Zane's Z-Rated: Chocolate Flava 3 (26 page)

In the warmth of that humid Georgia night, the temperature
seemed to climb by ten degrees, as anxiety gave way to lust. Desire rose within me, consumed me, and filled the room to bursting capacity. Tiny beads of sweat began to form on the finest hairs of her skin between her breasts. I watched while the twins rose and fell with such delicate grace. She took a deep breath, expanding her diaphragm. They were so …
breathtaking.
Captivating. Her nipples seemed almost painfully hard now and her gorgeous body seemed to shimmer and shine with a fine sheen of sweat. My hands glided over her smooth, moist skin.

“Do you like my tits?” she asked, almost breathless. I loved that she called them “tits,” the same way guys do.

“They’re beautiful. Better than I would’ve ever imagined.”

“They like you, too,” she said, arching her back slightly, firmly pressing her breast into my hand. Seductively she lowered a knee, opening her thighs, and closed her eyes. Her white teeth caught her succulent, red-painted lower lip. I could see the tip of her tongue, as she closed her eyes and slowly rolled her head from side to side.
From shy to seductive? So alluring!

When the breath caught in her throat, she paused while her hips seemed to pulse. Then she groaned softly and froze. Eventually, with my hands still in place, I felt her breathe again. Finally, she opened her eyes fully and said, “Let me do something for you. Here,” she said as she sat up and slid from under my hands.

“Just lean back,” she guided me. I slid farther up the bed and took her place at the headboard as she lowered herself to the floor between my legs.

“I normally charge an extra twenty dollars for this, but since it’s your first time, it really needs to be special. Now
this
is one great big white dick. It’s
beautiful.
A perfect penis,” she said. I thought,
the lady doth protest too much, methinks.
I’d seen enough men in the shower over the last several months to know I was
nothing special down there. Nothing to be ashamed of either, but I knew better.

She licked at the head of my pole, then from the underside, bringing her bright pink tongue through the tiny slit at the tip. She continued licking away the drop of clear pre-come, and then swirled her tongue around the head. Trisha held my gaze as she took the head in her mouth. I felt the most incredible sensation of moist heat envelop me. She lowered her face on my shaft while she stroked me with her hand. Inch by inch she went lower, taking more of me in her mouth, staring at me much of the time, holding my gaze. It was so intimate. I was enthralled by the vision of this beautiful woman’s face, the brightness of her lipstick, the darkness of her skin against my pale Irish whiteness, the shininess of my pole as it gleamed, sliding in and out of her mouth, gliding through her fist.
And
…
and
…
those incredible eyes,
I thought to myself.

Within a minute, she was moving with an energy I’ve never felt since. Her head and shoulders rose and fell as a single unit, with her entire upper body now twisting as she ascended and descended, her hand moving in concert. I lightly cupped her head and when I did, she looked back to my face and took me from her mouth. She began rubbing my organ over both of her breasts, circling the head over both nipples. Her head lazily fell back, while she painted the shiny slickness of my length over her breasts. “Do you like the way my breasts feel against your cock?”

“I love everything about them. Your skin is so warm and soft, your breasts so firm, nipples so hard.”
So, now they weren’t “tits” anymore, they were “breasts”?

With my shaft now centered perfectly in her cleavage, she pressed those two gorgeous mounds together. I was trapped between the twins.
Surely, this is what heaven feels like.
Her body had
a fine sheen of sweat and I glided easily through Trisha-flesh. As she took me in her mouth again, I saw her left hand move to her center and watched as she fingered herself. The sound of her fingers sliding on her own wet flesh was all I heard.

I felt my climax brewing as my organ suddenly swelled. God, I was hard enough to drive nails. Suddenly, I was terrified.
Surely, my cock was about to burst wide open.

She looked at me with a glitter in her eyes, a wide smile revealed pearly white teeth, while she continued to stroke me.

“Do you like that?”

“Ahhh! I’m going to come,” was my weak and feeble reply.

“Well, just come on, baby. Come for me now,” she said. Then she must’ve felt my rod twitch because she quickly brought her mouth back over the head of my Johnson, just as I fired the first shot of my load. My orgasm crashed over me in a sudden deluge. I was drenched in magic sensations as the waves washed over my body.

