TFC: Sidelines - Maggie and Jacob

Jacob toiled in the back room of the club restocking the night's inventory. He loved this time of the night when the moans and groans of the club goers were replaced by the tinkle of wine bottles and stemware. Naked Thursdays were always rough; made more so by the additional stress Xavier had put him through with his little stunt. From the look of the security tape, Fairchild was in rare form and his boy, Drake, had a front row seat to all the action.

Shaking his head, Jacob locked down the cabinet where he kept the good shit. His stock of liquor was second to none and always well inventoried to keep the post-work leaches at bay. He didn't trust anyone with the task but himself and Kimber, his second in command. And she knew better not to mess with the inventory. Fairchild would have both their asses. He turned to leave the room when he noticed the sexy figure filling the doorway.

Maggie Soon.

Jacob's eyes followed the full length of her. His Asian wet dream. Since the first day she had started working for Fairchild, she had been the subject of his every freaky fantasy; his go-to-lady for those really cold nights. Maggie was taller than most Asian chicks, but still was a whole two heads shorter than Jacob, who'd once played college b-ball before an injury derailed him. Maggie was the ultimate China doll. Porcelain skin. Seductive bedroom eyes. That Geisha body with an uncharacteristically fat ass.

Sometimes, on a slow nights, he'd catch himself staring at her from the bar and playing out little scenarios in his head. His personal favorite was the Samurai fantasy. He'd get so caught up in it that he'd hang real close to the edge of the bar. Thank God he had convinced Fairchild to install the granite top because the glass one she'd originally wanted would've put his business on front street.

Jacob cleared his throat, hoping to clear his current nasty thoughts. "Maggie."

"Jacob."

"Can I help you with something?"

"Fairchild will be entertaining the Pasha for the next couple of days and wanted to make sure His Excellency has his favorites stocked."

"Sure. Let me check his cabinet."

Maggie was always impressed with his efficiency. Jacob had actually set aside a special cabinet for the Pasha, for whenever he was in town. She watched as Jacob turned toward the back of the room toward a black lacquered armoire. He opened the double doors with a special key. Inside there was an assortment of foreign wines and liquors not readily available in the States. Perusing the stock, Jacob made quick mental notes. This shit was completely off limits to the regular bar staff and clientele by Fairchild's order. In fact, he was the only one allowed to mess with the stock, not even his second touched it.  

Maggie studied the barkeep's body while he was turned away. She loved Jacob's build. So strong, so manly. His skin was a nice sable hue, complimented by his long, raven-colored cornrows and dark brown eyes. He could've gone into modeling with those looks, instead of slanging drinks. However, Fairchild did pay him well to man her bar and keep the staff in line. When she'd first met the man, she'd been hit with an attraction she could not comprehend. Brothers weren't her usually forte, but something about Jacob made her body sing.

She was so disturbed by this attraction she had taken great pains to avoid him at all costs, sending routers to him with messages from Fairchild. Then one day, Fairchild had made a demand that Maggie go directly to Jacob herself and get the answer. Nervous, but maintaining her cool demeanor, she went to Jacob to get Fairchild's answer and had found herself more head over heels for the man after hearing his soothing baritone. 

"How long?"

"Too long," Maggie sighed absently.

"I mean how long is he staying?"

Maggie blushed profusely realizing she had spoken out loud. "Uh, just a week."

"I'll need to order one bottle from Amir, but we're good otherwise."

"Good."

An awkward silence fell between the two. Maggie was still reeling over her out loud commentary. Jacob bashfully tucked his hands in his pockets trying to keep them to himself since all he wanted to do was snatch her up. His eyes stared at her feet. She was wearing his favorite strappy sandals. The ones that arched her foot in just the right way, sending jolts right to his manhood. He was an admitted foot man. He simply loved a well arched foot, especially if the woman knew how to treat them well. Girlfriends past used to be pampered with pedicures all the time - on his dime or his time. That was correct, Jacob knew his way around a pumice stone like a pro and judging by Ms. Soon's toes, she kept up with her routine very well. The more he studied her feet, the more his arousal increased.

"I should go." Maggie turned to leave, but Jacob quickly snatched up her wrist. Before she could protest, he had pushed her up against the wall. "Jacob-"

"Sorry, Maggie, I've been waiting a long time to do this," he apologized as he lowered his mouth to hers.

In that instant, the cool, collected Ms. Soon melted against the mountain. She could feel every nuance of Jacob's frame pressing into her. He had lifted her up in such a way that her feet never touched the ground.

