Zane's Z-Rated: Chocolate Flava 3 (22 page)

I cut my eyes. “I was drunk. I don’t even remember what happened that night.”

Rick laughed. “You wanted us to dig you out; all three of us. You were begging for it.” Then leaning closer, he added, “But, baby, that’s no way to lose your virginity.”

My jaw clenched. “That wasn’t for you to decide.”

“You were in over your head, Kellie. Even now, you won’t admit that?”

I’d spent a whole lot of nights imagining it ending differently. I wanted them, all right—in my mouth, in my pussy … every
one of them. I copped a sly grin, remembering their exit. “Your boys were mad as hell.”

“Yeah, left with blue balls. Both of them tried to kick my ass.”

I laughed and then paused, just looking at him. “You ruined me anyway, you know.”

He frowned.

I’d had my share of romantic trysts and long since said farewell to my hymen, but nothing, no one had come close to what they did to me. “How can one man ever compare with three?” I questioned.

“Let me take you out and we’ll put that to the test.”

“You mean a proper date?”

“I don’t know how proper it’ll be. I’ll leave that up to you.”

Damn him. Rick had me trippin’ over how to play this. Do we go out for sushi and have a respectable conversation or screw the pretense and just throw down in my hallway?

When the doorbell found me still in my robe trying to choose what to wear, I decided to just say, “Fuck it.”

“I know I’m not early, Kellie,” Rick commented when I opened the door. “That’s a very nice robe.”

“Silk. Hermès, actually.” I leaned casually against the door frame, trying to tuck my heart back in my chest.

“You going to invite me in?”

“Have a seat on the sofa,” I offered. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” I led, he followed; the silk flowing as I walked.

He sank into the leather and snatched my wrist, pulling me onto his lap. My robe fluttered and fell away from my thighs, leaving me bare from the waist down, and his hand slipped readily between my legs with a probing finger circling my clit.

“You don’t want to go out to dinner,” he declared, simply.

“No, I’m not really hungry,” I breathed, licking my lips just inches from his.

“Is that right?” he said, sliding his finger deep inside me. “You seem pretty hungry to me.”

“What about you?” I asked, squirming against his hand.

“Me? I’m fucking starving,” Rick growled and flipped me onto my knees. I held on to the back of the sofa, steadying myself as he tugged my belt loose. First one wrist and then the other was wrapped in the silk before he tied the belt in a bow behind my back. He moved so quickly, I could barely keep up.

“You going to say it, Kellie? Can you?”

There I was, picking right up where we’d left off so many years ago. Still tingling over the control he had over me. Still creaming with anticipation for what was next.

Rick was busy burying his face in my ass and sliding his tongue back and forth under my clit when the doorbell rang again.

“Who the hell?” I wasn’t expecting anyone else, though maybe I was hoping. He left me limp against the sofa to open the door. Jeff and Sam walked in, looking as tasty as ever.

“I see you already started,” Jeff said, undressing as he came closer. I gasped when he dropped his pants; a thick, sand-colored cock was rising before my eyes. He spoke to me. “You should see how beautiful you look. All grown up now, huh, pretty girl?”

Sam walked over to me, too, and dragged his finger down my back, sending a shiver over my skin. “The one that got away,” he said to no one in particular.

I couldn’t wait one second longer. I popped my head onto that beautiful dick bobbing in front of my face.

Rick pulled his cock free from his fly and rushed on a condom. He placed his hands on my hips and plunged into my dripping
pussy, rolling inside me like a tidal wave. Jeff guided his cock to the back of my throat and out again completely.

I sucked the hell out of that cock like that blowjob had been fifteen years in the making. Jeff took one hand to toy at my ass. Rick moistened me right up by dripping his warm spit on the tight ring just as Jeff’s finger slipped in, followed closely by another. Across the room, Sam plucked a tube from his pocket before discarding his jeans, then took a seat on my club chair and slickened his latex-covered shaft.

Before I knew it, I was being whisked off the sofa by my bound wrists and scooped up by Rick. He placed me into Sam’s outstretched arms, my legs draping over them and spread as wide as possible. I was open. Everything was wide fucking open, including my eyes, and I watched keenly as they went about adjusting themselves for the perfect angle.

“You ready?” Rick’s voice was smoky and sweet.

“Hell, yes!”

Sam was first, lowering me onto his cock and pressing into my ass with slow precision. With patience he filled me with what I asked for, claiming each inch I gave him. I would lose my virginity to them after all—at least in that way.

Rick watched my face, giving me a moment to get used to Sam stroking my ass. Until it made my eyes roll back. He waited, rubbing his purple head on my clit for the sign, and took me deep when it came.

I stared right back at him with the same intensity, my mouth round with a kind of pleasure I didn’t even know existed. They were fucking me, and teaching me, both at the same time, exchanging turns churning in tandem. I was the novice; they were apparently the experts, rolling ever faster into my depths, revving
me like an engine ’til I was humming. Rick groaned, a low, dull rumble from deep in his chest—music to my ears against the backdrop of Sam’s heavy breaths. I knotted my hands together as they racked against his flexing abs, my shoulders crying out for release as much as my pussy.

Jeff took a step closer then and pushed his cock into my moaning mouth. It was more than I imagined; more cock than I’d thought I could take. But the three of them flowed in and out of me, smooth like hot chocolate in the dead of winter. They had me, finally, the way it would have been.
Should have been.

In a show of force, Jeff thrust his cock forward and I gagged on it as it choked back the words in my throat.

“Hold on, she wants to say something,” Rick said and Jeff withdrew just as quickly. Everyone froze.

“Don’t … don’t …” I gritted my teeth. “Don’t fucking stop!”

