Darling Niki: Shrinkage

"It's been quite some time, Niki. How are you?" the therapist asked gently, settling into a large, fluffy chair.

Corrine Jacobs had been assigned to Niki while she had been rehabbing at the medical center after her accident. The two ladies had hit it off from the start and had developed a professional/personal friendship that had helped Niki through the worst of her trauma that first year. Corrine was a soft spoken soul with a tinge of spice; a petite little thing with short hair, sweet features and a robust frame. She was classy, but knew just how to be down home and street. In fact, if it hadn't been for Corrine, Niki would've passed on the chance to dance at the Dick & Bunny. The therapist had believed it would be a great release from the stress of her dreams, which the plucky woman always got a personal kick out of hearing.

"Well, since last we spoke, I've discovered that my name isn't Niki," she announced turning away from the window to sit on the comfortable dark beige couch. "It's Tracey."

"That's wonderful! How did it happened? What have you remembered?" she asked writing down some notes.

Niki drew in a deep breath and recounted for Corrine the story of how Troy, her husband, had found her in the D&B on a boys' night out and how their one night stand in the club's back room had turned into a breakthrough in her amnesia. She also told Corrine about how Troy had come to her apartment one night two weeks ago and the subsequent love session that had happened again, which still played on Niki's body even now as she recalled the tale. She even touched on her concerns about seeing her son. A thought that nagged her each day as she looked at the little boy's picture that Troy had given her.

"Well, it seems you've had quite the breakthrough," Corrine sighed in amazement. "How does all this make you feel? Are you still having the dreams?"

Niki fidgeted a little. She was still having the dreams. She couldn't shake them. In fact last night had been the most earth shattering of them all. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Niki looked at Corrine, who awaited her answer patiently.

"To tell you the truth, Corrine, I'm so confused," she said, shakily. "I'm mad at Troy for what he did, but there's this part of me that can't stop wanting him. I feel like a total crackhead."

"I guess those dreams are still happening," the therapist concluded, scrolling the note down.

"Worse than before," Niki admitted getting up to return to the window. Her eyes focused on the traffic below. Taking in a deep breath, Niki began to recount last night's dream.

She was riding on her motorcycle, zigzagging through the city like a bat out of hell. She was reckless as she bent carelessly around corners. In her rearview, she could make out the distinct flashes of a police car behind her. She smiled wickedly as she led him on a merry chase out of the city. She found it odd that the cop hadn't called for back up, deciding to take her down himself. Her Ninja rolled through a woody path followed close by the cruiser. Finally, she heard the officer's voice coming over his load speaker. 


"Pull over, miss," he ordered firmly.


In response, she raised her hand back at him with a one finger salute and kept on riding. Something about trying to outrun him turned her on. She could feel her clit swell with need as the vibrations of her engine stimulated more sensations. It was no wonder, since she was wearing a white tank and a denim mini with nothing more than a pair of white cotton undies separating her and the leather seat. She revved the engine and popped her wheel before speeding off. 


"PULL OVER. NOW!" he hollered, anger now tinging his voice.


Sucking her teeth with 'tude, Niki pulled her bike over. Dismounting, she turned on the copper to give him a piece of her mind. "What the fuck'chu want, pig?" 


As he came into the moonlight, she immediately recognized him, halting her tirade. He snatched her up by the shirt front and dragged her to the cruiser, tossing her on the hood. She could still feel the phantom graze of his knuckles on her nipples as he pressed her against the black and white. 


"Do you know how fast you were going?" he demanded, securing her wrists behind her back with one hand. 


"Fast enough to outrun you," she sassed back.


"You endangered a lot of lives with that stunt of yours," he admonished as his other hand began to frisk her. 


She could feel herself tingle as his fingers touched the bare skin of her legs. A tiny gasp slipped from her lips as he skimmed the inner part of her thigh. This was more than a routine check. His lips were close to her ears, his breath warming away the chill on her lobes. 


"Are you carrying any concealed weapons?"


She swallowed the lump in her throat. His voice was so sexy and so commanding. Her nipples puckered painfully against the hot metal beneath them. "No, officer," she barely got out.


He reached under her tank and began to inspect the area. His large hand covered over each breast, feeling and massaging the tender globes. "You sure?" he pressed huskily before placing his lips on her neck.


Her body pressed back against him feeling his thick erection through his uniform. Her head fell back against his shoulder, seeking his mouth. "Did you find anything?"


"All depends on if I can call them weapons. They seem loaded." Both hands circled her breasts now, kneading them firmly to her chest. His thumbs tweaked and rubbed her nipples, causing her to gyrate her hips to the rhythm. A moan filtered out of her mouth as he continued to nuzzle her neck. The lights of the cruiser shone bright red against her body adding to the sexy atmosphere.


"Can't you let me off with a warning?" she begged breathlessly. "I'll do anything."


The officer looked her sexy body up and down, assessing the offer. His hand dipped below the waist band of her skirt and panties to feel the gushy juice therein. His fingers came away drenched in her dew, which he promptly sampled. His features scrunched in ecstasy as his taste buds took in her flavor. She was sweet and tangy and he was hard pressed to hold back the monstrous pulse in his dick. In fact, he nudged the fiend against her pert ass.


"Anything?" he probed.


"An-ny-thing." She pushed back on his manhood.


Raising the tank up, he exposed her breasts to the cold night air, fondling them warm. His other hand quickly unzipped his pants, then brushed her little panties aside to give his dick access to her inviting puss. A loud cry gasped from her, the impact of being so filled so quickly. He felt so good. Her actions were paused taking him all in, feeling the distinct pulse of his manhood buried deep in her quim. He too was rendered motionless, surrounded in her sleek, tight warmth. Instinct soon kicked in as she rotated her hips against his. He eased himself carefully in and out of her tunnel, savoring the feel of the white cotton scraping against his length. 


"Damn, baby," he growled against her ears. 


Pushing her down on the hood, he took possession of her hips and began to pummel her harder. Moans of pleasure echoed deep into the woods around them. He turned her onto her back, never disconnecting their bodies, and continued to drill forcefully into her core. Pressure built up to its apex, driving her over the edge into a series of wild orgasms. Her body shuttered over and over the black and white cruiser. 


"That's it, baby," he goaded through gritted teeth. "Show me what you got."


Her back arched off the car, pulling his dick as far as she could take it, ringing a growl of satisfaction from deep within him. She could feel every ounce of himself flood into her. There eyes met and fire emberred within their pools. Exhausted, he leaned down over her, kissing her lips gently.


"Come home with me," he begged against her mouth.


"I can't." She was breathless, but still coherent.


"Please. I - need - you."

"It's too late, Troy."


"That's when I woke up," he finished staring at his therapist.

"Damn," the therapist sighed under his breath, writing down the notes.

"So, what does it all mean?" Troy asked, trying to get himself together. He had been seeing Winston Jacobs for a few weeks now. His father had suggested the grief counseling right after Tracey's death, but he had refused. Now that he had found her again, he needed to sort out his feelings and the issues that had lead to their accidental separation. Winston had come highly recommended by the brothers on the force. He and his wife, Corrine, ran a practice together in the city.

"I think you're a man who still loves his wife," Winston answered honestly. "The issue is your wife has become a completely different person now through her trauma. The question really is: can you accept who she is now?"

Troy digested the man's words thoughtfully. Winston was right. He had been trying to convince Tracey to act like her old self, refusing to accept who she was now. Even though, he was strongly attracted to the Niki person she'd become post coma. Strangely, there was still pieces of his old wife in this new Niki; the green thumb, the Susie Homemaker, the protective motherly instincts. He had seen the painful decision in her eyes when she begged him not to tell their son she was alive. She wasn't doing it to be selfish. She was doing it for Nikolas, so he wouldn't be ashamed of her.

"You've given me a lot to think about, doc," he admitted rising from the couch. 



"So, same time next week," Corrine asked Niki as they headed for the door.

"Yeah," she sighed grabbing her bag. She gave the woman a big hug. "Thanks for listening, Corrine."