"So how long has it been?"

Maggie was in a haze of desire and just barely understood the question. "Since I first started working for Fairchild."

"Damn, a whole year and a half."

"Fairchild is a full time job. Besides after the last relationship I had, celibacy looked real good."

Jacob refused to ask her about her last man. Whoever he was, he was a dick for letting her go. Quickly forgetting the man, Jacob's mouth suckled on her neck, tasting her distinct flavor on his tongue, yet careful not to leave any telltale signs. His fingers worked her bun feverishly, entangling into their freed, silken depths. His other hand had been raising her skirt looking to get a feel of her puss.

Maggie wasn't idle, however. She tore at the buttons of his shirt, wanting to desperately feel his skin on hers. Jacob had already ripped off her panties and was feeling his way around. She wanted the same. They'd barely come up for air with the kiss they had started. Her head was feeling so light, she was so dizzy with passion. Suddenly, Jacob hoisted her onto the desk, unzipping her skin tight dress in one motion.

"Jacob... we shouldn't... somebody might... Unh, right there, right there!"

Jacob had inserted his long fingers into her depths, sliding them along her very tight and slick walls. They had immediately found her spot and kept playing upon it; his thumb pressing firmly on her hot button adding to the intensity and pleasure. It had been a long while since she had had a good roll in the hay and Jacob was definitely making up for lost time.

He dug through his pocket to retrieve a condom from his wallet and quickly strapped up since his patience was not playing fair with him. His jeans barely fell off his thighs giving Maggie access to grope his ample ass. Delving into her depths was like a fantasy come to life. All those wicked thoughts were confirmed. She was tight, she was wet and she was his. A hiss escaped between his teeth as Maggie's long nails dug into his bare back, halting his stroke momentarily.

Their eyes met.

"Sorry," she apologized, sheepishly. "It's really been a while."

Jacob was so overcome by her inner muscles stroking his dick, he shrugged off the pain and kept moving. His eyes glanced down to watch how his manhood moved in and out of her. Her thatch was clean shaven giving him a contrast of texture and color; her pale skin swallowing up his dark saber again and again. Then he caught a glimpse of her feet dangling by the desk and caught his breath. They looked so good; so good he needed a closer look.

"Let me see your feet girl," he growled against her ear.

"What?"

"Your leg. Bring it up on my shoulder."

Without further question, she stretched her leg over Jacob's shoulder, all while he pummeled her. Once the limb had reached its position, Maggie was taken on a new ride. "Shit, Jacob. Really?"

"Yeah, girl, it's like that."

She wouldn't have believed it if she wasn't feeling it happen. He had to have doubled in size, all because of her tiny foot. She didn't even like her feet, yet he was loving it like that. The tip of his dick was reaching so far back inside her she was trembling something fierce. Her head hung back, allowing her hair to sweep the desk.

Jacob's cheek rubbed up on her sandal-clad feet. The arch was perfect and the red paint was the right touch. He ran his tongue along her ankle straps, which strangely turned Maggie on. The tremors grew more intense. She fell back against the desk, taking in more of Jacob, who crisscrossed her legs in front of his stomach; giving him a double view of pleasure. Maggie and her feet.

"That's it, baby. C'mon."

Hearing his sexy voice goad her on was her undoing and Maggie let out an orgasmic scream, which gave way to Jacob's final thrusts and groan. Slowly pulling out of her depths, he rubbed his still throbbing dick against her shoe, allowing her juices to coat the leather straps. Then he pulled Maggie into his arms for a deep kiss.

After a few moments of silence, Maggie sighed. "What are we going to do?"

"Hopefully the answer is do this again?" Jacob laughed, squeezing her tight, causing her to join him in the humor - along with the unseen Fairchild, who'd witnessed the tryst from the safe, shadowed distance of the door before turning to leave for the night.

"Bout time," she chuckled in the wake of her footsteps.

Greedy

I gripped him in my hand and slowly stroked him to life. He was thick; the thickest he had been in a long while. Each move of my hand along his column pulsed another vein giving way to the blood flow. I could hear his breathing catch each time I hit the right rhythm; his chest rising as I stroked up, deflating as I stroked down. Man, he was hard.

I'd woken up this morning with a deep longing. My vivid dreams tossed me from one corner of the bed to the other. When I'd glanced over at him I knew I had to quell this need - fast. I touched his chest feeling the muscles there ripple beneath my touch. It had been a hot night and the AC had refused to cooperate, leaving a sheen of sweat gleaming like morning dew. With it rose that distinct scent that was all male, all primal.

