Zane's Z-Rated: Chocolate Flava 3 (17 page)

It was Friday, midnight—straight up. Sasha opened the door of her suburban home to Canderick. At the foot of the stairs, just outside the foyer, Canderick removed Sasha’s red silk bathrobe. She was completely naked. The garment hadn’t hit the floor good before Canderick scooped up her soft, naked body into his arms and carried her up the stairs while their tongues loudly sloshed around inside each other’s mouths.

He gently placed Sasha on the earth-tone comforter of a king-sized bed and followed as she ferociously snatched the opening of his button-down shirt so hard that buttons popped everywhere. Canderick was starting to slowly recognize that his power to push modification loans through wasn’t all girlfriend needed. Her need for affection was obvious as she savagely tore at his clothes like a lioness ripping open the belly of a fresh kill.

Canderick rose to his knees, towering over her small frame, and finished removing what was left of a Hugo Boss shirt, exposing
a muscular mountain range of chocolate that could rival Hershey in the war for best ingredients.

Canderick was naked from the waist up as he lowered himself down by his powerful arms and passionately kissed her thick and juicy lips while the index finger of his right hand teased her rigid nipples. He broke contact just to take in all her womanly attributes. The heat from the supernova growing hotter beneath Sasha’s damp skin was calling to be extinguished. Using his tongue, Canderick started at the neck and worked his way down her center, leaving a trail of warm saliva to her belly button. He circled and teased until he got the right response.

Canderick removed his tongue from her boiling skin and that’s when he saw it. But he couldn’t properly make an approach until her legs were spread, opening up her airport. The loud, hot aroma of her female pheromones rushed out, triggering activity behind his zipper. Canderick’s dick was pulsating as he zeroed in and made a tongue-landing on her strip. He slowly poked his index finger into her mouth. Her lips closed around his finger as he moved the joint in and out, testing her dick-sucking suction.

Canderick took his time as he lathered Sasha’s runway, letting his tongue glide over her folds until he found her swollen clit. He danced around it, lightly sucking, releasing, and sucking it back in, then teasing with the tip of his tongue. Sasha’s body shuddered and Canderick could hear her call on her savior as an orgasm tore through her body.

He licked and sucked until she was begging him to fuck her. Canderick had only been there to eat monkey but he obliged. He stood, stepping out of a pair of black Giorgio Armani slacks, and rolled on an XL Magnum, while enjoying her scent that was trapped inside his mustache.

Canderick’s dick wasn’t even halfway in the pussy when the
fucking dogs started barking and growling like they were warning somebody or something not to take another step.

“My pitbulls don’t usually sound like that,” Sasha informed him as she attempted to get up and go to the window.

“You live out in the sticks,” Canderick tried to explain. He was breathing heavily; his dick so hard it could easily win the title of America’s newest brick-breaking sensation. “It’s probably a possum or something. Can we get back to what I’m here for?” Canderick went back to work on Sasha with his XL. As she yelled the name of her savior, the dogs sounded like they were mauling the shit out of something, but one other thing was on Canderick’s mind: Sasha had some pretty nice shit inside her crib.

Monday morning found Canderick at his desk. He’d skipped the board meeting and canceled all his appointments for the day. He kept on thinking about how nice a girl Sasha had turned out to be. It almost pained him to think of what he’d done to her. Sasha had some nice things inside her crib, too—according to the crew that he’d ordered to clean her out, two hours after the lights went out inside her house for the night. They called themselves “Our Gang.” They were a couple of grimy cats that even had the nerve to nickname themselves Spanky and Buckwheat. The two had been breaking into houses for Canderick for two years now. Sasha’s crib was just one of many they’d hit. That was Canderick’s operation. He would push his victims’ mortgage modification paperwork through, eat their pussies, and then steal their asses blind. Hell, Canderick couldn’t figure out his disorders, nor was he trying to at this point. His disorders had come with a built-in excuse to steal. He was a diagnosed kleptomaniac and as far as he was concerned, there was no cure. So
inside his mind, the Holy Divine had given him a gift of superiority over women. They had been put on this earth to entertain his pussy-eating pleasures.

