too fuckin gooood!' He concentrated on working the head. He simply figured on what brought him the most pleasure and he applied it to her... 'Uhnnnnnnn...!' she moaned, her back arching in the drivers seat, the stilettoed foot slamming the accelerator, arms extended, hands clutching the wheel...The first shot arced over the wheel, splattered against the windshield and thickly and slowly cascaded down. He pumped her thick, pretty cock two or three more times. Each time there was a jet of cream, not quite as powerful as the one before, but still quite impressive. All arcing and splattering the dash. By the time she swerved the car to a 180 degree halt on the shoulder, he was as sweaty as she was...and maybe for the same reasons. But he was still hard as a brick... *** She lifted his cum-coated fist to her mouth, unfolded the fingers and licked them. 'You really should taste me...mmmmmm...' and she pushed the hand back to him... 'clean yourself'...it was both a request—almost from a lover—and an order. He licked the back of his hand first, and then proceeded to suck the creamed digits—almost too eagerly...His eye strayed to her crotch—he could have sworn her cock twitched and began to grow again—then back to her eyes. They were hot, smoldering and smirking... She took his hand back, reached to his crotch. 'And what have we here?' she teased, as she sucked his two middle fingers deep into her mouth... Sydian/Chapter 4/Milking 'Milking.' She loved the notion and all that it implied as she worked him through his pants. 'That feel good to you, Daddi?' she cooed, softly as he shifted in the soft leather, his trousers slick from the 'oil' she was pressing from his cock. 'Mmmmm, Mami's caught a big one here...' She slid one well-manicured hand to the base of his cock. Through the linen of his pants with the 'O' of her thumb and index finger she circled and clamped the space from his pelvis back, choking the shaft and balls, forcing more blood into that monster cock. He moaned again; squirmed; his breath came in short bursts. 'Yessss, Daddi, yessss...' The maneuver brought her into contact with the braided thong that already encircled the base of his cock and that was making it and his balls swell. 'Hello...,' she said to herself. 'Mmmmm, I've got an interesting 'little' fucker here...this thing is going to feel delightful rubbing against all my nastiness...' She tightened her circle, competing with the cock-thong. He moved and his cock did too...it seemed to grow even more in his pants. Her other hand slid from the base to the head, smoothing the fabric in its wake. Pre-cum oozed in greater quantity, puddling, then seeping to the surface and staining the cloth. 'Oooooo, Daddi, we're really fuckin' up these pants...' He could only groan. 'Need to get you out of these. Babi's hungry.' *** She released him—for the time being, at least—and with great symbolism, slid the key back into the ignition, turned over the engine and coaxed the fine car back onto the road. It was all a play on her body, her sex, her heat. She was the car. A fine, fine machine, finely tuned, and running hot. And he had a big key for her. Her mind and imagination turned to animal metaphors. She was a bitch—she contained her giggle—she certainly was—and he was a 'big dog'—and he certainly was... she was a big, nasty cat, and he was her tom. But the one that really suited their circumstance and her demeanor was the fact that she was actually a thoroughbred—a very hot and sweaty thoroughbred; and again, he was a stud. And she wanted horse-cock in the worst way. She wanted that horse-cock. The vibration and purr of the engine stimulated both their cocks. She looked over at him and smiled—warmly and in anticipation, as they pulled into the garage. He stepped out, his discomfort evident—the cause for another of her smiles—but he was game as he walked around to her door. 'A 'gentleman,' in spite of it all, she chuckled to herself... Sydian Ch. 01-08 She stepped from the car. Clicked the remote, maneuvered him between herself and the hot hood, pressed herself between his thighs and his ass to the hood, and put her tongue as far down this throat as possible. She held it and him there for the longest time. Then she spoke, 'I want you, Boy. Cum on...' *** Up in the glass elevator—it wasn't quite the penthouse, but it was high enough—she fondled him on every flight between the garage and her condo door—milking that big snake for all it was worth. By the time they reached her door, his left pant leg was soaked and discolored. Absently, he had mused during their ascent on how many people in the atrium witnessed their antics. She was literally all over him on the ride up, and her hem was well above her thighs. When the door opened, she turned, fully exposed. She let him in. It was sumptuous and sparse—all in the same space—just like her. The view—like her—was also panoramic. Her back was against the door. 'So who's first?' she asked, stroking ten inches of the prettiest cock he'd ever seen... Sydian/Chapter 5/ So Who's First? 'So who's first?...' Though, for some reason he was still at a lost for words, his actions spoke for him. The black flecked, taupe, tweed silk and linen jacket was gone. There was a practiced precision as he undid the taupe linen pants—belt, zipper and all, and gracefully stepped from them as they hit the floor. The taupe silk t rippled over his ripples—nice, nice definition; muscled, but not a 'muscle-boy.' His big, pretty black cock bobbed up and down as the shirt jerked from his head. Pre-cum seeped from the slit and pooled at his feet... 'Shiiiiiiiiiit...,' she hissed softly through her teeth. 'Unh, unh, unh. You are exactly what Mami needs and wants...Damn! I could get used to a man like you and meat like that...' Of course, she was literally 'telegraphing,' herself. Her pretty pole was straight out; glazed with pre-cum and she worked it to produce more. He eyed her hungrily, weighed her words and stepped slowly towards her like a big cat, all that thonged, swollen cock swaying with each stride. She sucked in her breath; almost winced as he came upon her, turning her head as the heat of his body met hers. He was in heat. He was heat. She sighed loudly—almost a moan—almost melted, but that cock stayed hard... Here, he was the predator; the tables were turned. One hand seized her throat—gently—while his tongue forced itself inside her mouth. Her knees went weak. The other hand cupped her balls, hoisted, and then slid up the shaft and began to work her with even more intensity than the episode in the car. His hot, slick cock against hers—both now in his fist...she thought she would pass out... His hot, slick cock-flesh sliding along side hers in that oiled vice-grip. His tongue doing all kinds of wonderful, nasty things to her mouth—fucking it...She moaning, not like the Queen Bitch she was, but like some silly little bitch hardly able to control her first cum...wanting to give up her cream as quickly as possible in his hot grip. Who was this man...who the fuck was he? He hadn't even let her undress...he was working her through that cobalt knit—'turnabout'—she had fucked up his pants, now he was leaving her 'Lewinski-ed...' Her cock was up against her flat belly, outside the dress, oozing nectar, seeping into the knit, coating the underside, and sliding across the planes that led to her navel...She moaned, she thought, like an inexperienced little slut receiving her first pleasure...It embarrassed her... Deftly, he flipped her so that she faced the door; snapped her arms so that she was extended from it, and then gently—always gently, but always with a force that demanded response—the proper response—he kicked the stilettoed legs open...wide, real wide. Forced to bend slightly at the waist, her head hung momentarily between her shoulders, taking in her heaving breasts, their thick nipples trying to puncture the fabric, and her own nakedness below the waist, hard and desiring. He had forced her to assume 'the position.' 'The position' had also forced her dress higher; far up over her hips, it gathered at her waist. Cool air from the balcony rushed her naked ass, thighs, cock and balls. The pre-cum congealed, formed a slight, sugary glaze, and then she began to leak all over again. He leaned towards her, bracing his arms on either side of hers. The head of his cock, slick and still oozing ('did it ever stop?' she wondered), caught the top of the crack of her ass, slid down and grazed her asshole—making her wince again—and thrust up between her balls making her own cock rise...giving it a saddle of sorts... Then, for the first time, he initiated conversation...it began almost as any school-girl might wish. His voice was soft, deep; the rumble of that big cat purring in his chest. His head rested between the shoulder blades that her dress left only too naked; his short beard tickling and scratching, totally arousing her. The cocks bobbed; hers jerked and leaked when he spoke. 'You are incredibly beautiful,' he began, as his lips nuzzled and her breath came shorter and shorter. 'Incredibly beautiful...' He nipped her blades and then locked his teeth in the space between her shoulder and neck. This time her pleasure was heard cross the room and out the open balcony doors...it wafted down the stories certainly heard a floor or two below, and then was lost... His hands slid down from the wall to cup her breasts. Then he went to work on her nipples. The sensation forced her to back up onto him. His cock—somewhat larger than her ten inches—was now head to head with hers as she felt the braided thong against her ass and the base of her balls. The pleasure forced 'Unghhhhhh...' From her mouth as he began to handle her nipples in exactly the way she had intended: roughly. He pulled and twisted and she and they responded. She pushed back and ground her ass and hips against his braided pelvis. They—her nipples—became longer and thicker, leaking too, they taunted his manipulations... The right hand disengaged, slid down the outside of her body, caressed her outer quarter before it grazed her ass and found her inner thigh. Reaching between her thighs from behind, he seized the prize and pulled it back toward him. She almost came then and there. His lips trailed from the space between shoulder and neck down her back to the base of her spine. He seized her there, momentarily. Clamping and sucking had the desired effect: her cock lengthened and thickened in his grasp; his palm was awash in pre-cum. Her response was to fuck his fist. His lips moved from there to her asshole. At first contact she stiffened. Almost virginal, she tried to deny his tongue access...then the slut took over...He forced entry—what she desired most—thrust his tongue deep and began to tongue-fuck her ass. Her only choice was to fuck back. Her rosebud clamped his tongue while her cock worked his hand in unison... 'Ooooooooo! O God! O God!' Sydd wailed...her crystal walls vibrated in concert his tongue's assault on the hot, wet walls of her asshole. 'Shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Please, Babi! Please...Pul-leeeze stop...You're gonna make me cum...' He only stopped long enough to growl lowly, 'Give me what I want, Bitch...' Too many Star Trek movies...Resistance was futile...she moved to make it so...She gapped her legs even wider...braced herself against the wall for her own eruption. She whimpered as she felt it boil and rise from her balls and race up the shaft. Just as it hit the head, he covered it—with his mouth, taking her deep in his throat. Surprised—shocked, electrically—she howled, lunged even deeper. Spewing and spilling her hot cock cream into his hungry mouth, two of his strong fingers working the hole his tongue had just vacated...His pretty prey twisting and thrusting on them...babbling epithets of pleasure incoherently... 'Who's first?'...Indeed... Sydian/Chapter 6/ He Rose He rose, turned her to him, her cock leaking cum copiously against her thigh and his. His mouth full and open, he clamped her thick, lush lips and shared her sweet seed with her. Always a greedy slut, Sydd took all that she could, her tongue working feverishly in his mouth, her lips sucking his tongue as both her hands closed on his cock. Two hands were simply not enough... He looked at her; held the gaze. His eyes and his cock said he was not finished yet...nowhere near it. She knew it. She needed it. Her ass had begun its proverbial twitch...it was fevered. She held out her hand. He accepted it, steadied her; then she led him to her bedroom—all white with a bed that defied measurement. She hoisted the turtleneck of her dress over her crop of winter wheat. She was caught in the mirrors that enfolded three walls of the room and opened on the ceiling to floor glass wall and another entrance to the balcony... The ocean and beach were caught in one-third of the huge window's frame; the other two-thirds faced two equally chic and windowed condos. She glanced at him as her tits and their thick nipples sprang into the mirrored vista, still tingling from his manipulations... 'Sometimes I like giving a show...They're most appreciative...' She smirked. 'Hope you don't mind...' He caught her vision, smiled. 'Besides, its clear to me, that you're quite a show-off yourself...I bet I could get you to do me almost anywhere...' 'The operative word is "almost,"' he said softly. The dress slid from her breasts down her thighs, got caught on her cock and finally made its way to the floor. 'You're not done, are you?' A question underlying a plea. He smiled, shook his head 'No.' 'With you, I wish I had the stamina of ten men.' She laughed. 'With what you have, Babi, I'd say five men are already here.' Then hotly, her cock giving a slight twitch, 'How you want me, Daddi?' *** She reached down to unlace the stilettos that wound their way up her calves. 'Don't,' he said. 'With me, always wear them...' 'Mmmmmmm,' she thought, 'this big black fucker is too hot...' Then she caught herself again, stifled the giggle. ' "Big." He was shorter than she was in heels...150 lbs at best, but tight, o so tight... "Big," yesssssssss. Exactly where she needed him to be.' Backing to the bed, she asked again, 'How you want me, Daddi?' 'Nasty,' he answered. 'O, I could love this big-dicked muthafucka,' she thought. She stared straight into his eyes, turned on him and clambered onto the bed on all fours, her ass arched high and puckered; her cock and balls swaying an invitation. She glanced over her shoulder at him. 'Cum get it, Daddi. Make it yours...' *** Before he could get to the bed, she reached to the nite-stand and pulled out a tube of lipstick. As he approached, she creamed her lips; a deep, thick, bright, violent red. 'You need to fuck these first, Papi...' she said. 'I need to get you too hard. Want you to be able to spear my hot asshole. Don't care if you cum soon as you touch me...I've got the mouth of a goddess, Babi. I'll bring you back to life...Feed me, Daddi. Feed Mami. Feed your sweet bitch...' Sydian/Chapter 7/They Were Plush They were plush; plush and hot, and full of promise. She licked them as if her tongue could give more gloss, and smoothness—more flavor—to her slick, red lips. Slick red against the polished black luster of her face. Not a word passed between them as she ovalled her lips and tightened them, making him force his way to pleasure. He wasted no time. Rhythmically he rode her mouth; but she controlled all that cock, sucking and whipping her tongue around it; feeling him swell to proportions that she wondered if even she could take... He was big—big—huge...Damn! Here was a cock that frightened even her...Damn, she needed this piece...she pulled back from his mouth-fucking, clamped the base of his cock with thumb and forefinger, and smiled as she wiped a rope of spit and precum from her chin and worked it into the head of his cock. Still holding onto him, she turned and presented her ass. With her other hand, leaning forward with a shoulder on the bed, she spread the cheeks of her ass and revealed the perfect bud of her asshole...By the look on his face, she knew he could hardly believe it: it was perfect—she had had the asshole of a virgin—damn, she had worked hard at it! She had mastered the exercises that kept her asshole tight and even attractive, if that were at all possible... 'So fuckin' vain...,' she laughed o herself... The ass, itself, was beautiful enough, and she shifted just so slightly to put him on task again...Her move was to have the desired effect: she wanted the first thrust, at least, to be painful—to burn her; to sear her asshole and love tunnel. She wanted him to then hump her hard—bone-jarring pelvic shots—for as long as possible. She knew, no matter how perfect his body; no matter the extent of his stamina, he couldn't bang her forever...So she had to calculate the first shots of this fuck...Save the 'love-making' for later—if there was to be any—she wanted a hard, nasty ass-fucking now! She wanted to remember him. How else? His cock rested against the tight outside ring of her ass for only a second or so...Then, in what seemed to be slow motion, he rose on his toes, splayed the cheeks of her ass wide with both strong hands, arched his back away from her, and slammed home...The pain was incredible...just what she needed—what she hoped for. With her asshole on fire she screamed. Her decibels filled the room, shook the floor-to-ceiling panes... 