Saturday, October 28, 2006

Sonia’s Story

He received her call not knowing what would result.
Her consult was to inform him that she was going to be
in town on business and wanted to have “company”. He
always loved when black women use that term;
suggestively yet ambiguous, just like her. They had
talked often of her skirting the line between her
devotion to her marriage and the desire burning in her
loins.

She was slow and sweet like black strap molasses, dark
brown, smooth and silky; both in body and mind. The
smell and feeling of her transcends time. He
remembers each encounter when she was pressed between
his arms, his nose inhaling her fragrance from the
nape of her neck. His mind came to inspect every inch
of her thoughts, conversations fraught with
exploration and circumspections.

So her call was an expected surprise. Both foolish
and wise, he accepted her invitation, drawn by her
flirtation like an ant to sugar; put her in a vision
that had one arm around her waist, one cradling her
head to taste her lips like chocolate mousse. He used
his fingers like eyes, looking into each and every
pore, one by one exploring her nerve endings. The tip
of his nose was sending shockwaves from her shoulder
blades to her ass, hips and navel. Tension running
like a cable from ankle to ankle looped through her
groin.

Going down with kisses, from Adam’s apple to swollen
nipples, dark and crinkled, her chest heaving, breath
leaving, breasts believing they were being gently
nursed for mother’s milk. She was weak for a man of
his ilk: clever, charming, sensitive, disarming,
sensuous, alarming. He was everything her devout
mother warned her about.

So, as his lips and snout began to rout and nip at her
abdomen, she tensed in pain and pleasure, devoured her
at his leisure. His tongue used as a measuring tape,
he stopped at her navel, her orgasm his brand, her
label, like nuclear material, her senses unstable,
legs began to tremble as his groin-placed kisses dis-
and re-assembled her from outer lips to painted toes.
She asked herself “how did he know” as he worked back
to her apex, her reflexes disconnected as his tongue
tip softly flicked her engorged clit.

He made circles, squares and parabola, letters,
numbers; no box could hold diabolique, a roiling
inferno. His technique, tongue slick, lips sucked
lips, lapping her slick juices from her pulsing
cabinet. He delved his fingers into her cupboard,
feeling her smooth, pounding flesh, reaching deep to
discover what it really takes to be her lover.

One orgasm after another left her hovering off the
bed, every inch of her body converged in her head as
he sucked and pulled. His works had fueled a climax
that ripped her nerves apart, body spasmed in fits and
starts. In the end all she saw was stars, and heard
the waterfall pounding of her own beating heart.

In her earth bound descent, feather falling downward
crescents, she didn’t realize the next rising moment,
fomenting new unrest. Her lack of consciousness found
it hard to digest his girlfriend’s entry into their
room, candlelit and moist. She watched as he hoisted
his girlfriend above him on her haunches, lower her
pussy down onto his tongue, watched her launched off
to orgasmic planet, quivering seizure signet of
pending interstellar travel.

She was mesmerized as she watched his girlfriend break
his lock, impale his cock, that first stroke slapped
like a gavel. She stared as if on an Olympic panel,
analyzing their performance, his swollen prick
enormous and glistening. She found herself listening
to every sound, their grunts, her squeals, how her
cunt grabbed and gripped his steel, lips draped over
his cock like mango peels, thick and oozing.

Watching them, she could feel the gasps of her
inhalations break, her voyeurism prompted hunger to
snake back into her vaginal walls. Clenching
undulation was the carnal call she could not ignore
and had to answer. Stroking, massaging and frigging
her clit, she was her own private dancer. These two
romanced her with eyes of invitation. She realized
his machinations were preparation for her to make the
decision for the step she was about to take. She
eased off the brake, courage waking as she rolled onto
her side, continuing to watch him slide into his
girlfriend, cock slick, veins pulsing, her mind was a
whirlwind.

This close she could see his skin glistening, the heat
between them blistering, the look in their eyes
whispering; so close, smelling their sex was like
listening to their cells exploding. Girlfriend’s
moans were loading aching lust into her erogenous
zones. As he flipped her, she could hear joints and
bones crack, as his thick dick packed her soft sack.
Starting at his shoulder, she gently ran her hand
along his rising and falling back, sweat profuse under
her hand to his ass. His skin was moist yet smooth
like glass.

Each stroke of his prick between his girlfriend’s
hungry lips, she could feel his muscles slowly bunch,
she tightened her grip, his cheeks two hard round
masses. She touched the girlfriend’s thighs and felt
orgasms crashing like waves on rocks, that touch
unlocked her own waiting cum, the sum of all the
sensations, the sight of them fucking, smell nature’s
lubrication, the sound of hips colliding and groans of
elation, the taste of her own secretions she scooped
out of her pussy with trembling fingers.

When they saw her eating her own pussy juice, their
own climax let loose, flooding every nerve and vein,
flooded and drained, screams exclaimed the ecstasy
that reigned between them. The steam between them
stoked another climax for her, body shook violently,
eyes blurred as her twat clamped down on her fingers.
Wave after wave, her tremor lingered until the only
thing she heard came in threes, heart beats, moans and
midnight breezes.

by Ron Horne


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