Zane's Z-Rated: Chocolate Flava 3 (25 page)

Celeste joined me on my knees, stuffing Troy’s balls into her mouth. He directed both of our heads and was loud about expressing his pleasure. He pumped his dick into my mouth while I kept it wet with saliva, licking its length and teasing its sensitive head.

Celeste released his balls and sucked his head with me. We kissed, letting our tongues swirl over his thick dick head while he shouted in a high pitch.

I was first to sit upon his dick, riding it facing him, while he smacked my ass and pumped into me. My tits were a mouthful for him, and he made my nipples feel incredible.

Lorenzo came over and tried to put his dick in my ass. It was too big, long, and wet to resist, so I helped him get it in. The men fucked both of my holes while Troy nursed on my tits. Celeste fed me her tits.

I came hard as the two men filled my holes with come. Celeste still hadn’t come, so I used my new skills to eat her sweet pussy out. She came hard, then jumped up and grabbed my hand.

“I’m ready to go,” she said, pulling me toward the bathroom. Once we were inside, she closed the door and said, “I think I’m jealous.”

“Of what?”

“I realize I don’t really know you, but I know a lot about you from Lorenzo. I’ve always liked the pictures he showed me but I never knew I’d feel like
this.
”

I laughed. “So you mean you want me for yourself?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculous. How can I believe that?”

“You gotta have trust.”

“Trust
you
?” I scoffed. “My husband’s mistress, who helped him convince me I was bisexual?”

“Well, you are.”

Touché.

“As exciting as this has all been, I really don’t like to share.”

“You don’t have to share, but you do need pussy. Look, I’ll
stop seeing Lorenzo, okay? Just give me a chance. I’m sure we can work something out between us girls.”

Embracing my new adventurous side, I smiled and said, “Okay.”

• • •

Later, when the limo pulled up to my home, Celeste and I were locked in a deep kiss, our breasts out and hands scrambling for each other’s pussies. Lorenzo couldn’t hide his hard-on when he got out of the car, or his anger for not being involved in our display of affection.

We told him to go into the house but he insisted on waiting for us. Finally, I rolled down the window and said, “Hey, Lorenzo, I wanna thank you for playing these mind games with me. You helped me remember that I’m not straight and I’m not bi. Now I remember I’m a full-fledged lesbian, and that I’ve always wanted to get out of my heterosexual relationship with you.”

Lorenzo looked confused. “But—”

“I have always loved Celeste. And now she’s with me!”

“But, Patrice—”

“Am I lying?” I asked Celeste.

“No, pumpkin.” She leaned out the window. “We’re in love.”

“Or at least in lust,” I clarified.

“But—”

“I’ll be in touch,” I said, rolling up the window.

Lorenzo pleaded for me to get out of the car. He yelled for Celeste, but we told the driver to pull off.

Celeste kissed my neck and said, “I thought you were finished with him and only wanted me. Are you really going to get in touch with him?”

“Maybe,” I said, returning her kiss. “It depends on my memory.”

Richard Burns

Columbus, Georgia: April 1979

I was training as an infantryman in the U.S. Army at North Harmony Church, Fort Benning, Georgia. I was seventeen years old and regrettably at the time, still a virgin. We were two weeks from graduation, and my buddies Ed Bristol and Juan Garcia took a weekend pass to visit Columbus, Georgia. A typical GI town of the late seventies, Columbus offered an endless selection of strip joints, tattoo parlors, and pawnshops. They catered to young inexperienced soldiers like me from Tinytown, Kansas; Nowhere, Oklahoma; and Jerkwater, Nevada.

We checked into a cheap, dreary motel near the cornucopia of strip joints, eager for our weekend of fun and freedom. Juan left to get “supplies,” while Ed and I unpacked. The motel was a dump located on Victory Drive, with threadbare carpets, thin walls and drapes, and even thinner towels that felt as comfortable against your skin as twenty grit sandpaper. I would say it was clean, but the roaches would probably take offense. We were watching one of those pathetic seventies sitcoms when Juan abruptly returned. Grinning, he immediately began unbuttoning his shirt. Following Juan was a surprisingly beautiful black woman. I was caught completely off guard.