'Oooooooooooo,' she wailed, YOU'RE HURTING ME! YOU'RE HURTING MEEEeeeeeeee...' 'Stop! Stop! O please, STOPPPPP!' It was only his first thrust. He had hit bottom with a bang. When the head of his cock collided with the bottom of her shit-slide, her balls and cock shook...then her cock began to grow and thicken and lengthen with every hot, raw stroke he gave her. She was crying so much—she was so loud—that he eased for a moment—only to have her give him a snarling look that told him that she expected him to fuck to shit out of her... 'O, Daddi...don't you dare!' 'Hurt the Bitch! Hurt the Bitch!...Yessssssss, hurt the Bitch! Claim me Daddi! Claim me—claim this ass! Make me your bitch! Please Daddi, please...See how good it is when you hurt me good; when you hurt the Bitch good?' On his backstroke he glanced between her thighs and saw her meaning. Her cock was bloated a full, hard, ten inches. Precum was puddling the sheet as it stretched from the slit of her dickhead like a thick shaft of liquid crystal. His hands slipped from her sweaty haunches. One found one of her fat, thick nipples; the thumb and forefinger twisted it sharply. She squealed; rocked back against him...sending his cock even deeper. The other hand found her big, pretty black cock. He began to stroke it in rhythm to his pumping of her ass...Syddd's head lolled from side to side in the pillows...she was in heaven—or, at least, it was up her ass... Sydian/Chapter 8/The Presence of Mind/Finis The presence of mind...the presence of mind. Sydd drifted back from the fog of pleasure that had engulfed her. Then it dawned on her, as he worked her nipple and the head of her cock. She wanted more. She didn't want this to end just yet; and not quite like this: her submissive and prostrate; ass up and filled. Well, the latter was exactly what she wanted, but she also need to be more active—she needed to impart a little pleasure of her own—it was a matter of pride—if nothing else. She needed to hear this pretty, big, black cocked muthafucka at least call her name. She struggled to put her arms out in front of her. He still hammered her asshole like a tight drum, but he was conserving energy. He was, after all, she smiled, 'human.' But O!, was this fucka good! She pushed up onto her elbows; then straightened her arms and pushed her self back onto his lap deeply. He moaned. 'Good,' she thought... Her move forced him to sit back on his haunches, and now she settled deeply into his lap, her thighs flanking his. Now she began to grind with all that cock up her ass...it would be the nastiest lap dance he'd ever have. In a flurry, his hands were everywhere. They felt so good, she almost lost concentration,. They slipped from her cock to the flat of her belly, and then came to rest just above her hips. For a moment...or two...he lifted her thrusts on his cock... 'O Babi, Babi...,' dripped from her lips. The hands swept back to her belly and then smoothed the skin between her belly and breasts. When they got to those two creations, the tactile assault was merciless. He caught them and her on the upstroke; cupping them underneath, he managed her pumping of his cock... 'Jeeezuz! This man is ggggoood...' An instant later, they were back on the 'prize.' This time, he took two handfuls of her cock and began to pump in time to her thrusts against him. She passed her arms back through his, locking them behind his back. The silhouette in the mirrors was breath taking. Her beautiful, full, hard tits arched upward and all that hard cock jutting away from her body as she rode him. Now her fetish kicked in. she was mesmerized by her own carnal vision. She loved the sight of her fucking; her sexing. And he was doing it for her and to her. She leaned back against him, into him. 'Daddi?' 'Hmmm?' 'Daddi, it's too good...you gonna havta give me that nut soon...real soon, Daddi...cuz I can't hold much longer.' Amazing how years of education and breeding can slip away just like that in the act of fucking... She felt him get larger in her asshole...she tightened her grip round his back, tried to get deeper into his lap. She arched back against him, let her head slide to his shoulder, gently breathed/kissed against his neck, knowing that neither of them could contain the heat. He worked her thick swollen cock, again making her cream churn to the surface in competition with a moan that could not escape her lips and whose pressure almost blocked her ears... As her hot, hot cum erupted and splattered up between her breasts, she felt him burst in her ass-canal. She jerked and twitched on his cock. The sensation, she thought for the moment, was unbelievable—then she quickly thought better of herself, almost missing, in the exchange, a tight, muffled 'Sssssyddd...uhhhhh...Sssyddd-jiaan...Sydian...' They collapsed sideways onto the sheets. She smiled softly as fatigued closed her eyes... 'Gotcha, didn't I?!!!...' Sydian: Dinner Sydian / Who came at Dinner? / Ch 1. Afternoon Delight—a Hot Tub ‘You'll dress appropriately'….the line stayed in her head all day long. Luckily, the two o'clock had been perfunctory….they wanted to settle; and good for them! They were the one outfit that Sydd had relished tearing a new asshole for—and not as an act of pleasure, either—but their day would come…. ‘Evening ' to all as she left the office; took the elevator down, the descent causing her balls to rise in her thong…not exactly pleasant, that….she smoothed the front of the white shift, checked her seams—yes, white shift, white-seamed, Cuban-heeled thigh-highs—uhm huh—there were two places that ordered them just for her—one in the Village, the other in G'town. And, of course, her famous stilettos—these, white—how could they not be?.... She stepped from the elevator, turned onto the street and strode up the avenue…. Perfect spring evening. ‘What to wear….' ‘Appropriate' for what? She passed the flower stand….the smell of fresh lilies caused her to pause….So beautiful…. ‘Could I have two dozen please? A dozen white Callas, and the rest mixed Tigers….' She thought of Rivera's ‘Calla Lilies'….could see herself nude, kneeling, that apple-ass of hers exposed, exposing her thick ‘tail,' as she gathered her lilies a la Rivera…The short, Asian woman handed Sydd the bundle and smiled, ‘Almost as pretty as you….' Sydd would have blushed, if she could…She just bent and pecked the old one on the cheek, paid her, and waved goodbye…. ‘What to wear?' it still played in Sydd's head as the doorman opened the door. She crossed the atrium of the condo for the glass elevators; she didn't bother to check her mail….he held the elevator for her….absent-mindedly she said thank you, and just as nonplussed, she untied her thong and whipped it from beneath her hem without flourish—sighed—freedom….he wasn't there; at least not for her he wasn't; though his reaction was quite readable: somewhere between shock and the wish to see more…. The air felt too good kissing her crotch….She had been ‘good' all day….well, at least since her ‘workout'….The air made her cock twitch…he may have noticed…but it was his stop…Sydd smirked…blew a kiss at the back of his bald head and continued her ascent….She was swollen by the time the door open a floor below the penthouse….. *** She really didn't want sex…at least not yet….What she really wanted was the tub—deep, hot, luxurious….and enough time for a nap….and what to wear…. The tub steamed. A fragrant mist hung above the scented, oiled waters. Flowers were arranged all around the huge bathing space; candles flickered against the smoked mirrors, making the space even larger. They reflected walls tiled from ceiling to floor, completely black, matched by a black pedestal sink, toilet, and bidet, a corner shower, and a deep black whirlpool tub. The blackness was only broken by strings of minimalist copper sheathed lamps, suspended from the ceiling; above them, the skylight. The skylight was wondrous. It consumed the center of the room; the tub took up half of its lighted space. Sydd stepped into its light, candles flitting against the mirrored backdrop. The metallic black silk robe fell from her shoulders like a slow-motion movie pan….The evening sun had its chance to kiss and bathe her before the water would….Light cascaded off the slope of her brow, was cradled in hollows of the her finely sculpted shoulders, caught the tips of her erect nipples, glossed the cheeks of her ass, glanced off the head of that flaccid wonder between her thighs, and stopped to dance between her toes….black, polished sculpture in the center of this black mirrored space; naturally lit. Lemons. Lemonade. Sydian was in love with life—no doubt about it as the big toe tested the waters…..She knew how to manage it, even the hot water…. She stepped into the tub. Slid beneath the surface. The waters enclosed her like a blanket—a comforter….the jets began to hum. Below the surface, water swirled, caressing and pricking her flesh all at the same time. She closed her eyes; in her nakedness, settled back…. She knew it would happen. It always did. The body is a curious thing. Especially for those ‘curious things' blessed with certain portions of the male anatomy. Here, water—hot or cold—is supposed to have the same effect; both cause the organ to ‘retreat.' It shrinks in self defense. But in hot water, once acclimated and with the proper mindset, the relaxed body flexes its own ‘muscle.' The jets of the whirlpool help. Sydd was totally amazed—‘undone'—when she first realized the carnal benefits of the whirlpool. Of course, they were ‘carnal'; after all, it was the body. But the whirlpool's jets, properly positioned, were ultimately decadent—the very proper reference to the carnality that could be experienced in the tub. Sydd knew what water could do. She had experienced the faucet as a kid….jacking in the shower was a serious adolescent pleasure. But they held nothing in comparison to the tub and its jets. Sydd's tub was custom. The jets had been positioned according to various anatomical specs—some therapeutic; some even more so…. Acclimated; physically relaxed; calm and cocooned, Sydd let the water have its way. She let it works its magic….The strangest of the jets—three of them—were situated on the floor of the tub, less than six inches apart, in the immediate proximity of where she would rest her bum….and of course her cock….on the tile wall was the control-panel. Sydd knew its braille by heart. The one beneath her ass began a slow rhythmic pulse….almost as if it had a life of its own…it was programmed—they all were; water temp and timing….The jet pulsed up her ass. She snuggled; eyes closed; buoyant, she swiveled her hips in the water, found its rhythm. Just then the jet in front of her cock switched on. Its gentle force pushed her cock flat against her belly. A thousand bubbles attacked her asshole and balls, then washed up the shaft of her cock and over its head….. Two side jets kicked in and forced her cock to stand straight in the churning water…straight and hard….water swirled around the barely submerged head, nipping and biting it…Sydd moaned…thrashed lightly as her grip on the sides of the tub grew tighter and tighter….it always happened this way….She was a prisoner in her own tub. The sensation of the water and the jets suspended and immobilized her. Her cock rose from the water without her ever having to touch it, licked and whipped by the froth…. It was excruciating. Her knuckles ached gripping the tub. Her hips gently pumped the water….The jet angled at her prostate jammed it with a hard, thick spray. She jumped and cream leaped from the slit of her cock. Some splattered her bottom lip. More spurts of cum jumped from her slit as the jet punched the fragile space between her balls and asshole….they hit the foam, the cream churning, creating a milk bath…. Sydd's moan was muffled as the assault ended…She turned her face sidewise in the neck cradle that prevented her from slipping below the surface, and slipped below the surface of a light sleep…. The water lapped above her lip, she caught the scent of her own cum, roused herself, and stepped from the tub to the rug. What had been sunlight was now moonlight, and the slick, water-beaded onyx sculpture was awash in light once again…. Sydian/Who came at Dinner?/Ch 2. Dressed Appropriately Naked. Sydd moved slowly from the black of the bath to the white of the bedroom. Cool, crisp, white cotton sheets beckoned. Freshly laundered, smelling of nothing but clean, she collapsed—clocked for twenty minutes of repose. The proverbial power nap—smooth, black body on crisp, white, cool cotton. Amazing. Twenty minutes and all new. Re-energized. The power nap…. ‘hmmmmm…..power. What to wear?' Sydd rose, walked into the closet. ‘Power,' she mused, ‘power.' And there it was—the central piece. New; she hadn't had the chance to wear this one: black, leather corset, front-clasped, and boned. It beckoned; it pointed her to the crotch-less jodhurs—‘Sure,' she laughed, ‘now the clothes are talkin' to me.' But, the intuition was right. There was the supple leather cod-piece, and finally, the five-inch, black thighboots—stiletto only, please. She brought the gear back to the bed, dumped it there. She grabbed a bottle of body-oil, lavished her body from head to toe. The sheen she obtained made her ‘reflective'….she toweled to a soft, soft glow…. ‘better,' she cooed. She buffed her nails. Ruffled, then brushed that nappy, blond head—winked at herself: ‘hey, pretty, black girl….Mmmmmm, you're naked….' Yeah, Sydd could be a fool…big fun, but you didn't want to get on her bad side…. Yep. She was naked. In the full-length, she started her face. Some would argue that there wasn't much to do. She was—the word is—‘striking.' No two ways about it: either so ‘odd' that you stared; or so stunning you were forced to look twice. She had been known to take the breath away. The genetic material showed right through. And rather than try to hide it, she capitalized on it. On the narrow face everything was accentuated—wide. Wide, almond-shaped eyes; high cheek bones; long, wide nose. And that wide, full mouth. And the color! In a jealous hiss, she had once been called ‘purple'—she wasn't quite all that, but there was no mistaking that she was black. Then against that, the ‘opposites' of those short blond napps, and those cobalt lenses….And ‘voila!', as the marketers would say, ‘Totally ethnic.' Yep. A real, black ‘girl.' A queen of the African diaspora….a ‘queen,' literally, she laughed…. Eyes and lips done, she felt the rush. A tingle, a slight stirring in the loins. She glanced in the mirror, smiled: ‘Hello.' ‘Sydd, you're such a little bitch,' she thought. ‘Keep it up and you'll never be able to tie that codpiece….' *** All done up, Sydd pulled the corset round her back, sucked in and began snapping the ‘fireman's' clasps. Done, she spilled over the top, her roseates half moons; her nipples barely covered, ‘squirming' to leap the breach. ‘Yep. That works,' she breathed, as she clamped a ‘JJ' on her left nipple. The twitching of her cock told her so too…. After a bit of well-deserved narcissism, she pulled on a pair of expensive thigh-highs—seamed, but who would know in this get-up? Then came the jodhpurs. The oil served its purpose….the leather pants—or what there was of them given they had no crotch or ass—slid over her thighs with no difficulty at all. She snapped them and, once again marveled at herself. This time, the way the pants made her ass stand out—not that it didn't anyway….But this, this was something else….she smirked…. Sydd loved looking at herself. Now, how should this be explained? Vanity? Narcissism? Egocentrism and self-centeredness? Sure. But possibly not in the ways these ideas are usually understood. Sydd's love of self could only be understood in terms of the idea that Sydd truly marveled at what she had become. For her, each pass by a mirror; each reflection, registered on something incredible—someone she didn't fully recognize, and could hardly ever come to know, unless she took the time to ‘meet and greet' this creature on every possible occasion. Sydd was not only an anomaly in a shaky world that thought itself dominated by the ‘great, white straight,' and by the femmes with obsessions for Monroe or Cher; she was also a rebel in a world in which black girls fell under the sway of ‘long' hair and Beyonce-like looks. Dark, short, and nappy, Sydd was the odd-girl out for more than one reason. She had nothing against these girls—some of them—many—were her lovers and best friends. In this context, Sydd's glass-gazing was witness to a rather healthy sense of amazement and perspective-gathering when she caught her own reflection. This was accompanied by the requisite amount of ‘cheerleading' as well….The corset and jodhpurs were ‘you go, girl! Werk!' moments! Now for ‘les pieces de resistance'….what Sydd lived for; one of the main reasons she dressed. They stood in the corner, and like the corset, they had a siren song all their own: five-inch, stilettoed, kid-leather, black thigh boots….Sydd wondered why she didn't just cum looking at them—well that would be a bit much, even for her….. Certainly, she had cum getting into them….She remembered her first pair; how, sitting on the edge of the bed, in front of the mirror, she came, pulling them over her thighs….Her thighs clenched on her cock as she pulled on the second one; her cock, trapped between leather and nylon, just exploded. All of its own accord. A jet of cum leaped from the cock-slit and thudded heavily and thickly on the leather and slowly began its descent….She would remember that it could be worked into the boot—the sheen was nice…. She also came to understand the pleasure that others might have from coming on her boots—provided they cleaned them up, of course. And the pleasure she derived herself from the very same act…. Now, she was well beyond that kind of auto-cum, but her boots still excited her to no end….so much so, that she always had to wait a bit before she could finish dressing. This time was no different…. ‘Things' gradually subsided….at least to the point where she could tie on her codpiece….One last thing, before the black cape….The ‘implements' were kept in an umbrella stand at one end of the walk-in….She knew exactly what met this ‘occasion.' Not the cat, or the whip, which was purely ceremonial—she deftly pulled out the quirt—about a foot long, a braided handle with a loop, a narrow, limber shaft that ended in a small, flat leather ‘tag.' She slid it into her right boot, outside, a finger's distance from the boot-cuff…. She grabbed the long, light, black, crepe cape, threw it round her shoulders. It was ample enough to drape like a gown at its hem and to afford enough fabric to serve as a cowl if she wished…..in it, she was totally discrete…. She called the doorman and asked for a cab…it wasn't far but she preferred not to drive….one more glance in the mirror—of course!.... ‘what to wear?'