"Girl, that's why I'm here," the therapist assured her. "Niki, you've come a long way with this. I remember your first session and the inexplicable anger you had pent up inside. You had been so frustrated about the dreams and not knowing who you were. But look at you now. Despite this breakthrough, you haven't broken down.We'll sort this Troy mess out, I promise. Now, what do you plan to do about your son?"

"I don't know," she admitted on a breath. "Do you think...?"

"Only if you're comfortable," Corrine encouraged.

Niki nodded as she strolled out of the office, passed the receptionist to the bank of elevators.


Troy and Winston were just stepping out of his office. Winston tried to make a fast break to hold the elevator, but they had quickly closed behind Niki. Shaking his head at the missed opp, he turned to his wife standing by the receptionist's desk. Corrine smiled up at her husband as he approached with the fine looking man at his side.

"Troy Gusto, I want you to meet my wife and partner, Corrine," he introduced.

"A pleasure, Dr. Jacobs," Troy smiled taking her hand.

"Winston and I have discussed your case, Officer Gusto. I hope we've been able to help."

"Winston's been very helpful. I appreciate you both tag teaming me," he joked before shaking the man's hand. "Well, I got to get home to Niki. The sitter's got a hot date tonight and she said she'd slap me silly if I wasn't home on time to relieve her of her grandmotherly duties."

"Tell your mother I said hi," Winston laughed.

"I will. Thanks." Troy stepped into the elevator.

Winston and Corrine watched as the doors closed on their newest client. "Do you think he saw her?" Winston asked, straightly.

"No," she shook her head solemnly. "But one of these days their paths are gonna cross. I don't think she's so much angry about the infidelity any more. I think she's mostly afraid of losing her new life to her old one. She's got it bad for him."

"I think the feelings mutual," he agreed, turning back to his office. "He's starting to have dreams about her, too."

"You shoulda heard Niki's story today," Corrine laughed following him. "I tell you that woman gives me ideas sometimes."

"Is that where you got the idea to..."

"Hush now," Corrine scolded. "Unfortunately, you don't own a cop car."

Winston paused staring at his wife in disbelief. He just may have heard the story. "Why don't you tell me about the newest adventures of  Niki's Dream Man? I think I could probably fill in the blanks with Troy's?"

"Do tell, Dr. Jacobs."


Troy stepped out of the building onto the sunny sidewalk. At the sound of a motorcycle revving, he turned to see Niki's black Ninja speeding out of the parking garage. What was she doing here? How had he missed seeing her? He looked at his keys then the garage and knew he'd never make it to his car in time to catch up. It had been two, long grueling weeks since he had last seen her, touched her, except in his dreams. She looked sexy today in a pair of dark wash jeans and fitted, leather riding coat. He remembered Winston's question. Could he accept this new Niki? Did he really want the old Tracey back? He made his way to his car pondering these thoughts. They still were weighing on his mind when he strolled into his house. His son immediately ran to him with a squeal.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

"Hey, buddy, what you up to?" he asked carrying the boy back to the livingroom where his mother was busy putting the finishing touches on her make up. "Hey, mama."

"'Bout time, boy," she greeted her son with a smile and kiss. "Your father would've got here and a been fuming. You know he don't like to be late for bingo."

Troy laughed as he took a seat next to the still vibrant fifty-five year old. "Sorry, session went a little over."

"How's it going?" she asked.

"Fine," he shrugged the answer. He hadn't told his parents yet that he had found Tracey. No one knew, except maybe the fellas and that was because they'd seen her the same night he had. "The doc's been a big help."

His mother patted his cheek encouragingly before kissing her grandson on the cheek. "Dinner's warming on the stove. Laundry is put away. Oh, and the cable folks called about the mix up on the bill. They're going to call back later to talk to you."

"Thanks, mama," Troy waved, hearing the door close behind her. He tickled lil' Niki playfully causing a peal of laughter. He had his face, but those were Tracey's eyes laughing back at him. He even had her temperament and stubbornness. Rising from the couch, he swung the boy around. "Ok, buddy, you hungry?"

"Unh-huh," the boy squealed as his dad placed him on the ground.

"Ok. I'll get the table set." Troy entered the kitchen while Nikolas continued to color quietly. Suddenly, he was drawn to the window by a loud noise. Jumping on the couch, he watched as a black motorcycle pulled up out front. He was in awe. He'd never seen a bike like that before. He wanted to see if up close.

"Daddy! Daddy!" he yelled. "Come see. Come see!"

"What is it, Niki?" Troy asked watching his son bob up and down on the couch in his excitement.

"Look! Bike!" he pointed outside the window.

Suspicious, Troy peeped out the window and thought his heart had fallen into his shoes. Sitting on the bike was Tracey. She was removing her helmet all the while staring at the house. His heart thundered in his chest furiously.

"Let's go, Daddy!" Nikolas prodded dragging his astounded dad toward the door.

Nikolas swung the door open and ran out onto the porch, but his shyness quickly kicked in when he saw the woman walking toward their door. He dashed behind Troy, poking his little head out from behind him. Unfortunately, he hadn't realized how his actions had effected the stranger, who paused mid-stride, seeing him - them.


Niki couldn't believe she had remembered how to get home. Instinct had led her here. When she parked her bike out front, she sat mesmerized by the house. Her flower beds had gone to wreck and ruin. The grass looked craggy and in need of a serious weeding. Despite all that, the house itself still looked as it did when she ran out that stormy day. When she had built up the nerve to walk up the drive, she didn't expect to see the door swing open and this little man come running out. Then her heart fell when she saw him hide behind his daddy as if he was afraid of her. What had she expected? For him to know this stranger she'd become? For him to come running into her arms? He was barely taking his first steps when she'd left.

"This was a mistake," Niki whispered to herself, turning away.

"Wait!" Troy called after her, feeling a panic hit him. "Niki... my son...Uh, he wants to see your bike."

Niki turned back around thankful her eyes were hidden behind the dark shades. She watched as the little boy came from around Troy's thigh expectantly, hopeful. Taking a deep breath, she strategically cleared the tears before they fell or were noticed.

"Oh yeah?" Nikolas nodded his little head hesitantly.

"Well, c'mon, I'll show you," she offered giving him her hand. The boy looked at her hand then looked up at Troy for confirmation. His dad nodded his consent and stood a safe distance as Niki led him to the bike. He watched attentively as she explained each piece of the bike to him. The breath he had been holding finally escaped him the minute mother and son's hands touched. Something about seeing her here made everything right. He found himself smiling as she placed her helmet on the boy's head, then she hoisted him onto the bike so he could pretend to ride it.

Niki was in such a state of joy. Nikolas was laughing and asking her questions. His vocabulary was extensive for a boy his age. He listened as she had shown all the parts of her Ninja. As they sat on the bike, he made vrooming noises with his mouth much to her delight. His little hands gripped the handle bars, revving them furiously. Her eyes had secretly been watching Troy for his reactions. He looked so good with his fitted white T-shirt and relax jeans. She could feel the heat rise in her body.

Troy stepped closer. "Ok, buddy, I think you've taken up enough of the lady's time."

"Oh, c'mon, Daddy!" he pouted as Niki lowered him gently to the ground.

"Well, we've got dinner waiting," he reminded him.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your dinn-"

"No, not at all. You're more than welcome to-"

"Can you?" This from Nikolas, who jumped up and down excitedly, hoping their new friend would stay long so he could play with her bike. But then confusion struck him. "Wait, who are you again?"

Niki and Troy both held their breath, staring at one another. This was not how Niki pictured reuniting with her son. How could she explain to a three year old the situation fate had thrown on them? Removing her sunglasses she leaned down to look into the boy's eyes directly, searching for the right words to explain. She was surprised to hear him gasp. For one minute solid, mother and son just stared; studying one another; wondering what the other was thinking. Could Nikolas know her? Impossible. He was a baby when she had the accident. She didn't have the long hair or the weight. But she realized, she had the eyes.

"Mommy!" he squealed throwing his arms around her neck shocking Niki stupid. "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"

Tears immediately filled Niki's eyes as she held the little boy tight. For the last two weeks, since Troy and her had those words, she had regretted her decision in not wanting to see her son. His picture followed her everywhere; in her dressing room, on her bike, in her bedroom. That little face haunted her. Aside from her lust for Troy, she had wanted to hold this little man in her arms, to feel the love of his hugs and smell his little head.