She closed the door behind her. I watched intently as her breasts swayed and jiggled ever so delicately. Her eyes were downcast as if she was embarrassed. She followed Juan into the room. At the sight of us her eyes went wide and she gave a shrug of her shoulders and a tip of her head, as if to say,
“Oh, well…”
To me, it all said: bashful.

Instantly I was captivated, and a little intimidated by both her age, which appeared to be almost thirty, and her luscious beauty. The woman—and she was a
real
woman, not a kid—had a pleasant round face with high cheekbones that gave it depth. She was tall, but still several inches shorter than my six feet, and I was struck by her very dark, coffee-brown complexion, which seemed at odds with her flowing, shiny curls of gorgeous shoulder-length hair. My palms were sweaty at the thought of getting them on her beautiful, perfectly proportioned breasts. Those breasts seemed to call to me with each sway and bounce. Her soft white cotton dress fit her form sensationally, hugging her upper body alluringly, accentuating the breadth of her torso before tapering down to her narrow waist, then loosely flowing over the graceful, but sweeping curve of her hips. My arms wanted to encircle that narrow waist, to lay my hand atop that scrumptious, perfectly developed ass, and then pull her body to mine. To press our chests and hips together; to meld into a single being; to feel her softness pressed against my hardness. To feel the slope and curve of her back as those glorious breasts press against my chest. She was perhaps the most beautiful black woman I had ever met. All of these thoughts vanished quickly with my growing anxiety at my impending moment.

Still frantically undressing, Juan said, “Hey guys, I need the room for a while.”

“Hey ya’ll.” She gave us a wave of her hand. “He and I have
an … arrangement. If you guys want to make a similar arrangement, we’re talking about forty dollars. Apiece.”

Until that moment, I had no idea she was a hooker. This intimidated me also. After all, she was a
professional,
while I was the most rank of amateurs. I was seventeen, remember, and a virgin.

Ed and I both jumped to our feet. Ed was first out with his wallet. “Well, that sounds like a fair price to me.” He handed over the money. I was fast on his heels with two twenties.

“Okay, now if you guys don’t mind waiting outside?” Juan groaned.

We grabbed a beer each and left to wait on the balcony. We drank our beers, smoked, and waited our respective turns. I was actually very,
very
nervous. So I let Ed go before me.

Having never been away from home for longer than a two-week summer camp, I was naïve. Ed, Juan, and I had decided to share a motel room on our first weekend pass. As a private in 1979, my take-home pay was about 287 dollars a month, so we decided to share the expense.

Now, standing out on the balcony, I wished we weren’t sharing a room. I feverishly wished I had my own room. I wished desperately for privacy.

Juan came out after twenty minutes or so and joined me for a beer and a smoke, while Ed went in for his turn “at bat.” When Ed came out, the girl was peeking out from behind the door and gave me a wave of her hand. “Okay, you’re next.”

As I sat and bent over to untie my shoes, she dashed for the bed and promptly sat down. Strangely, she covered herself. Somewhat.
Shy? Is all this for real, or just an act? Surely, a hooker would’ve gotten well beyond being shy?

She was already naked. She leaned against the headboard and smoked, with one leg bent and raised on the mattress. Her
arms were hooked around her knee, effectively concealing her breasts from my gaze. Her other foot was on the floor; her luscious leg leaned against the side of the mattress, concealing the elusive, mysterious opening to her center. I could see the top of the sparse, neatly shaven hair on her pubis, a very narrow strip about two inches wide. The remainder of her sacred region was as smooth as glass. This was the era when women were just starting to groom themselves that way.
And what a Great Day it was!