Canderick was just confirming a one a.m. Sunday morning pussy-munching reservation with a Samantha Peterson when a man who resembled Richard Roundtree’s character Shaft barged into his office, wearing a black suit and producing a gold badge.

“I’m detective Clifford Bruckheimer,” he announced. “I have a few questions for you, Mr. Mann.”

“Sure, detective,” Canderick said, waving to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat. How might I be of service?”

“I’ll get straight to the point. I’m investigating a series of home invasions.”

“I’m a little confused, detective. What does that have to do with me?”

“The victims all have one thing in common,” he said before dropping the bomb. “They all have mortgage loans with this bank, even the latest victim, one Mrs. Sasha Twissle.”

“Well, Detective, if I can be of any assistance in a possible arrest, please let me know.”

“Mr. Mann, I’ll be in touch.” The detective stood and left.

Canderick made sure the detective was gone before making a cell phone call.

“Spanky,” he whispered into his headset with his eyes glued to the door. “Did y’all get rid of the shit yet?”

“Boss, why didn’t you tell us that bitch had pitbulls? They almost chewed Buckwheat’s balls off.”

“How was I supposed to know Sasha had dogs? Anyway, we have trouble. A detective just left here snooping around. Now, I
lined up one more job with this chick, Samantha Peterson, and then we lay low.”

“Canderick, I’m not complaining about the money you puttin’ in a nigga’s pocket, but what the hell are you doing this for? It’s not like you need the money. You’re an executive of the collections department—”

“Not just collections, but senior executive of operations,” Canderick corrected Spanky.

“Whatever. The point is, you making plenty of bread there. I know we don’t get into each other’s personal lives. Is it the rush that drives you? They got a name for people like you—kleptomaniac. A klepto that’s over collections—”

“Senior executive of operations.”

“Whatever. Buckwheat and I got a new name for you. Your new handle is Klepto-Collecto. Get it? It’s a play on your kleptomaniac tendencies and you being a supervisor over the collections department.”

“That’s senior executive of operations,” Canderick reminded him. In some kinky kind of way he liked how the new name sounded. Yeah, that was him: Klepto-Collecto.

He’d gotten a picture-text of Samantha before the detective’s intrusion. On his BlackBerry, Canderick pulled up the picture-text of her rocking a string bikini. She was a forty-something-year-old housewife who looked late-twenties, with the body of a video vixen. Usually, Canderick would have his secretary draw up the mortgage modification papers, but this time he wanted to work them personally. He set to work, fantasizing about eating from Samantha’s honeypot while still trying to sniff Sasha’s scent in his mustache.

• • •

Samantha Peterson had negotiated her own terms: It was to be an oral-only affair with a two-hour time limit. Letting one of his MWPs dictate terms was a first for Canderick. He couldn’t give a good got-damn about her terms and conditions because Samantha looked too pussy-licous for him to waste the precious little time she’d allocated him by sticking dick to her. This was some pussy he was gonna enjoy sucking on.

It was one o’clock Sunday morning and Canderick wasn’t wasting any time. When he’d arrived at Samantha’s crib she tried to give him some old melancholy musical about her husband losing all their savings in a Ponzi scheme. But Canderick wasn’t Oprah; he wasn’t there for a boo-hoo session. Canderick was there to eat pussy. And he was doing just that, with his head between her voluptuous thighs, lapping at her pudding like tomorrow wasn’t his to physically call home.

To be forty, Samantha was in shape. Not one stretch mark in sight. Her six-pack abs almost mirrored his. Samantha’s skin was the color of toffee. Her toenails were polished to perfection, and they were now raised as high as she could get them. Canderick was tongue-fucking her like his dick had traded places with his tongue. When they’d first started, Canderick noticed that Samantha was trying hard to fight it. She wasn’t super-religious, but she kept on chanting about burning in hell for dealing with the devil. And now here she was, hot, sweaty, moaning, and playing with her nipples as Canderick sucked hard enough to dislocate her clitoris.

