Black Silk (9 page)

So though I hadn’t planned to end my celibate streak, there was something about Marcus’s voice on my machine and the urges
pulsating beneath my heated skin that made me want to seduce him outta that pretty-boy laziness into a sexual connoisseur.

I replayed his latest message. “Nicola, you’ve been mistreating me. I am lusting for your luscious body and you won’t even
call me back. What’s a brothah gotta do?”

I decided to end his misery. “Marcus?”

“Nicola! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You haven’t felt the pleasure… yet,” I purred.

“I’ll be right over,” he said, his voice thickening with yearning.

“You’re not invited.”

“Then when will you be here?”

“Not anytime soon.”

“Nicola, you’re not making sense.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Well baby, I am too. That’s why I’m so happy to hear your voice,” he chuckled.

“Meet me at the Silver Palm restaurant, seven o’clock tomorrow evening.”

“Why wait till then? I’d be happy to cook up a little somethin’ for you at my place right now.” I felt his silky growl all
the way to my toes.

“You will. But not yet. Silver Palm. Tomorrow. Bring your appetites.”

“Mmmmmmmm. I like that.”

“I’m sure you do. Now say, ‘Good night, Nicola.’”

“Good night, Nicola.”

I hung up the phone.

The Silver Palm was classy and sensual, just the right setting for our first encounter. Marcus arrived before me and had the
nerve to look like he was gonna fix his lips to fuss when I strode in fifteen minutes late. But when I slid off my coat to
reveal the bloodred silk dress that caressed my sassy curves, his jaws relaxed. As his eyes trailed down to my red stiletto
“come-do-me-this-minute” mules and my fierce red toenails, his lips rearranged themselves into a lusty smile.

Halfway through our dinner chitchat, I slipped off my right shoe and walked my toes up the inside of his left pant leg. He
looked startled, but I played dumb and rattled on about the latest political gossip. When my toes started circling his growing
anticipation, I thought he’d choke on his shrimp Alfredo. I looked innocently into his eyes while sliding my foot up, down,
and around, the silk of my stocking creating an enticing wave of friction against the front of his fine wool trousers.

When the waiter asked whether we wanted dessert, I slid my foot back into my mule. “Definitely,” I murmured, “but not here,
thanks.”

Marcus quickly paid for the meal and managed to stand, his hand teasing the curve of my back as we walked to my car. “Your
place or mine?” he grinned.

I responded with a long, searing kiss. Our tongues danced until we could barely stand or breathe. His yang called; my yin
answered, and though I was so hot my brain was exploding, I managed to pull away.

“Neither. I’m teaching at the community college tomorrow night. Meet me there at six-thirty and don’t be a second late.” I
turned and slid into my car, leaving Marcus with a look of stunned lust on his perfect face. I blew a kiss out the window
and raced home, where I masturbated myself to three climaxes before I could get to sleep.

The community college was filling up for evening classes when Marcus rushed into the hallway a few minutes early. “Nicola,
what the hell…?” He was out of breath and adorably disheveled.

I grabbed his hand, pulled him into the classroom, and locked the door. “Class begins at seven and my students are very prompt.”
I wore a black, Mexican-style peasant blouse with no bra, crotchless panties, and a full, fiesta-type skirt that swirled around
my gleaming calves. I took a silk scarf from around my waist and gently tied Marcus’s wrists together in back of him.

“Here’s the assignment, Marcus. Make me hot, make me come, but you can only use your lips, teeth, and tongue. No hands, okay?”
I warmed him up with a sizzling kiss. Then he took one of my earlobes between his smooth lips, nibbling and sucking until
my breath was ragged and my nipples strained against my blouse. Reading my mind, he tugged down the elastic neckline with
his teeth, exposing my aching breasts to the cool air. He slurped at one breast, then the other, until they danced in jealous
competition for his hungry mouth.