…..that had been settled….the question of dressing ‘appropriately,' well, Sydd had decided that too… Sydian/Who came at Dinner?/Ch 3 Bell-Ringer Sydd found herself on the stoop of a very nice brownstone. The cabbie had been a regular; he recognized her immediately and accorded her the proper dignity and respect: ‘Good evening, Ms. Black. Where to? Shall I wait, Ma'am? Would you like me to be available for your return?' Sydd absolutely loved it….a sense of familiarity—not to be confused with intimacy—that came with bearing and ‘power.' Sydd had worked hard to cultivate the former; and equally hard to secure and nurture the latter…. ‘Sure, Jimmy…though I may be a bit late—‘girl's night,' you know….' ‘No problem, Ms. Black; never a problem for you….' ‘Tell you what, James, one way or another, I'll phone before one. O.K.?' ‘Sure thing, Ms. Black….' She pressed the fare and a twenty into his palm as she stepped from the car. He tipped his cap as he pulled slowly from the curb…., Sydd tapped the lit button and the bell was deep and sonorous. She imagined that it could be heard through the lengths and depths of the solid structure…. The door was a magnificent, old oak, double job—wide, sturdy and imposing; looking a bit too heavy for the sprite who opened it…. There she was again….that so, so straight, blue-black asymmetrical cut framing that gorgeous face….and the back-lighting streaming through the long, diaphanous white shift that clung to that sort-of-boy-like body—‘sort of,' not quite…. ‘Hi,' like another bell; not quite as deep as the first, but resonant, lyrical, musical—the tinkle of fun…. ‘Glad you could make it. I'm Sable,' as she graciously ushered Sydd inside. The lighting was soft but not so soft as to obscure ‘detail'….the shift was clinging—purposefully. Sable had deliberately sprayed herself with a soft sheen of oil…the shift had no choice but cling to the thumb-sized nipples of those hard-apple breasts, the firm globes of that tight ass—wedging itself and coming undone with each step; and then clinging in front, across the thighs, draping them as the fabric outlined the pronounced lips of her pussy and provided friction on an already distended clit, that grew larger with each softly, irritating step…. Roan stepped from the kitchen into the living room. ‘Dressed appropriately.' Yet, how might this be described? Roan's spandex tube was as short as she was tall…made shorter because she was made taller yet in five-inch pumps….the tube was a burnt, pastel orange…the pumps matched. her fire-colored hair was swept round to the side and from the bare lobe a large copper hoop hung….As she crossed the flokati, Sydd noticed two things: this was truly a ‘house-dress'—even Sydd wondered if she, herself, would have the nerve to wear one that short. And every step exposed a naked vulva and clit. Interestingly, Roan's entire sex looked at if it had been ‘made up'—as if she had glossed those lips too. And then, there was the matching copper clit-ring—Sydd….a slave to fashion?…nawwwww….. Roan walked over, kissed Sydd full for what seemed like eternity. The codpiece strained. When they broke, she simply said ‘Welcome'…. She moved to the bar and the lower portion of her ass cheeks played hide-n-seek with her hem. Sable placed her hands on Sydd's shoulders. ‘Let me take your wrap….' *** The cape fell from Sydd's naked shoulders. This was an unveiling. They were in an ‘art gallery,' so-to-speak, and Sydd was the ‘objet'…. All eyes were on her—including her own. The mantle and fireplace were framed in a smoked mirror that ran from ceiling to floor…. The other two, it seemed, held their breath. Sydd—bad to the bone as always—kept the smirk internal…. ‘Touché' was her silent reposte….from the corner of one eye she could see her outfit register on Roan's face—another ‘O shit!-You-didn't,-Bitch,-did you?' look…. Sable's eyes were wide in the mirror, though Sydd could have been blind and Sable's reaction would have still registered. Subtly, and possibly quite unconsciously, Sable's long fingers had begun their play along the ridge of muscles that stretched from the neck to the shoulders. They fell, with the lowering of the wrap, to Sydd's naked shoulder blades…. Sydd was the first to break the silence. ‘How nice….' To everything and to nothing at all…. ‘Indeed,' Roan, muttered, her eyes locked on the codpiece. ‘Very nice. Very nice, indeed….,' Sable caught herself….staring at the leather thong that saved Sydd' ass from the grace of being deemed naked…. Again, Roan saved the two roommates: ‘Are you hungry?' still staring at Sydd's straining codpiece…. ‘I mean for dinner….' *** Sydian/ Who Came at Dinner/ Ch 4 Happy Meal Roan led the way into the dining room. A relatively small round table, draped in white. A size and setting that spoke of intimacy….the sideboard was laid out, the wine was on the table, open and ‘breathing'…. Sable trailed Sydd, her restraint wilting as her fingertips played over the haunch of Sydd's naked ass…. Sydd glanced back knowingly, flashed the ‘killer' smile and sidled closer to Sable making her fingers slide from cheek to hip to the top of the boot. They came to rest on the tab of the crop. The slow-motion of Sydd's profile to Sable's and the eye-to-eye was unmistakable. If one hadn't known the players, it might have been thought that too-much-information had just been exchanged. But the subtlety of the moment wasn't lost on Sydd—after all, she had engineered it. Sydd registered two reactions on the part of Sable. The first was an o-so-faint stroking of the crop. The other, possibly fainter still, was the almost inaudible sound of moist fabric frictioning between thighs, more than likely, purposefully rasping the clit…. Sydian: Dinner Roan joked…. ‘Will we last til dessert?' ‘Depends on who "dessert" is,' quipped Sydd…. ‘Hmmmm…. At least "three courses" here,' Sable shot back…. ‘Ladies…. All the trouble I went to for this table…at least nibble.' With that Roan directed them to the night's fare. The table setting was exquisite. The plates were oversized, aerated, copper discs, their green patina shellacked and then buffed to a high glaze. The water and wine goblets had the iridescent copper-greenish quality that made the beverages sparkle even more. They pointed Sydd to the buffet…. If the fare could ever be ‘light and sumptuous' this was it. Without going into detail, Sable and Roan had planned a menu that had no possibility of dulling the senses. On the contrary, its intent was energy and stimulation, light and wit….in some circles it might even have been regarded as aphrodisiac….but here, only in regard to its play on the palate and sense of smell, and the notion that the ‘chefs' were committed to other activities that precluded the bland and the heavy…. The two led Sydd to the sideboard…. As she held her plate in both hands, the two of them descended on her from either side. Full mouths, open and tongues darting, they both insinuated themselves. Their tongues wrestled to possess the back of Sydd's throat…. A momentary indiscretion…. They both apologized simultaneously—almost somewhat flustered and embarrassed—‘school-girlish'…. Sydd was amused. ‘Now that's a new way to "clean" a palate'…. *** At the table…. At this table was a tableau of incredible proportions. To any other eye, three astoundingly, incredibly beautiful women—in the parlance, ‘stunning,' ‘arresting.' The smells of the table were opulent without being heavy….they, however, lay upon a subtle, yet heavy scent of sex—an electric air of anticipation. The three sat at this table; plates and utensils at the ready; chairs incredibly close. A knee-grazing, shin and calf-caressing closeness…. They nibbled and chatted….the day; work; traffic; even weather and sports….veiling and unveiling language. The dinner course close to done, Roan was the first…. The small table placed a person to either side of the other—Sydd on Roan's left, Sable to her right…the setting replicated itself. Before talk of dessert, Roan ‘helped' herself…. The move was too subtle…Sydd hardly noticed Sable's flinch, but she felt her knees graze her own as they parted and then slid forward…. Sable was ‘accepting'…. Sydd tried not to raise her brow….then it became clear as Roan brought her hand from beneath the table and smoothed three fingers over her glossed lips and licked, and then sucked…. The hand disappeared once more; reappeared and the three fingers were offered to Sydd….between the two of them, Sable shuddered as Sydian sucked…. Obviously, the temperature was rising. Internally and externally….the room was filled with a new heat and humidity—an anticipated ‘slickness' waited in the wings…. The ‘internal' and ‘external' were all the more obvious to Sydd. The heat inside her codpiece was magnified by the hot hand that now cupped it…. Not to be outdone, Sydd's hands played along the table skirt….deftly, fingers of left and right hands forked and then pincered swollen clits….the move had the intended effects: soundless ‘O's and the beginning of the slickness that had been fore-warned…. Sydd was the first to rise from the table….she offered each of them the ‘offending' digits….they each sucked greedily….she leaned left, then right, deeply kissing each….she then extended each a hand and led them from the table…. Sydian/Who Came at Dinner?/Ch 5 Taking Charge Hands on wrists, like a tableau-vivant from a minuet, the three glided from the dining room to the living room. Sydd led them to the oversized sofa. She stopped before it and deftly pivoted on the five-inch stilettos. She held the two them in her gaze as she dropped her hands to her hips and just as deftly drew on the bow-strings of her codpiece. It fell away with the collective sighs of her two suitors; their eyes bright, their lips moist; their pussy lips moister….Sydd then dropped herself into the cushions of the sofa….and stared…. Roan's hand had already slid up her thigh; two fingers had gained entrance while the thumb strummed her clit. Sable shifted from side to side, rocking on her heels, thighs clenched, the rough, diaphanous material captured between them, softly scraping her clit. Her eyes, like Roan's, fixed on Sydd's cock—all that black in black leather jutting up from the white sofa. Her eyes wandered from Sydd's cock to the crop resting in Sydd's thigh boot…they would linger on the braided handle, then dance back to the thicker whip between Sydd's thighs. The flickerings of both sets of beautiful eyes had Sydd's full attention…. Her cock said so…. Sydd spoke. Soft. Low; in her full-throated huskiness…. ‘So….' Her hand falling idly, yet deliberately, to the braid of the crop…. ‘Who's been bad?' Sable started visibly; Roan made to retract her honey-glued fingers from the hot pot. Sydd pre-empted them both: ‘I love bad…' she breathed. Fingers playing along the braid, ‘It should never go unrewarded….' ‘And if this morning's antics were any example, you ladies have quite a propensity for misbehavior….'the crop was being gently pumped in the shaft of the boot. ‘Sable has quite clearly indicated her "reward."' Sable stammered, whipped the sharp, blue-black mane across her face with a violent toss of her head: ‘I have?' ‘Of course you have, my dear.' The crop making deeper, longer thrusts into the shaft of the boot, Sable's eyes fixed to it…. ‘The question is what should Roan receive?' Before Roan could answer Sydd addressed Sable: ‘What do you think, Sable? What should it be?' This time, without any pretense of taking her eyes off the crop fucking Sydd's boot, Sable answer softly, ‘She should be spanked, Mistress….' ‘Hmmmmm…. Before we address the reason why, let's make something crystal clear.' Very softly—drawing their full attention: ‘Never, never, refer to me as "Mistress."' Again their eyes widened. ‘For me, it is a title I neither desire nor find useful. After all, what could be more dominant, more imperious, more dangerous, and therefore, MORE promising than my own formal name when spoken properly? Think about it…. When you wish to serve, simply address me as "Sydian"—"Syd-jian"….works wonders….Otherwise, "Sydd" does quite well….' The two realized that it was the first time they had heard her name. They had introduced themselves, but she had not, until this moment spoken hers…. ‘Now Sable, why?'…. Sable began to speak from the position of supplicant, eyes lowered…. ‘Raise your eyes, woman!' softly, yet sharply…. ‘Look at me when you speak to me…. I want to measure your full beauty when you're in my presence. Part of that beauty is your pride—even when you serve…. This applies to you as well,' she cut to Roan…. ‘Am I clear?' The two nodded in unison, their eyes locked on Sydian…. ‘And yes, you may,' Sydd said with a simple flourish that took in her entire body, ‘with your eyes. Until, I instruct you otherwise.' ‘Now why, Sable?' ‘She has misbehaved Sydian,' Sable answered softly…. ‘But you have misbehaved with her, have you not?' There was a new formality here. The play was moving to another space. Roan knew her role quite well: silence for now…. Sable shifted. Again, softly, ‘Yes, Mis—Sydian….' She quickly caught Sydd's eye, and approval…. ‘And what was her most recent infraction; the most severe? For what is she to be "rewarded"? Quickly, but in detail….' ‘This evening, before you arrived, Sydian; as we dressed, she took me….' The language had fallen into the formal rituality of the role-play…. ‘"Took" you? Don't toy, Sable,' again, the interchange was soft yet sharp. ‘Do you mean she fucked you?' Sable nodded. ‘No non-verbals, Sable. When you are spoken to, you will speak.' ‘Yes,' softly. ‘"Yes' what, Sable?'…. ‘Yes, she fucked me, Sydian….' ‘How?....With what?' What was now only too obvious was the heavy, thick sexual air that encased the entire room. Clearly, the evening had begun with a high level of sexual anticipation. Now, that anticipation was manifesting itself. At the level of her crotch, Sable's gown was soaked. Roan, hands at her sides, exposed a slick, heavy sheen coating her inner thighs. It was being supplemented with each word and act as a hot liqueur eased through her pussy lips. And Sydd. Sydd's cock was outrageous. In all this time she had not touched it; it had not been touched. But it reared and strained to every word, implication, and subtle shift among the three of them…physical or otherwise…. From the vantage of Roan and Sable, it had become thicker and longer. It defied the morning's recollections…. And like both their pussies, it too, oozed copiously, rising from Sydd's thighs like the black monument to sex it was…. ‘How, and with what?' Sydd repeated. ‘She fucked me with the strap-on….' ‘O…. I see….' Now, it was Sydd's turn to shift in her seat. Her balls seemed to tighten. Her cock strained a bit more…. ‘"The strap-on"…..? ‘And this is something special, Sable? There is more than one "strap-on?"' Sable brightened. ‘Yes, Sydian. We have more than one. And this one is quite special….' ‘Quite. "Quite special." What makes it so, Sable?' ‘Depending on which of us is to be the aggressor, that one has to insert the strap-on up her pussy first….' Sydd's expression was quizzical. ‘And that makes it "special?" Sounds like a two-headed dildo to me….' ‘O no, Sydian! It's much more than that! Both ends of the strap-on are angled. When the "doer" inserts her end and straps up, the exposed end stands up like the best cock imaginable….because it has the proper angles the fuck is incredible…. It's…it's almost anatomically correct!' Sable had become animated and very much enthused in her description…. ‘So, I take it you enjoyed Roan's fucking?' ‘It was incredible!' ‘Hmmmmm…. I'll have to see this toy and…possibly experience it….' ‘So….it was "incredible"….you thoroughly enjoyed Roan fucking you….and yet, you say she should be rewarded with a spanking for performing so admirably?' Sydd was querulous. Nodding enthusiastically, Sable gushed, ‘Yes!' *** The crop slid from the boot. Two sets of eyes followed a slow, soft arc. Without a sound, it came to rest on Roan's inner thigh. It glided a bit then came to rest as the slick became viscous. Sable winced. Roan did not move until with the faintest of pressure Sydd parted her thighs with the crop. Roan's movement was slight. The crop urged her thighs wider apart, and wider still. The already, too short, too tight dress was well above her hips now….her sex was exposed and open….what was very hot was bathed in the air of a cool spring evening…. The crop was still adhered to her thigh…. Sydian/Who Came at Dinner?