"How do you know me, Niki?" she asked brokenly, wiping the tears to no avail since other drops quickly replaced them.

"Daddy and me kiss your picture every night and ask God to keep you safe."

A sob shuttered through her as she tightened her hold on her baby boy. Troy had stood by silently watching them. His son was so happy to see his mommy. It hadn't mattered that she had been gone so long or that she hadn't explained why. His love was unwavering. His tiny arms were locked around Tracey and refused to be untangled.

"Please don't go again! Please stay!"

"Okay, Niki. Okay." She promised haplessly. She just wanted to make the boy happy. Her guilty conscience egging her on. It wasn't her fault she'd left him. Fate played an awful part in that. Her eyes met Troy's as if begging for help.

"Let's go inside," he offered waving his hand toward the house. Niki followed along, carrying a happy Nikolas.


After dinner, Nikolas insisted that mommy help him get ready for bed. Once he had brushed his teeth and thrown on his jammies, he quickly snatched up his favorite book, An Island in the Sun, begging his mommy to read it. Her fingers fondled the book carefully. The cool teal coloring playing whimsically beneath her fingers. Niki fell right into the role as she read the story to her baby, remembering this was the exact story she had read to him the night before her accident. With all the animation she could muster, she enthralled the little boy with her voice, lulling him into a slumber. She felt a lump rise in her throat as she read the last line, "What did I spy with my little eye? And shall we go home now, just you and I?"

Nikolas had fallen fast asleep before the last words were uttered, but another audience member had heard them and he was curious to know the answer. "Can you?" Troy asked, his eyes searching hers.

Niki studied him thoughtfully, then the little boy in the bed. A year and half of a new life was hard to walk away from. She glanced back at her husband, "What are you asking me, Troy?"

Troy wasn't sure exactly what he was asking. All he knew was he felt as Nikolas did. "Please don't go. Stay."

"Do you really think it's that easy?" Niki threw back, rising, placing the book on the nightstand.

They closed their son's bedroom door, not wanting him to hear the tension. Niki turned to say something else, but was cut short when Troy crashed his lips against hers. In that instant, time stood still. Reason took flight. She was trapped by her lusty wants. Pulling away hesitantly, Troy implored again, "Stay."

With a pulse beating wildly and her breath ragged, Niki couldn't think of a reason not to, except... "I can't I gotta... work tonight."

Troy's shoulders fell in disappointment, but he understood. She did have a life outside of this place. Winston's words came flooding into his head. Can you accept the person she is now? This was who Tracey, or Niki, was. If he wanted to be apart of it, he had to accept it.

Niki could see his disappointment and it gnawed on her heart. Corrine had helped her see that it wasn't the infidelity that had bothered her so much. Yes, she was mad, but it was something more. It had been the person she had become. The old Tracey had lost herself and buried the carcass inside a dumpy body to rot and be resentful. Niki had been afraid with Troy having found her, she'd loose this person forever. This confident and living soul that loved life and all its pleasures. How could she marry her two lives together?

Resolved in her decision, she grabbed her iPhone and pulled up a number. "Blu. Niki. Taking that time we talked about."

Before she heard her old friend hoot in delight, she ended the call and tossed the phone on the hall table. Troy wrapped his arms around her, leading her off to their bedroom. She wasn't guaranteeing much, but she would guarantee the night.

Confection

Confection watched as her new apprentice, Cyrus McEnroy, toiled over some dough for an order of pies. He had come highly recommended by one of her assistants, who mentioned that Cyrus was a transplant from England, looking for an under the table gig while he sorted out his immigration status. Confection had been impressed with how much of a quick study he was and that he rose to challenges very easily. He wasn't bad on the eyes either.

She found she loved his raspy English accent and rough and tumble look. There was something really sexy about his bald head that made Confection want to place kisses all over it. She could tell from his build he was rock solid. It was military precision, complimented with spot on reflexes. Proven when he swiftly caught Confection on his first day after she had tripped over a misplaced rolling pin. In that instance, a fire had sparked between the two that refused to go out. So much so, she could feel the intense heat of his stare even when her back was turned.

However, beneath all the smiles and quick wit, she sensed a little ruthlessness and danger just below the surface of his hazel eyes. She knew ruthlessness very well, being the daughter of Vincent "Le Sweet" Smith, renowned baker. He had been a sweet and loving father to her and her sister, Dulce, but he was also a relentless and skilled hit man, who had met his demise in a double cross between a don and his son. Confection had been so angry two years ago, when the cops could do nothing to solve her dad's murder. They said there wasn't enough evidence to arrest them, even though it had been clearly a mob hit. Bitter, Confection dove head first into making sure her dad's bakery didn't go under. However, there was a piece of her that wanted vengeance and was slowly working to get it.

"Confection, the dough's in the pans, what do you need help with?" Cyrus asked, rubbing his hands on the white apron he wore.

His eyes raked over her body appreciatively, which caused Confection to forget her thirst for revenge for the moment. "Oh, Cyrus, you can go home," she told him, hoping he would take her advice since she was finding it hard to maintain her composure when he was so close. "I can lock up for the night."

Cyrus drew closer to her, invading her space. Resting his hand on table, he used his other hand to clear away an errant twist from her eyes. She was an astounding beauty with her full bow lips and spider leg lashes playing over rounded, cherub cheeks. Her long, curling twists piled high above her regal head were as rich as the milk chocolate she stirred in the pot before her. Her golden tanned skin was flushed with a sheen of perspiration, which she wiped away from her forehead after a few intervals of the spoon. The stove wasn't the only thing making her sweat. Cyrus took in her smell, relishing the scent filling his nose. He couldn't see this sweet treat as an assassin, but then again he wasn't there to assess her ability. He was there to complete his own job, per Mickey the Skinny's decree. However, his conscious was starting to eat at him as he got to know and desire the pretty little baker.

"Let me be a gentleman and keep you company," he rasped sexily against her ear.

"That's the problem, Cyrus. You may not be able to maintain your gentlemanly airs around me," she flirted back, staring into his hazel eyes.

Cyrus smirked wickedly. "You make it rather difficult with the cut of your shorts, luv," he remarked checking out her pert derriere.

"You keep playing too close to the fire, Cyrus," she said, turning off the stove. Dipping her long finger into the hot chocolate, she drew the sampling toward her lips, only to have Cyrus redirect the finger to his mouth, where he slowly savored the taste. 

Confection watched with breathtaking silence as he eased the digit from his lips. She could feel the roughness of his tongue slide over her soft finger with such a sexiness that her panties were beginning to drench, causing an ache to pulse in that region. Trying to compose herself, Confection took back her hand and tried to refocus her breathing and her attention. But Cyrus wasn't letting her getaway so easily. He drew the baker back into his arms. They stood toe for toe, chest to chest, lip to lip with one another. Confection could feel her lungs pull in a ragged breath as her mind tried to quell the overwhelming passion clamoring to taste him. This was crazy. 

"Maybe I like playing close to your fire, Confection," he challenged, framing her face in his hands, drawing her lips to his. 

In that instant, the baker melted into his body. She wrapped her lengthy arms around his neck embracing the kiss fully as Cyrus' hands explored her stacked frame. Her hands and arms cradled his bald head lovingly keeping his lips firmly planted against hers. Heat began building steadily, adding degrees of fire and passion to their kiss. Cyrus danced her over to the flour ladened worktable, clearing a space haphazardly spilling the effects to the floor. He replaced them with Confection herself. His leg nudged her thighs apart giving him a berth between them. Cupping her cheeks between his hands, he kissed a path down her long neck and back to her lips.

"Cyrus, this is crazy," she tried to reason. "You're going to have to knead that dough all over again."

"I got a different need, my dear, that requires your attention," he reminded her huskily, pulling her tank top over her head. 

