Zane's Z-Rated: Chocolate Flava 3 (3 page)

She clasps my dick, guiding my bulging erection between her legs.

Her pussy emanates heat; it warms the head of my dick. I grimace as I wantonly plunge into scalding juices.

“I’m not ready,” she says breathlessly and pulls away.

“Don’t tease me, please,” I say in a tone that begs. “You’re torturing me.”

Marcelle responds with a wicked smile. She scratches a trail down my chest, causing me to wince as her fingernails cut into my skin.

I endure the pain because I want to fuck her. Trying to get into her panties, I attempt a different approach. “Take your dress off,” I cajole. “Let me see your naked beauty.”

An exhibitionist, she complies. She slips out of her dress and panties, and tosses them to a nearby chair. In all her naked glory, she once again straddles me. We’re both naked now; her dark sienna skin against warm brown.

She reaches downward and separates her folds, proudly showing off a gash of soft flesh that glistens with arousal.

Yearning to taste her, my mouth waters.

“Hungry?” she asks.

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

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

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

Contrite, I look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Marcelle seems to love it. She’s writhing and moaning. Coaxing him to bite her nipples. Demanding that he suck harder. Now she’s speaking softly, whispering in his ear. She lifts her uniform, welcoming him between her legs.

Marcelle has always enjoyed the flirtatious advances of men; still, I never expected her to take it this far. I shake my head regretfully as it dawns on me that every man that enters my home—service workers, business associates—has enjoyed the pleasure of my maid.

I’ve done everything to keep her happy. I bow down to her and worship at her feet. For her to fuck another man in my home, right under my nose, is unconscionable. Her deceit is unforgivable. We had an agreement that as long as I obeyed her, she would eventually allow me to fuck her. But she’s nothing more than a dick tease; she never intended to make good on her promise.

I gaze with contempt in my eyes as a stranger sticks an unworthy dick inside her, impaling her with a violent thrust.

It’s cruel. Unfair. I can hardly bear to watch, but I’m morbidly fascinated. The deliveryman is ramming Marcelle, pulling her close and pounding her possessively, asking if her pussy belongs to him.

I’m incensed, yet my dick betrays me; it stiffens when I hear Marcelle murmur, “This pussy is all yours, baby.”

I can no longer witness this atrocity. With my head hung in
sorrow, I turn away and woefully climb the stairs. Back in my position on the bed, it is clear to me that I’ve allowed Marcelle to play me for a fool.

When Marcelle finally returns to the bedroom, her uniform is crumpled and her hair is tousled. A taunting smile curves the corners of her mouth. “I’m tired from cleaning.” She stretches out on the bed. Lying on her back, she places her hand on her head, feigning exhaustion.

I’m appalled. She reeks of sex. She’s covered with the masculine sweat of a brawny laborer. Sad as it may seem, I still want to put my dick inside her. I yearn to penetrate her whoring pussy, and so I have no choice but to go along with the ruse.

“I’m so tired. I need a back rub, darling,” she tells me, pretending to be frazzled from hard work. I know what she’s really been up to, but I can’t divulge the fact that I’ve violated her rules.

She comes out of her uniform and lies on her tummy. I’m relieved that her lovely back has not been defiled with that man’s sweaty stench.

Adoringly, I caress her skin, rubbing gently, kneading the imaginary knots. All the while, I’m secretly hoping that I’ve finally earned the right to penetrate her pussy.

“Feels good,” she says, enjoying my touch. I smile with pride.

“That’s enough foreplay,” she says suddenly. Without warning, she gets on her hands and knees. “You’ve been a very good boy. You deserve a reward. Fuck me,” she orders.

Delighted, I oblige. I grab her hips before she can change her mind. Frantic, I quickly slip my knob inside her slit. Her pussy is overly wet and juicy. It feels as if I’ve plunged into a wonderfully slimy abyss.

“Like it?” she murmurs as I deliver dick strokes into a pussy
that’s saturated with a combination of female juices and masculine cum.

“Love it,” I respond breathily, steadily stroking through the pool of lust.

“Was this pussy worth waiting for?”

“Yes,” I honestly admit. The pussy that the deliveryman has prepped for me is the best I’ve ever had.

• • •

The CD is playing a live John Coltrane session. While Marcelle lounges, sipping champagne, and eating chocolate-covered strawberries, her foot wiggles to the sound of Coltrane’s saxophone.

I cheerfully don her work uniform and do housework with a smile on my face. After I finish dusting, I carefully close the parlor door. I don’t want to disturb my mistress with the roar of a vacuum cleaner.

A noise from outside distracts me. Peeking through the curtains, I see that the grocery van has arrived.

Another delivery; I smile.

Unashamedly wearing Marcelle’s uniform, I open the back door and admit yet another muscular man.

I knock on the door to the parlor. Marcelle tells me to come in.

“Mistress, there’s a deliveryman in the kitchen.”

“Did you tip him?” Her eyes glimmer with interest.

“No, not yet.”

Marcelle waves her hand dismissively. “I’ll handle it; send him to me.” She points a manicured finger at me. “I expect to have privacy while I’m taking care of the tip.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I agree. “I’ll be fully absorbed in my chores.”

“Good boy,” she says with a brisk nod.

My maid and I have a better understanding now. No longer a dick tease, she lets me have sloppy seconds three days a week.

Through the cotton fabric of Marcelle’s uniform, I stroke my dick in anticipation. After the grocery man finishes making his delivery, Marcelle will graciously spread her legs for me.

Lynn Lake

She pushed open the wooden door with the cracked pane of glass and walked into the dingy shop. Inside, pornographic DVDs, magazines, and books were stacked three wire racks deep; sex toys and dolls of all makes and models lined the walls. The place smelled of stale cigarette smoke and spunk.

The woman strolled around the racks and past the glass counter full of lighters, rolling papers, pipes, and dildos that ran along the far wall. She was tall and slender, in her mid-forties, dressed in a dark-blue business suit, slim legs sheathed in metallic blue stockings that spilled out of her knee-length skirt and into three-inch black heels. Her raven hair was carefully done up; her light-brown, aristocratic face tastefully made up with blue eye shadow and black eyeliner; plush lips glossed to glistening.

“Hiya!” the man behind the counter said, leering; a little guy, pitch-black, with horn-rimmed glasses and a shaved skull. “They’re waitin’ for ya.”

She slowed momentarily when he spoke, then coolly nodded and walked past, through the red velvet curtain that cordoned off the video and peep show booths from the rest of the store.

“Bitch!” the man swore under his breath, balling his little fists. He watched the woman’s trim buttocks shudder from side
to side under her tight skirt as they and she disappeared behind the curtain.

The smell of spunk was stronger in back, the raucous moaning and groaning of video porn stars and live peep show performers rising and falling in rhythm to the heated slap of flesh against flesh, both on-screen and in-person. The woman’s heels clicked briskly along the tile corridor, past the booths and through the swinging door at the end of the hall.