Sitting on the desk, I wrapped my feet around his waist, pulling him against me. The coarse fabric of his jeans inflamed my
restless heat. I unfastened his belt and pants and eased him back onto the floor. Then I gently guided his long, thick muscle
into my mouth. “Turn around,” he growled, directing me to hover just over his face. As I teased his velvety balls, Marcus’s
tongue sucked my lower lips until my upper ones quivered. I felt the delicious scrape of newly grown beard on the tender meat
of my inner thigh and stifled a moan while his probing tongue sent my hips into a grind.

Meanwhile, I took him deeper into my throat. He seemed to grow longer, harder, wider, and hotter with each greedy gulp. I
heard voices from the hallway as students gathered near the door, but concentrated on first teasing the tip of Marcus’s magnificent
manhood, then devouring as much as I could. I muffled a scream as he coaxed my love button to the boiling point.

We lost control at the same moment: he plunged into my mouth and I shuddered into his. I helped him to a standing position
and we licked the juices from each other’s mouths and faces.

“Okay,” I gasped, untying his wrists and pulling him into the bathroom, where we quickly washed off. “Get yourself together
and go out that side door.”

“Girl, you’d…” I stopped his words with a teasing kiss and nudged him into the hallway.

I relished the smell of pleasure in the air as I strode back and forth in front of my students, explaining the finer points
of gourmet restaurant dining. My whole body purred, the breeze beneath my shirt fanning the embers of my nearly sated lust.

Needless to say, it was difficult getting to sleep that night. I wanted Marcus inside of me as much as he wanted to be there,
but I was determined to stick to my plan.

A few days later I e-mailed him from work. “Have an urge to go dancing and it’s oldies night at the Purple Haze. Can’t wait
to feel you.”

“Can’t wait to come,” he e-mailed back immediately.

The Purple Haze was the city’s mainstay club for all age groups, but on Thursday it belongs to the old-school crowd. Amar,
the gorgeous young DJ, musta been schooled by his daddy ’cause he spun those jams like he’d grown up on them.

Marcus looked scrumptious in skin-tight jeans and muscle T. I wore a flirty short dress and my most comfortable dancing shoes.

We danced every dance, from Aretha to Smokey to Marvin, working up a fine glow, but at the first notes of the Dells’ “Stay
in My Corner” I walked into Marcus’s outstretched arms with a wicked smile. “I don’t know how to slow-dance. Can you teach
me?” I pouted, and he pulled me close. We whispered the words of the song into each other’s ears and started to swerve like
teenagers learning what the
p
in
pleasure
was for. Our hands caressed each other’s backs, then ventured lower, and we moved into a sho ’nuff grind. Marcus inserted
his thigh between my legs and let his hands explore my backfield, my skin rippling with pleasure at his sure touch. The Dells
wailed as he marked my throat with long, hungry kisses that were sure to leave marks the next day. I gasped and molded my
pelvis to his. “Come here,” he moaned, and next thing I knew we were in the DJ booth.

Amar looked up with a slow smile. “How much time left on that tape?” Marcus asked, peeling off a large bill. “Thirty minutes,
my man,” Amar laughed, pocketing the bill and slipping out of the booth.

We sank down, tearing at each other’s clothes. The rough carpet against my skin excited me even more. I lifted one heel onto
the edge of the console that held all the DJ equipment. Marcus trailed his lips up the inside of my left thigh, then licked
around the outside of my yearning.

“Can you read my lips, baby?” I cooed. “The ones you’re licking? I want your mouth on mine and the rest of you inside me,
deep inside me,
now!
”

Marcus laughed and nibbled his way up my stomach to play awhile with each breast, pulling at them with his fingers till the
nipples moaned against his skin. He suckled them so long and hard that I nearly came from the delicious pressure alone. Then
he tickled my steaming cat with his fingers, smiling as I danced on the tips. We sat facing each other, my feet locked behind
his proud hips. He teased me with the tip of his shaft and I gently guided him in. He sighed as my heat engulfed him.

