Sexaholics (17 page)

The burgundy blackout drapes were pulled.

At 11:42, Brandi’s flask rested upon the walnut nightstand next to the
full-sized bed in the tiny, dingy, dark, and drab hotel room while she gave a
major blowjob to a tall, dark-haired man with curly hair, who was built like a
boxer. Brandi, hot and horny and talented, lay between his long legs, looking up
at him with her big brown eyes as she devoured his penis. She crafted a vacuum
pressure on his dick, wrapping her lips around his cock and sucking in air so
that her cheeks inflated and deflated. She made fast up-and-down movements and
fluttered her tongue in her mouth. She went down as far as she could and opened
as far as she could, then she sucked in as much air as her lungs would allow,
and blew. She let her mouth travel up and just as she reached the head, and then
went back down again.

“Oh damn. Hold up. Not yet. Shit.” He choked the white cotton
sheet beneath him and curled his toes.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said at a low, soft pace as she
released her mouth grip. “I’m going to save that sucker because I
want you to have the time of your life on your lunch hour. I want you to live
out your dreams, baby. What’s your ultimate afternoon delight?” She
looked up at him while resting her head along his thigh. Her eyes looked drunk,
either on gin or on sex.

“My ultimate?”

“Yes, what’s your fantasy?”

He looked around the room and then at her. “This is it right here.
I’ve been watching you for a while. No one would believe the phone call I
got today. I had no idea when I woke up and took my daughter to school that
I’d be alone with you a few hours later. Never.”

“Oh please, you can dream bigger than that. What is it that
you’ve always wanted to do sexually?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t think of anything?”

“No. I haven’t had that much of an unusual sex life, but
I’ve been okay. I guess. Except have sex on an elevator or get head under
the table at a restaurant, maybe.”

“Kinky. Though we can’t do either of those right now.”

“True. I guess one thing I’ve never done, that I think most men
have definitely done my age, is have anal sex?”

“Anal sex? That’s not as big as I want to give you. Unless you
want
me
to give it to
you
. That might be big.”

His forehead creased. “Oh, no. I mean me as the giver, thank
you.”

“Okay, that’s what I thought. Not big enough. Bigger.”

“Two women at once, maybe?”

“That’s common. Wow, as much as you think you have, you really
haven’t done much. Come on. Think bigger.”

“Well, I did see a porno flick where this girl choked this dude, and
before he came he shot his cum in her mouth, and then she kissed him so he could
swallow it himself.”

“Oh, recycling it, huh? That’s called snowballing, my
love.”

“Yeah, that.”

“You’d want to do that?”

“I guess so.”

She looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand and moved from her
position. “We’d better get started. We don’t have
long.”

He braced himself by laying his head upon two propped-up pillows. His face
showed that he was trying to ease his mind. “You don’t even remember
my name, do you?”

“I do. But it doesn’t matter.” Brandi stood on top of the
hard mattress next to him, balancing herself. She parted her Southern lips and
began rubbing her clitoris with her index and middle fingers, flicking the
slippery skin and pressing her hips forward toward him.

He took his already ripe dick in hand and stroked himself. She spread her
lips open for him to examine every inch of what her pussy was drawn like, as she
gave more brisk stroking to her clit. She started moaning and grinding in the
air, then stood over him, straddling his torso while he slid his hand up and
down his shaft.

“That’s a pretty pussy there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wish I could fuck that.”

“Maybe.”

His voice grew deeper. “Oh yeah, that’s a pretty-ass pussy. My
God.”

She looked down at her own vagina. “Yep. That’s the prettiest
part of me all right.”

“It’s all pretty. And I’ll bet it’s tight.”

“It is.”

“I can tell. That slit is just begging to be ran through. God damn, I
like that. Oh yeah. I’m about to tear that up.”

“Are you ready to cum in my mouth?”

“Hell yeah.”

“You need me to squeeze your throat first, right?”

“I do.”

“Come here,” she said. She knelt down on top of him and placed
her hands around his wide neck, squeezing hard and then harder, pressing her
thumbs into the front of his throat. He closed his eyes and she could feel him
beating up his honey-nut dick from behind her even faster. She squeezed harder
and harder. His face began to turn a dark red. Her hands began to hurt. She
jerked his neck like she was wringing a washcloth until the grip she gave could
not squeeze any tighter.

His toes curled. “I’m cumming,” he gasped, fighting for
air. She let go of her grip, rushed downtown to his tip after missing one half
shot, and took the rest of the hot cum that spit from his tip to her tongue. She
quickly moved up to approach his face and he opened his mouth wide as she
exchanged the fluid to him while they kissed. He sucked her tongue and she
carefully backed her head away. He gulped “Ahhhhh,” as though
satisfied with the sensation, the texture, and the taste.

She smacked her lips and ran the tip of her tongue over her teeth. “Is
that how you wanted it to be?”

His face became less flushed. He shook his head to aid his scratchy words.
“Oh yeah.”

“Ever tasted your own cum before?”

His breaths were short. “A little from masturbating. That shit was
sexy.” He rubbed his throat.

She played tug and pull with the fine hairs on his chest. “You know
you’re going to grow more hair on this chest of yours. That’s what
happens on a sperm diet.”

He brushed away the stray hairs from her forehead. “Funny.”

She massaged the muscular definition of his pectorals and traced his hard
nipple with her finger while he put his hand on her shoulder and slipped his arm
around her.

He held her and she stayed put in his arms. But then ten seconds later, she
jumped to her feet, noticing that it was 12:22. She sipped a fast swallow from
her flask and gathered her clothes, which rested along the back of the desk
chair.

“What about you?” he asked as he watched her, still lying on his
back.