He leaned back to study the perfect globes before him encased in a frilly lace, lavender bra. The curve of her breasts made his mouth water hungrily. Their size was further enhanced by the slimness of her waist that curved into robust hips. He gripped those same hips possessively, his eyes pinning her to the table. They were intense and Confection could tell he struggled with something. Cyrus was indeed struggling. He wasn't sure if he should fuck, no, more like make love, to his mark or come to his senses. Shaking his head, he began to withdraw only to have Confection herself draw him back. 

"Too late, dough boy," she uttered crushing her lips to his.

Their tongues entwined passionately, re-stoking the fires within them. Their lips kneaded harmoniously together as Cyrus' fingers unsnapped her bra strap. Confection drew her lips away to catch a breath, only to have that same breath snatched back when she felt his hot mouth against her neck. It had been so long since she had had some that she was throwing all caution to the wind. Between her and her sister, she was the most conservative. Dulce was quick to roll in the hay with some dude off the street. Apparently, Confection was no better since she was at this moment half naked in her dad's bakery fucking the help.

Cyrus tossed the lacy bra aside and focused his attention on her wine glass breasts. Perfectly shaped and encased in the center of tanned orbs, the dark mauve aureoles puckered in invitation to him. Looking into Confection's brandy colored eyes, his thumb gently pressed the bud sending a welcoming jolt to her puss that made her squirm in pleasure. Then his lips surrounded her other nipple increasing the sensation twenty fold. Confection kept his head in place, enjoying every second of his worship. So much so, she hadn't noticed Cyrus tugging her denim shorts down her legs. Laying her back on the worktable, he worked down her body with the easy of a snake, leaving trails of kisses along her svelte, yet curvy frame. Reaching for the powdered sugar, he knocked over the jar, grabbing a small amount to sprinkle up her body. A tempting trail that his tongue followed.

Confection continued to squirm in pleasure, then a deep moan tore from her throat when she felt Cyrus' mouth hot on her pulsing mound. His lower lips flicked a sip from her burning clit, causing her lower half to shiver in ecstasy. Then he took the engorged kernel into his mouth to suckle. He drank in the bud thirstily, while Confectioon's body writhed to and fro kicking up flour and sugar dust throughout the kitchen. Delectable moans rose and fell from her lips begging Cyrus to continue. Soon, his fingers went to work, seeking her inner lips. His ring finger carefully slipped into her depths to measure her, then it was joined almost simultaneously by the middle. They explored her tightening inner walls, feeling the roughness and slickness within, making his cock harden with more and more need.

Soon, they found her special spot deep in the back, hidden around a small curve and Confection began to shake in violent pleasure. Her breathing became ragged and her walls tightened painfully around his two fingers, forcing one out. Damn she was tight - and wet. Cyrus' mouth watered hungry as he pulled his jeans down and ripped off his shirt. Pulling a condom from his pants pocket, he strapped up quickly urgent to delve into her nethers. 

"Oh, God, Cyrus," she groaned hazily, trying to collect her thoughts. But thoughts were soon surrendered when she felt his thick member fill her completely. 

Confection's eyes drew to his. She could hear his strained groan as he tried to hold himself within her tight walls. She relaxed her muscles allowing him further entrance. Sweat formed on his head, dripping sexily over his chiseled chest. The tension had drained from his brow once Confection had given him entrance into her still quivering puss. Soon replaced by complete male satisfaction as he began to move within. He didn't pummel her, no, he took his sweet time. Each pull in was as equally, and torturously,  slow as the pull out. Like he was using each stroke of his dick to feel the ridges of her slick walls, confirming what his fingers had felt earlier. 

"Oh, dearie, you are too good," he rasped against her ears, between pumps. "I've been fantasizing about this since the day I first met you."

"I have to admit, I've done the same," she said, wrapping her legs around his body seeking more of him.

Cyrus drew Confection into his arms and turned her over. Leaning her over the table, he reentered her puss from behind savoring the feel of the new position. Grabbing more powdered sugar, he sprinkled the sweet over its namesake's back and then proceeded to lick the curvature appreciatively.

"You are delectable, my dear," he praised, gripping her hips possessively, all the while, driving deeper and deeper into her. 

The compliment reached her eyes tenderly as she spread herself more openly to him. The feel of his heavy balls gently smacking her clit was bringing on a whole new sensation of bliss that Confection had never felt before. Her head reared back, forcing her nipples to rub deliciously over the floured worktable. Another orgasm was surfacing quickly, tightening her walls again. Feeling the squeeze, Cyrus grit his teeth against the pleasurable pain. Her walls were still wet and pleading, hungry. The pressure pulsing in his cock was becoming unbearable and begging for release, but he wanted to savor her for longer, just a little longer. Suddenly, just as Confection had unleashed another round of orgasmic moans, Cyrus followed right behind her. His body rocked forcefully against hers, ringing orgasm after orgasm from the sweet miss. When the energy had gone out of them, Cyrus turned Confection about to face him.

He knew he had broken his rules about getting close to a mark. His eyes studied her glowing face. Damn her for this beauty of hers. Her lips were swollen from their hard kissing, her breath cool against his hot skin. Shit, he wanted her all over again. Swallowing hard, he gazed into Confection's eyes. He knew he couldn't do it and he was gonna pay for not fulfilling his assignment. Mentally shrugging to himself, he decided to come clean to the baker. Suddenly, his head felt light and the room began to spin.

"Confection," he began, staggering. "I have something to tell you..."

"No need, Cy," she hushed, her heart breaking a bit. "I already know."

"What?" he asked shocked by her calm. 

"You forget my dad was hit man for forty years, which means we knew all the players in town," she explained. "I knew who you were the minute you walked through my door."

"But why? Why did you let me?" he asked as he staggered naked back against the stove. "What did ... you do... to me?" Then he realized his mistake. "The chocolate!"

"Don't worry, you won't die, Cy?" she told him, pulling on her shorts and shirt. "But I can't have you in the way. This ain't your fight."

She went to the storeroom door, opened it and promptly shoved him in. "Now, this should keep you safe until I figure out what to do with you."

With that, Cyrus fell into a deep slumber unsure what would become of him, or the little baker for that matter. Confection was looking to get herself killed and he was the only who could help her, knowing who had hired him. Dusting herself off and retrieving a wrapped box from the cabinet, Confection closed up the shop and headed out to make a "special" delivery. She glanced back at the shop, thinking of the naked Englishman locked in her storeroom and couldn't help but smile at her brazenness.


"He was certainly sweet," she sighed to herself, rounding the corner.

Honeymoon

Sam watched as Amily splashed around in the water like a little kid. She looked so playful and happy, her joy became infectious. She glanced back to where Sam sat, shining the most gorgeous smile as her hand waved feverishly. It was less than 48 hours ago they were married before family and friends in a lavish beach ceremony. Amily had looked so beautiful in her wedding gown, it had taken Sam's breath away. Their relationship had not had an easy start. Amily's parents had been so dead set against she and Sam dating that at one point they had cut her off and disowned her. But after some time and healing, they'd come around to the new school of thinking.


Now that they were partners for life and since they got on the plane, Sam had been thinking about just how to please this blushing new bride. It didn't help that Amily was sporting one of her sexier bikinis; the beige skimpy one with brown zebra print. The top barely kept her large golden breasts holstered and the bottoms (if they could be called such) just covered the globes of her luscious booty. Sam's mouth watered hungrily, praying the Corona would squelch some of the need. They needed to get back to the freaking hotel and now.

Standing up, Sam motioned Amily over. With the exuberance of a giddy kid, she ran over to her love, wrapping her arms about the broad shoulders of her new partner. Their lips smashed together in a passionate greeting much to the awe of the on-lookers around them. Sam ran long, gentle fingers through Amily's curly, lengthy locks, studying her eyes with a smoldering look.

"Let's head back to the hotel, baby," Sam said, huskily against Amily's her. "I'm hungry and I got a craving for some of your spice."

Amily giggled merrily, love playing in her dark brown eyes. "I got a craving, too. But you may have to catch your lunch."

With that she raced off, leaving Sam to chase after her.