I reached for his balls and rolled them possessively. They were taut, begging to unleash. As I tugged them down firmly, his head arched back relishing the sensations. He licked his lips, beckoning for more of the same. I delivered by quickening the pace; up-down, up-down, up-down. All the while my other hand rolled and kneaded his package, feeling and smoothing the creases.

The pulse was starting to quicken and throb mercilessly as my hands continued its work. It was a sweet pain, his groans attesting to the pleasures. My hand tweaked his nipple playfully, then pinched it firmly to draw attention away from his dick. However, it only increased his urgency. His mouth opened forming a tight "O" as his eyes peeped the dresser mirror, where he could see his reflection beaming back at him and my hands fondling him. He definitely liked what he saw and watched feverishly as I continued to feel his flesh harden beneath my grip.

I didn't think it was possible but the dick just kept getting harder. It felt like a steel rod with skin wrapped around it. It turned me on. Suddenly, the pressure began to change and I could feel the early stages of the crescendo start. Looking down, I could just make out the glisten of pre-cum form in the slit. I was damn to let this cum too soon. So, I backed down, easing the stroke, easing the pressure, but he wanted more, needed more. I took up the pace again; up-down, up-down, up-down. Bringing him close again, then backing off. He bucked, his back arching of the bed.

Soon, his breathing was coming in steady huffs and puffs. His eyes were squeezing shut against the exquisite pain. The tingles were growing and were no longer fooled by my slow downs. I opened my eyes to watch the mouth of his dick wink and yawn in preparation for release. The veins were as full as they could go and were working to push the load out. Within an instance, with only a shutter and shiver for warning, he came with a loud grunt, drenching his dick with his flow like a beast. Despite the release, my hand never stopped moving, washing and draining his snake until the last quiver passed. Exhausted, he glanced at the mirror to survive the damage and liked what he saw.

Wiping my hands clean, I listened as the shower turned off in my bathroom. Seconds later, a feminine figure stepped out wrapped in a fluffy white towel. Her eyes perused the scene in front of her. The smell of post sex in the air. A knowing smirk crossed her lips as she walked closer.

"You so greedy, Tyrone," she chastised. "You couldn't wait for me to get out the shower."

"Baby, that was just an appetizer," I assured her before flipping her on her back "I'm ready for a real meal."

Private Dancer

Her red skirt swept the floor elegantly as her feet dueled back and forth with his. He had come into the tavern tonight specifically looking for her: his Masked Senorita. She had tempted him for weeks, escaped his advances, but not this time. She had barely enough time to complete her last dance before he had snatched her wrist and dragged her toward the doors. The burly barkeep had tried to stop him but he would not be thwarted this time, not for her. He had quickly drawn his pistol halting the big man's advance. She didn't fight; merely begged the barkeep to stand down. With that settled, he'd taken her away.

They'd rode out of town to an abandoned villa in the hills; no words exchanging between them. Once he'd corralled his horse, he'd led her into the house and directly to the ballroom; her beautiful aquamarine eyes studying him carefully. His glossy, black hair fell in unruly waves to his shoulder, framing his swarthy face. He was pleasant to look at, strong and lean like a puma. His high-waisted breeches were snug against his hips and legs accentuating the tall length of him. He had quickly dispensed with the formal black cartujano jacket trimmed in silver to reveal a crisp white shirt beneath, drawing her eye to the deep V at his chest.

Before she had a chance to recover, he had drawn her into his arms and kissed her. His lips were warm and gentle as they slid effortlessly over hers. She was quickly drawn into his spell. His hand dug into the mass of raven curls, tugging her head back to present her neck to him. He left kisses all along the lengthy column causing the flesh there to quiver. Then he began to move. No music played, but a rhythm echoed nonetheless.

"Dance with me, my sweet," he pleaded gliding her across the floor.

She did.

Each step was an intimate exchange as his legs brushed teasingly against hers. His cheek nestled against hers as he whirled them all about the large room. Just the light of the moon lit their dance through the ceiling high, bare windows. He twirled her away then back to him, dipping her with expertise.

"For months, I tracked you," he uttered close to her ear. "You led a merry chase, but I'm afraid, my dear, the chase ends here."

She stared at him, knowing exactly what his cryptic words meant. "How did you know?"

"Your father had stated you possessed a great beauty no woman could compare to and that your skill as a dancer was second to none."

"All fathers think their daughters are great beauties," she countered, following his lead expertly.