Samantha clenched, pulling the back of Canderick’s head deeper into her na na as a tsunami of an orgasm washed her away. But Canderick kept on sucking until his time was up.

• • •

It wasn’t until Tuesday that Canderick got a phone call at the office bringing horrific news.

“Boss,” Spanky said in a voice filled with panic. “I think Buckwheat killed that bitch Samantha.”

Canderick just sat there, not saying a word.

“We were up inside her crib when Buckwheat knocked over a glass shelf. Samantha got out of bed to investigate and Buckwheat panicked. He cracked her over the head with the pistol—fucking blood was everywhere. We dragged her to the closet and stuck her in.”

“Is she dead?” Canderick asked, holding his breath.

“Don’t know, but you better get lost. The police picked up Buckwheat and—”

The phone dropped the call.

At that moment, Claudette led Detective Bruckheimer into Canderick’s office with two beefy uniformed officers in tow.

“Canderick Mann, get up. You are under arrest in connection with the murder of Samantha Peterson,” the detective announced.

“I didn’t kill anybody,” Canderick boldly protested while one of the officers handcuffed him.

The detective went on to say, “We just picked up Butch McCoy. I suggest the next time you pick your crew make sure they’re not stupid like Butch McCoy, aka Buckwheat, and Calvin Reed, aka Spanky. Your two geniuses left their prints all over the closet door where they stuffed Samantha Peterson’s body. Butch McCoy gave you up,
Klepto-Collecto.
Gentleman, take this bad boy away.”

Claudette waved as they led Canderick away.

“I told you that I would have my happy ending.” Claudette was only too happy to gloat.

With no emotion, hands behind his back, Canderick walked, trying to sniff Samantha’s scent from his mustache. He wore a stupid little grin on his face. Kleptomania had robbed him of a promising career and was about to steal his freedom. Canderick knew he was headed to prison, where the musty odors of inmate ass and feet were the only scents that would settle inside his mustache for a long time.

Rae

Tandy walked into the bathroom. She watched Darryl as he stood in front of the sink, splashing water on his face. She made her way over to Darryl, then dropped down to her knees. She spread Darryl’s cheeks apart and blew into his asshole. Darryl moaned as his knees buckled. Tandy began flicking her tongue back and forth over Darryl’s anus. Tandy had never done this before, not even for her husband, Omar, who was Darryl’s brother.

Darryl grabbed the bathroom counter as his legs began to shake. It felt good to have Tandy’s head buried between his ass cheeks, lapping his anus. It felt like Tandy knew he was the one for her.

She was one of those prissy women. She was a light-skinned black woman with pineapple-colored skin. She had a cute face with tiny features, except for her big, round chestnut-colored eyes. The way she pranced around made a nigga think he could only have her missionary style.

Darryl listened to Omar brag about how good Tandy was in bed. How she could make him—who had fucked damn near every women in Richmond, Virginia, and had been sucked off by some of the best—cum in a few seconds whenever she slurped on his dick. He bragged about how they had porn-style sex. When Darryl first saw Tandy, he thought his brother had
been lying about how she got down in bed but later found out everything he had said was true. Hell, Omar even left out some details.

Darryl enjoyed the wetness between his cheeks but he was still tired from the three times that he and Tandy had romped between the sheets earlier. He knew Tandy was bucking for round four and he didn’t have the energy to deliver. He reached down to grab Tandy’s hands and pull her to her feet but, before he could blink, Tandy slid her tongue down to his genitals and began sucking on them. Darryl became aroused by the sound of Tandy greedily sucking his scrotum.

“Damn, you sucking the hell out my nuts. You nasty-ass bitch.”

Darryl’s words made juices ooze from Tandy’s snapper. After the first time Tandy and Darryl had sex, Tandy told him how she liked to be called derogatory names during sex. At first Darryl was uncomfortable about calling Tandy names but after he had done it a few times and seen how hyped up Tandy became when he did it, he was thrilled with the idea. Darryl understood the only place where it was acceptable was in the bedroom, unlike Omar, who felt obligated to tell Tandy how much of a dick-sucking bitch she was whenever they were out in public.