Z-Rated (Chocolate Flava 3)

“Starving,” I murmur in the voice of a haunted man.

Marcelle inches forward and places her pussy on my eager lips. Grasping the headboard, she makes her hips swivel. I inhale her musky, womanly scent. I taste her pungent cream. My tongue becomes overactive, stretching, undulating, greedily eating all the pussy that I can get.

She lifts up, repossessing her pussy while giving me a disapproving look. She shakes her head. “What am I going to do with you? Where are your manners?” Tsking, she wags a finger.

Contrite, I look away.

Marcelle glances down at her watch. “I have tons of housework.”

“Can I help you with your chores?” I ask desperately. I’ll do whatever it takes to stay close to my housekeeper.

“No. You know the rules. You’re confined to this room. Stay put,” she warns and narrows an eye at me.

I sit upright and reach for her. “I don’t want you to leave.” I’m choked with emotion.

Leaning away, she smiles as she eludes me. “I have to get started.” Marcelle gets out of bed. Tall and stately, she towers over me as I sit on the bed.

I want to appear somewhat cheerful, but I can’t change my sorrowful expression. Giving me an exasperated look, she crooks her finger. “All right, you can have a quick suck.”

Grateful, I scurry to the edge of the bed. She steps forward, allowing me to encircle her thighs and firm buttocks with my arms. Lowering my head, my puckered lips fasten onto her erect clit. It soothes me like a pacifier. I moan with appreciation as I suck her elongated clit.

She taps the top of my head. “That’s enough,” she says and backs away.

Left with a

hard, pulsing dick, I dejectedly cup the sides of my face with my hands and watch my dick-teasing housekeeper disappear through the door. There are consequences for violating Marcelle’s rules, and so I sit still for a while. Then, like a disobedient puppy, I sneak down the stairs, following behind her.

I can hear Miles Davis playing in the background. Marcelle enjoys listening to music while going about her chores. My careful steps are concealed by Miles’s screaming trumpet.

I creep about, spying on her, taking notice that she’s no longer naked and is now dressed in her housekeeper’s uniform.

Stroking my raging erection, I play voyeur as she pours herself a cup of coffee, and then sits at the kitchen table, perusing a fashion magazine. Her foot pats to the jazz rhythms that blare. She’s often told me that music stimulates her; gets her in the mood to dust, mop, and clean.

There’s a hard knock on the back door. I pay keen attention as Marcelle admits a strapping delivery guy. He’s hefting a five-gallon water bottle upon each shoulder, moving effortlessly, as if the heavy bottles are as light as feathers.

Skulking in the shadows, I watch her interact with the deliveryman. It pains me to see how flirtatious she is with him, and how overly familiar he behaves in her presence. How long have they known each other? I wonder. Judging from the sensual way that she moistens her lips with her tongue and the way that his eyes undress her, I get the distinct impression that these two have something going on.

Jealousy burns my face. My heart is thumping as loud as the drumbeats that boom from the speakers.

The water bottles have been set near the pantry door. The delivery is complete, so why doesn’t Marcelle send the arrogant brute on his way? It takes all my restraint not to burst from my hiding place and eject the blue-collar oaf from my elegant home.

I hold back a gasp when Marcelle slips into his arms. She kisses him with a lustful urgency that I wish were reserved for me. A murderous rage overcomes me. I want to shoot them both. Anguished, I fall to my knees. Though consumed with pain, I have to conceal my presence.

I’ve taken a great risk in defying Marcelle. The woman has a spiteful temper. If she discovered that I’ve been stealthily moving about and snooping on her, I’m sure that she’d slap my face and curse me out. Even worse, she might give me her notice, and that would be tragic. I don’t know if I could recover if Marcelle quit her housekeeping position due to my rebelliousness.

Losing Marcelle would bring unimaginable anguish, and so I become still and quiet as I clandestinely observe her unzipping the water deliveryman’s pants. He closes his eyes, throws back his head, and moans as Marcelle gropes inside his fly.

With a hand stuck inside his briefs, she struggles and wrestles as if trying to capture a vicious reptile. With a triumphant expression, she brings out a monstrously large penis. She imprisons the deliveryman’s enormous dick inside both of her hands, giving it a double-handed stroke that is unlike anything she’s ever done to me.

My face flushes with envy. My dick throbs with desire. I give it a comforting caress … a consoling squeeze.

A delighted squeal escapes Marcelle’s lips, drawing my attention away from my pulsing erection. Squinting, I focus on the activities in the kitchen. The deliveryman is lifting Marcelle in his arms. His muscles bulge as he crosses the room. I watch with resentment as he gently places her on the granite counter.

I should be sequestered in my bedroom, and not nosing around in Marcelle’s personal affairs, but I can’t help myself. I’m obsessed with her. Consumed by lust.

I rise to my feet, determined to be the well-trained and obedient employer that I’ve promised to be. Before I can slip away, I notice that Marcelle is offering her swollen breasts to the deliveryman. She’s a shameless hussy. How could she present him with the same treats that only a short while ago, she shared with me?

It’s shocking, the way this beast of a man is ravishing her tender breasts. Lashing them with an angry tongue … nipping, biting in a savage manner.