It had taken them no more than a minute to get to their bungalow. Amily's parents had gifted them a gorgeous two weeks in a secluded resort in Bali. The second they stepped into their room, Sam snatched up Amily and tore off the bikini top to feast on her breasts. Amily sighed against her partner's solid body, her fingers fondling her breasts beneath a black tank. Sam looked so good in the freshly done cornrows that she had so lovingly braided last night. Her fingers ran over the ridges before settling on shoulders tight with need and want. Her hands reached over and pulled off the tank top, revealing a simple black bikini top.

Amily always appreciated the view of her new partner. Sam's body was off the hook. Her abs were super tight forming more of a 12 pack than the normal six. Her hips were slim, but her legs were thick and muscular; a harken to her days playing college ball. Her arms were toned, but not too much so, and those shoulders. They were shoulders that could hold the world. Amily's lips laid sweet kisses along them, her fingers unlacing the top, tossing it to the side.

Sam was hard at work, pulling down Amily's bottoms, desperately trying to get at her little trinket. However, the taste of her nipples rolling ever so nicely over her tongue was keeping her more than occupied. The sounds of pleasure sighing from her wife's lips was causing a puddle and ache in her. She loved the way Amily's body fit to hers, despite their significant height difference. She was a giant of six-two to Amily's petite five-three. She turned her around slowly, pulling her pert bottom up against her throbbing core as her mouth feasted hungrily at her neck and ear, making Amily squirm in delight. Sam's eyes looked in the mirror watching as her fingers drifted to the crock of her wife's apex, before disappearing into the soaked alcove.

Amily was hot, steamy and wet. Sam's fingers pressed firmly over her pulsing nub, strumming it sweetly. Her fingers laced in Amily's soft locks, tugging her head back possessively to whisper, "I wanna taste you all over. I wanna feel your clit on my tongue and hear you call my name."

Amily moaned sexily at the words, her hips swaying to the rhythm like a hypnotized cobra. Turning around, she wrapped her legs around Sam's waist as she carried her over to the large, four poster bed. Laying her down slowly, Sam ran her tongue down Amily's lush, thick body, settling over her core. Parting her thighs, she took a long sip of her moist muff, taking in the heady, fruit-like smell and taste. She was quivering restlessly beneath her mouth, her words a jumble of love and praise. Sam gently gripped her engorged clit between her pearly white teeth, sucking and tugging at the same time.

"Uh, Sami, I love it when you do that," Amily screamed, bucking against the sheet, her fingers gripping Sam's head, holding it in place. "Keep that up."

"That's what I wanna hear, wifey," she smiled against her muff. Sam was so turned on by Amily's reaction, she couldn't help but touch her own swollen folds, preparing it for some tasty love, having dispensed with her shorts. Her fingers danced over her clit, the nerves coming to life under her massage. "You don't know how much I wanna fuck you right now."

Leaning over Amily, Sam pushed her ring, middle and index finger deep within her depths, feeling each smooth ridge of her cavernous walls. Amily caught her breath relishing the fullness of her long fingers deep within. Her head arched off the mattress. Sam's thumb was making sweet work of her clit, the friction tightening her muscle walls, spreading the intense fire from her middle out to her extremities. Sam expertly changed the pace of the strokes from slow to fast to torturously slow, watching as Amily's body tried to keep up. Her wicked smile and sultry stare was turning Amily to melt butter.

"I love watching you," Sam said sweetly drawing her nipple into her mouth for a taste.

"I love watching you watch me," Amily panted, feeling the pangs of a climax ripple her womb. Sam's fingers began to beckon forward, rubbing deliciously over her G-spot.

"Will you spill for me this time, baby?" she asked devilishly. "You know I love it when you rain."

Amily's back arched feeling her body vibrate as Sam's fingers began to pump harder and faster into her, the feelings becoming all too consuming. The ripples started to come one after another and Amily was hard pressed to keep them in check, needing a release. Suddenly, as a climatic scream tore from her lips, a gush of pleasure juice flooded from her body, causing her legs to shutter and shake violently. Sam's hands quickly went to work glazing her thighs with her love potion, trying to calm her ecstasy. Her lips gently tasted her mouth, breathing in her sighs and whimpers. She brought her fingers to Amily's mouth, allowing her to taste the wine she'd created from their lovemaking, which she greedily suckled from her tips with a smile.

Amily wrapped her hands around Sam's neck, not wanting to break their contact. Between loving pecks, she said, "I am really going to enjoy married life with you."

Sam licked her juice from her fingers, saying with a laugh, "You better, 'cause you and me are forever, wifey."

With that she rolled over her, pressing her into the mattress to enjoy an afternoon cocooned in love.

Class Reunion with Benefits

Atlanta was hot. The temperature gauge hanging on the shaded porch read a scorching 95 degrees. It was that time of the season when alums from the senior class of 1995 would gather together at various homes or venues throughout the country for one special reunion. This year, the Society's founder himself, James Leighton was hosting the get together at his massive mansion in Buckhead. By popular demand, King James, as he was known then and now, had taken up the hosting banner and had intended to make this the ultimate blow out and his last, unbeknownst to anyone else. After the past fifteen years of practically screwing every girl and then some in their class, James had grown bored and had decided he needed to abdicate his throne.

He knew there would be a lot of disappointed ladies, but he had grown tired of the game. There was no joy in it anymore and he refused to let his joy become a chore. When he had come up with the Society back in high school, it had been a way to unleash the pent up hormonal energy that had crowded everyone in the staunch private school they'd attended. The teachers had made it their mission to keep the boys and girls in check every second of every minute of every day. It had begun to wear down everyone's nerves. What made him laugh was that the Society had started totally by accident at a party he had hosted at his house while his parents were on vacation. One thing had led to another and before anyone had realized it, people were fucking in the livingroom, the closets, the pool house, virtually anywhere with a flat surface. And what had made it all the more interesting was that the following Monday, no one had said a word about it and luck being on their side, no one had gotten pregnant or contracted a disease.

This got young James' mind to thinking and he knew he had to capitalize on the plan. So, assembling some friends together he concocted the Society, which named him as King. Anyone was allowed into the parties as long as they followed the simple rules, which were always the same:  no drugs, no cameras, and bring a lot of condoms. As they got older and technology improved, the Society amended the rules to include also: no kids, no cellphones, and their most current medical info. This way, everyone felt safe to let loose and do them without fear of blackmail or retribution. The plan was genius and everyone adhered to the rules and mouths stayed mum until the following year. As the event got bigger, so did the guest list. With everyone going off to various colleges and universities, each member brought in a new society member to add new blood to the mix. It was the IT secret bash of the summer.

This year, the ladies were particularly stoked to be invited to the infamous King James palace. It had been quite sometime that the party had been in his backyard. All of them had sweated his attention at one time or the other. James was the embodiment of fucking sexy. He was a tall, caramel complected brother with sea green eyes and dimples; a nod to his mixed island roots. His build was always athletic even as far back as freshman year with imposing broad shoulders and lean, strong thighs. His voice was a rich, raspy bass that could curse with the worse of them, but could also utter some of the most charming words guaranteed to drop a panty or two. Girls loved it when he laid that creole mess in their ear; a certified panty-soaker. Back in the day, James also used to sport long dreadlocks that would stick out from beneath his football helmet as he jetted down to the field goal. Along with his number 25 jersey, it was his marker for all the ladies who wanted to watch him push the line. After high school, however, he had shaved off his trademark locks, rocking a clean baldy and trimmed goatee that made him evermore sexy to the swooning ladies. It was no wonder he was the face of the Society's franchise.

No matter who held the party, King James, always got first dibs and the ladies had it no other way. His only rule was no virgins, which was never a problem since all members in the society were certified freaks and not a virgin among them. At least one fight a year would have to be broken up, because sisters wanted to be the first to get a piece of him. His reputation for giving a girl what she wanted and how she wanted it had proceeded him and many a girl fought to be his first of the night. Something James didn't mind in the least. In fact, he took full pleasure in it. Many of the brothers had sought his knowledge on the female body, and he was more than glad to dispensed that knowledge in detail. He was their Sex Yoda and all took notes. By the time the parties would wind down, bodies would be laid out in all positions all over the place and everyone would be well-sated.