Abdul-Qaadir Taariq Bakari-Muhammad

In the name of
Allah
, the Beneficent, the
Merciful, All Praises are due to
Allah
!

Dear Diary,

I am writing to you because Ramadan this year will be quite different. My man, soon-to-be “husband,” will be working a different shift at his job for the next six months. You see, he’s a security officer and every six months, his job rotates everybody’s shifts. So, to make a long story short, I won’t be getting any dick on the regular, which is normally during the daytime. As them white girls used to say, “Bummer.” Ha, ha. His name is Taariq Kareem—dark skin, intelligent, thick, and sexxxxxxy in all the right places. Like I said, he’s smart and thoughtful, I might add. He knows I like to film myself while I masturbate in various positions. So, he went and bought me an unusual vibrator. He knows I like movies that are considered swashbucklers. There is just something that opens the floodgates seeing men swinging their swords in the air, all in the hopes of fucking some damsel nowhere near distress.

Men love their “cat fights.” I luv a nigguh shaking a piece of “steel” in his hands. I would say that’s about even on the physical attraction scale. Now, because of this attraction, he went out and bought me a Black Diamond Rabbit Pearl that
has a swashbuckling theme to it. Not only that, the color of this vibrator is the same shade as his dick—a rusty-colored black that’s very hard to lubricate. I remember one time I sucked his dick for about twenty minutes straight, trying to spit-shine that mutha-fucka with my saliva and the gallon of cum he shot in my mouth, to no avail. It looked like I hadn’t even started. This nigguh had somehow managed to swell my upper lip and it did not look like I had done a damn thing. This shit made me mad as hell. It made me so mad that I reverse cow-girled his ass so he could see my other lips that needed swelling. There was no way I was gonna half-ass good dick. Especially when I know Ramadan was approaching and there would be no sex of any kind during the daytime.

Adhering to the rules during the month of Ramadan is sometimes difficult. We both work the graveyard shift. I am a support technician for a major cable company. In other words, I help male customers who accidentally download viruses to their computer while stroking their dicks to porn in the wee-hours of the morning. They always call around 3:30 a.m., mad because their dumb, cheap asses let their virus protection plan run out. I mean, if you will spend money on lube to jerk your cock, why not add a few more dollars so while you are doing that there will be no interruptions? Please don’t get me wrong; Ramadan ain’t even here yet and I will be glad when it’s over. A whole thirty days of this shit will pluck a sistah’s nerve in all directions.

Last year, during those nighttime hours of Ramadan, we spent hours redefining that little, but so precious, act called sex. There was one time that we had introduced sex toys into our screw sessions. Funny how he managed to find a dildo his exact size. He’s six inches, by the way. Humph! Six good inches. He told me I could practice deep throating it.

I told him, “Thanks, baby, but ain’t nuthin like the real thing.”

“So what, you giving it back?” he said.

“Nope, just making a comment.”

As the daylight hours approached, we said a very long good-bye. I was so intrigued by that particular night, the next day I sat down and wrote this story. Mainly to remind myself of how far I have come to being both mature and comfortable with my own spirituality and sexuality.

Well, where should I start? How about introducing myself? Yeah, I think that would be appropriate. My full name at birth was Felicia Cassandra Washington. It’s now Saleema Kataanah Washington—my legal Muslim name; at least, most of it. I wanted to change the entire name but declined, due to the fact I wanted to get married one day. I am five feet, eleven inches, dark-skinned, and a 100 percent plus-sized diva in my own right. As you can probably guess, I wasn’t always Muslim. My roots are in Christianity; particularly Baptist. In my household there was one basic rule for the seven of us concerning religion and God. You simply had to believe in Him. Anything other than that, you couldn’t stay in my momma’s house. Unless you were my father.

Mommy begged him to go to church many Sundays. Yet, he always said no. I never fully understood why until I got older. However, when we were young, she made all of her kids attend every week. Again, as we got older, she didn’t press the issue at all. Now don’t get me wrong, church was religiously enlightening, but getting up early in the morning on a weekend
to go to Sunday School, plus church later that same day, was something totally different. I guess it had something to do with Mommy being the teacher for Sunday School?

A funny thing happened one Sunday morning. I remember the day clearly; it was me, my sister Cynthia, my brother William, Taneesha, Robert, “Nay Nay” a.k.a. Gloria Stevens, and of course, Meez. Shawn Cortez. Now that I think about it, Sundays always had their moments. Even though we were still kids back in the late seventies, early eighties, all of us still remain in contact with one another, believe it or not. Anyway, my mom was teaching us about Sodom and Gomorrah. Such subjects concerning the Bible, she was very brief and vague on the matter. Like clockwork, in her conclusions—I always wondered where she even began most of the time—she would say, “This was that and let us go on.”

Nay Nay stopped her that day and asked a question.

“Yes, Gloria. What is it?”

“Well, Mrs. Washington, I wanted to know what is Sodom and Gomorrah?”

Before she had a chance to respond, everybody’s hand went up except mine. Mommy gave me one of her looks to say you better not raise it. She always treated me different than William and Cynthia. You see, she didn’t give birth to them. They were my father’s “chirn,” as she would put it. She didn’t really treat them any less favorably, but let’s just say she really couldn’t keep tabs on them like she did me. In some aspects, I hated her for it.

So, hands were up and the words “Ooh-ooh-ooh, I know.”

“Calm down, one at a time. Okay, Shawn, do you know?”

Shawn stood up and said in her New York Puerto Rican accent, “Yah, Meez Washington; that’s when two people get together and fuck, for real, for real.”

The moment she said that everybody said, “Ooo oohhh.”

My mom said, “Girl, watch your mouth. Don’t you know this is the Lord’s house?”

“I’m sorry, Meez Washington.”