In an effort to hide my anxiety, I tried to make small talk. “What’s your name?”

“Trisha.” She sounded surprised. “What’s yours?” She smiled at me, seemed genuinely glad for the conversation, and was suddenly more relaxed.

“Rick.”

For some reason, it all seemed very conspiratorial. Or perhaps it was an unintended intimacy to the moment, but we still spoke in whispers.

“Hi, Rick. I’m happy to meet you.”

She surprised me by putting her hand out; I shook it. It was then I was treated to my first glance at the bounty of her breasts. They were so perfectly proportioned, they were … mesmerizing.
Oh, dear God.
They were so
beautiful,
so large, so firm, so high … gravity defying, and capped with bright pink, nearly red nipples. I expected a shade darker than her very dark, brown complexion. Such a contrast.

“Likewise, Trisha.” I did my best to sound relaxed. Once I was naked, I asked, “So where do we begin?”

She gave me a wry grin and opened her legs slightly, patting the mattress between them. “Have a seat.”

My eyes ravaged her body while I moved in. I was nervous beyond belief.

She said to me, “You’re trembling. Are you all right?”

I feebly replied, “Oh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m just … really nervous.”

“Nervous? Why?”

Still not ready to let my secret out, I replied, “I’m just … new to this …”

“What are you saying? That you’ve never been with a hooker before?”

“No, I haven’t. In fact, I’ve never been with
any
girl before.”

“Really?” she asked incredulously. “Really? This is your first time? I’m going to get your cherry?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Yep, it’s all yours. For what it’s worth,” I said, as my knees shook.

“Oh, my goodness. That’s worth
a lot.
Well, then, I have to make this extra special for you.”

What could I say? After all, she was the professional.

Her eyes suddenly became less guarded and while she chewed on her lower lip, I watched as her smile slowly grew into a beaming fountain of light. She turned to face me, leaning back, offering me her chest.

My heart was pounding so loud, I thought for sure she could hear it. But my desire managed to override my anxiety. With my right hand, I took one of those glorious breasts. It filled my hand to overflowing.
First contact! Oh, dear God
… As my breathing became deeper, I began to gently squeeze her breast, quickly consumed by the fantastic twins. My face was only a foot away from them. I was amazed by the warmth of her moist skin and how easily my pale white fingers sank into her dark softness. I was surprised at just how long her nipples were and they were still growing. I reveled in her breasts, their heavenly weight, and the
contrast of black and white as my fingers pressed into her flesh. I placed my left hand on her stomach and felt her breathe for a moment.
Yep, she’s real.

Trisha took my left hand and slowly moistened my fingertips with her tongue.
Oh, dear God! How arousing.
She slowly pushed my hand south, through her curls, down to her center. “Do you feel that, Rick? That little nub? That’s my clitoris. Just keep stroking it, like this …” she said, as she guided my fingers. She closed her eyes and embraced the sensation. Almost imperceptibly, she brought her hand to the half-hard root between my legs and stroked me. Gradually, while my organ grew in length, girth, and strength, I felt her clitoris swell to what felt like four or five times its original size. Soon, it was at least a half-inch in length.

Then after a minute, “A little faster,” she instructed me.

Then, after another minute, “Now … stay gentle, now … a little harder … oh … oh … oh, that’s it …” she gasped.

Her hips began to undulate against my fingertips.
Could that be because of me?
I kept my palm against that thin strip of hair, while her hips seemed to move independently of the rest of her. They swayed and turned, twisting and pressing against my fingers on my left hand. Her hands came up to her breasts; her fingers guided my right hand, showing me where she wanted more attention. Instructing me when and with what pressure she wanted me to squeeze, when and where to pinch, and how lightly or how firmly. When she opened her eyes again, I noticed there were gold flecks in her irises, which added depth to her face and an intensity to her smile. Her smooth, deep dark skin glowed. Her face was radiant.
If the eyes really are the mirror to the soul
…
what does this say about her soul?