His Big Secret
“Come over,” he said. We hadn’t been together in ten days, two weeks, I’d lost track. I was busy with other things, including spending time with my man. I’d also met a boy. “I miss you.”
“You miss my mouth on your dick,” I teased.
“I miss that too,” he said laughing. “Come over. I have champagne; and I bought some of those olives and the cheese you like.”
How could I pass on that? Cheese, olives, champagne, the dick that had me dick-matized—and, truth is, Big D and I often had fun together in addition to the sex. So I went.
I asked him as we were sipping champagne, “Why do I have to be such a big secret in your life?”
“I have to be careful, you know that.” He sighed. “I sit on a corporate board—“
“You hang out in public with other white women. I’ve seen you. Its not just race.”
“Well, you are….”
He didn’t know where to go with that without risking the blow job he was dying to have. Big D was uncomfortable with what I do for a living. It is not, from his perspective, entirely respectable.
“You are very outspoken,” he said.
“I flirt a lot,” I added, trying to help him out.
“You are a big flirt!”
“You are really insecure to be bothered by gossip.” Zing. I had him there. “People think I sleep with a lot more men than I do.” I didn’t say, I am sleeping with an international banker who takes me to black tie events, not with the regulars in your jazz bar. “You should be defending my honor, not listening to gossip. Why aren’t you?”
“Because you’re such a flirt….” He took my champagne glass out of my hand, set in the table and pressed my palm against the bulge in his pants. “Flirt with that.”
I stood up, stepped out of my black pencil skirt and unbuttoned my teal silk shirt. He put the pillow on the floor between his feet. I knelt down, leaned forward and took his dick between my breasts. He squeezed my breasts around the dick and thrust several times. Foreplay.
I grasped it firmly around the base and lovingly ran first the tip then the flat of my tongue up and down the shaft, pausing at the head each time to perform the silken swirl.
“You’re flirting with my dick,” he said, his voice thick and lazy.
I took his testicles into my mouth, one at a time, while I worked his dick with my hands. He breathed faster. I licked with a slow flat tongue from the base of his balls to the head of his dick. Glistening, it was ready for me. I sucked it into my mouth, flexing my PC muscle in time with my mouth movements.
When we were both ready to come, I took off my panties and mounted him. Riding him on his leather sofa, I felt like the mistress of the master. He came once and I, twice. Afterward, I curled up against his chest, happy to inhale him. He stroked my back and said, “I don’t come most of the time with other women, but I always come with you.”
I sat up and said, “You’re kidding. You’re the most orgasmic man I’ve ever known—over the age of 21, that is.”
He grinned and said, “But only with YOU!”
Now that rocked my world, blew my mind—fill in the cliché indicating shocking news.
“I enjoy the sex,” he said, “don’t get me wrong. I just seldom come.”
"Why not? I don’t understand….”
“You,” he said, putting a finger in the center of my chest, then moving it up through my cleavage, swirling around each arc of swelling breast, up my neck and finally tracing the outline of my lips with it. “ You make me come.”
I sucked his finger and asked, “Do you want me to make you come again?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Later, falling asleep alone in my own bed, I puzzled over his comments. I did believe him. I just didn’t understand why he didn’t absolutely adore me.
COMING UP, 4 more episodes: "You Don't Send Me Flowers"; Playing A Black Woman"; "Make Me Suck Your Cock"--and "The Last Time"
copyright 2008-2011, www.sexyprime.typepad.com; PARTIAL reposts only permitted with link back to original article on SexyPrime