We rode the music, his every stroke on the one, my answering thrusts on the downbeat. He laid me gently back on the carpet,
slow-grinding as though we were still on the dance floor. The bass reverberated through our bodies as we quaked and grunted
with each sweet stroke. I slid my toes around his gorgeous ass, causing it to quiver each time it rose. Our sweat mingled
in a cloud of sweet funk and I spread my legs wide, savoring the way his balls teased my pussy. We drank greedily from each
other’s mouths and he reared back, poised to explode.

“Wait,” I said, sliding out from under him and guiding his face between my thighs. “Don’t you want a little taste of what
you do to me?”

He groaned and dove in, his tongue jetting in and out of me with such power that I thought he was still inside me. My hips
circled wantonly as waves of pleasure rose from my toes.

“Okay,” I gasped, pushing him back to lick my juices from his throbbing joystick. It danced wildly in the air, searching for
my wet embrace. I teased the glistening head until his hips jutted upward, then slowly took his length into my mouth.

“Oooooh it’s good, so damned good, Nicola, I’m about to…” I pulled my lips away, moved up to kiss his mouth, and mounted him,
moving in languid figure eights and squeezing my inner muscles around him until he roared above the music.

From the corner of my eye, I saw that Amar had reentered the booth. I pretended not to notice, but that made me even hotter.
I lowered my nipples to Marcus’s mouth and he nibbled them into throbbing pleasure points. I heard Amar’s breathing quicken
as Marcus and I drove each other to new peaks of ecstasy.

Back on the dance floor I trembled against Marcus with aftershocks, while he gently ran his hands up and down my back. We
slow-danced to another orgasm, our tongues grooving to their own rhythm in a long, hungry kiss.

When we could finally breathe normally and speak again, I gave him a slow, appreciative once-over. “I must say you’ve surprised
me, Marcus. Are you in heat?”

“Could be,” he chuckled. “Or maybe it’s just the stars.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, fighting to get my brain back into my skull and my clothing back to normal.

“Did I ever tell you my Venus is in Scorpio?” he asked, grinning wickedly and patting the front of his pants with a satisfied
flourish. “And it just so happens that there’s a matching planetary alignment that swings through every now and then. Now,
if you don’t know what that means, I’ll be happy to break it down for you…”

_________________

by Lolita Files

I never knew rose petals could hurt.

It was two days later and I still couldn’t walk straight. I semi-waddled down the quiet hall of the hotel toward the room
where this last disaster had most recently occurred. That I was back again was a miracle within itself. Recovery was not even
near being complete.

The door was closed. New York’s equivalent of the do-not-disturb sign was hanging on the handle: FUHGETTABOUDIT.

Cassis was in there. I could feel his presence, even through the heavy divider. He was probably lying back, propped up against
four ultrafluffy pillows, languishing in the feel of the soft down-filled duvet as it draped haphazardly across his body.
His left hand would be gingerly cradling his nut-brown shaft, the fingers deftly working. His right hand would be gingerly
cradling the black shaft of the remote. The fingers deftly working.

I stopped just outside the door, listening to the dim hum of the television as channel after channel whizzed past. He was
changing the thing with remarkable speed, much too quickly to register images. Which meant the fingers on the remote were
truly fast at work. Which meant the fingers on his shaft, in turn, were just as active.

Cassis would be hard for me. So hard, it would hurt. He would be wincing when I walked in. I already knew. His dick would
be a dagger of pain, fat with hot blood that boiled up within it. He would look to me for release, eyes blazing in demand
that I let him stab me with the boiled-blood dagger. I hesitated as I stood by the door. Afraid to go in. Couldn’t wait to
go in.

Le Parker Meridien was a dangerous place. Safe for patrons. Dangerous for me. Undeniably upscale, the hotel was nestled in
the heart of Midtown Manhattan, respectably perched on Fifty-sixth Street between Sixth and Seventh. Behind door 416, however,
some not-so-upscale or -respectable happenings had been jumping off for quite some time. Four months, to be exact. Amid eighteen-dollar
bran muffins and twenty-dollar pots of tea, wicked acts were taking place. Things that made me sink into prayer once they
were over. Things for which I was certain I would go straight to hell.