Best Black Women's Erotica (24 page)

Our intention was to just end it right there. To go back to being enemies, but things didn't turn out like that. The sex between us was so addictive that we both knew we couldn't let it go. We ended up fucking on the conference table just about every evening before walking out of there like we despised each other. It was adventurous at first, but both of us started craving the real thing. We needed to get the merger out of the way so we could have guilt-free sex.

Martin and I decided to get together his father and the partners from my corporation for a night of beer and karaoke. Somewhere between Charles singing “Bad to the Bone,” and Mr. Hammonton singing “What's Going On,” they came to an agreement on the merger all by themselves.

That let Martin and me off of the hook. We didn't want to look like coconspirators because we were sleeping together. Yes, the word got out big time. It was probably the biggest water-cooler story of the decade. It didn't matter though. We were proud to announce that we were together.

In fact, Martin and I did a little merger and acquisition of our own. We got married last fall and two months ago we acquired our beautiful son, Caleb. The most stressful situation of my life ended up netting me a vice presidency
and
the man of my dreams. What more could a sistah possibly ask for?

 

 

 

 

 

Women suck! I hate them. They're good-for-nothing low-down dirty dogs. Actually, that's a harsh thing to say, considering I am a woman and dogs are faithful. If I had any kind of sense, I'd be straight. Naw. That wouldn't work. I can't stand that whole leaving-up-the-toilet-seat thing. So now it's back to women.

Why do they piss me off? I shouldn't even say
them.
It's more like
her.
Rahiema Walker. My ex-girlfriend. Correction, make that ex-fiancée. Why is she my ex? Because she's a playaette and tried to play the wrong woman. I wasn't havin' it. You would think that after three years you could trust a bitch. But no, that hoochie was fuckin' some barely legal tramp at the high school around the corner from my apartment building. So I dumped her. And yes, I kept the ring. It's worth at least a couple of hundred. I wasn't about to walk away empty-handed. Not after all the bullshit I put up with from that worthless piece of human flesh.

So here I was, two months later, alone in my apartment getting drunk on chocolate fudge cookies, rainbow sherbet, and
Oprah. Rahiema may have treated me wrong, but I was missin' her with a fierce passion. OK, I was missin' the sex.

It had been all that and a bag of chips with dip and then some. Feel me? That woman could work me over with just her pinkie finger and those juicy kissable lips. Damn, Rahiema was one of the finest sistas I had ever laid my eyes on. She was a darker version of Toni Braxton (another woman I would give my kidney for) and twice as fine. Rahiema had skin the color of dark plums and was just as sweet when she wanted to be. That's how I prefer my women. You know the saying: The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice. I'm surprised all my teeth didn't fall right outta my head.

I was heading for the kitchen for another refill of rainbow sherbet when my doorbell rang.

“Hey, skank. You can't call nobody?” Araina Hill, one of my three best friends, said as she came barging into my apartment. My other two friends, Daire Grant and Joi Darling, followed behind.

“We thought you done crawled up and died in this mug,” Daire said. I hadn't spoken to my friends or anyone in weeks since the breakup.

“Hey, love,” Joi said in her heavy British accent. She was the only Black person I had ever met who had been born and raised in England. “How are you?” she asked, hugging me.

“I'm OK,” I shrugged.

“You look like shit warmed over,” Araina said, smacking her gum like the tramp we all knew she was. Araina was decked out in her usual skeezuh gear: halter top and a skirt so short it showed things only a gynecologist should see. She was right, though. My apartment hadn't been cleaned in weeks. The dishes were piling up in the sink. I couldn't have even imagined what I looked like standing there in an oversized sweatshirt, cutoff jeans, and hair tied back in a ponytail.

“Leave T. T. alone,” Daire said. T. T. was short for Tilo Thomas. Me.

“Thank you, Daire,” I said, hugging her round body. She was the only person who called me T. T. Daire was what we called
healthy.
She had meat on her bones. She wasn't really fat, just kinda big. Like Queen Latifah. Daire gave the best hugs and was like the mother of the four of us. She was also affectionately known as Big Momma D.