/Ch 6 A Drubbing of Sorts "Thwack!" The report was sharp, loud—comparatively so—and accurate. Has Sydd been described as "deft?" Here was further proof. The wrist flick was imperceptible. The effect was "devastating"…. Roan's cry was short and pitched; followed by long deep moan as her knees buckled and the honey simply cascaded from her cunt-mouth…. "Deft"…. Sydd's stroke had hit the mark exactly…expertly…. The flat of the crop slapped Roan's clit—one, single stroke…. And Roan came all over herself….and the crop…. In tandem, Sable came too; but maintained her composure…. *** Roan was on all fours, facing Sydd. Her eyes bright; her forehead beaded with fine sweat. Sydd drew the crop back; examined it at arm's length. It was sloppy with Roan's cream. Equally deft; equally subtle, the crop arced again, slowly….stopping just millimeters from Sable's perfect lips…. Instinctively…intuitively…without thought…those lips parted and the pink of tongue protruded to sample the delicacy that clung to the crop. ‘Wider,' Sydd whispered. ‘Take it just the way you took the cock earlier….Suck Roan's cum now as you did then…. You did suck it, didn't you?' Her mouth full of crop and cream, Sable nodded vigorously. ‘Then show her that she is worthy'…. Roan gazed at Sydd, slid a sidewise glance at her partner, sucking hard on the crop, attempting to vacuum the essence of her nectar from it. She shuddered again, crossing her knees behind her in an attempt to lock in her orgasm; to intensify it and not let it escape…. Sydd's eyes were bright too as she fucked the crop in and out of Sable's greedy mouth. One last, gentle thrust; a slap on the tongue…the crop arced again. The power was witnessed this time in the snap on Roan's firm ass…. Enough to send her forward; to place her between Sydd's thighs—mouth-level with the head of that big, beautiful black cock…. Another flick…another snap…. Roan was forced into Sydd's crotch…. In a spontaneous reaction, Sydd's cock slapped the cheeks of Roan's beautiful face, then stood there…hard….waiting…. *** Roan nestled Sydd's cock between her cheek and the hollow of her shoulder. Her head inclined to caress it…. She moved to grasp it…. ‘No hands, Boo….,' Sydd breathed as her cock broke free of the shoulder-cheek hold, grazed the tip of Roan's nose, left a trail of pre-cum on her upper lip before coming to rest on her full, bottom lip…. ‘Yes….You may," Sydd breathed….Roan parted her lips, let her tongue gloss them searching for the pearls of pre-cum. The bottom of her tongue-stud glancing the top of the head of Sydd's cock. ‘Hmmmmm," Sydd mused, ‘this is new?' A motion to Sable; her lips part and reveal a stud as well… Roan is impatient. What began as parted lips now became a predator's maw. Wide, open, wet, and glistening; inviting its prey. Sydd might have been caught unawares. The heat was molten as Roan engulfed her cock. For the moment, Sydd decided not to resist. She simply allowed Roan control; allowed her head to bob and circle; to let that serpentine tongue twist round that thick snake of a cock. She simply allowed herself to enjoy Roan's efforts—her immense and energetic efforts…. Roan ‘hoovered' the thick hard slab in her mouth. She tongue-lashed it. And in the lashing she made every effort to take it all—all of that hard, hard column of flesh—11+ inches….The angle was simply wrong, but her efforts prompted the right response: the involuntary. Sydd's hips began to rise and fall as Roan's mouth commanded. She began to pump back into that beautiful mouth in the cadence those lush lips directed…. For the moment…. *** Sydd crooked a finger at Sable who had been shifting from side to side, chafing her clit with the gauze trapped between her thighs. One knee on the sofa, facing Sydd, they opened their mouths, each accepting a hot, eager, forceful tongue…. Sydd's hand found its way between Sable's thighs. Not bothering to part the fabric, three fingers eased the stiff, juice-soaked fabric up between the thick, slick pussy lips and deep into Sable's cunt….there she worked them as the kiss became hotter, harder, more ardent…. The palpable sexual atmosphere of the room now had an equally tactile, equally sensuous soundtrack….. mouths were literally full, but moans slurried pass the sweet fruits blocking their lips—locked in their lips…. Sydd leaned forward slightly, gently placing her hand on the nape of Roan's neck and pulling her lips an inch or two further down the shaft of her thick, beautiful cock…. Roan gagged slightly but was more than accepting…. Sable's eyes had slid to her partner's exertions on that big, pretty piece of meat; she rotated and plunged her hips even deeper on the friction of cloth and fingers…. Sydd sighed….pushed her cock deeper into Roan's greedy mouth….Sable sucked on the air expelled from that sweet mouth…. *** Preliminaries…. Foreplay…. Foreplay's foreplay…. The angle wasn't right…. Sydd knew it; Roan knew it…. Sable had a sense of it…. Abruptly, dramatically, Sydd disengaged, pulled her cock from Roan's mouth. It slapped against full, spit-lacquered lips and slid across a cheek…. Sable made a move for it but Sydd held her fast sucking harder on that tongue and gripping her pussy from the inside out—three-fingers on the inside, thumb pressing the clit….the little finger had made entrance into the butt-hole….the immobilization said, ‘No, no, little Missy….not yet, Bitch….' From the corner of her eye Sydd caught Roan with a glance that forced her to lower a hand she had raised to re-capture her prize…. Sydd's cock was nastily beautiful: full, distended, powerfully hard….coated with Roan's lipstick, then slicked and foamed with spittle….it looked as if she had been fucking—and indeed she had—Roan's mouth…. She gently pushed Sable away….as fingers and cloth were dragged with a slick friction from her cunt she shuddered and jerked and fell back into the cushions….her lips parted with a slightly anguished cry and a whispered ‘Fuck….oh Fuck!' as she slowly scissored her legs…. Her eyes were slightly glazed as she fixed her appreciation on Sydd…. Sydd stood, offered Roan her hand as both Roan and Sable stared at that bobbing cock like gluttons…..Sydd led Roan to the chaise end of the sofa. She guided her so that her head hung over the edge. She propped it with pillows to just the right height and angle leaving just enough room at the edge of the sofa to brace her knees…. Now she addressed Roan for the first time after what seemed an eternity…. Softly: ‘So Babi,'—Roan upside-down, lips pursed to receive the thick fruit—‘were you bad, today?' Roan made to gesture, remembered Sydd's orders to Sable, and spoke: ‘Yes, Sydian,' she expelled…. ‘Very bad?' ‘Very bad, Sydian….' ‘How bad, Roan?....' ‘So bad Sydian that she cried for you….' ‘Cried for me?' ‘Yes, Sydian'—more breathy—caught between a sigh and a gasp…. ‘For me? Why on earth for me? The crop was sliding up the shaft of the boot…. Sable caught sight and began to leak furiously…. ‘Because I told her too, Sydian….just as she had instructed me, earlier….' ‘Hmmmm….' The glance was sidewise and cat-like in Sable's direction—head canted to one side; an ear would have flicked if it could have…. Sable felt the heat rise along her dark body as the look registered…. ‘So Sable has done her own mischief as well?' ‘O yes, Sydian!' came eagerly if upside-down…. ‘Hmmmm….'as the crop came down between legs splayed wide over the back of the sofa…. ‘Thwack…. Thwack…. Thwack….' Deftly, not maliciously; lightly flicking the clit, parting the puffy lips of Roan's cunt repeatedly with each strike….causing her ass to buck until her orgasms matched the rhythm of the crop's flicking…. Sable came again, at the sight…the real ‘whip' just out of reach… Sydian/Who Came at Dinner?/Ch 7 The ‘Real' Whip Roan sobbed….the orgasms came like a flood—floods—over and again. In waves, beaching on her clit then eddying to the well of her pussy…. Sable was all hands in pussy…. Sydd let her be…. She watched the two, allowed them to regain some composure…. This time, Roan was the first to speak. ‘Thank you, Sydian,' she sighed. Sydd nodded. Sable, simply beamed her appreciation…. ‘Are you ready to serve me now?' *** The answer to the question was the wide oval of Roan's upside-down mouth; lips parted and frothy with spittle—so much so that anyone just happening on the scene would have supposed that it was cum that coated those perfect lips—not yet…. The angle was right. Sydd simply leaned forward. The length and girth of her cock parted a paradise and slid, almost completely to bottom of Roan's throat…. Roan gagged slightly , and then almost tauntingly forced her tongue up and out of her mouth and along Sydd's thick shaft. The move was accompanied by a foam of spit and pre-cum….Sable's eyes went wide. Even for her, Roan's efforts were nothing short of amazing…. Sydian: Dinner Sydd grunted as her cock bottomed in the hot velvet of Roan's throat. Her approval a hoarse moan: ‘Mmmmmm….Babi….Babi….Babi….' Then the rhythm began in earnest. A slow, smooth throat fucking; her balls alternately resting on or gently slapping Roan's nose…. Sable was at wit's end. She watched the huge cock pistoning in and out of her lover's mouth. Her only recourse her fingers—four of which now stretched her cunt. She watched Sydd's muscular ass propel cock down Roan's throat, Sydd's eyes slitted in pleasure; Roan's hips slowly, involuntarily humping air…her fingers interlaced with Sydd's….the elastic of the give and take in their arms….Sydd's lips parted in pleasure—Sable wanted those as well…. Wit's end….not for Sydd….Sydd would never neglect either of her charges. Her eyes fluttered open….connected with Sable's….the subtlety of motion drew Sable between Roan's thighs, her own ass facing Sydd…. Roan tried to scream as the electric of Sable's tongue made contact and then her lips grasped and tugged on that clit…. She tried to scream but her throat was full….she gagged again. The backwash of sex liquor—its cream—came up through the corners of her mouth, recoating Sydd's cock….smoothing its next thrust….forcing those hips to rise to that mouth, insinuating that tongue deeper into that honey…. Sydd loosed Roan's fingers and spread the cheeks of Sable's ass…. She took the first of two prizes…. Her tongue was electric too….Sable jumped, pushed her face deeper into Roan's pussy. Then, almost simultaneously thrust back on Sydd's tongue….her moan was loud and long, muffled by the other lips she kissed….. Freed, Roan's hands wandered up the back of Sydd's thighs to cup her ass…. She began to control Sydd's thrusts down her throat. Spreading the cheeks of Sydd's ass, Roan inserted a digit from each hand…. Now it was Sydd's turn to thrash and moan…. *** The three continued like this for what seemed a lifetime. Sydd's hand had returned to the boot….out glided a Magnum—the foil conveniently slit sometime before these proceedings….She placed it in Roan's hand. Roan never missed a beat....unwrapped and unrolled the latex, Sydd's cock still in her mouth, Sydd's tongue now buried in Sable's asshole…. In a move as smooth as any that evening, Roan slid the condom over Sydd's cock, then slid the cock back down her throat to coat and slick it…. Sable was none the wiser…. None the wiser when Sydd took what she wanted…. She mounted the chaise behind the little one, and then mounted her….penetration was sharp and swift; lightening and immensely pleasurable…. This time Sable's head snapped up from Roan's pussy….This time she bellowed—she roared: ‘OOOOOOOO…..SHIT!!!!!......OOOOOO! SHIT! SHIT! SYDD! SYDD! BABI! IT'S SOOO GOOD! SOOO GOOD!.....Mmmmmmm…..fuck me, Mami….fuck this little bitch…. Make me your bitch….Please, Sydd, please…..please….' the moans trailed off into sobs as she came on the end of each thrust, as Sydd tried to get deeper than the one that preceded… The goodness of their exertions oozed from Sable's cunt…. Roan couldn't resist. She raised her head and brought her mouth as close as possible to catch the honey and cream mixture Sydd had churned up…. With a little stretching and straining she nipped Sable's clit. Sable's cunt still full of Sydd's cock, she exploded…one last time…. *** Sable rolled from Sydd's still hard, strong cock and splayed languidly on the sofa…. Sydd stepped from above Roan and sat between the two of them, her cock still menacing, wet with Sable…. Roan righted herself. Sydd spoke, looking at her cock. ‘I'm not done yet….' She fixed he gaze on Roan…. ‘Come get what you want….' Roan rose, faced Sydd and then straddled her…. ‘You may handle me, now….' It was almost abandonment…. Roan gripped the ebony tightly, as if touching it, feeling it in her hands, was something she had longed for all night. She rubbed the thick head between the lips of her pussy, forcing contact with her clit over and over again….jolting booth of them… Then tightening the muscles of her cunt, she forced that thick, strong meat through her swollen, sensitive pussy lips…. The two of them groaned in unison, sealed their chorus with a searing kiss…. Sydd's hips arced deep and high into Roan's pussy…. The act was the culmination-or close to it—of all the imagining and role play Sable and Roan had mounted up to that point…. Their lips parted to Roan's ‘O! O! Ooooooooo! Give it to me! Give it to me, Bitch! Give me all that big, pretty, black cock, Babi!' ‘Ride me, Bitch! Ride me!' was Sydd response as she climbed deeper and higher into Roan's sweet hole. She grabbed Roan's hips, leveraged her, pushing her down further on all that cock….Roan gasped, cried: ‘I m gonna cum….I'm gonna cum……please…..Puleeeeeze! Don't make me cum alone! Cum with me Sydd! Cum with me! Cum with meeeee!' Teeth clinched, Sydd hissed, ‘Yessssss, Bitch…. Yesssss, sweet, sweet Bitch….' Roan could feel Sydd thicken and lengthen and she abandoned herself in a wail…her cum cascading the length of Sydd's cock….Sydd had seized Sable's hand and pulled her between her thighs…. The instant of Roan's climax, and the instant before her own she jerked herself from a hot cunt to a hot mouth….the condom still lodged in Roan's pussy….Sydd's cock lodged in Sable's nasty, greedy pumping mouth…. Cum spewing, scalding the back of Sable's throat, filling her mouth…leaking over pretty lips…. Sydd pulled Sable up to the two of them…forced her to share a deep kiss and the cream of their passions….a kiss sealing a friendship that would last the years… Sydian: The Grad Dresser He was a grad student. Some thought brilliant; he simply worked hard. In undergraduate school, in spite of his slight stature, he had been a ferocious athlete. Now in between the mustiness of archives and the lugging of tomes back and forth across campus, he still found time to keep the body toned—nothing spectacular; simply hard and defined… He was almost at the end of his studies—one paper, comprehensives and then he was out….There was, however one potential problem: Cragg. The eminent Professor Cragg, bane to all grad students, and particularly those that he could not coerce….On more than one occasion the two had had words—contending interpretations….Cragg showed his displeasure with grades that barely met passing at the graduate level….So Cragg's appointment to his comprehensives committee, and this last pending paper were some cause for concern…. Not so much a cause that they precluded a night out. What do grad students do on nights out? Pretty much what the rest of us do….they drink, they party, they club….Our student was no different—not much of a drinker—he loved the clubs and the parties…. Heading out of the library and on to the main streets a hawker pushed a flyer into his hands: ‘the most beautiful creatures—in all their glory—amazing breath-taking—and naked!!!! FREE with this flyer.' ‘Hmmmmm,' he thought, this might take his mind off of things…. Well after the sun went down—closer to the beginning of the new day—he found himself standing at a boarded over door, the front to a dilapidated building, hesitating….the pounding of the beat was enough to draw him in…. ‘Alice, through the looking glass' he was…. It was a space….and a world, which astounded him. The space was utterly techno….the dilapidated façade had been a front for an astounding display of light and texture—he thought he had entered the set for some neo-Goth, science-fiction set—cast of—well—hundreds maybe….and, they were there….Incredible. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning…. And, oh yes—naked…. The only thing that the flyer hadn't pointed out—or had he missed it?—is that they were all better hung than he…. He had always wondered about this part of the world…. It held a certain fascination…. And even as he backed toward the exit, sure he was in the wrong place, there was a certain excitement—he was semi-hard…. ‘Careful, Hun,' she whispered huskily as he backed into her. ‘You don't want to get me too excited our first date….,' the laugh was soft and shallow. He turned to apologize and just froze…mouth open…. ‘You might want to close that,' she breathed. ‘There are more than a few girls here who know how to fill it.' There was a soft chuckle. She was shorter than him, even in her stilettos. She was slender, but tight—toned. And she had a rack that defied imagination. ‘Yep,' again that husky, breathy voice, ‘they're mine. Best money can buy—34c,' as she followed his line of sight. She was the color of dark copper, with a short-cropped, twisted head of hair to match. The eyes blazed an iridescent green….the nose broad and haughty; and lips, a slashed scarlet that even Angelina would have lusted for…. Then it trailed down her thigh like seven inches of thick, sleeping snake…. ‘Whoa, Boi,' she whispered. ‘First time, huh?' *** She gripped his hand…. ‘C'mon. Sit for a minute.' She guided him to a booth. He had the presence of mind to ask what she was drinking. Apple martini for her; coke for him…. She giggled, ‘so you thought that we were all imaginary creatures, huh?' He could feel the warmth of her naked thigh against his pant-leg radiating heat….his cock inching its way to hardness down the inside seam…. Where he had stared, open-mouthed when he bumped into her, he couldn't bring himself to look at her now. ‘You are a shy one. We don't get too many black student-types in here….mostly the professors.' His head snapped round to her pretty face. ‘What?' he said. She stared back quizzically. ‘Black guys don't come in much….' ‘No…. You said something about ‘professors'…. ‘O…they love us,' she replied with a smirk…. He allowed his eyes to leave her and let his gaze shift round the room. This wasn't some seedy dive. It was an elaborately choreographed space: bars, booths, doors that led…he could only imagine. And then these—these ‘women'—fetishes in fetish garb…..beautiful with all that cock…. This place took loads of creativity…. Then the clientele. She was right. Few students; even fewer black guys; but, lots of tweeds. Unbelievable! And then the incomprehensible! Not even a picture would have confirmed this—not terribly far away, seated on the edge of a booth cushion, cock out, grinding against the ass of an incredibly gorgeous, incredibly black lap dancer, was none other than the inimitable, Professor Cragg! Cragg waxing the ass-cheeks of this black huni, while he stroked her huge, hard cock and pulled her thick nipples…. She followed his line of sight again…. ‘Damn! She's fine ain't she? I'd back up for her any minute….She only comes in here every so often. The rumor is she's actually a lawyer or somethin'…gets her kick every now and then dancing….' ‘What about the old guy?' ‘Him,' she laughs. ‘He's a regular. ‘HH—‘Hung Harry'….loves black ass…black cock even more….' His head began to spin as he analyzed the possibilities…. Could he use this?…. How? ‘Blackmail'…. He toyed with it….looked round the crowd again. Then quickly decided no…. They all knew each other. They were a fraternity and this was their house. He had to be more creative…. He had hardly noticed that she had placed his hand on her inner thigh…. Hadn't noticed until the cock grew in his hand…. She pivoted his chin toward her, licked her lips, and said, ‘You really ought to try it….' *** His eyes took in the room once more. ‘HH' dry-humping and stroking his black lap dancer. But in more remote corners, even hotter activity. She eased closer. Her hand slid round his cock and pumped through the pants-leg….he thought he would faint…. Again, ‘You really ought to try it, Boo….' ‘Try what?' he heard his own disembodied voice murmur…. ‘I love having my lolly licked….and sucked, Boo….' With that she pushed up out of the booth, mounted the cushions of the seat, and straddled over him. She made her offering, and he accepted greedily…. Seven inches that slept, grew to nine or ten, big, pretty dark inches. For his first time, he didn't do badly…. She coached him….didn't hurry him…didn't gag him…until the final minutes when she couldn't hold back…. the final minutes, when he learned to match her rhythm, when he comprehended that lust is as much about giving as it is receiving….when he allow his hands to spread the cheeks of her ass, used her own sweat and the moisture of her asshole to penetrate her. First, with one finger…then two….then he took over the rhythm….she gave up control. That was when she gagged him….pushed herself deep into that new, hot mouth….found the back of his throat… and gave him her hot, sweet, sticky cream. The full load. As much as he could handle before it back-flowed round her still hard cock and through his lips…. She climbed down from over him, put her mouth full over his and forced her full, snaking tongue to the back of his throat. He could fill the vibration of her ‘mmmmmmm-ing' as she lapped her sweet cream back. She retracted her tongue from inside his mouth and licked her sperm from his lips…. She cooed huskily, ‘That was very good for your first time, Boo…so good, I'm not even gonna charge you….' She broke into peals of laughter at her own joke…. ‘Just joking, Boobi,' she said breathlessly…. ‘You get mine anytime you want,' hands and knees on the booth cushion, planting another loud, cum-laden kiss on his cheek…. At the exact moment there was a loud crack. She winced and jumped as the leather-clad palm smacked her left cheek…. ‘Breaking in another one I see. Looks like he has potential too'…. ‘Sydddddd!!!,' she shrieked; jumped up and wrapped her arms round the neck of her assailant in a bear-hug. The two exchanged kisses and pecks like younger and older sister…. She was quite dark—darker than he, maybe half an inch shorter than the copper-colored girl, but just as amply endowed. The slender body was cut. And her cock, flaccid, was as large as the one he'd just sucked. Her face an exquisite African mask, topped by short, blond, nappy hair, and accented by cobalt blue lenses…. She was stunning—black blonde, in a white leather corset and bolero, long white leather gloves, and white thigh boots….nothing more save the tops of the white stockings that peeked over the cuffs of the boots…. ‘Here. This is for you, Avia-girl.' She pressed a sheath of bills—nothing less than a twenty—into his companion's hand. Avia's eyes grew bigger and misty…. ‘Sydd, you're always so good to us…..,' her voice trailed off as the dark woman put a finger to her lips…. ‘I've got all I can use, Babi…. No cause to be greedy. Besides, HH was feeling quite generous. All the old goat talks about when I dance for him is fuckin' me or me suckin' his cock….neither of which are likely propositions. Buuuuuut…as propositions, the lucky girl is going to damn-sure get almost anything she wants….' ‘Soooooo, who's ‘studly' here? I like his look, and his vigor…but don't worry, Hun….he's too young for me….,' Sydd said with a laugh. Introductions all round. Then he realized that she was the big-cocked beauty Cragg had been working—or on second thought, who'd been working Cragg….he offered to buy her a drink. A cappuccino was her answer; for all of them, away from here…. ‘Go put on your clothes, Avia. I'll get my wrap…. Looks like you've just been ‘adopted', Jr.' she winked as she turned on her heel…. *** Monday morning. The note in his cubby indicated that Cragg wanted to conference with him. After Friday night and spirited conversation and not a little sexual innuendo with two incredible black ‘women'…conferencing with Cragg was bound to bring him back to earth…. It did not go well…. In effect, Cragg's summons was to tell him that he found his work, up to that point, inadequate: and his attitude insufferable. When he retorted, that there was nothing wrong with his work---that he led his peers in every subject, Cragg's cold response was ‘True…I suppose then that it is your attitude that colors my assessment of your work; and your inability to show the proper deference to your superiors…. In any case, it will be a cold day in Hell…. Show yourself out….' Doors slam. Even spring winds are cold…. He headed straight into it. Headlong into a biting, winded drizzle that hid his tears. He rounded the corner, head down and plowed right into her before he knew it. ‘Hold on! Dammit!' she growled as briefcase and files spilled from her hands and littered the wet sidewalk. ‘I'm….I'm sorry….' He stammered as he staggered and bent to help her retrieve the materials. ‘You should be more careful,' she hissed. ‘You really need to watch where you're going!' There was a loud sigh. And then he started sobbing. For the first time, she looked up from the clutter. There was something vaguely familiar. Her tone softened…. ‘Are you hurt?' His head still down, he shook it ‘no.' She put her soft gloved hand to his chin and raised it…. ‘Jr!.... ‘What on earth is the matter?' Gathering her things from the pavement, she helped him to his feet; clutched his hand and looped it through her elbow…. ‘Come with me….' *** The coffee shop was warm and intimate…a little small. She was greeted as they walked through the door: ‘Evening, Sydd. The regular?' ‘Evening, Zack. Yep, s'pose so….a double espresso for my ‘little brother,' here….' ‘Family, eh Sydd? Family's always good.' Sydd guided them to her favorite spot in the rear; an observation point—a side window to the street; a clear view of the door. She loved to watch…. She sat him down. Waited for their coffees. And then repeated her question: ‘What on earth is wrong with you, Babi-boi?' He un-loaded with Cragg. Sydd listened, arched brows arched even more; steepled finger tips kissing pursed lips. Then she spoke. ‘So….how many years of education; how much was sacrificed to get you here? Do you have a plan?' He shook his head ‘no,' again. ‘Are you really as good as you say you are?' He reached into his soggy book-bag and pulled out a letter of recommendation from the provost dated Monday of the previous week. It told all that was necessary of his achievement and potential. ‘Soooooo,' she breathed slowly, ‘here's what we're gonna do….' She pulled out her cell as she ushered him from the shop…. ‘Avia…. My place in an hour. OK? See ya, Sweets….' *** Sydd waited for Avia to arrive. Then, she hatched the plot. Avia was all giggles; he, on the other hand, was incredulous. ‘What?!!! You want me to do what????' Sydd looked at him sweetly, then not so sweetly…. Acidly, she asked, ‘Do you want the degree? How much does it mean to you? You decide….Avia and I have work to do….' She turned, left the room with Avia in tow. A bit later, Ms. Copper-top padded softly back into the white room. Energizer Bunni in slow motion. The gray ‘wife-beater' tucked into equally gray and baggy sweat-pants did nothing to hide the figure on that 5-5 frame. She snuggled up next to him in the corner of the sofa; said nothing as she took his hand in hers; her head gently on his shoulder. The panorama was the shoreline, and from a floor below the penthouse, a distant foreign country…. ‘Hi,' she said softly…. He looked down into her face…. Today's eyes were a hazel; a perfect match for all the copper. Here was a real mystery for him; but that would have to wait—another time…. ‘She send you?' he asked. ‘No,' again softly. ‘She's done with that. It's your decision. Your clock. Though I guess it's tickin' fast….' ‘Yeh.' Softly in his ear, making the hair on the back of his neck rise, ‘I had fun the other night…. Not just in the club, but at coffee the most. The talk. You treating me like I knew something rather than like I was just some lap-dance ho….' Her voice trailed off, then started again as her hand dropped to his lap…. ‘But I owe you…. I've been wanting to do this ever since you bumped into me….' She worked his thigh…. ‘I want you to know how good you made me feel, Boo….want to show how good you can feel….' The hardness all in her hand; thread-bare grad-school jeans a darker blue and growing where pre-cum pooled from her expertise…. ‘Besides,' she flicked her tongue in his ear; he winced and his hips rose…. ‘You'll never know when this technique might do you some good….' She managed the jeans down around his ankles; gripped him at the base and kissed him hard and deep before she got to her knees on the soft flokati…. ‘Mmmmmm…. I knew I had a winner, but I didn't know how much of one.' She pulled the ‘wife-beater' up over her head and behind, and let eight, thick, magnificently proportioned, black inches slap to rest in the valley between her equally magnificent titties. A large, thick, clear dollop of pre-cum hit the flat of her upper chest, splattered, then re-grouped to slide coolly between the two thick-nippled mounds. She pressed them from either side to encase his hot flesh….to make it even hotter…. She looked up at him…he was going into the fog as she tit-fucked him…. She cooed, ‘Yeh…they're mine. All mine. But I been thinking. Maybe, they should be yours too….' Her hot breath washed over the cool of the pre-cum now constantly leaking from his slit. Then, no other words, she engulfed him…. Avia had thickly coated and glossed her full, plush lips before she re-entered the room…. Her intent was two-fold: first, more than anything else, she wanted him. And she literally wanted to mark him; leave her color on him. She wanted to possess him by pleasure—if only once…. ‘Silly,' she told herself, as the idea of ‘love' flitted through her head…. Second, she needed to teach him…. She pursed her lips extremely tight—‘tighter than any asshole; tighter than any pussy, or hand,' she told herself—and forced her hot mouth slowly, gruelingly over that pretty, black cock…. There was a delicious pain to all this that he had never anticipated…he had never anticipated how anyone on their knees, doing this could be in control…. He moaned loudly, very loudly, as she forced him into the hotter spaces of her mouth, inch, by slow inch…. He moaned so loudly that he thought his own voice was not his…. Through the mist she caused, he thought he saw another figure in the far doorway, standing….leaning against the jamb, smiling and stroking…. She pushed him all the way to the back of her throat, and felt his hairs tickle her nose as she twisted her mouth on his base…. Then slowly, with twists, her mouth rose back up the shaft to the crown. As he tried to push back into her mouth, she gripped his thighs, pushed down on him and exerted full control. The head was her prize…. And she worked it. First she seized the base of the crown with her teeth, gently but firmly. Her tongue swirled round the head of his cock. She flogged him with it, sucking all the while…. He focused. The pretty face and that beautiful mouth was more than he could take…. He moaned—it seemed even louder than all those before—he tried to tighten his sphincter as she spread the cheeks of his ass and penetrated him….the long, smooth digit opened him up by knuckles. He tried to thrust up but she continued to pinion him. She fucked his ass with the finger—‘One's enough, for now,' she thought—and his cock with her exquisite mouth…. He thrashed; it was over—‘resistance was futile'…. Just as he sought to release himself, to surrender, she plugged his cum slit with her tongue and sucked harder; pushing and pulling her finger in and out of his ass…. He roared as he erupted into her molten mouth….then, she let him pump….let him fuck her sweet, hot mouth like it was pussy or ass….the sweetest pussy or ass he had ever experienced…capable of incredible feats…. She let him pump til he tired himself out and went slack in her mouth. Then, she gently sucked a bit more…cleaning him….. She looked up at him, smiled; raised herself to his mouth and share his seed with him…. From the door: ‘Unhh. Unhh. Unhh….You two are something else…. Young people….' Sydd was still hard as she walked from the room. Over her shoulder: ‘Clean yourselves up. Dinner in fifteen.' The shower was quick and intimate. He knew he wanted to explore more….she only shyly giggled. They stepped out. He toweled her; she him. She handed him a plush, white terry robe; she put on a black one that highlighted that coppery glow…. ‘Yeh, Ms. Copper-top,' he whispered to himself as he sheepishly followed her to the dining room…. Another panoramic view—like Sydd, now sitting at the table in her sweats; all white—hoody and pants, a pair of flops separating carefully pedicured toes from the buffed wood floor…. The smile was absolutely radiant as she hissed through it: ‘You two….' Shook her head again and motioned them to the table…. Dinner was silent, except for looks….across the skyline, furtively at each other. He was noticeably uncomfortable…. Sydd reached cross the table, her hand atop his gently, and spoke first. ‘It was supposed to be like that.' She turned to look at Avia…. ‘She wanted to give to you….genuinely give to you….but you needed