Pajama Mama

It was a shiny Saturday morning and Lonzo was lying in bed snoozing. He could hear his wife tinkering around in the kitchen. The sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of coffee filling his nostril was making it difficult to stay focused on his slumber. Glancing at the alarm clock, 7 a.m. came glaring back at him. Why was she up so fucking earlier? The kids had gone to a slumber party the night before giving the adults alone time, but after pulling a double this week, Lonzo had not been in the mood to party.

He slit his eyes open. The bedroom door was wide open giving him a perfect view of the kitchen. Connie was bouncing about to the music playing on her iPod as she scrambled the eggs in the pan. She was in her usual night uniform: a pair of faded blue, scrub pants and fitted white tank. The scrubs were so old they barely clung to her ample hips. In fact, they were being held up by the sheer roundness of her ass. Lonzo studied said ass for a moment.

He couldn’t explain it, but he was suddenly aroused. Connie was popping her derriere as she gyrated toward the fridge. Her unsupported boobs bounced haphazardly in her tank top; almost in danger of falling completely out. He almost wished they would. Her long black hair, which was coiled in a sloppy bun on her head, was a stark contrast to her pale skin as it bobbled about. Her father used to call her Snow White, much to her chagrin since all her brothers and sisters inherited his dark skin. Lonzo loved it though. Her skin was so baby soft. It felt like butter cream.

His dick began to throb something fierce now. Shit, it wasn’t like she was dressed like a hooker or a stripper. Damn, she was just in her pajamas. But she looked good anyway. Suddenly, Connie dropped it like it was hot and Lonzo almost lost his mind. Tearing off the covers, he stomped into the kitchen toward his wife.

Connie swooped around, oblivious to her husband’s intent. “Mornin’, baby. Eggs are just warming in the pan, bacon’s in the oven, and coffee is in the pot.”

Without a word, he swung her into his arms, pressing her against his frame. He only had on his boxer briefs, which was good right about now, because he didn’t have the patience to take more than that off. Connie stared awestruck into her husband’s eyes. The intensity and determination shining back at her was daunting, intoxicating.

“Baby, you ok?” Then she felt it and actually blushed. His hardness was pushing against her middle like a stick up. “Oh, it’s that kinda mornin’?”

Lonzo smirked as he leaned in to capture her mouth. His lips folded over hers hungrily, drinking in her sweet breath. He could taste the orange juice, savoring its citrusy flavor on her mouth. His tongue plunged her recesses seeking more of it. His fingers pulled the hem of her tank top over her body and head, tossing it on the kitchen floor. His eyes roamed her body admiring her hefty boobs. After three kids and two pregnancies, Connie had a right to that tiny pouch in her belly and he loved it. His mouth quickly devoured her breasts as his hands pushed the scrubs away from her hips.

Connie moaned in pleasure as her fingers explored her husband’s frame. Because of his work in construction, Lonzo’s body was always tight. She really loved his broad shoulders and pecks. They were delectable. His tongue flicked over her nipple causing a serious flood to pool in the juncture of her thighs. Lonzo suddenly flipped her toward the counter, running his tongue along her neck. His hands found her backside and began massaging it gently before pushing his dick into her soaked folds.

Connie gasped, feeling him fill her so deeply. There was something about his member that defied reasoning. Not only did it hit her every spot on the way in, but somehow it hit the right spots on the way out. She could feel his every pulse, which timed perfectly with every pump. His balls smacked firmly against her clit adding to the sensation, tightening the coil of her nipples.

“Go on, baby. Hit that,” she sighed between grunts.

Lonzo flipped her back toward him and hoisted her body on the counter. Without pause, he lifted her leg onto his shoulder and pushed his fleshy rod back into her, keeping the stroke going. Their eyes never disconnected. One hand wrapped about her leg, while the other gripped her hips. The pressure was building and he could see the change in Connie’s face. That’s when he took it up another notch. He varied the speed of his thrusts, pulling all the way out, then all the way in.

Connie’s head fell back against the cabinet, taking in the feeling, as Lonzo’s teeth grazed her neck, gently nibbling on the sensitive area. The room was spinning and Connie was in a haze of euphoria. Her body was tingling and her legs were shaking wildly as her orgasm began to rip through her. She gripped Lonzo’s shoulders tightly as he continued to pound steadily into her quivering pussy. Then she felt his hot stream fill her followed by his own final groan. His fingers dug into her fleshy hips, pulling them flush to his.

As they came down from the high, R. Kelly’s Sex in the Kitchen ironically cued up on the iPod, making them laugh. Lonzo kissed Connie’s lips as he gently rubbed her booty. “Mornin’, baby.”

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.

Midnight Train To...