"That is correct, but his description of you was more than true: eyes as blue as the Caribbean, hair as black as shiny midnight, and skin washed in the rays of sunlight."

Her heart pounded in her chest. His husky voice seemed to envelope her, wrapping her in his warmth. But she couldn't be fooled by it. He was known to be the ultimate charmer. Love them and leave them was his mantra. Her father wanted their two families united, but she had refused to be tied to a man who could never be faithful. So, she ran. She took passage on the first ship bound for the mainland and never looked back. She thought she had been safe, but he'd found her nonetheless.

Seeing him now after all this time, she understood why so many flowers had fallen to him. His suave, debonair charm could rattle the most devote nun. His eyes were the darkest brown; sinister, hypnotizing. The bow of his mauve lips curved in a serpent-like smile as he twirled her about the room.

"Why did you run?" he asked curiously, drawing her up against his hard frame.

"Do you think I would be fool enough to marry you?"

"Why does matrimony to me seem like a death sentence?"

"Your reputation proceeds you, senor. The fact that you are agreeing to this matrimony makes me even more leery."

"Why is that?"

"Because you are not faithful. You come from a long line of adulterers. I've personally known some of your conquests and the pain you've caused them."

He studied her for a moment, digesting the stinging words she dealt him. Coming from anyone else, he would have laughed it off, but from her it gave him pause. It made him human, instead of the devil they called him. From the start, he'd known he would like this woman. In fact, he adored her. She was a free-thinker, rebellious, passionate, not easily fooled or led. In fact, it was this rebellious nature that had her banished to a convent boarding school all those years ago. When his father had come to him with the arrangement, he practically jumped at the offer. She would be his, but she had scorned the arrangement.

When he had heard she had run away, anger the likes he had never experienced had gripped him. He had been fully prepared to let her go and find other conquests. Other woman who would be willing to assuage his pain. But no, he couldn't. He wanted her. The Hellion. It was then that he realized that below that seething anger was something else - hurt. But how could this little flower hurt him? A man who had no attachment to any woman. He enjoyed his pleasures and promptly left. However, she was different. She found him to her liking; there was no doubt to that. It was her distrust of him. Her lack of faith in his character that drew him to her even more. Something inside of him wanted to prove to her that he could be faithful - to her, at least.

"And you believe I would be unfaithful to you?"

"Why should you be faithful to me when you've never been faithful to anyone else?" she countered twirling away.

"Could it be I find myself infatuated with you?"

She laughed. It was rich and husky. " Infatuation still wouldn't keep you bond to me, because you'd find something else to infatuate you. Now, the man I marry has to love me and no one else. He'd want to grow old with me. Love me whether I'm pox-marked or wrinkled, fat or thin. Could you do that?"

"I've made love to fat women. It was more than pleasant," he jested, earning a glare for his crudity. Snatching her hand away, she whirled for the door, but he quickly grabbed her arm to bring her back. "Forgive me, that was in poor taste. Please continue."

"It is an answer I am waiting from you."

He looked at her, appreciating the haughty lift of her chin. "I would be lying to you if I declared my love for you already and you'd be damned to believe it. What I will admit to is my attraction to this pretty face, right down to the tiny scar under you chin. If I recall that was a schoolyard incident. A fight, right?"

Her face flushed with remembrance. She had been ten at the time and an awful tomboy, sporting her brother's cast-me-downs to pass. She remembered getting into a scrape with one of the older boys who had the nerve to call her "pretty." They had wrestled on the ground and she had scraped her chin on the pavement. Her opponent had not left unscathed either. He must still bare a mark on his person, too. However, no one knew about the fight other than her and the boy who had started the fight. Suddenly, reflex made her push his shirt over his shoulder and there she saw a faint scar resembling teeth marks. Shocked she pushed away from him. 

"That was you!" she gasped.

He smirked boyishly. "It seems you've always rebuffed my advances, whether for friendship or love."

She shook her head, disbelieving.

"You see, my sweet. I've had a little thing for that spirit of yours that has endured since childhood. It's maddening that I can't have you as easily as all the others," he admitted drawing closer to her. "You aren't fooled by my charms or led astray by my seduction. You see right through me, but underneath it all you do like me."

She blushed slightly, because he was right. "So, are you saying all I need to do to be rid of you is succumb to your charms?"

"You make it seem that simple."

"But logical nonetheless." She stated moving toward him. "The only reason you pursue me, by your own admission, is because I push you away."