a lesson as well.' ‘A lesson,' he mused as he felt the heat rose to his face…. ‘Yes a lesson…maybe two. Avia showed what great skill she possesses and how it can be used. Who was in charge?' Before he could speak, she said, ‘You certainly don't suppose it was you….' A statement more than a question. ‘She took from you; controlled you in the process of your pleasure—of giving you pleasure. You should think on that power—but not too long….' ‘Avia,' she stood; the two of them began to remove the dishes from the table…. ‘You'll help next time….' Sydian: The Grad Dresser *** ‘So….what do I need to do?' His question was wistful…. Sydd looked up over her reading glasses and some undecipherable scientific tome; Avia glanced up from the crossword. Sydd spoke first…. ‘First you need to develop another persona—not a replacement for who you are—more so a playmate. And you need to be comfortable with that playmate. And soon. Right?' He nodded. ‘What size shoe do you wear?' He muttered ‘Eight.' ‘Hmmmm. Never would have known it judging by the size of the equipment. But, no problem there. In record time, you've got to master five-inch stilettos—less than a week, Jr…. Finally,' she continued, ‘You've got to learn to suck Avia, at least as well as she sucked you….' Flashing a grin, ‘Avia, you up for it, Babe?' Avia giggled, ‘Always, Big Sis….' ‘Well, it's after midnight; we can't get shoes til tomorrow—I'll pick up something at lunch—sooooo, you two might as well get started on the real lesson….Call me if you need me, I don't want to be a distraction. Jr., I'm afraid you're gonna have a sore jaw in the morning, but I think you'll learn to love it. Avia, be easy. A good teacher is a loving teacher. Of course, you've already been taught that….' With a wink, Sydd was treading the long hall to her bedroom…. Avia stood, undid the knot to her sweats and let them cascade to her ankles. She was already hard. Anticipation and a sincere fondness for her pupil….he stared at her crotch til she spoke. ‘Hey,' she said softly. ‘Listen up! Go to the bathroom. Bring back the mirror, a tube of the reddest lipstick, and a thingy of gloss….' Confused, he nodded, got to his feet and allowed his gaze to linger on the ‘twins' that had greeted him on their very first meeting. Her thick nipples were pushing relentlessly against the thin material of the tank-top. She glanced from them to him, her cock bobbing, giggled and said, ‘Go!' he went, trying to make sense of it all…and more…. ‘Bring a couple of towels!' she yelled behind him….. As he entered the room, she pulled the top over her head again and let it rest on the back of her neck, framing her shoulders and shoulder-blades….showing how superbly toned she was. She caught him staring again. ‘I know. I'm a show-off….' She crooked a finger at him. She took a towel, spread it in the seat of the chair Sydd had vacated…. She motioned for him to spread the other towel at the foot of the chair and to put down the gear…. ‘One minute!' she said, and dashed from the room….in less time, she reappeared, a pair of bright red stiletto pumps over her shoulder. ‘OK,' she grinned….she sat down, eased her feet into each. The effect on her arch went up the calves to the thighs and ass, and even as she sat, manifested itself in that cock, which she perched on the edge of the seat….he could only stare… Mouth open…. ‘That might be a good start,' she quipped. ‘But that's not the technique we want to achieve…. Remember anything about this evening?' He nodded. ‘Might as well make yourself comfortable,' she motioned to his robe. He let it drop. She whistled. And gave him a wink. She pointed and he kneeled between her thighs. ‘Back a bit,' she directed…. ‘The mirror….' He handed it to her. ‘No, Silli…. Not for me. For you.' Again a look of total confusion…. She laughed…. ‘Put on your lipstick…. Remember? "Persona"; "lesson?" Those are all part of it…. If a girl's gonna suck this cock, she better be fine; and she better be ready…. Lipstick, please'….Avia's cock bobbed in accord…. After a couple of tries, ‘Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it. In fact, you've done pretty good.' He looked in the mirror. ‘Not bad,' in the back of his head, then something he never expected, he felt it in his cock, too…. ‘Come here, Lover,' she said…. ‘School time…..' He opened his mouth wide—as wide as he could to accommodate her thickness…. ‘No. No. No. she said softly; stopping him. ‘You don't remember, do you? The object here is control….enough control to even make this cock'—she pointed—‘cum when you want it to.' Then she winked. ‘O yeah, you can do it, if you practice…. So think back on this evening. What happened for you?' He sat back on his haunches, look up at her, and genuinely smiled for the first time that day. Then he puckered up. Made a tight, tight ‘O,' slid his hand beneath her balls and locked his thumb and forefinger in a manual cock-ring. ‘O!' she winced. ‘You are a quick study….' He forced the head of her cock through the amazing small opening he had made of his thickly glossed lips…. Like she had, he took as much as he could after forcing her through that tightness. Unlike Avia, he gagged. She giggled, then, stifled herself. He came up for air, then attacked her again; same tight-mouth technique, only tighter. This time, she squirmed when he forced her through. This time, he didn't bother to go all the way down. He clamped on to the head, teeth just beneath the ridge of the crown…. Now she really squirmed; even cursed under her breath…. This time she tried to buck; and this time he held her powerful thighs down so he could control…. She was panting and thrashing, and he was enjoying himself too much to notice…. Her arms came up from the chair side and grabbed the back of his neck. Her hands clamped the back of his head and forced the length of her cock to the back of his throat. Held him, and fucked his face, royally…. She slid in and out of those coated lips. She cussed and spoke to the goodness of his hot mouth—she even called him ‘Bitch!'…. Then she gave him her cream…. Thrust up into his mouth, two, three more times, and collapsed back in Sydd's chair…. He sat back, looking at her. She roused herself. Bent forward to gently kiss him—his lipstick mussed (as it should be)—to taste herself…. ‘You did good, Boo,' she purred, out of breath…. The voice from the door, ‘Good…. But you lost control…. Try again. When you can….' Sydd went back to bed….. *** There was much practice that week. Howling in high heels as he first staggered from room to room. Then praise as his competence increased. ‘Look. You won't wear the damn things the time. They're mostly ceremonial—the way all fetish is…. The key is to become skilled enough in them to be comfortable, and therefore, convincing when you do….' There was lipsticking and glossing…. And then of course, there was all the attention he paid to Avia's cock—not to mention the attention she hadgiven his in the week he had spent at Sydd's. The two of them shared a sumptuous bed…. ‘Sydd,' Avia said…breathless for the umpteenth time, ‘He is soooooo good! You ought to try him, Girl!' Sydd looked from Avia to him—he tonguing his lips like some over-indulged cat—‘tomcat,' at that, as Sydd glanced at that hard thick rod between he's thighs in need of attention—and back to Avia. ‘I considered that, Pretti. But, I think I'm gonna pass. However, judging the state of things, you'd better take care of all that goodness he's got for you.' Another wink for both of them. ‘We've got a date for Friday with a very important professor….' *** ‘Alright, Dahlins,' Sydd began in her mother's exaggerated southern drawl, ‘It's prep time. But first, a phone-call….' It was late Thursday afternoon; the three of them crowded round the speaker-phone in the living room. The clouds—they seemed almost at window height—were that ponderous gray with black linings and purple undersides. The capricious nature of spring weather clearly manifested. Sydd pulled the card from her folio; dialed the number. Two rings, the voice on the other end, caustic and short: ‘Yes?!' He froze at the sound. Sydd, all honey and hemlock: ‘Professor Cragg,' O, too sweetly…. ‘you've given me your card on so many occasions, I suppose it's time I put it to good use….' ‘Who the hell is this?' ‘Mmmmmmm, HH, I love it when you're forceful….' She let it trail off all breathless and frothy….At ‘HH', Cragg's voice showed a glimmer of cognition….which ‘girl' of all those he fancied? ‘Mmmmmm, HH, maybe I need to jog your memory. I remember that big thing of yours between my ass-cheeks last Friday, and surely you remember stroking my big, pretty chocolate candy while you pinched my nipples…. And the things you said….' Sydd let her voice trail off; Avia was trying hard not to have a giggling fit. All he could do was glare…. There was a pause—a long one—‘What did I say, my dear?....' ‘Mmmmm, Professor, you said you would do anything for a piece of my fine black ass; though, you actually indicated that it was my pretty mouth you really liked. Tell me Professor, you really like black women's mouths, don't you?' An awkward silence, again. A clearing of the throat, and then over what seemed to be labored breathing, a hoarse, croaking ‘Yes.' Avia whispered, ‘I'll be damned, the old muthafucka is jacking right now….' Sydd shot a finger to her lips, and Avia smothered a laugh in her hand…. ‘So Professor…that is quite a proposition. Surely, you don't mean ‘anything?' ‘ Well, my dear….within reason….' ‘Hmmmmmm….within reason, Professor?' ‘Yes….that is what I just said. I am willing to pay handsomely for your, er, services….' ‘So, HH, when was the last time a woman as fine as me, with my ‘equipment' showed you the pleasures of her mouth?' The silence on the other end was painful. Sydd wouldn't let up…. ‘My mouth is exquisite, Professor….' They thought there was a slight groan over the line…. ‘And I have this extremely bad habit: cock as big as yours makes me lick my lips over and over. And then, you know, I have to pull out my lipstick and gloss and coat them all over again…. I suppose you'd call me an ‘oralist,' huh Professor?' Throat clearing on the other end—more a moan…. ‘Name your price, bitch….' More plea than command …. ‘Really Professor?' The ‘yes' was croaked; there was a certain sexual anguish to it…. ‘Hmmmmm. HH, tell me, how many students will you fail this semester?' ‘What?' He sounded shocked; thrown off guard…. ‘Why?' She simply repeated herself: ‘How many students will you fail this semester? My lips want to know. My mouth and tongue are curious….' He could be heard to swallow on the other end. ‘Half of the undergraduates; possibly a third of the grads,' he answered shallowly…. ‘You're hard, aren't you Professor?' Double entendre, terribly purposeful. ‘Is it out? Take it out. I want it.' This time, there was nothing disguised in the moan…. ‘Mmmmmmm, yes Professor; I think my mouth really wants your big cock….' Another moan—(was that ‘O god, yes' in that gasp?)…. ‘Can you meet my terms, HH?' ‘Anything. Anything.'Cragg panted…. ‘No, not anything,' Sydd responded coolly and sweetly, ‘just this. For every ‘F' you intend at the undergraduate level, a passing mark. And for your grad students—what the hell—an "A." How's that sound? Hmmm. You need to tell me quick. I need to rush out and get a fresh supply of lipstick and gloss for that big dick….' There was a sound on the other end like the phone hitting the floor. It was quickly retrieved. HH was breathless. ‘When? How? Grades are due tomorrow at 5:00 pm!' He sounded frantic—about getting his cock sucked, that is. Sydd, cool as ever: ‘See you at 3:30, in your office—I understand it's big and nice. Be sure to have your paperwork done. And have a student who can run it over to the registrar's—we don't want to be interrupted, do we? Once more, you do like pretty black mouths, don't you?' Sydd didn't wait for an answer: ‘See ya….' Click…. *** ‘Prep time!' she announced; this time in earnest. ‘Take him Avia. You know what to do!' Avia took him by the hand and led him down the hall to the guest bath the two of them shared. She stripped him—always much to her delight—this time, to his bewilderment. Then, in an equally bewildering move, se peeled out of her clothing as well. When the shower was steaming, she opened the door…. ‘In you go,' she ordered, with a firm, possessive push on his butt-cheek…. She turned to the whirlpool, began to fill it and dumped in the bath-salts. Then she grabbed her razor and eased into the shower with him…. She got behind him and began to soap him with some wonderful fragrance…. His mind wandered to ‘loving this for ever….' ‘You like this, Boo?' She whispered, tip-toed, in his ear. He sighed, nodded…. Her soaped hands slipped round his waist to his front; slid along the pelvic ridge and down to his cock….she took him in both hands and began to soap…. She felt him grow thick and heavy. As she hefted his full balls in her soapy palm, the fully erect cock slapped up to his belly…. Another sigh, ‘Mmmmmmm,' softly. She let her hands glide up to his pecs, nuzzled her head between his shoulder blades and breathed him in; involuntarily he backed up against her. She was hard and he began to grind. ‘I'll take it soon enough,' she thought to herself….then, she said dreamily in his ear—on tip-toes, again—‘When you're ready, Baby; when you're ready….' Mindful of her task, she pinched his nipples before her hand slid back down to the hard, soapy cock…. With her free hand she located the razor. Sliding down the soapy shaft, she raised the balls and began an upward stroke from the inside of his crotch to the base of his balls….in what seemed like seconds, his pubes and cock were completely hairless, as were his upper thighs and the area leading to the crack of his ass…. She made him raise his arms, and ‘assume the position' as steamy water ran over the two of them. His armpits shorn, thighs, ass and cock done, she rinsed him…. Turned off the shower and led him out…. Sydd opened the door, and for a moment just stared at the two of them; then looked at Avia and nodded. She crossed from the door and raised his hard cock and stroked it, handled his balls….then she said to both of them, ‘He's beautiful.' His cock still in her soft grasp, ‘Possibly, some rules just have to be broken,' she winked and Avia beamed. ‘Stuff to do….' And she was gone…. Avia pointed to the tub, and he stepped in. it was all so surreal…. He hadn't asked questions; he hadn't protested. He simply followed their instructions. He immersed himself in the oiled tub. Avia sat on the edge, soaped his face and shaved what little hair that might have been there….she moisturized his face and left him to soak for a few minutes…. ‘So….do we need to arch his brows?' she asked. ‘No, we'll pencil them.' ‘What about the hair?' ‘Hmmmmm…good question. Get a couple of wigs, O.K., Hun?' They worked on his face, simultaneously trying different wigs—short, medium, long—lots of colors—nothing worked—at least not the way the two of them wanted…. He was becoming frustrated; it was 1:30. ‘Make him one of us!' Sydd arched her eyebrows—‘Brilliant!' and kissed Avia. ‘Just what does that mean?' he asked, looking from one to the other. It seemed as though he hadn't spoken in years—or at least since they had begun the process…. ‘It means that we've solved the hair crisis, Sweets….' ‘And….' ‘We're not going to do anything to it; we're going to leave it alone….' He glanced in the mirror panic-stricken…. His face was flawless—absolutely beautiful. He hardly recognized himself. His eyes were a marvel. Their artistry had shaped and colored them; arched eyebrows where none existed. Color sculpted the rest of his face subtly—bridge, cheek bones, jaw and chin—exquisite. Then the mouth…. The mouth—his mouth—was almost ‘unmentionable.' It was—literally—‘too beautiful.' All he could think, as he looked at it, was that it was meant to be used….then he looked at his head and that mass of unkempt, un-combed naps, and he panicked…. ‘You….you…you can't leave me like this. You've got to do something!' he stammered…. Sydd almost fell off her seat; Avia was overcome by a fit of giggles…. ‘No. No, you poor thing. We're not going to you like that,' Sydd laughed. Avia and I, both like the texture and shape of what's going on there, and earrings will balance it out….' ‘You do? They will?' ‘Yep. But we do need something else…. Eh, Avia?' ‘Agreed. But what?' ‘Hmmmm…..' Sydd looked round the room and back at him. ‘What did you pick out for him to wear, Avia,' Sydd asked, staring intently at his hair…. ‘The short, white Chinese tunic—the tight one—white hose, and white cum-fuck-me's'….. ‘Hmmmmm…. O.K… Got it! Here's what we do…. Look in the cabinet. There's some black and some blue spray dyes…. Bring them and a couple of towels. We're going to make the hair completely black, and then blue the tips—‘You, Sir, are going to be one stunning bitch….' She was right. In heels, two maybe three inches taller than the other two, he looked like a high fashion model. That was their intent. They were not about the exit in the company of a hoochie…. He was a dark-bronze color—no where as dark as Sydd, but darker than Avia….the face was a head turner, even with the big sunglasses….and the hair—his crowning glory—no pun intended; another