Trisha’s eyes snapped shut and she moaned slightly; her cheeks collapsed, sucking at my Johnson like a straw. After I stopped firing, she threw her head back and shook violently. I watched a vein in her throat intently as it throbbed while she swallowed; her left hand still at her center, moving furiously. I heard her involuntary exclamations, “Heee … Heeeeeeeee … Heeeee …”
She’s giving herself pleasure, based on my pleasure!
I don’t know why this seemed so incomprehensible for me, but it did.

“Well, how was that?” she asked, stroking my still-hard member.

“Amazing.” I was only capable of one word.
At least it was more than one syllable.

“I’m glad you liked it. I was thinking we could take a few
minutes while … your battery recharged. But I don’t think we need to. You feel like you’re ready to go again. So how about it? Are you ready to bust your cherry?”

“You have no idea.” I knew it sounded stupid, but nobody had given me a script.

She crawled up onto the bed, graceful as a cat. “Actually, I think I do.”

She used my chest for leverage and rubbed her lower lips along the underside of my rod, slowly. She allowed me to see the whiteness of my skin emerge from the darkness of hers. She took a second to run her hands over my shoulders, chest, and flat stomach—the six-pack compliments of the Army’s miserable diet and a few hundred thousand push-ups, sit-ups, and flutter-kicks. She ran her fingers through each of the cuts in the muscles of my stomach. Then she raised herself and placed the head of my tool at her soft wet folds. The smell of sex was so thick, it was almost tangible.

She squared her shoulders and straightened her back, allowing me a fantastic look at that beautiful black body as it gleamed and glowed, towering above me. Then she looked me in the face, to make sure I was watching as she pushed herself down upon me. The sensation of my rod sliding into her was like gliding into hot oil. It was rapture. Her head rolled back for a second and I thought I could see the vein in her throat pulse before she began an even up and down motion of her hips.

She lowered her chest down to my face and dangled her nipples over my lips. I opened my mouth and began to suckle eagerly. Our moist bodies slid together easily.

Somehow, I forgot they were attached to a woman. I nipped one a little too hard and Trisha rose up quickly.

“You need to be gentle, Rick. That hurt.”

“I’m sorry, are these sensitive?” I asked, my hands stroking her breasts, trying to ease any pain.

Holding my hands to her breasts, she said, “
I’m
sensitive, Rick. And I happen to know you are, too. Just relax. Don’t worry about the time. We have all night.” Slowly, she lowered her breasts back to my face, where I treated them with the reverence they were due.

Until she mentioned the time, I’d almost forgotten she was a working girl.

Soon, I felt the need to push my hips into her as hard and as high as I could. She recognized this for what it was and pushed her hips down on mine, thrusting her pelvis back and forth on my rod at a blistering pace. No longer up and down. I felt my rod swell to capacity again. Back and forth, we ground together, as the only sound in the room was of wet flesh smacking against flesh. She seemed determined to impale herself on my pole so I took a hip in each hand and did my best to assist her in the endeavor: to punch a hole clear through her cervix.

She delivered a few slow, hard thrusts of her hips, with several “Ugghh! Uggghhhh! Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!” Then stopped.

But I wasn’t done, so I dragged her hips back and forth, thrusting until I felt the moment start at the tip of my cock and spread over the head and down the shaft, eventually flooding over my entire body as I began to fire my seed into the walls beyond her folds.

Trisha seemed renewed. “That’s it baby.
Fuck me
…
Fuck me, Rick
. Fuck me just like that …”

Again. This time, the sensations struck me like a freight train. Slow but powerful, a mile long, it surged through my body. I watched as Trisha thrashed about again briefly. Watching her
added so much more to my climax. Her total package of eroticism. Amazing.

