Z-Rated (Chocolate Flava 3)

“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 h

ands 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.