tribute to Sydd and Avia's genius…. Sydd called down for a car. Last minute instructions. ‘When we get there, it's virtually your show. I'd advise you not to talk. The way you look now he won't recognize you, but if you open your mouth—that is to speak,' she chuckled, ‘you might blow it—and not in the way we intend…. O yeah, don't look like that…. You will have to suck his cock—that seals our part of the deal….' Avia chimes in: ‘It won't be so bad, Boobi…. Just remember everything I taught you and all we practiced…. If nothing else, pretend its me fucking that pretty face…. Here, take these….' She placed two condoms in his newly manicured hand, and gave him a peck on the cheek…. ‘They're flavored….' She gave him a peck on the cheek—didn't want to muss his make up…. The phone rang. ‘Car's here. Shall we go?' *** He and Avia slid into the back seat; Sydd climbed in next to the driver. The black cat suit, short black leather jacket, the five inch black ankle-boot, and the attitude must have said she was in charge….though the driver would never pick up on it, she was ‘un-harnessed'—the only thing between 11+ inches of cock and an adoring public, was a thin layer of spandex. She was packing and packed…. Call it a motivator, an incentive, for HH. It would certainly be the first thing he would notice…. ‘Where to, Ms?' ‘The University, please….' Avia shifted in her black, vested pin-striped, business suit. Of course the skirt was scandalously short, but the long jacket obscured that when necessary. The starched white blouse—three buttons undone, and lots of cleavage—lent itself to an image of corporate exotica—they'd be lining up to work under her. Her stockings were charcoal seams, Cuban-heeled—a habit acquired from Sydd. Her pumps, five-inch stilettos, were black and white spectators. The copper-topped one complemented all this with gray lenses…. The center of attention was in the ‘white Chinese' as they put it….brocaded, high collared, dragon-motifed spandex, short, with modest splits. The hose were white, as were his opened toed, closed-back, five-inch pumps. Over this was a white silk duster…. The total image: a stylish aunt and two equally stylish nieces paying a visit to campus—the ‘admissions tour' possibly? Who would know?.... *** They strode into the office. Sydd paced to the desk; motioned the other two to sit. The secretary looked up; mildly alarmed—startled. The creature was black, incredibly beautiful, commanding. ‘Yes?' the secretary managed. Sydd flashed the amazing smile. ‘We have an appointment with Professor Cragg.' Before the ‘and you are' could be registered, Sydd had turned an imperious back on the woman and crossed the room to seat herself with her gorgeous ‘charges'…. ‘Your 3:30 is here, Professor.' Sydian: The Grad Dresser The gruff, almost discourteous reply was an unmistakable voice. ‘Is that runner here?' ‘Yes Professor.' ‘Tell him I want him. Immediately!' The door opened to Cragg's inner sanctum. He peered out. His eyes fell almost immediately on Sydd, and an extremely broad, almost garish grin broke his angular face. His pants began to tent as well. As he crossed the room to offer his hand, he growled at the secretary, ‘Where is that runner?' ‘He's coming in the door now, Sir.' ‘Good. Have him wait. I'll be right out. You may leave for the day. I'll take care of this….' As Cragg offered greetings the secretary scurried out, and the young man remained by the door trying not to stare at the three black beauties. Cragg made no such pretense….he leered. First at Sydd who had purposefully stood up so that Cragg could take in all of the stiletto-enhanced, 5'8-9 package; and also so he might see the thickness snaking down her inner thigh…. ‘Ladies. What a pleasure….' Taking Sydd's hand. Sydd, reserved in front of the young man, offered, ‘Professor…. We're so delighted that you could take time out of your busy day to see us. My nieces…. May we speak in your office?' ‘Certainly, dear lady….' Curtly to the student, ‘Wait!' Cragg gestured to the office door. Sydd motion for Avia to remain in the sitting room and moved him through the door before Cragg. Cragg was both perplexed and avaricious—did he lick his lips as the two black jewels entered into his space? ‘Well, Professor,' Sydd began, ‘do we still have a deal?' ‘As you are here my dear, I would say that we certainly do.' ‘May I see the grade-sheets? Cragg passed them to her. She gave them a quick glance. ‘Would you be so good as to sign them?' Cragg did so with a flourish. Sydd extended her hand once more. Cragg passed her the papers once again and she passed them to her ‘niece' who was sitting on the sofa, angled away from the professor. There was a quick perusal, the slightest of nods—his name and grade had been found. The papers were passed back…. ‘You may call your student, now.' The papers were dispatched. Cragg made an inquiry about Avia. ‘Insurance,' Sydd responded. ‘She's to see that we remain undisturbed.' ‘And this young beauty?' Cragg said motioning toward the sofa…. ‘Call her a bonus for such a daring wager,' Sydd replied, standing and unzipping her catsuit from the turtleneck through the crotch and up to the small of her back….the sight of her semi-hard cock spilling out brought a shallow gasp from Cragg's throat…. In tune, the ‘bonus' shifted on the sofa. The shadows obscured the face slightly, but not to the degree that it detracted from its beauty…in fact, it provided a certain allure….and the lighting did nothing to hide another thick, black cock resting and leaking across the top of the stocking band…. Cragg licked his lips again…. Now, Professor…here is the bonus. My niece is eager to please; and terribly beautiful as well….' Cragg was mesmerized….the niece, as if on cue, opened her legs wider, and presented a cock that stiffened, lengthened, and thickened….Sydd caught his attention again….speaking, while she massaged her own beautiful cock…. ‘It just occurs to me, Professor, being the observer of the human condition that I am. You might be just as happy sucking cock, as having your cock sucked….' Before Cragg could reply, Sydd went on: ‘Look at her, Professor. She's is absolutely beautiful. Beyond that she is hot and sensuous…. When's the last time you sucked pretty black cock, HH? You owe it to yourself. There will never be another offer like this—and I assure you, the opportunity to experience her will never occur again….' The ‘never' was emphatic…. The ‘niece's cock looked absolutely huge to Cragg. The color of the face; the exotic hair-do; the tight, white oriental dress; the heels, simply enhanced all that cock…. Cragg glanced at Sydd handling her own massive piece….he thought he heard/saw the word ‘cock-sucker' roll effortlessly over the full, thick, red-shellacked lips…. Cragg looked between the ‘niece's' firm thighs, and sank to his knees…. Late that afternoon, Harry Cragg gave an entirely new meaning to the idea of ‘student fucking'…. The cock that pistoned in and out of his face was there by the quirkiest twist of fate. Yet…. it was also there as testimony to a community aphorism: ‘you've got to bring ass to get ass….' Sydian: Working Out Sydian/Working Out/ Ch. 1 Work and working out were as much a way of life for Sydd as fucking and getting fucked. She was a partner in a prestigious firm; her professional life was secure and private. She had no fear that anything she did privately might jeopardize it. It was an accepted fact that she was brilliant, intensely skilled, and transgendered….and that she took no shit or prisoners. In fact, it had been her case that signaled the sea change in the professional acceptability of folk like her; and her skill and brilliance that brought clients to the firm for her counsel and litigation. Straight, gay, in between, it made no difference; they all knew she was a winner—in large part, because she ‘lived’ there….she was professional. And, she was private….they hardly mixed except with her very deliberate intention…she always held the upper hand. Probably because of her brutal honesty—with her you always knew what you got….literally and figuratively. She always found the appropriate venue—the right time, space, and words—to let all concerned know that ‘Yes. She was a fine, black bitch….with a huge cock and big balls to boot.’ Figuratively in the professional setting; the literal was reserved for intimates. She took the steps two at a time; the tight, white spandex leggings sleek and translucent against the sculpted black marble of her hard calves and thighs, and that full, supple ass. A short, midriff baring, half t, just barely getting over the distended nipples and the rounded fullness of her tits was covered by an over-sized black sweat shirt, the wrists pushed up to the muscular forearms, promising more form and power above. Her other ‘muscle’ was discretely tucked—she didn’t want to ‘start’ anything before she got into the gym—she had a technique that made the tucking give the ‘uninitiated’ the impression that she had a very large mons venus—lips swollen and provocatively protruding. Then again, maybe Sydd meant ‘trouble’ wherever she went—trouble in the best of ways. In any case, the tuck always got looks from those who didn’t know—some hostile; a good, good number just damn lustful…. *** 6 a.m. is a wonderful time for a workout. Springtime; up with the sun, the streets not quite empty, and the gym—wonderfully—virtually vacant. ‘Vacant’….a thought that causes Sydd to muse about the possibilities of ‘sneaking’ a quick shower in one of the private stalls without causing too much of a disturbance. Maybe even a sauna might be empty…. ‘Virtually vacant.’ The intrusion of cyber-space; the illusion of space and emptiness at 6 a.m. All the young ‘wanna-get-aheads’ are here. Well, at least what seems an inordinate amount if you didn’t know this culture. The pursuit of perfect bodies and perfect positions could be literally aligned here, and not necessarily by doing pilates, either. In the perfection of bodies and positions in the hours commencing at 6 a.m. and moving onwards, more than once Sydd had come across sweat induced by carnal activity other than contact with free-weights, or the nautilus. While the ‘jerking’ she had witnessed was not necessarily ‘clean’, o, it was stimulating! It did, like at good workout, cause the blood to rush—hers, as well as those she stumbled upon….‘Working out’—terminology of so many meanings and nuances…. Perfect bodies and perfect positions. Aside from the physical ones that could be encountered in the nooks and crannies of the gym, there were those that related to career. When the physical and career orientations were taken together, Ms. Sydd was almost iconic. It was not that she is ‘intimately’ known here. She had no friends, and no lovers—as yet—in this space. It was her carriage, and its almost mythic proportions that stimulated interest when she pushed either in or out of the gym’s doors on those early mornings. Picture this: living within walking distance of her gym, Sydd is an easily identifiable entity within and without: in sweats; the tailored business suit; or, her ‘preferred’ evening wear—the always stylish, always tight, always short; yet, always tasteful, if slightly kinky. But those are the clothes….. The element that is most arresting is the body—her sheer physicality. Again the picture becomes the metaphor. Again, is she a ‘small’ ‘woman’? 5’6-7; 135; solid, ‘cut.’ Compared to other ‘girls,’ she is a little one. So, in many ways, it is ‘carriage’ that stops traffic. That 5’6, 135 pound frame seems cut from polished onyx—if onyx can be polished. The color is sometimes the subject of ridicule—anonymously, usually by unsuccessful cyber assassins—quite possibly because of its power and her pride of possession. She works onyx. She works obsidian—all to her advantage. She magnifies contrast: as surely as spring will give way to summer, the winter-wheat twists have given way to an even shorter, and if at all possible, even blonder, nappy cut—a celebration of African kink. The cobalt lenses still blaze from that perfect black face, able to cut through ice….and bullshit. The body—‘iconic’—5’6, 135, a ‘modest’ pair of 38s—‘the best that money can buy,’ she laughs, whenever they are ‘encountered’—a tight 30 inch waist, and a muscular, bubbled, 36 inch ass and hips, attached to thighs and calves that Olympic runners covet. The eye-popping, traffic-stopping, iconic, and arresting Sydian is just that because she is also 50+….She’s seen half a century and more. She is all the boys and girls hope to be, wish to be, work out to be, and more, through their 6 a.m. forays to the gym. For some, she is silently their living role model….and for a great many more, the imagined object of their lust. Upwardly mobile, all the boys and girls. Thrust together, now….. Sydian/Working Out/ Ch. 2/Sweat Sweat. It runs in rivulets. From her forehead down her face, finding the channel between her breasts and condensing around her balls and the serpentine stricture of her cock. On the backside, sweat has collected at the nape and across the shoulders. It rolls across the shoulder blades, converges at the small of the back. It then finds its way between the cheeks of that marvelous ass—who or what wouldn’t? Two distinct streams have found their ways to the tops of those cheeks and cascade over and down them, leaving a sheen as they slick the back of her thighs and calves. It has been a good workout…. It is fairly quiet, fairly empty, as she makes her way back to her locker. It is almost as she anticipated; her desires are almost met. There are very few people this morning. She turns on to her row and there are two black women there, chatting. They look up and catch her eye. She nods and flashes a ‘shy’ smile of acknowledgement. Their response is hard to decipher….a begrudged nod? A catty flit of the eyes between the two? Sydd works the latch on the locker. Pulls the t over her head. She can feel the heat of their eyes on her silhouette as the cool air assaults her tits and nipples as they make their own expressions of freedom. Intent on her own business, she turns her back to them, steps from her shorts, her thong intact—no need to reveal any more than she already has. She wraps the huge white towel under her arm pits and pivots toward the sauna…. *** She settles in. She has a corner on the high bank. The sweat room is timed. She closes the eyes to muse and the two of them insinuate themselves into her meditations….They were quite attractive—the two of them—athletic in all their proportions. One about Sydd’s height; tight, compact body, but by comparison, almost breast-less—sort of flat-chested—not quite; boyish and beautiful. Chestnut colored; hair, an asymmetrical, ‘oriental’ cut—terribly straight—yet again, in the most beautiful way, and so black that it held a cast of blue…. The taller one, gingered and buxom; hips that most women pray for. The sheets of red mane have been pulled back for her work out into a thick French roll. Good friends. Sharing secrets and gossip…. In her heavy lidded musing Sydd is only too aware of the way in which her thong is being strained. Beneath the towel, the weight of terry-cloth and steam frame a serpentine form that ‘sleeps’ now, across her thigh….‘Those two, young bitches….’ She smiles to herself…. *** The sweat the sauna produces is nothing like the rivulets that cascade from a hard workout. In here, sweat is a fine mist. She’s been gently sprayed. Hmmmmm….she muses, sexually…. ‘spraying’…. ‘cat-sex’…..a slight twitch in her groin…. She almost misses it. The door parts silently. Through hooded lids, lashes heavy with sweat, she sees the slender, compact figure glide in. Chestnut girl. Sydd does not fully open her eyes; makes no acknowledgement, but she is fully focused. The Chestnut passes her hand behind her. A deft sliding move, accompanied by the soft sound of polished metal fucking…the door is bolted. More annoyed than alarmed, Sydd’s only thought: ‘Now why hadn’t I noticed that? The lock….’ Eyes still hooded; pulse unnoticeably elevated, Sydd waits….all this morning’s muscle slightly coiled….wary. And aware, as the Chestnut watches her. More than a few questions…. Then, it happens….Ms. Chestnut drops her towel—‘hell-o!’ Sydd’s mind snaps—and the tight, slim boyish body teeters there in a pair of 6 inch, metal-heeled, black patent, stilettos. In a sauna…. The Chestnut woman drops a hand, two fingers extended, to very puffy pussy lips that hardly hide a thick, and what seems to be, rapidly growing clit—the thickness of a little finger and still swelling….Sydd has the impression that there’s been play well before this entrance. What once ‘slept,’ stirs and leaks across Sydd’s thigh. Sydd has always found it difficult to resist beauty, in any form—difficult, but not impossible… The two fingers frame the clit as the two long legs spread themselves—almost imperceptibly, but shamelessly, wide. The fingers pull on the clit, tugging, making it distend, grow fuller and longer. Then they disappear into what appears to be a deep, honey-well….they are lost in the imagined sound of hot wetness…. All the while, the Chestnut’s wide eyes smolder on Sydd. The 6 inch heels and the smell of pussy rising in the steam force Sydd’s eyes open as the two cunt-soaked, slick digits slide from pussy to mouth. The heels click across the floor, slow, languid strides….hips working towards her….a serious sucking of fingers….one, last, serious plunge into that hot honey-pot, before the offering is made…. A knee on the second bank, the patent heel on the first….the door bolted and window steamed…..Fingers at Sydd’s thick, luscious lips…. ‘Taste me, Babi….’ Sydian/Working Out/ Ch. 3/Tent Tent. The tent her cock had made should be quite obvious…the upper portion of her towel has fallen away from those perfectly sculpted breasts—‘too good of a job,’ Sydd sometimes mutters….Before she can accept the fingers, Sydd forces a hoarse whisper: ‘There’s something you need to know before you start this….I may be a bit more than you’ve bargained for…’With that, Sydd’s eyes fell to the tent whose shape was being further defined by the heavy leak of pre-cum her ‘assailant’s’ fragrance and form prompted…. The Chestnut’s eyes fell to the tent, a full ten inches high by now.....her mouth formed an 0 as if a string of 0’s would follow….her free hand grazed the top of Sydd’s ‘tent’ snagging it between to perfectly lacquered nails….she raised the towel to nostrils to catch its perfume, then looked down and smiled on the rage of Sydd’s pretty black cock. She let her free hand slide down the already slick pole, and watched Sydd’s plush lips contort and open in their pleasure as she slid the two pussy-flavored digits through to the back of Sydd’s mouth. Sydd’s reaction was involuntary and automatic: her hips jumped to the fingers round her member; her lips sucked feverishly at the two-digit cock in her mouth. She moaned….very, very loud when Ms. Chestnut’s lips and then teeth found her huge nipple….But in a locked sauna, who was there to hear? *** The boyishly-built Chestnut heard. Sydd’s moaning became her ‘beat.’ She finger-fucked Sydd’s mouth, sucked Sydd’s nipple, and handled Sydd’s cock to the rhythm of Sydd’s moan—Sydd’s rap…. ‘Unh! Unh! Unhhhhhhhh!’ Deep and guttural—throaty….a groan…the wail couldn’t pass the fingers that gagged her. The sound built in her chest, rose and resonated over and again, up that powerful and beautifully sculpted ebony neck, and forced itself from an engorged throat. It came as a hot exhalation that scorched the fingers Ms. Chestnut stroked between those beautiful, full lips. The heat of Sydd’s voice, the molten liquid of her mouth, and the slickness of those full, coated lips streaked and super-charged those fingers. They had their effect on the woman who wore six-inch heels into the sauna….. Reluctantly, the Chestnut’s lips snapped from Sydd’s nipple. As she whipped her head upward, the ends of that dangerous, straight, asymmetrical, blue-black cut stung the other nipple. Sydd winced—in pleasure—hips jumped again, rhythm change, sucking and fist-fucking renewed…. Chestnut leaned up to Sydd’s ear as her fingers slowly and sensuously pistoned the pretty mouth….She whispered hotly: ‘You are such a hot bitch….we had no idea….” Sydd’s response: a deeper moan and more and more pre-cum…. *** Cock in a full fist, eyes blazing, the Chestnut used her powerful elbow to force Sydd’s thighs even further apart. The spreading, the thickness of Sydd’s cock, and the persistence of the slender one’s pumping, caused the feeble thread of the already over-taxed thong to snap. The remainder of the thong fell to the other leg, the momentum freeing it to gap even more. Ms. Chestnut, retracted the two slick, lipstick coated fingers—even in the swoon, Sydd mused on this: she had thought it interesting that ‘Ms. Slim-Goodi’ here had worn six-inch stilettos into the sauna, but what the hell was she—Sydd—anticipating, wearing full lip gloss into the steamroom? They were right she concluded, she was a bitch; a very hot, nasty bitch, getting exactly what she deserved. The conclusion was punctuated by those same two fingers slamming her asshole up to the knuckles of the fist…. Punctuated. Sydd almost lost it. She fought for control as she felt her cock swell even more in the supremely skilled hand. It was clear that her ‘assailant’ knew her way around this organ, male or shemale…. ‘Oooooooo….shit, girl! How much bigger can you get?’, Goodi hissed. Pre-cum oozed from the cock-slit, the head bright purple. The Chestnut licked her lips but restrained herself. In a situation where most might have picked up speed, she re-doubled her concentration. She focused all her efforts on that beautiful head; that beautiful, swollen, purpled head…. Sliding her slick hand below the slickened head to the crown, and massaging up, she cooed. ‘Cum on, Babi. Give the little bitch the cream. All the sweet cream, Mami….’ Sydd’s asshole had come online as well. The slick digits had opened her up. The internal slickness of that hell-hot hole lubricated their slide. Her muscular ass moved in sync to hand working her cock….rhythmic, musical, symphonic. The conductor was working her baton…. Sydd’s sphincter contracted around the fingers. ‘Damn, bitch! You’ve probably broken off more than a few brothers’ cock’s,’ Chestnut winced. Then she twisted her fingers up in that ass-pussy; rotated counter on Sydd’s cock-head…. ‘Cum on, bitch….give it up’…..it was hoarse….almost a whisper….her breathing was taxed by her own excitement….A wide, slick streak from the lips of her pussy to the arch of her stiletto, showed and renewed itself…..It showed her need….. But she remained focused. Technique. Technique. ‘Chinese water-torture’ and sex. She worked the head of that cock almost as if it were her own. She massaged Sydd’s asshole in a way that could only be known to one who had experienced it herself….she cooed, and cooed….And in the end, she only brought her pretty mouth close enough for Sydd to feel the heat of her breath…. Scalded, Sydd erupted….Into one of the prettiest faces, over a finely manicured hand. Across its back, all along the slender digits; white cream streaking the red lacquer of the nails….The wail was in a locked sauna. Thick, sweet, hot cream kept cascading; forced from ladened balls by fingers and a fist that would not quit… ‘Yes, pretty bitch, give it to me….give it all to me’….It was a moan, then a shudder, as the slender one’s thighs foamed of their own accord….she jerked, slightly; used the hand on Sydd’s still swollen cock and the fingers in that ass-pussy to steady herself. Then she settled back against the bench, sighed as fingers slipped from the grip of the rose-ring…. Lifting the creamed hand to her mouth, she scooped the white caviar onto her tongue—a huge globule—savored it. Licked what remained from perfect lips. The eyes fluttered open and fixed on Sydd…. ‘We will see you again….’ Less a question than a statement….. Sydian/Working Out/ Ch. 4/Shower More amazed than anything else, Sydd watched the slender, navy-blue haired bitch rise gracefully on her taloned feet, and just as gracefully cross the room, unlatch the door and disappear through it….All that effort, all that exertion, and so little evidence of it in her exit….and so much evidence remaining in that closed, hot, steamed room….hotter and steamier because of it…. Some of it—the evidence—remained on Sydd’s thigh. She scooped, brought it to her lips and sucked hard….If, as she had been known to remark, she was the bitch who excited her most, then she was also the one who tasted the best….she cleaned the last traces from her thighs and cock….It was sweet cream…. She pulled the big towel round her; wondered about the time….her first appointment was for two; needed to be in the office by noon. This ‘workout’ had ‘officially’ started at six, as usual….there was still time for a shower, if she could sneak one….Hell! She damn sure needed one… *** Loosing time….lost in time….loosing track of time….The fact that the locker room was still uncommonly quiet helped Sydd to get her moorings. It was still quite early. It was the intensity of the morning’s encounter that had dazed her—left her in that glorious, but semi-catatonic, sexual fog; a fog that would have ‘doomed’ lesser women, or men, or folks of her own particular gender. She would not be ‘bed-ridden’—least not til evening. She did not stagger or limp or drag her way to her locker. There was a glide of sorts, somewhat somnambulistic—she ‘floated.’ She tossed the shred of a thong into her locker, hoisted the towel over her 36 C’s and charted the most unobtrusive path to the showers. The quiet told her that she might still be able to pull this off: luxuriate in a very hot—stingingly hot—shower, in a very public place, after so much serious physical exertion. Stealth. There were booths near the rear of the showers—frosted glass and all. She listened—not the faintest trickle of water; not a voice. She chose the very end, caressed the knobs, saw the steam rise, breathed it, smiled, and stepped in. She closed her eyes and let the hot, hot water roll over her from head to foot; a cascade of liquid, heat, steam…. She turned to face the jet, angled her black face up and let the hot water kiss her head-on. It rushed passed her ears, stung her nipples, forcing them to stand even more, and nettled her cock….The water was so blissful that the soaping of her ass just seemed like another part of a long, morning dream….she was ‘sleep-walking’ again…. The soapy hands started at the very top of her powerful thighs and creamed their way over her buttocks to the small of her back….There they lingered, massaging….kneading muscles of her lower torso before ascending mid-back and then gripping and foam sculpting the scapula. Only when those strong hands reached her nape and fanned out along the trapezius did Sydd force herself to break the reverie. She forced her eyes apart in the stinging rain of the shower and leaned her head back from the jet. Almost immediately her mouth was covered full by the warm sweetness of parted, plush lips and a strong, forceful tongue. At one and the same time, tongue and lips probed and sucked…. Sydd felt her cock stiffen….tremendously…. Sydian: Working Out *** The soap slicked hand slid to the flat of Sydd’s stomach and down over her naked, hairless pube to that jutting member. The sudded palm encircled the cock and began to work a lather—a froth of rich soap and even richer pre-cum, all mixed together…. Sydd found herself in another ‘involuntary’ reaction. Her hips began to meet the rhythm of the fist pounding her cock. There was a breath in the lip-lock; Sydd’s eyes fluttered. Hard nipples bore into her shoulder blades. Round Two: it was ‘girlfriend’….the tall, stacked, French-twisted, gingered bitch, was getting ‘her turn’….She gave Sydd even more encouragement to fuck her fist by sliding two soapy fingers up Sydd’s asshole…. The jolt was instantaneous….the gingered bitch tightened her soapy grip on Sydd’s thick meat, pumped it nastily and finger-fucked Sydd’s hot, tight ass in tandem…. ‘She was right…you are a hot, little bitch….’ *** The breath in Sydd’s ear was as hot as the steaming water…. ‘You really like this, don’t you, bitch?’ Another digit slid up Sydd’s asshole….her knees buckled slightly. She braced herself against the wall, arms out, ass jacked up, legs splayed…. ‘Why the fuck not,’ she thought to herself….She started to hump like a banshee…. ‘Damn! I love your shit,’ ginger girl hissed. ‘You are too fucking hot…’ Sydd’s ass was hiked up on that three-fingered dick. She bucked and twisted her ass as if there was a man inside her….a big man…. Sydd looked back over her shoulder….This bitch was fine, too. Where the blue-haired bitch was slender and boyish, ginger was too womanly: tits to die for: ass, thighs and calves that suggested that there might be not a few women in the world who hated her, and an equal number, along with their men, who severely lusted for her…. And here she was, seriously finger-fucking the hell out of Sydd—forcing Sydd to fuck her tight, slick fist…. That fist, much to Sydd’s anguish, fell away from her cock….Just as she was about to shoot her ‘assailant’ a questioning look, she felt the first of a series of replies…. In the shower, it sounded like a gunshot….the open palm slammed her ass-cheek. She bounced away from the digits—not completely—and then they slid back up her chute….the pressure made her cock stretch even more. The first slap was more surprise than anything else…the second stung, just slightly….each successive smack added more sting, and consequently more heat….At first, Sydd flinched and jerked….then she ‘bitched’….found the rhythm and rode the three fingers to the cadence of the slaps….it was too good…. And ginger knew it: ‘Oooooooo, you are such a hot, little black bitch!’ And you love this….You are too special….look at all that cock, Bitch…cum on….give Mami that cream….’ Without a hand on it, Sydd’s cock was poking straight out. Each spank pushed her away from the fingers up her ass….and then there was the rebound that stretched her cock from the inside out….Sydd got thicker and longer with the push-pull. There was heat inside her ass, and a fire on it…. For the second time this morning, Sydd resigned herself to her pleasure….She pushed her ass as far back as she possibly could on those three fingers….sucked them deep up in her ass….and hoped for slaps to fall on her tight cheeks like hot shower water. They did. Thick cream jumped from Sydd’s sweet slit….It jumped again and again—every time ginger slapped that ass….That heat made the cream boil and erupt…. Ginger leaned forward with a rinsed hand, caught the last spurt and brought it to her lips…. ‘Mmmmmmm….Damn, you’re sweet, girl….and I wasted all that cream….I’ll have to arrange to get more’…..With that she ran two creamy fingers across Sydd’s thick lips, and felt Sydd’s tongue flick and then wrap round them….The other three fingers disengaged and Sydd slid to the shower floor, hot water pelting and then easing her….She deserved it…. Leaving the water running, the tall woman backed out…. Sydian/Working Out/Ch. 5/Aroused ‘Aroused.’ That would have been the term in its past-tense. Now, Sydd roused herself—pulled herself together there on the shower stall floor, the water now seemed like a soft rain….Her asshole still rang, and her cock throbbed from so much attention and exertion. Her thighs and calves were tight; her forearms and biceps strained. Her ass still radiated heat. And, amazingly, she felt wonderful, in spite of it. She pulled herself up, slowly. Reached for the towel, slowly. Wrapped herself in it, slowly; and slowly made her way back to her locker; this time there was no floating. Her way, rather, was fog-shrouded. If she were anyone else, she might have wondered how she came to be sitting on that bench pulling the spandex over her calves and thighs, standing and stretching it over that perfect ass; not really bothering with the tuck….She didn’t bother with the half t, either; she just hoisted the big sweatshirt over her head, felt her nipples settle into the softness of the fleece, and pulled her bag to her shoulder. She stepped into her flops. Determined not trudge, her steps were deliberately powered and powerful as she moved toward the stair and the entry hall…. Besides, how many people began their mornings like this? Who had carnality radiating—literally—from almost every pore….Trudge? Not here; not now—she could collapse when she reached the condo…. She turned the corner past reception. She saw them…it was almost as if they had tarried—waited for her—before they took their leave. They rolled through the revolving doors; a hand raised in the feeblest of salutes, and a kind of guarded smirk parted lust-swollen lips….Dashed was her first reaction…. Deliberacy and power. She stepped past reception and toward the door. ‘Ms. Black,’ the young man said. Now, he was attractive, even if he was young. Nice cut; nice color—she wondered if he was hung as he sat there—she’d have to keep him in mind for when her ‘boi-hunger’ hit. ‘Yes,’ turning her head to him in mid-stride; slowing as he extended himself towards her…. ‘The ladies who just left,’ he began, ‘asked that you be given this….’ His well-manicured hand produced a folded note card. The script was artistic. Some might say it even had a sexual flourish. It began, ‘We enjoyed you immensely….you are, by our criteria, immensely enjoyable, and this, it seems, was simply an appetizer….please join us this evening for dinner and dessert. And, of course, we can count on you to dress for the occasion….’ What followed were time and address, and their signatures…. The card was scented. At first the fragrance—‘fragrances’ to be exact—were difficult to place. The first came to Sydd as she entered the spring air. She had just tasted it not too long ago. It was the scent of the cream from Ms. Chestnut’s cunt. The other ‘perfume,’ both pungent and sweet, she could only assume was the ginger colored, red head’s. She stopped on the steps, held the card to her nose and breathed deep as she discretely and delicately allowed her tongue to flick it….She turned and looked back through the glass at the young, polished askari on duty. His fingers were held lightly beneath his nose. She saw the tongue flick. His head rose—the way it might when one senses that one is being watched…. She, sniffed her note again, and then gave him her biggest, boldest smile….She didn’t wait for his shy return as she strode into the sunlight….