Meanwhile, Shayla is standing guard outside the restroom door, when an older white lady tries to enter.
“I’m sorry, this one is out of order at the moment.”
The lady looks confused.
“Out of order?”
“Yeah, there’s a man at work in there.”
“What’s he doing?”
Shayla thinks quickly. “Right now, he’s laying some pipe.”
“Oh, I see.”
Satisfied with her answer, the lady walks away and Shayla exhales. Then she takes out her cell phone, turns on the video recorder, and peeks inside the restroom. Derek pours the rest of the lotion down Tracy’s back. He leans over and his tongue hugs the contour of her back. He feels her round, soft booty and rubs the lotion all over her ass, then he begins to slap her ass firmly, listening to the sound echo throughout the restroom. He starts pumping his dick in harder and faster, his balls smacking up against her.
He tells her that he wants to cum on her ass, and she says, “Go ahead!”
His dick is glistening with her pussy juice as he slides it out and, seconds later, he shoots his baby gravy all over her booty, making a hot, sticky mess. Tracy reaches back and rubs his warm cum, mixing it in with the lotion. She brings her fingers up to her lips, sliding two fingers in her mouth, to taste the creamy mixture. They both try to catch their breath and slow their racing heartbeats.
Derek slaps her booty one last time and leans forward to whisper in her ear, “Have a nice day, baby.”
The Siren
Eva Hore
We were taping auditions for the lead role in a new pornographic movie. I was tired of analyzing all the different body types, positions, and attributes. The director was searching for a new face, body, and that element that shines through when you’re filming.
We’d been at it since early morning and now it was nearing eight at night. It was time to call it a day. I was exhausted and so were the rest of the crew; that was, until this sultry black siren, nearly six feet tall, glided into the room. The air was charged with testosterone as every man became aware of her presence.
“Hope I’m not too late,” she purred.
Oh, God, her voice. It was like liquid, falling off her tongue to spill its way around the room. Every eye was on her. John, the director, seemed to have lost his ability to speak. He was always in control, and this was the only time I’d ever seen him react this way. He was speechless.
Finally, he found his voice. “Ah, yes, name, please.”
“My real name or my stage name, darling?” she asked, advancing on him like a predator about to devour its prey.
He actually stepped back a fraction as she approached. She towered over him. He stood there, potbellied, balding, his mouth open.
“Delight. It’s both my stage and real name. I have nothing to hide and I’m proud of who I am,” she said.
“I’m sure you are,” John said, and then with more assertiveness, “perhaps you’d like to show us your stuff.”
Show us your stuff. Couldn’t he have thought of something more professional to say? He sat on his director’s chair and I began to roll the film. To say she knew how to work the cameras was an understatement. She was born for it.
She began by shaking out her thick black hair. It fluffed up around her face, softening her already beautiful features. It was as though I had a dimmer on my lens—everything else around her just faded out.
Then she was kicking off her shoes and peeling out of her skin-tight leather trousers. They were bright yellow and as she inched them over her gorgeous ebony backside I saw she was wearing a matching G-string. She kicked the trousers off her feet, licked her lips, and smiled at me.
Giggling, she turned around, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and peered coquettishly through her dark black lashes at the camera. Her smoky eyes bored into mine as she pointed that sexy butt straight at me, bending over to run her hands slowly up from her ankles to her hips. She turned; her hands skimming over her flat, taut stomach before she played with the front of the G-string, pulling it down a fraction as though beckoning us to take a peek.
Man, was she hot!
Her shirt was also skin-tight and yellow, her huge breasts practically spilling out, her cleavage straining against the buttons as they threatened to burst forth. Her white painted fingernails toyed with each button before unfastening them. The whole time she didn’t take her eyes off the camera, licking her top lip with the tip of her pointy wet tongue. Man, did she have sex appeal. No one in the room spoke; we were frightened we’d break the spell.
Finally, opening the shirt, she flashed her breasts at us, wiggling them before closing the shirt again. She teased us for a while before she slipped it off her shoulders and allowed it to rest at her elbows. With her arms pulled slightly back, her melon-like breasts jutted forward, her dark nipples only just visible under the lace bra as she paraded around the room.