“So how are you doing, Ms. Tilo?” Araina asked, plopping herself onto my couch.

“I'm hangin'.” I sat between her and Joi. Daire sat on the arm of my couch.

“Have you heard from Rahiema?” Joi asked.

“No, I haven't,” I said wrinkling my nose. “And I don't wanna hear from her or about her.”

“Then I guess you wouldn't be interested in hearing the dish on Ms. Rahiema,” Araina said.

“What dish?”

“Thought you wasn't interested.”

“Bitch, you workin' a nerve.”

“You must not be gettin' any,” Araina said, sucking her teeth. “You hella grumpy.”

“What about Rahiema?”

“The high school tramp dumped her…for a man.”

“Serves her right,” Joi said. “I never did like her.”

“I'm not finished,” Araina said, holding up a newly manicured hand. “Anyway, I was out at Zami's, you know gettin' my groove on with a fine-ass piece of woman. I go to the bathroom, do my thing, and your ex corners me just as I'm coming out.”

“What did she want?”

“She wanted to know what was up with you and if you were seein' anybody,” Araina said. “She wants back in.”

“She has got her nerve,” Daire said. “After the way she treated my girl.”

“What did you tell her?” Joi asked.

“I told her you were dating this fine-ass piece of woman and had moved on,” Araina said. “What could I say? That you were locked in yo' apartment cryin' over her?”

“Thank you, Araina.” I hugged her. “You slut.” I added.

“You my girl. I gotcha back, baby.” Araina grinned. “That ain't all. So after I tell her you was taken, bitch starts hittin' on me.”

“No!” Joi's eyes bugged out.

“Yes!”

“No!” Daire said.

“Yes, dammit! Y'all need to clean the wax out ya ears so you can hear a sista.”

Araina looked at them in disgust.

“That is foul,” Daire said. “T. T., I got peeps who will take care of Rahiema for you.”

“You always got peeps you gon' get to take care of somebody,” Araina said.

“That won't be necessary, D,” I said.

“I should think not,” Joi said. “Violence doesn't solve anything.”

“Shut up, Ms. Prim and Proper,” Araina said. “Violence doesn't solve anything,” she said, imitating Joi's thick accent.

“Fuck you, slut.” Joi gave Araina the finger.

“Speakin' of fuckin',” Daire said before Araina could come back with some flippant remark, “you gettin' any lately, T. T.?”

“No, I haven't,” I said. “And I'm not interested in gettin' any.”

“Oh, bullshit on me,” Araina said, rolling her hazel eyes. “It's been two months, and you mean to tell us you ain't went out and snagged you some fish tacos?”

“We all ain't nymphos like you, Araina,” I said. “Some of us have class.”

“Class my ass,” Araina said. “You need to put on one of the hoochie-mama skirts we all know you got in your closet, go out to the club, and get that punanny stroked, baby!”

“Do you always hafta be so vulgar?” I said, even though I knew she was right. It had been a while, and I was horny as fuck.

“Two months is a long time, T. T.,” Daire said. “Even Joi got hooked up last week. You know what a prude she is.”

“Hello. I'm sitting right here,” Joi said. “And I am not a prude. I have taste, and I have standards.”

“I appreciate all of your concern,” I said. “I'm just not really looking to start dating anyone right now. It's too soon.”

“Who the hell mentioned anything about dating?” Araina said. “I'm talkin' pure raw sex. No commitment.”

“The story of Araina's life,” Joi said.

“Bitch!”

“Slut!”

“Shut up, both you,” Daire said. “Now let's get back to T. T.'s problem.”

“What problem?”

“Your lack of a sex life, baby.” Daire stood up. “We're takin' you out tonight. You gon' eat somethin' besides chocolate fudge cookies. Let's go find somethin' for you to wear.”

 

“Didn't I let you borrow this?” Araina asked, holding up a black sheer blouse. Daire, Joi, and me were sittin' on my bed watching Araina go through my closet.

“No, that's mine.”

“Can I borrow it?” Araina asked as she took off her halter top. “I got a date tomorrow. This is perfect.” As usual, Araina wore no bra. There was a 99.99 percent chance she wasn't wearin' panties either.