This year would be no different, James had planned ahead. His event planner had placed his regular furniture in storage, replacing it with gorgeous dark teak platforms of varying sizes and levels, covered in mattresses of all varieties. Sheer white muslin hung from the ceiling and various doorways giving the mansion a dream-like atmosphere. The pool area was also decked out like a Grecian bathhouse, already packed with "friends". The deejay, an old alum as well, was spinning killer hits from his turntables, while revelers drank poolside. The first wave of guests, mostly women, had started arriving at noon, hoping to either scope out a comfy spot or be the first to taste James.

Strangely, James did not want to start this year too early. He had decided to play more the voyeur this time. He was growing tired of the same crop of sisters rolling through year in and year out. They were starting to feel like the same woman; shallow, self-absorbed, self-conscious, gold-digging, immature. To sum the problem up, he was fed up with their kind. Any sister with a shred of intelligence had left the society a long time ago and got married. Good for them. Bad for him, since all that was left were the same ol', same ol'.

Now, two hours into the fete, James stood at the balcony leading from his bedroom watching the crowd below. The scene looked right out of classic Roman orgy. Hands and legs were everywhere and the sounds of pleasure being made caressed his body like an old lover. Sipping his Henny on the rocks, he took note of a dark skinned sister standing just under the peach tree. Who was she? he asked himself.

She was stacked with long legs that led to rounded hips and a thin waist. The white halter dress she wore made her breasts stand higher on her long torso and enhanced the gorgeous tone of her rich dark molasses skin. Her eyes were almond shaped, the color unclear from this distance, but they looked light. Her hair was in a large, curly, natural 'fro, held back by a white band tied about her head. On her ears, she wore large gold hoops with matching gold bracelets around her arms. The earrings drew notice to her high cheekbones and pert nose. But her lips were the ultimate draw, large and plump with gloss; definitely kissable. James wondered what it would feel like to have that mouth cover his bare dick.

However, it bothered him greatly that he could not place who she was and he knew every woman who'd come through the door. Had she come as someone's guest? Was she an alumna? If so, who was she? James rubbed his chin thoughtfully trying to place her, his throbbing friend begging to know. He watched as several brothers stepped to her and how she had worked some sort of magic that had them at her beck and call. She was fresh meat and they were in for the kill, which, for some reason, brought on a slight tinge of possessiveness in James. Downing his Henny, he left the balcony to rejoin the festivities below.


Dahlia smiled at the swarm of men hanging about her. It was really awkward and a blessing that no one seemed to recognize who she was. Her good friend, Crystal, had to practically drag her here. When they had gotten to the gate, Dahlia had told Crystal not to use her real name for fear she'd give herself away. So, they simply told the guard her name was Ebony and that she was a guest of Crystal's. Seemingly blown away by Dahlia's beauty, the guard let her by. Something that eased her anxiety to great degrees. The last time Dahlia had set foot at the bash had been seven years ago and back then she had sworn she'd never return.

Crystal had been there that fateful night, when Dahlia had suffered the worse humiliation possible. Since senior year of high school, Dahlia had longed to be admitted into the Society, but apparently, she hadn't been their kind of material. Then one year, while in college, she thought her chance had come when she had gotten her invite. However, she had not been prepared for the cruelty that had been awaiting her.

See, back in high school, Dahlia weighed a horrendous 375lbs on a 5'7" frame. Her skin was an oil slick dotted in terrible acne. Her hair was never manageable, mainly since her mom wouldn't pay to get it done properly. Thick glasses covered her eyes while train tracks crowded her mouth. She was quite the mess and knew she was not the looker her friend, Crystal, was. However, like everyone else in her class, she had a high libido and just cause she was big didn't mean she didn't like sex. Crystal always told her that she had the makings to be gorgeous and that they just needed to fix a few things; mainly her weight. She was convinced if Dahlia lost the pounds she could get into the Society, no questions asked.

After she had removed her glasses, found a decent hairstylist and got some Pro-Active, things started looking up for Dahlia. However, her weight had still been an issue, having lost only 100lbs of the weight. Still, she was hopeful and that junior year of college, she finally got her invite to the party. When she arrived she thought she looked outstanding. She was dressed to kill in a beautiful white jumper with gorgeous high heels and equally banging ponytail weave. She could have given Mon'ique a run for her money as fly as she looked. As she glanced around, she noted that there were other big sisters in the crowd, not as big as her, but still they represented and fellas were actually hitting on them hard. However, Dahlia had her eye on one particular prize: Mr. King James himself. She knew she was asking for trouble, but for as long as she had wanted to be in the Society, her heart had been set on giving herself to him.

So, taking in a deep breath, she had sauntered over to King James with all intents to offer herself up. He was surrounded by his boys as they watched the crowd before them. Soon, his eyes met hers and they stared at one another from across the pool. Dahlia could feel her heart swell and teeter restlessly. A tentative smile crossed her lips revealing a row of pearly white teeth, the fruits of wearing those God awful braces. She hadn't been sure, but she could've sworn James had been smiling back at her. And if her imagination wasn't running wild, his eyes were taking in her framework, which caused her pulse to spike. Dahlia was a mere few steps from him, when one of the class clowns decided to rake her over the coals, drawing everyone's attention.

"Oh no, Big Booty Dahlia, coming your way, King James," he hollered. "Watch out!"

The comment probably would've gone unnoticed, but then, another clown had chimed in. "BBD!"

And another, "You might need a crane for that, James? She could blow your back out!"

And more continued to rain, "She got a lot of ocean for that motion." "I didn't know you liked Asians, James, 'cause you about to get Three Chins."

Those loud barbs seemed easier to take, it was the whispered ones that truly began to knife her spirit. "How the hell did she get by security?" "Don't she know he won't go for that?" "She must be out her mind." "Oh, that's just pitiful."

And on and on the barbs had kept sticking. When Dahlia had glanced back up at James, brothers were clapping on his back and pointing and laughing at her, which he'd laughed off with a wave. He was trying to get the crowd about him under control, but he could see the humor in his eyes and Dahlia knew she had to fall back and retreat. Snatching up her pride, she ran out of the party as fast as her legs would carry her. Crystal, who'd been trying to hush the clowns, had followed right behind her, swearing they would get their revenge on those motherfuckers if it was the last thing they did. But Dahlia refused to come back. She had her pride - what was left of it. The Society was not for her and with that she had gone incognito for a couple of years, retreating to the Big Apple, to complete her schooling.

It was there that she had found herself. She'd met a group of sexually liberated folk, who taught Dahlia all about the swing scene in NYC. She had collected a hodge-podge of friendly characters that were made up of drag queens, doms, subs, and freaky couples, who made Dahlia feel right at home. In fact, Mist and Fog, twin brother drag queens, who had made it their life's mission to take her under their wing, had helped her shed the weight she had been carrying around since forever as well as helped her get her true look on. Gone were the weaves, the pimples and the plus size. Under their tutelage, she had a style that made her a mini celebrity in their community of friends. She had been dubbed the Virgin Dahlia, since she appeared to be the most normal and innocent among them, but just as naughty and sinful.

Once Dahlia had completed her degree in psychology, she had started working as a sex therapist in midtown New York and a mystery blogger to the underground scene, known simply as Ms. D. She had kept in touch with Crystal, who had been plumb astounded by the her friend's transformation. During one visit, she almost didn't recognize her old friend when she had picked her up at the airport.

"Dahl, is that you?" she had exclaimed with tears in her eyes.

"Why? Do I look different or something?" the Southern belle had laughed merrily.

"Fuck yeah!" she'd cried gripping her friend for a hug. "Tell me you still get the invites?"

"I do, but you know the deal," Dahlia had reminded her. "I can never go there again."

Crystal had sucked her teeth and stated, "Shoot, with this frame you can, and throw it all up in their faces."

And since that visit, Crystal had pestered and nagged her to come home for six years straight. Finally, Dahlia had decided a few months ago to move back to ATL to open up shop and complete her manuscript. However, she had refused to have an official homecoming as Crystal had wanted. She wanted her life to remain private and keep the biters back. Then Crystal began to nag her about getting her vengeance on those bastards from back then. But Dahlia wasn't so sure she even wanted to. She wanted to let sleeping dogs lie and move on, but with Crystal's perpetual prodding she'd finally convinced her to go, only if she could go under the radar, which Crystal agreed.

