Z-Rated (Chocolate Flava 3)

“Is this a d-d-dream?” I stammered.

“You tell me.”

I shrugged, feeling foolish. “I’m not sure.”

“But you’re so sure dreams are all ‘mumbo jumbo.’ Ever heard of Oliphant’s Beads of Antiquity on Lake Avenue, in Old Pasadena?”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been.”

“Perhaps I can persuade you to visit,” he said, gazing hungrily into my eyes. An elegant white business card with crisp, jet-black ink appeared between his fingers. “I’m a certified gemologist, jewelry designer, and metaphysician. I’ve spent most of my thirty-five years studying and lecturing about the power of stones and the meaning of dreams. My two brothers do most of the actual jewelry making. Our family has sold the rarest beads and made the finest jewelry for hundreds of years—since my great-great-great-grandfather arrived in New Orleans from Senegal, as an enslaved African.”

“Are you going to teach your sons?”

“I have a daughter, fifteen, successfully selling her own line of semiprecious earrings. Her mother and I parted, as friends, years ago, but I cherish the dream of having another little me. Do you have children?”

“Not yet,” I said, thinking, But I cherish the idea of fucking your fine ass up and down this empty railcar, trying to make one.

His head pulled back slightly and his thick, chiseled lips formed an “O,” as if he heard my thoughts.

“May I take a closer look?” he asked.

He didn’t wait for permission; just slid his cool, smooth fingertips onto my throat, beneath the necklace, lifting it into the lavender daylight pouring through the large, smudged windows. He held it for nearly a minute, gently shifting it this way and that, causing the hairs on my neck to send a four-alarm fire to the delta above my thighs. My pussy pulsed with a craving to be crammed.

He spoke softly but firmly, “Eleven minutes to the next stop, Lisha. Yes … or no?”

“Yes!”

I had barely tacked an “s” on the end of “yes” before my skirt was scrunched in a roll beneath my full breasts, the damp crotch of my panties had been yanked aside, and my naked ass was smashed against the metal wall, nearly six feet in the air. His perfectly round head was vigorously gyrating between my thighs, and his strong tongue was pummeling my stiff clit like a punching bag in an anger management facility. My strong thighs rested on his stone-hard shoulders, and my helpless calves flopped rhythmically against his strong back until he slid his cool fingers into my hot, juicy, waiting pussy.

Suddenly, my body quickly stiffened as he sucked and licked harder and faster. I slowly spiraled into a long, luscious cum. Once I was done, he removed his fingers, lowered me to his lap, and gently plunged inside me with his large, hard cock. He started pumpin’ me deep and slow. I yelped and moaned with intense pleasure until I felt him rumble within my taut walls. We remained joined in an intimate embrace for a few seconds, but soon rushed to straighten ourselves.

As our train rolled to a stop, he sighed. “Yes, you are genuine, Lisha Lane. Promise you’ll visit me soon.”

“Promise!”

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered after hungrily kissing my lips, oblivious to the fresh horde of onlookers boarding the train.

From the train to my office, I mentally replayed the sexy railcar encounter over and over. It kept me so aroused, I headed straight to the executive restrooms on the seventeenth floor, where I massaged myself into another spine-whippin’ orgasm. I quickly showered and changed into my low-cut, curve-hugging, chocolate jersey dress, reserved for such emergencies. I craved more of his scent, his strength, and his manly wildness. I promised myself that next time, I’d be the “giver,” and that “next time” would be very soon. I imagined walking into his shop, dropping submissively before him, and giving his long, gorgeous black cock a generous serving of my most exotic head, with my smooth agate necklace wrapped snugly around his balls.

After a morning that sexy, trying to focus was futile. I floated, dreamily, from one assignment to the next with little success. I ended up hunting down my personnel file to check out how much leave I had on the books. I discovered a week’s worth of sick days. I dabbed a little toothpaste in my eyes, rubbed my nose until it glowed cherry red, made a series of Oscar-worthy sneezes, and my coworkers couldn’t get my ass out of there fast enough. People with children in college can’t afford to get sick.

Once outside, I dug through my purse, frantically searching for Todd’s business card. It wasn’t where I remembered placing it. You would have thought I was looking for a donor organ. In a frenzy, I dumped my whole purse onto a Classified section someone had abandoned on the bus bench. Most of my belongings were still in a pile when my bus arrived. The driver shot me a look of disgust as I boarded. She was being seriously harassed by a quartet of foulmouthed, wannabe bad girls. They were acting loud, rude, angry, and crude, and became increasingly agitated as I searched my purse for my Metro pass. Finally, at the bottom of the heap, I found my pass and hurriedly swiped it. Once seated, I found Todd’s card lodged in the shank of a stunning aquamarine ring, which I immediately slipped on. The teenage girls abruptly settled down in the back of the bus and began quietly amusing themselves with their bejeweled phones and iPods.

“You must be my lucky charm.” The driver sighed, glancing up into her rearview mirror in complete disbelief.

• • •

Even a block away I recognized Todd, moving about near the large window of their upscale storefront. He smiled as I walked nearer, but it seemed vacant. He had changed into a sheer, white and beige, oversized, silky, button-up shirt with no collar and relaxed, matching slacks—quite a departure from the stately trench and executive tailoring.

“Nice to see you again,” I said, “and by the way, thanks for this beautiful ring. How did you know I was a Pisces?” I held out my ring finger.

Todd’s dark, leopard-like eyes sprang wide with surprise. He said, “I actually made that ring for one of our important clients, as a peace offering for an unavoidable oversight, but my brother thought it was inappropriate—‘too intimate’ were his exact words. Anyway, I’m glad you like it.”

“Well … let’s see what makes Oliphant’s Beads so special.”

He led me through a pair of taupe velvet curtains, down a short hallway, and into a large, stylishly lit showroom. Everything was displayed in intricately carved cases. I had visited many bead stores, but this was clearly the crème de la crème. Everything was color coordinated and displayed categorically, but the arrangement was definitely not stuffy or museum-like. Everything could be touched and examined. It was hard to believe so many beautiful beads could be found in one shop. Bead-buying is one of my many passions, but I didn’t come to buy beads, at least, not today. I came to be the giver of immense pleasure.

I gently closed the large, ebony, hand-carved door behind me and quietly turned the dead bolt. By the time he turned around, I was butt-ass naked with my little brown dress draped neatly on my arm, next to my purse. His eyes drank in the sight of my smooth, blueberry-brown skin, and his lovely cock executed a stiff salute. Playtime!