I moved toward him in a kind of slow-motion, runway stroll. Leaning in, I gently nibbled his full lips and slid his pull-ons to the floor. He playfully kicked them aside. Off came my Botswana agate necklace and, as planned, I knelt before him and used it to lasso his large, velvety balls. Once I tightened the necklace perfectly, he moaned deep and arched his heavily muscled back against a large glass menagerie full of ancient amber and silver amulets. Since morning, he had changed to a light and grassy scent and shaved himself to satin smoothness, almost as if he knew I was coming to suck his cock in appreciation for the sexiest morning of my life.
I captured his throbbing cock and flooded it with my wildest kisses. Within the warm wetness behind my brilliant, merlot-colored lips, I swirled his smooth mauve dick tip in circles, until his muscular thighs started trembling. His strong hands passionately clenched my shoulders. I sucked him comple
tely inside and stroked his whole dick with rhythmic swallows. I guided him in and out of my mouth, steering him with one naughty finger buried deep in the pillowy flower of his tight, round ass. Back and forth … in and out … deep and deeper …
In one sharp motion, he pulled me to my feet and growled, “Ride it!”
I climbed up on him, and he effortlessly lifted my cunt into alignment with his ready cock.
“Whatchu waitin’ for?” he asked sternly. “Fuck me! If you want your necklace back, you gonna fuck me like you ain’t never fucked before! Something tells me you’re the kinda sexy-ass bitch who’ll fuck me just right to get it back.”
I took him to the roof of my vagina and began snapping my hips into him.
“Work it, girl! Awww, yeah, you workin’ that pussy on me now!”
What can I say? He got rough, so I got rough. “Say my name, you Coke-bottle-cock–slingin’ muthafucka!”
He looked stunned for a few seconds but finally muttered, “You ain’t runnin’ shit! If anybody gonna call out a name, it’s gonna be you! What’s my name?”
What can I say? Some guys need to have the upper hand, so I cranked my pussy into fifth gear and started fuckin’ the livin’ shit out of my railcar lover. Every time I took him to the top of my pussy, I’d grunt his name and tighten around his shaft with all my might.
Barely conscious, he asked, “Who has the sweetest, tightest, juiciest pussy in the world?”
“Lisha Lyric Lane, that’s who, muthafucka!”
He released in a long series of pulsing waves. Then, and only then did he call my name again … and again, plowing deeply into me with the last of his hardness.
Afterward, he trapped my wrists with his large strong hands and pulled me in tight for several long, passionate, tongue-dancing kisses, and said, “This hasn’t happened in a long time.”
“This has never happened to me,” I admitted reluctantly.
“Well, the damage is done.” He sighed, pressing my agate necklace into my palm, along with a rare African amber amulet. “I have a lot of new items to put in stock and a ton of online orders to fill, Lisha. When can I see you again?”
“How about tonight, in my dreams?” I teased.
“Can you handle that? Dreams can get really wild sometimes.”
“Wild’s my style. Boring is what I can’t handle. I handled your wild ass in the Metrorail car this morning, didn’t I?”
“Um … I know you did. Let me call you a cab, Lisha.” He wasn’t asking.
• • •
The cab he called was more like a limo. The driver refused to let me pay or tip him, and walked me to my door. As I fished for my keys, he handed me a jewelry box wrapped in lusciously textured matte black paper, tied with a silver metallic bow. Inside was a delicate platinum neck chain with a striking emerald pendant and matching pear-shaped earrings. On the tiny attached gift card, in brilliant blue ink, was penned:
Wear this tonight, and I’ll cum with you in your dream of dreams.
In lust,
T.K.O.
I set that gift card down, put on my running shoes, and jogged three vigorous miles through my neighborhood. I showered, exfoliated myself to a satiny sheen, and adorned my naked body with only my emerald necklace set. Ordinarily, when I don’t have to work the following day, I might stay up until one or two in the morning, but I couldn’t wait to go to sleep.
When eight o’clock rolled around, I started sipping hot chocolate and reading the most boring literature I could find. Those were my last conscious thoughts, and I remained sound asleep—until I heard a frantic series of police-like raps on my front door. I snatched a lacy robe from the arm of an overstuffed chair in my room and bounded downstairs, taking two steps at a time. It was Todd, dressed exactly the way he had on the train, standing next to … Todd? In the white silk Indian leisure suit, and a third … yes, third … Todd? … Beside the first two identical men. “Railcar” Todd spoke first.
“Ummm … you better sit down, Lisha. There’s been a huge mistake. We came to straighten things out. If you never spoke to any of us again, I’d understand, but I hope you’ll at least hear me out.”
I was dazed when I answered the door but became suddenly lucid as my eyes ricocheted among the three identical men. “Let’s hear it.”