Now, here she stood with a throng a fellas sweating to get into her panties. The same fellas who had laughed her out the party with their barbs. However, after years of hanging with her dominatrix friend, Kasha, she learned how to play their desires against them. When one of the brothers tried to step to her, she stood toe to toe with them, making them look her in the eye. If they wavered even a little bit, she recognized the weakness and exploited it quickly. One brother was kept busy getting her and Crystal drinks. Two brothers had gotten them plates of food. When one brother tried to act a fool and stronghold a sister, Dahlia simply dismissed him, only to have him come crawling back to apologize for his misbehavior and offered to massage the stress from her shoulders. The key, as Kasha had told her, was being subtly firm in her commands, penetrate their souls with her eyes, use what they wanted to get what she wanted, punish them severely when they stepped out of line, and always being the one to hold the reins. Crystal had been amazed and was enjoying the show immensely. Especially, since these fools had no clue who she was.

"Girl, I need to hook up with your friends," she stated, sipping on a glass of Chardonnay.

"I'm sure they'd all love this," Dahlia smiled. "Seems like everyone has kept in good shape since last I was here."

"Hmph, the sucky thing is James banned those three motherfuckers who'd raked you over the coals two years later for pulling the same shit on another sister," Crystal whispered to her. "However, the damage was done from that first time they'd done it to you and everyone started shaping up before they got here."

"Why did he do that?" Dahlia asked curiously.

"Well, I had been occupied elsewhere, but from what I heard, James had grown tired of these fools bullying the big sisters," she explained. "Heard from Cherelle that he started to call them out on their broke selves and had the security team oust'em."

Dahlia pondered this new information carefully. The only reason she had agreed to come to the party was to get back at those fools and James for their mistreatment of her that night, but maybe James wasn't lumped in with those fools after all. A sigh rushed past her lips as she swept her gray eyes over the writhing crowd before her. She was just about to lean over to Crystal to let her know she was heading to the garden for some alone time, when Crystal leaned her way.

"Look here, I see Lamont over there eyeing me," she said as she adjusted her shirt. "He was kicking last year with the tongue action and sister girl is looking for another taste."

Dahlia giggled softly behind her hand as she encouraged, "Go on, Crystal. You straight with the -"

"I always keep my Trojans close. See ya!" she waved away as she headed inside the pavilion.

After watching Crystal depart, Dahlia turned in the opposite direction away from the pool area to walk the garden, but she wasn't alone. She sensed that someone was watching her, closely. Another technique Kasha had taught her: be aware of any potential catches without their being aware of your notice. Using her peripherals, she caught sight of a man leaned up against a bamboo column. She instinctively knew who it was just from his smell. How long had he been watching her? And did she just now catch his eye? She stopped in her tracks, standing with the grace of a supermodel finding her light.

"Are you going to speak or do you plan to just stare all afternoon?" she asked without looking his way.

"Wasn't sure if you wanted to be approached," he admitted, sauntering toward her to block her way into the garden.

"Why is that?" she asked in a husky tone.

James allowed his eyes to roam her frame from bottom to top, admiring her sumptuous body. "Well, with the way you had brothers at your beck and call, you seemed already occupied."

"As you can see, they're all gone," she pointed out with a wave of her hand, her eyes never veering from his.

"I do," he stated stepping closer, invading her space and sense. The back of his hand caressed her cheek, sending a hot shiver down Dahlia's spine. She had told herself that she would not get drawn in by James' charm, but she had also forgotten how good he was at wielding it. "What's your name, beautiful?"

Dahlia struggled with revealing her true identity or the one she and Crystal had come up with. Playing it safe she threw back, "What's your interest in my name?"

"You have my interest piqued," he said, walking around her to study her some more. "Are you an alum? If so, why haven't I had the pleasure?"

Because you don't do big girls, she uttered to herself saltily, before saying, "Our paths may never have crossed."

James looked into her eyes as if what she said was an impossibility. However, he was struck silent by the color of her eyes. They were the lightest shade of gray, very uncommon. There was sultriness that exuded from their almond shaped depths that pulled him to her. Sultriness aside, her eyes revealed an old soul who had seen and experienced much. She wasn't easily fooled or lead, not this time anyway. But James could recall only one class member having gray eyes like hers, but this couldn't be her. The last time he had seen her, she had run from the party with tears streaming from those gorgeous gray pearls. A sight that had haunted James for a long time. He had felt awful that Roscoe, Dean and Avery had teased her something fierce, forcing her to leave. He tried getting a hold of her, but the brothers had been so busy cracking and snapping he had had a hard time getting away to stop her. That was why two years later, he had snapped and had those fools taken out for trying to pull the same shit on another girl. At least he had been able to console her before any real damage had been done and after James had bestowed his attentions on her, she'd become a fan favorite at subsequent parties thereafter. But, alas, he had missed his chance with this one, but not this time.

James had actually found her cute with her curvaceous hips, and had been tempted to take what she was willing to offer. His tastes were discerning, and yet, he was an equal opportunity lover. Big woman, small woman. They all were woman worthy of his time as long as they were classy and willing to let him do what he wished for their pleasures.  But she, she was the one that got away, and he was determined to clear that card this time. James took her hand gently, raising it to his mouth.

"I believe our paths have crossed," he stated confidently, placing tiny pecks a long her hand and wrist, causing more gooseflesh to surface.

"Why is that?" she questioned, drawing her hand away from any further ministrations.

"Because I have a very good memory, especially when it comes to pretty things," he revealed, walking about her again. He slowly wrapped his arms about her waist drawing her pert bottom up against his rigid flesh, causing a gasp to slip from her lips. "And who could forget the beautiful gray eyes of Miss Dahlia Sims."

Dahlia's eyes widened at the mention of her name. He knew who she was. She swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling the insecurities from back then creep up on her. Her memories recalled how he laughed while the cat callers trounced on her confidence and pride. Was he gearing up to finish what they had started? Pulling away, she kept walking into the garden, refusing to look back, refusing to give him any more of her pride than he and those fools had taken. Maybe she wasn't ready to face this. Maybe this had been a horrible mistake to begin with. Stupid Crystal for convincing her to come here. Suddenly, she was whipped back around when James took hold of her arm drawing her back to him.

Their eyes clashed, firing a sharp intensity between them. Her brooding grays versus his smoldering sea greens; like storm clouds riding over a serene ocean. Her breathing was becoming ragged as her nose took in the all male scent of him. A scent that had always stayed with her. James was drawn into her somber depths; enraptured by their thunderous smokiness. He couldn't let her run this time. Long minutes passed as they simply stared. Dahlia wondered why he was so intent on keeping her, while James wondered why she was so intent on running from him. He knew her turbulent glare had something to do with that night and he was fucking determined to wipe it away. Suddenly, James swept his mouth over hers, hoping he had not overstepped his bound. Luck was on his side as Dahlia found herself succumbing to his spell.

Their tongues immediately went to work, tasting and touching one another, dueling for dominance over the other. A fire began to spread as they tore at each others' clothes haphazardly. Once bared, James hoisted Dahlia into his arms and quickly ushered her to a secluded part of the garden, away from the prying eyes of the party goers. He refused to share this moment with anyone but her. Surrounded by a screen of wild flowers and bushes, he laid her down upon the soft mattress of Kentucky blue grass that his landscapers assured him would be lush to the touch. He stared down at her lush body and admired the work she had put into it.

"How long did it take to drop the pounds?" he asked casually leaning down to lay by her.

"Two long years," she sighed wearily, then with a laugh, she added, "Drag queens know how to work a sister."

James chuckled with her, "Drag queens?"

"One of the many friends I met in NYC," she explained.

"They did good work, but I appreciated your original framework just as well," he admitted nuzzling against her neck, drawing her closer to feel her body.

"Did you?" she wondered in surprise.

James looked down at her with such an intensity that it paused her next breath. "I'm not so shallow that all my desires are only for skinny chicken heads," he stated firmly. "I like a solid girl here and there. I would've gladly taken what you offered back then, if you hadn't run off."