Marcus was doing his late rounds through the cars. They were just about to hit the last stop on the line, thank God. This week had been so frustrating with all the delays, the college kids going home for winter break, and all that fucking snow. The regulars were bending his ears backwards with their complaints, but there was nothing he could do. However, one regular, in particular, was never a bother. She was always patient with the rails and never complained with the service.

Carlota Montrond always sat in the same car every night, toiling away on her laptop. She was a chief editor for a high profile publishing house in the city. She worked long hours to put out the best books and authors. Once or twice a night, Marcus would sit across from the lovely Ms. Montrond to get the latest scoop on the newest books coming out. She was hard pressed this month on a deadline. Her boss was riding her like a government mule. He had a different ride in mind. Beneath those reading glass and tight bun rested the heart of a sexy mami. Marcus found himself now and again leaning over a little longer as she pulled out her monthly pass, just to get a glimpse of her full cleavage in a button down blouse or low cut sweater.

She smelled good, too. It was a sweet perfume. Chance by Chanel, if he recalled right. Not only did she smell good, but she was impeccable in her style. She always rocked stylish fitted pencil skirts paired with exquisite tops, either colorful button downs made of the richest cotton or form-fitting cashmere sweaters. She was a fashion goddess. However, she did know how to relax. Marcus remembered the first time he had ever seen her dressed down, he'd almost lost his mind. Her job had sponsored a baseball outing and she had come to cheer the home team. Her long, raven black hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. On her body, she wore fitted low-rise jeans, a navy blue tank top paired with a loose Red Sox Big Papi jersey. She gave the best impression of a 'Round the Way Girl he'd ever seen . He thought he had died and gone to ghetto girl heaven. She was truly a sight.

It was what Marcus loved about her. And he did love him some Carlota Montrond. She was corporate, but could definitely hang as a Ride or Die chick. When she wasn't busy toiling on manuscripts, they'd be engrossed in conversations from politics to the latest Lil' Wayne joint. After the week he had been through, he prayed she had a bit of time to converse with him tonight. As he entered her car now he noticed she was all by herself, clicking away on her laptop like a fiend. Her beautiful, Grand Marnier colored eyes peered over her black rimmed glasses at the screen before turning to look up at him smiling, causing a slight tipsiness inside him.

"Mr. Marcus," she greeted in that sexy, raspy voice of hers. It was that kind of voice that guys dialed up to hear on those lonely nights. "Have we counted our receipts for the night?"

"Took care of that at the last stop," he assured her, taking the seat across from her.

She resumed her clicking across the keyboard as Marcus studied her. He watched as she bit her lip in thought. She seemed to do that whenever she was stuck on piece.

"What's the issue tonight?" he asked.

"Sometimes I wonder if these writers passed second grade grammar, much less high school," she grumbled with a sigh. "I am all for creativity, but please learn to conjugate a verb."

Marcus laughed. "So, when are you gonna show these cats what real writing is about?"

She humphed and smirked at his comment, "As soon as I find enough time."

Snowflakes swirled lazily outside the car window, leaving the landscape in a pristine white blanket against a dark sky. He had felt the chill as he had passed from car to car. But sitting before the lovely Carlota was warming his blood better than any fireplace. His eyes took in her apparel this evening. She was in his favorite outfit; the fuchsia, low cut cashmere sweater with black pencil skirt and knee-length, high heeled black leather boots. A deep hunger began to embrace him as he watched her inhale and exhale slowly. He had an urge to drag her over the table, remove those suffocating pins from her hair and kiss her stupid. It wasn't like anyone would be popping down this way anytime soon. But he had a respect for the editor and her quiet time.

"You know your eyes will fall out if you keep staring," Carlota interrupted his thoughts.

He smirked wolfishly. "I hope you'd be willing to pop them back in."

"So, you can ogle me some more?" she threw back with her own sexy smile, noting his innocent look. "You don't think I don't notice when you hover a little longer than necessary?"

Marcus blushed slightly, saying, "I enjoy pretty things."

Carlota smiled in response. Then clicked her laptop shut. "And where do I rank in your list of pretty things?"

"Right at the top," he chuckled.

Suddenly, the train jerked to a stop, causing all the lights in the cars to black out. Marcus pulled out his two-way radio to find out what was happening. The voice on the other end stated that a mechanically failure occurred and they needed to sit tight. Marcus rogered the relay and quickly went to the intercom to inform passengers about the issue and assure them as best as he could. He came back to Carlota, who had pulled her laptop back up for some lighting.

"How long's the delay?" she asked.

"Sounds like a long one," he stated with frustration tinging his voice as he checked his phone.

Carlota bit her lip in thought, then glanced over at Marcus. "However will we pass the time?"