“What about me, what?”

“What about you? You didn’t get yours.”

“Oh, I’m good.”

“Maybe next time?”

“No. Next times don’t exist. No second chances here.”

“Why’s that?”

“That’s just the way it is.”

He sat up a bit. “Can I call you?”

“No,” she said simply and exited the room, leaving him lying
there naked with his dick, and his mouth, coated with cum.

Brandi headed back in her Mustang to the middle school that employed her. The
pep in her step was a tad bit peppier. She felt the rush for the short drive,
but by the time she stepped out of her car and headed down the walkway to her
classroom, the high had downshifted a notch.

Her body had its way again.

Her head said,
Stop lusting and become sober.

But being sex drunk truly had its freaky hold on Miss Williams.

Miki

H
ave a good day, sweetie.” The
next Monday, Miki sat in the short line of cars in the circular driveway at the
all brick, two-story Westwood Elementary School. The sun had not yet shared its
heat with the early-morning air.

“Mom. I don’t wanna go to Mrs. Johnson’s class
anymore.” T.J. sat in the backseat wearing his gray sweatshirt and jeans.
His eyes showed six-year-old misery.

“Why?” Miki asked, as she put the car in park.

He spoke with a sleepy whine. “Because I wanna go to Mr. White’s
class. He has all the
Star Wars
things.”

“
Star Wars
things?”

“Yeah. I wanna be in his class.” He pouted like he was purposely
trying to break her heart.

Miki hid that she was tickled and spoke sympathetically while reaching in the
backseat and smoothing the side of his thick hair. She unbelted his seat.
“T.J., I’m sure all the kids get excited about Mr. White’s
collection, but you have to go today. We’ll get you a
Star Wars
toy, and you can take it to school on share day. Now go on before you’re
late.” She took his arm to pull him up for a kiss.

T.J. scooted up and gave a silent, weak peck, and his lip stuck out even
further. “Bye.” He took hold of his Sponge-Bob backpack.

“Bye, baby. Mommy loves you.”

“Love you, too,” he said, nearly inaudibly and with no eye
contact whatsoever as the teacher’s aide opened his door and helped him
out, giving Miki a wave, then he pushed the door closed.

Miki watched her first-grader son. Just that quickly, he flung the straps of
his backpack over his shoulders and spotted his best friend, Travon. The two
darted off past the teacher’s aide and through the gate, and
disappeared.

As she pulled off, Miki wore her full-on smile, grabbed her hot pink travel
mug and sipped her chocolate silk coffee, and simply took in the short drive to
work. She thought back to her son’s pouty face and her heart warmed.

And then she quickly thought about the length and thickness of Dwayne’s
penis.

The swanky place where Miki was employed was an urban inner sanctuary with
panoramic views located in the center of glamor, in the foothills of Beverly
Hills. It was the luxurious W Hotel in Westwood, decorated in brown, dark red,
and blue. The designs and ambiance were vibrant and sophisticated. The mood was
contemporary and mod.

Just before one in the afternoon, Miki sat at her chrome-and-glass desk in
her office while on the Internet, surrounded by the best of the best décor
and furnishings. An imported, violet Victorian droplight shone brightly over her
flat screen computer. She’d logged on to a top-rated Blog Talk Radio
program to listen to a show called
Chicks on Lit
. She was trying to
keep her laughter at bay as she listened to the three female hosts discuss the
topic of sex addiction; one of them advised women that in order to keep from
being dick dumb, they should just get themselves a BOB—battery-operated
boyfriend. Miki chuckled and said aloud, “I heard that. If only. Sure
would cut down on all this crazy-ass shit.”

Miki lowered the volume on her computer and picked up her office phone as it
rang, keeping an eye on her computer screen.

“Are you free for lunch?” her sugar daddy, Robert, asked.

“No. Not today.” She grinned, thinking,
Speaking of
Bob.

He gave a long, low sigh. “How about in the next day or two?”

“I’ll check with you then.” Her words were fast as she read
an e-mail.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“You seem distant, Miki.”

“No. Just busy.” She clicked her wireless mouse to send her
reply. “Just trying to stay on top of things around here.”

“I got it. Well, I’ve got the rest of your money.”

“You do?” she asked, turning from the computer for a moment. She
glanced out of the oversized window behind her, crossing her legs.

“Yes. And I really would like to see you. I mean in private.”

The outside view of towering palm trees and powder-blue skies met her sight.
The morning had crept away and it was already early afternoon. She turned back
around to check the time on her screen and logged off. “How about if I
call you tomorrow and we can talk about getting together?”

“Okay. I can even come by there and get a room like we used to
do.”

“Maybe. But I’ll call you.” She swung her chair to the side
and stood up in her tailored, burnt-orange skirt and blazer.

“Okay. Don’t work too hard. Bye.”

“Later.”

She hung up her desk phone and grabbed her iPhone, stepped her pointy bronze
fuck-me pumps upon the polished concrete flooring, and sat back against the
butter-yellow leather sofa that was angled next to her desk. She leaned against
a large brown-and-orange-striped pillow and prepared to send a text, when her
phone rang.

She answered it quickly. “Hey Dwayne.” Her face was
nonexpressive.

“Hey there. I was thinking about you and wondered how you
were.”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Cool. All is well. Just getting things going with our promotion for a
celebrity event at the club coming up. You know I own Club Sunset. You should
try to make it out one night.”

“I’ll do that.” Miki crossed her legs.

“Good. Listen, I mean, I’ve been wanting to ask. What’s up
with you? I mean you got a man or what?”

She spoke matter-of-factly: “I won’t ask you that and I
won’t tell.”

“Oh, so it’s like that?”