When I returned to earth, I ran my hand along the top of her thighs. I took in the contours of her slightly curved tummy, the valleys that ran from her hip bones down to her lower lips, the ridgeline of her thighs, her flat stomach that became her narrow waist, up to the heavenly C cup swell of softness …
Oh, dear God!
I followed the lines back to the apex of her legs, where her tummy curved down to her thin strip, to her lips, to her very center, where my semihard pole still lay buried deep inside her. The lines all ran together, to culminate at one focal point.
Oh, dear God!
Here was the center of my universe. She continued to gyrate on my organ as it gradually softened. In a moment’s inspiration, I reached up with my left hand and took her right breast. I wet my right thumb and brought it to her clit, stroking lightly. She groaned loudly, captured my hand to her breast and insisted that my fingers pinch her nipple tighter, and then she pressed my thumb to her clit and thrashed about for a very long minute. With her head back again, I swear I saw that vein throbbing.

When she came to rest, she looked down into my face, smiling and still gyrating on my exhausted organ. Her smile beamed so brightly. “Did you have a good time, sweetie?” She was whispering still.

“Any better and I’d swear you were trying to kill me,” I whispered.

“I had a nice time, too, Rick. It was
very
nice.”

During a few minutes of postcoital bliss, I was again struck by how well spoken she was. She spoke with a Southern accent to be sure, though sometimes she enunciated, speaking so clearly.

But when you’re a prostitute, time is money. And while I was
grateful for every second she spent with me, it was certainly not enough. Once dressed, I joined Ed and Juan out on the balcony for another smoke while she finished getting herself together.

On her way out, she made eye contact with all of us, smiled, nodded, and turned to leave. Suddenly, she stopped and took a couple steps toward me, shook my hand again, and gave me a kiss on my cheek. She whispered, “I’ve
never
been anybody’s first time before. I’m glad I was yours. And you were fantastic. Inspiring. I
mean
it. I wanted to say good night, Rick. Good luck to you. I’m so glad I met you.” No longer shaking my hand, she held it. During those moments, looking into each other’s eyes … into each other’s souls, not a word was said, but everything that needed to be, was being said. We’d “shared the sweet taste of a moment’s love.”

“Good night, Trisha. It was even better to meet you,” I whispered back.

Again she started to leave, and again, she stopped and stepped back for another kiss to my cheek. “You’re the first one who’s asked me my name.”

Now, our fingers were lightly intertwining, gently stroking. Sitting here, writing this now, I can still feel that last moist peck on my cheek.

When the guys saw her kiss me, they suddenly came forward to get theirs, too, but none was to be had. Naturally, they asked me what got me the special treatment. I denied any knowledge; still not wanting to admit this was my first time.

She smiled so damn brightly, and then turned and left. Our fingers slowly parted.

The next night, we went back to where Juan originally met up with her, but she was nowhere to be found. We never saw her again.

Had I been anything other than a stupid boy, I would’ve better appreciated her extra efforts. Even as naïve as I was then, part of my brain read all the gyrations, the twisting, and the writhing, skeptically. But looking back from the vantage point of a man nearly fifty years old, part of my brain likes to think she was genuinely caught up in the moment. Perhaps she was emotionally invested in giving me a good time, while taking one. Could it have been an act? Of course. But why bother? Ed and Juan said she was very “vanilla.” (Pun intended.) That she just sat up, wiped off, and said, “Send in the next.” Ed refused, which is why she came to the door naked.

Writing this story, memories of her fly at me so fast I have to swat them away. She was so well spoken, certainly not stupid, and definitely nobody’s fool. Was she a college student, working her way through to graduation? Was she just down on her luck and needed quick cash? One can go nuts thinking of the endless possibilities.

I suppose if there is any one moral to this story, it’s that there is no substitute for professionalism! We’ve all heard clichés about the hooker with the heart of gold, or the beautiful woman down on her luck who turns to prostitution. I’ve dealt with many hookers over the years as a police officer in Grand Crossings district, on Chicago’s South Side (never contractually), and I have never seen a prettier, classier prostitute.
Never.

My friends and I will always jeer, “Ah, there’s no such thing!” But after a moment’s reflection, I always say, “Well, you know, there was this one girl, once … a long time ago …”

I was that which others did not want to be.

I went where others feared to go and did what others failed to do.

I asked nothing from those who gave nothing,