Dahlia pondered his words carefully. "Well, it was pretty hard to tell when you didn't make an effort to defend a big girl's honor. In fact, I just remember you laughing," she threw back with a shrug of her shoulder.

"As cold as what they said was, admit it, they got you with BBD," he said with a wink and smirk. "In fact, you still BBD to me."

Dahlia laughed at the reminder. "Alright. I can laugh - now. But it still hurt."

"Well, I won't hurt you," he promised, laying kisses along her arm, causing tingles to ripple against her skin.

She could feel his breath caress her just as his hands began to explore various parts of her body. The contrast of his caramel skin against her dark chocolate was simply gorgeous in the hue of the afternoon sun. Dahlia reveled in it. James enjoyed the taste of her smooth buttery skin against his tongue as he sampled the hardened nubs of her breasts. An appreciative moan slipped from her lips as he suckled and tugged. The delicious twirl of his tongue tickling the sensitive nipples caused her stomach to flutter giddily. But none more than his fingers as they ran along her muscled ribcage, stopping briefly to toy with her navel playfully, which brought about a giggled sigh from his ebony flower. Dahlia had felt the touch clear to her core, causing her clit to throb mercilessly.

His hands continued down her body, answering the call. Slipping beneath the band of her white bikini thong, they found her folds drowning in a sea of womanly mist. Parting the labial ocean, he found the pearl within the oyster and gently plucked it in slow repetitive motions. His reward was the cry of pleasure flowing between her lips.

"Oh, James," she sighed, arching her head back, exposing her neck. "I guess that's why your the king."

She heard him chuckle against her neck, then felt the air knocked from her when she felt his finger dip smoothly into her body, causing shivers to run rampant from head to toe. All thought ceased at that moment, when the realization that her dreams were possibly coming true. She had waited so long to be in this position with him. She would finally get her chance.

James delighted in ringing pleasure from her. It was like every touch was new. The sights, the smells all drew him in. He loved watching the pleasure play over her face. As his hand stroked her flesh, he could feel her tighten her muscles in response, trying to hold back the maelstrom. He was willing to let her fight, since it gave him more of a challenge. He quickly replaced his fingers with his mouth as he delved head first between her thighs. His lips and tongue immediately went to work laving the different parts of her, paying attention to her humming pearl. With the back of his tongue, he grazed the nub gently, feeling her flesh quiver in response. He could see her fingers curl into the grass as if holding on for dear life. Then for added unpredictability, he flicked her clit with the tip of his tongue, feeling her jump with a cry of pleasure.

James stopped a second to stare down at the womanly treasure before him. The flesh was a blushing hot pink that shook and sighed. The entrance dripped with pleasure juice, leaving a tasty trail for him to follow. His middle finger softly rested on the throbbing nub, feeling the heat increase tenfold, then, with slow, tight circles, he massaged it, drawing more heat. He watched avidly as her pussy's mouth opened and closed as if begging to be filled. A wicked smile crossed his lips as he watched Dahlia's hips arch up, moans falling from her mouth unchecked. Soon, his name pushed from her lips as a her body wavered in unadulterated pleasure.

Dahlia panted breathlessly as she tried to get her thoughts back together. She felt so luxurious and sated that she could've died right there and been alright. Before the sensation started to wane, she felt James' lips on her thigh again. This time he was coming back toward her lips. His body felt hard and glancing down, Dahlia thought she'd faint from the sheer size of his manhood hovering by her quaking flesh. He had already thrown on a condom, sometime between her climax and the start of her afterglow. He was good, she thought. He drew her eyes back up to his.

"I wanna see your eyes this time," he said as he began his decent. "You tasted so good, but I like watching more."

Dahlia took in his words through her haze of desire, feeling his member probe her entrance torturously, bringing her desire to life again. Her mind had resigned itself to the fact she was giving herself completely to him, assured that there would be nothing but pleasure. Her eyes, as he had wished, remained on his. She, too, wanted to watch for his reaction. James entered her depths slowly, gearing his body up for the delight he knew would be there in. She was tight, but slick; the mouth of her puss drawing him in with its grip. The sensitive tip of his dick reveled in the milking motion as he pushed further in. The pressure building was reeking havoc on his body.

"Damn, you feel so good," he panted breathlessly, staring into her eyes. "If I didn't know any better I swear you were a virgin."

Dahlia swallowed the lump in her throat, before whispering, "That's because I am."

Before her words could register, James came up on the barrier of her maidenhead. Too late in stopping his motion, he crushed through it to get to her core, feeling her stiffen from the impact and the warm gush of her virgin's blood coating his member. His eyes just stared into hers. He was at an utter loss and disbelief. How could she still be a virgin? Why would she just give this treasure up so freely here? His mind tried to wrap around the question, but the deliciously throbbing ache in his dick was calling him back to his senses. Their eyes never breaking he began thrusting harder, yet gently within, trying hard to keep his promise not to hurt her. He saw the pleasure fill her gray depths as another climax overtook her. Her eyes closed as her head tossed back in a scream of passion. James covered her mouth with his taking in the cries with his own, all the while pumping his flesh deeper and deeper until he too followed suit with his own orgasm.

Sated, it took James a long while to lift his body from her. He raised up on his elbows to study Dahlia carefully. In all his years running the Society, he had made it a rule never to take a virgin. Everyone had known that. It was never a secret. He set his jaw firmly trying to quell the annoyance that was steadily rising, yet annoyance was not the only feeling rising. His dick was still embedded in her warm, velvet chamber and was already making another attempt to try her again, but he needed answers first.

"Why?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Dahlia could see the ire sparked behind his eyes. She had been fully aware back then and now about his rule never to bed a virgin, and after that night she had thought what a fitting revenge it would've been if she had made him break his own rule. So, despite all her carnal knowledge and her oath never to return to the Society, she still never let anyone take her. Somewhere she believed she'd get her chance and today she thought she'd gotten her chance. However, when she had realized what he had so chivalrously done on her behalf and that he had actually found her to his liking, back then and now, she wanted to him to be her first because she had felt he had earned it.

"I'm sorry," she began, her voice cracking. "I know I should've told you. But..."

"But what?" he demanded pinning her with his eyes.

"It was a mistake. I wanted to get revenge..."

"Revenge!" he repeated with disbelief, more anger flooding his eyes.

"For what happened that night seven years, but when I found out what you did two years later, I decided I didn't want that, but then you started..." her mind reeled with thoughts of what he'd, they'd just done. "I couldn't help myself."

James began to rise, wanting to flee, but Dahlia quickly wrapped her legs about him, keeping him close and their bodies connected. Using the techniques taught to her, she used her vaginal muscles to squeeze his dick, which stilled his motions. James eyes closed against the pleasure her muscles drew from him. The caster of spells had been cast upon and he was powerless. He could feel her sucking him back in, stroking him with these tiny muscles, hardening his member to rock status.

Dahlia's lips kissed his fervently, her hands stroking his bald head lovingly. "Please, don't go," she begged. "Let me make this up to you."

A groan pulled from his throat. He was asking for trouble, but her power was smashing his to the wall. He quickly took over the kiss. However, Dahlia was able to turn him on his back to take full control of the situation. With his back to the grass, she grinded her hips against his body, rubbing her clit against his pelvic bone, stirring his desire as well as her own. Her hands splayed across his chest, toying with the flats of his nipples. James bucked his hips upward, enjoying the feel of her body bouncing against his. He was amazed by, despite her virgin state, how she knew all the right places to please him. Her midnight skin rubbed lusciously over him, taking his pleasure to the edge and back. Suddenly, he felt another climax claim them both, shuddering their bodies in one motion.

James' hands rested possessively on her hips, keeping them connected. Dahlia stared down at him apologetically before saying, "I'll just go."

She started to rise, but James held her in place over his body. "Oh no you won't," he stated firmly.

Dahlia looked at him quizzically. "What? Why?"

Lifting her into his arms, he began to move back to the house. "You in blood, woman. You think I'm gonna watch you run off a second time, especially with what you just did?" he stated firmly, entering his house. "I hope you didn't have any plans this week, 'cause you mine now."

Dahlia laughed merrily as she was swept away into King James pleasure palace.

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.