She touched his cheek gently, caressing the stubble growing there. Her caress unnerved him. The soft ripple of her fingertips touching his skin sent his body over the edge. Picking up where they had left off, she moved about his body, sultrily dragging her fingers over his shoulders, down his spine and up again, settling her arm around his neck. Lacing her hand in his, they moved about the room, her eyes pinned to his, unwavering. He stopped. Just the inhale-exhale of their breath could be heard as their chests caressed one another. He leaned his forehead against hers, then rubbed his cheek against hers until their lips connected. Her tongue darted out to meet his, drawing him into her mouth; the tastes mingling in imitation of  their dance.

Her fingers tore at the buttons of his shirt, freeing his torso to her touch; while his fingers worked effortlessly on the buttons of her dress, popping a few in the process. He longed to feel her soft skin, taste it against his tongue. Pulling the dress from her shoulders and down her body, he nestled his head between her ample bosom, kissing the mounds gently. He pushed aside the flimsy material of her camisole to reveal a puckered nipple to his thirsting lips. Latching on ravenously, he tugged the sensitive aureole to life, piercing her to the core.

 

A euphoric gasp spilled from her lungs, forcing her head back under the impact; the sting of it feeling so delicious. Her hands kept his head in place languishing in it. But he refused to stay put. Leaving a blazing trail across her satiny skin, he ventured downward tugging her camisole and remaining garments to the floor. And there she stood, fully undressed and his for the taking. Just as he had imagined many times in his dreams these passed weeks. Her hips were full, rich in curve, forming a complete hourglass with her breasts, which were both hefty and velvety soft. Wrapping her lengthy arms about her middle, she pushed the tempting orbs forward, drawing his hungry eyes to them.

He was kneeling on all fours at her feet like a puma preparing to pounce. Calming himself, he rose to his feet kicking off his boots all the while unbuckling his pants; her eyes never wavering from his. Her tongue wet her thirty lips. That was his undoing. Snatching her hand he drew him up against him and devoured her mouth. Coils of  passion fiercely tightened in her belly. She felt steady throbs in her core that forced moans from her lungs.

 

Pulling her on top of him as he descended to the ballroom floor, she found herself straddling his body. "Tame me," he whispered. "I want to feel you command me."

She was at a complete loss. She'd never gone this far with a man. What he was asking was so foreign to her, yet she understood. She could feel his member just at her entrance, probing, seducing. It too throbbed hotly; its pulse caressing her lips. Then instinct settled into her as she reached for the steely flesh. Inhaling with anticipation, she drew him in, watching as his eyes rolled back in ecstasy as his fingers dug into the flesh at her hips. She had only gotten in a mere inch before she felt him buck upward, dislodging the tiny blockage there. Her inward gasp was heady and rich as she bit her lip to quell the already forgotten pain. He had filled her in one swoop sending sensations scattering to the four corners of the ballroom.

Her hips began to swivel of their own will, catching onto a rhythm he'd started. Her hands gripped and grasped at his chest, his stomach, feeling the muscles flex and retract. With each pummel, her breasts bounced carelessly in a steady beat. He watched her through his own haze, enjoying the pleasure he racked from her body. His hands rested on the crest of her hips, his thumbs massaging her ribs. Then his eyes drifted down to the apex of where they were joined and he watched in pure fascination as his flesh entered and exited her sweet abyss. His member covered in her essence, drenching him.

She was in a state of pure abandonment. Her moans echoed and bounced from wall to wall. He had her. At last the chase was over, but the dance was in full swing. He began to pick up the pace. He lifted and dropped her on his body, filling her with everything he had. He could feel her walls tightening around him and tiny shivers beginning. His pace quickened further as he bucked and swiveled like a bronco, feeling her tighten even more, her hips keeping pace with his. In seconds, she was drenching him in her passion flood, her flesh quivering, her breath gasping. It was all he could stand before he too fell over the wave, filling her with his seed.

Exhausted, she collapsed against him, breathless. His hand caressed the mass of curls on her head, shushing her whimpers, until they both fell into a slumber.

Sun rays danced through the bare windows, forcing his eyes to open gingerly against their sting. A faint, sweet smell filled his nostrils, making him smile. Her scent. Focusing his eyes, he made out the outline of her mask lying on the remnants of her dress. Glancing about he realized he was alone in the ballroom and listening carefully he could hear no one else in the villa. Something caught his eye. The mask was weighing down a sheaf of paper. Pulling it out, he read the words.

 Now you have given me more reason to run.  Te Amo, Sebastian.

- Nadia

Crumpling the paper, Sebastian quickly rose and dressed. She had escaped him again - but not for long.