“You are straight hoochie, Araina,” Daire said, flipping through the latest issue of
Essence,
with Toni Braxton on the cover.

“Ya mama.”

“I don't think so. But I do believe it was yo' mama callin' out my name last night.” Daire laughed and tossed the magazine aside.

“Bitch, please,” Araina rolled her eyes. “My mama's got way betta taste.”

“Too bad she lost out on the looks,” Joi joined in. “Look at you.”

“Don't you even try comin' for me,” Araina threw up her hand. “You will get dissed.” She twirled around. “This is 115 percent supreme fineness, baby.” Her hands rested on her hips. “Besides,” Araina continued, “y'all got nerve callin' me hoochie. I'm not the one with the mirror over my bed.” She pointed a long finger at me.

We looked up at the large square glass that covered half of my ceiling. That had been Rahiema's idea, her reason being, “I like to watch.” My ex had been kinky.

“Someone was into the freaky-deaky,” Araina said.

“Eat me,” I said.

“At least you'll be able to watch,” Daire said.

“Yeah,” said Joi. “Instant replay.”

“You and Ms. Rahiema musta had some good times up in here,” Araina said. “What other nasty stuff you guys was doin'?”

“Fuck you bitches,” I rolled my eyes.

“Is that an invitation?” Joi asked. Araina, Daire, and I all looked at her, shocked. “What? The British girl can't have a dirty thought?”

“We just don't expect it, prude,” Araina said.

“Skank!”

“Ice princess.”

“Are you two fuckin' or what?” I said. “Y'all argue like some old married-ass couple.”

“You ain't got no business talkin' about somebody fuckin',” Araina said. “We know you ain't get any.”

“I gets mine.”

“If your lover needs double ‘A' batteries, you aren't getting any,” Joi said.

“Leave my girl alone,” Daire said. “She can't help it if her shit's done dried up and died.” She, Joi, and Araina all broke out laughing.

“My shit is still all good.” I gave them the finger. “Don't make me whip it out and give you a taste.”

“That definitely sounds like an invitation to me,” Araina said.

“Sounds like one to me,” Joi agreed. “What about you, Daire?”

“Sounds like we're gettin' invited to a party.”

“I…I was just joking.” I stuttered. “Y'all betta stop lookin' at me like that,” I said, my friends looking like hungry horny hyenas.

“Shut up, Tilo,” Araina said, pushing me onto my back. She climbed on top. “This is what you get for always havin' a big mouth.”

“Besides, if you can't fuck your friends, who can you fuck?” Daire grinned.

“That's what friends are for,” Joi said.

“Oh, good Goddess,” I said as Araina brought her mouth down hard on mine.

 

That's what started it. Soon Araina was giving me kisses on the back of my neck. I shivered at the cool wetness her saliva left on my skin. Her tongue made circular motions as she crept down my back, undoing my clothes as she went. Joi soon caught on. She took my nipple in her mouth and sucked like a baby. Daire was stroking my hair. The muscle in my rectum contracted when Araina ran her tongue between my ass cheeks. She gave me a sly grin.

“Turn around,” Daire whispered in my ear. I did as I was told, turning so that her chest pressed against my back. With
her left hand, Daire squeezed and played with my left tit while Joi continued sucking on my other nipple. Daire reached around my waist and ran a finger over my clit. I shivered again. She stuck the pussy-drenched finger in Araina's mouth. Araina licked it dry.

“Good.” Araina licked her lips.

I pulled my knees up, giving her a clear view of a wet cunt. “You know what I want now,” I said, fingering myself. Araina gave me that slick grin again. I knew that when it came to sex, Araina Dawson liked it rough. I laid down on my back. Daire, who had undressed herself at some point, had her crotch bumping up against my head. Joi had stripped out of her clothes too and was sitting cross-legged, playing with herself. Araina grabbed both of my legs and forcefully spread them. She rubbed her hands together like a mad scientist about to bring her greatest creation to life. I could barely stand the wait. Araina grabbed my buttocks in her hands.