Marcus looked up from his phone to confirm what she had asked. Her voice had grown husky with desire as her foot rubbed along his leg. A slow smile creased his face. Carlota rose up from her seat to climb into Marcus' lap. Reaching up, she pulled the two pins from her hair to allow the mantle of raven hair to fall over her shoulders. Marcus removed her glasses and placed them on the table next to the laptop before taking a sip of her gloss red lips. She removed his conductor's cap and laid it on the table beside her glasses.

Marcus' fingers tugged on the hem of her cashmere sweater, lifting it away from her body in one motion to reveal a matching fuchsia-colored laced bra underneath. His eyes met hers confirming he liked what he saw. Her creamy butterscotch skin immediately dimpled with goosebumps as his hands explored the contours of her curvy frame. Their lips molded and folded over one another as heat began to rise in alarming increments. Carlota tasted so sweet and intoxicating Marcus was clamoring to keep up. As she rubbed her full hips along his hardening member, he attempted to undo the zipper of her skirt.

"I've thought about doing this hundreds of times," he whispered against her ears.

"Why didn't you?" she asked with a husky murmur as she worked the buttons on his shirt.

"Do you think I'm trying to get fired in this recession?" he joked as he took hold of her panties, tugging them down her thigh. Once he had worked them from her leg, he glimpsed at them and noted they too were fuchsia and smiled. Crumbling them in his hand, he took in their scent and sighed. The heady smell of woman made his already stiff friend rock solid.

"I take it you like," she observed.

"Oh, yes, mami, I like," he assured her flipping her about to  face the table.

Carlota relaxed her legs on the tabletop, parting them enough for Marcus' fingers to explore her secret cove. His other hand went to work unfastening the front snaps of her bra, unleashing her full blooms. Her nipples puckered, begging for a caress. His hand gently massaged them into a flurry of tingles and sensations the like she had never experienced. Soon, his fingers delved deftly into her slick entrance moving with slow precision in and out. His thumb strummed tenderly over her engorged bud causing a series of shutters to course through her frame, jiggling her breasts.

"You like this, mami?" he asked with the slightest hint of an accent.

"Do it, papi," she challenged, throwing her head back against his shoulders.

"You are turning me on right now," Marcus admitted, watching her bounce and squirm against his ministrations. "I don't think I could get any harder."

"I smell a challenge," she giggled as she turned over on the table. Gripping his zipper, she tugged it downward, revealing the whites of his boxers, then reaching inside, she pulled his member forward into her waiting mouth. Her mouth felt warm and velvety against his manly flesh. Marcus inhaled a gasp and was hard pressed to exhale, enjoying the sensation of her tongue swirling over him. Her hand went to work trying to grip his hefty balls, rolling them like dice back and forth.

"Easy, mami," he warned. "You don't want to pop this champagne too soon."

Carlota looked up and smiled. "Definitely not, papi," she concurred raising up on her knees as Marcus slid out of the seat.

Her gaze followed his bouncing member as he positioned himself to the side of the table. Carlota placed her bottom on the table, then drew closer to him. Within seconds, he pushed his thick dick straight into her waiting puss and began a hard and fast pumping action that sent shockwaves through her body. She tried desperately to hush her moans, but the feel of him completely inside her was too much to bear. Marcus yanked her up to him and covered his mouth over hers, hoping to absorb her screams of delight. The last thing any of them wanted was a curious passenger or one of his fellow conductors to come check on them.

During this time, the train had begun to roll again, but the lights still remained closed allowing their pleasure to continue. Marcus flipped Carlota over on her stomach, drawing her legs to the ground before implanting himself back into her throbbing core. His fingers intertwined within her raven locks, pulling her head back as far as possible. All the while, he continued to pump and pound her drawing a new series of moans from her lips. In the reflection of the window, he watched as with each beat of his hips her breasts bounced in a steady rhythm, making him harder as he drove closer to a climax.

Carlota was on the verge of a massive orgasm. She could feel her puss begin to tighten and clench Marcus' flesh refusing to let go. His lips touched the rim of her ear as he pushed further and further inside her body. "You know we're gonna have to try this again, baby," he promised, getting a grunted consent from Carlota. "Cause I am loving this action right here."

Carlota laughed merrily as her body finally yielded a series of explosive shutters, just as one of the other conductors called out, "We'll be arriving in our last stop in five minutes." The announcement had covered the sounds of her screams and Marcus' growls just as the lights over the station appeared in the horizon.

Carlota snapped her bra back in place, pulled her skirt down and threw her shirt back on, just as Marcus adjusted his own clothing. Quickly packing up her laptop, she reached for her glasses, while Marcus grabbed her coat, helping her into it. Assured she had everything, she turned to Marcus with a wicked smile before kissing him on the lips sweetly.

"I'll see you when you get home, baby," she said, turning toward the exit. Marcus drew his wife back in for another kiss and a promise for later.

"See you, wifey."

Ahh, the life of a commuter.