Читать книгу Quench My Thirst - R. Moreen Clarke - Страница 8

Sister Jenkins had a standing appointment on the third Wednesday of every month. Trevor rang her doorbell at eleven o’clock at night, and he was on time as usual. Denise never allowed him in through the front door. He was required to drive his car around to the back of the house and enter through the kitchen door. She was undoubtedly afraid her neighbors might see him and begin to ask questions. He could hear her heels clicking on the steps as she made her way down the short narrow stairwell leading to the door. She opened the door and retreated into the kitchen to allow him to enter the house. This night she was dressed in a long white satin gown. A lone strap crossed over her left shoulder. Her right shoulder was bare. The dress dipped daringly across her large, firm bosom. Nipping in across her flat stomach, it flared out again at her hips. A thigh-high split in the right side revealed a peek at her thick thighs.

The lady spares no expense on her clothing, he thought as he started up the steps into the kitchen. He started to turn toward the bedroom in the back of the house where he usually spent his time with her, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the front of the house. Puzzled, he followed her lead.

The drapes were drawn in the living room. Dozens of candles were lit along the fireplace mantel and strewn around the end and coffee tables. The strong aroma of vanilla musk filled the air. He set his bag down on the floor and looked at Denise. In the flickering light of the candles she did not look half bad, more feminine than usual.

She pointed to the grand piano in the far corner of the room. He raised his eyebrow at her quizzically. Surely she did not think he was going to make love to her on top of that piano. Women had the wildest imaginations sometimes. He would have to put this as delicately as he could. She was a very large woman, and the weight of the two of them on top of that piano could be a disaster waiting to happen.

“Honey, I am not Richard Gere, and you are not Julia Roberts. If we get on top of that piano, the legs will break like Pixy Stix,” he cautioned.

“No, they won’t. That’s a good strong piano, and I want you to make love to me just like they did in the movie,” she said sternly.

“It’s up to you,” Trevor replied and turned away from her. Quietly he began unbuttoning his shirt, silently praying the piano would take the strain, but there was no way in hell he was picking up her big ass and putting her on top of it.

“Wait!” Denise said, moving around to stand in front of him. She placed her hands over his to stop his progress. Pulling him over to the piano seat, she started to finish unbuttoning his shirt. She began planting wet kisses on his neck as she worked his shirt free of his pants. Diligently working on her fantasy, she unbuckled his belt and eased her hand inside his trousers.

Trevor could feel his manhood stiffening in response to her eager touch. He would give her what she was paying for. He placed his hands on her waist. The gown was satiny and slippery to his touch. He worked methodically, running his hands up and down her sides from hip to just under her armpits; delicately raking his fingertips along her skin through the flowing fabric.

Denise was growing hot and eager, her breathing quick and shallow as his lips fastened onto her neck. His breath was hot and moist in her ear as he sucked her earlobe. Pulling away from him, she feverishly pushed his trousers down off his hips. She gazed longingly at his rigid member jutting forward against the thin fabric of his silk briefs.

Trevor began nipping softly at her collarbone as he slipped the strap off her shoulder. His lips followed the line of the falling gown as it slipped lower on her bosom. The rigid tips of her large breasts held the soft fabric in place, not allowing it to fall. With each heaving breath the fabric rose and fell but stayed in place, covering her breasts. Deftly he cupped his hands under her arms and then inserted his hands in the sides of the gown and pushed it down off her breasts. Her breasts were like giant orbs of firm brown flesh. She stood naked to the waist before him. He cupped one breast in both hands and brought it to his mouth, teasing her nipple with his tongue.

Denise could feel the liquid moisture dripping between her thighs. If he touched her there, she knew she would be unable to contain the scream, which was burgeoning in her throat.

Determined to give her as much of her fantasy as he could, Trevor pushed back the piano seat and moved Denise to stand in front of him at the piano. The cover was closed over the ivory keys.

She could feel the cold rigid wood against her butt cheeks as Trevor slipped his hand into the side split of her gown. Expertly he found the wet throbbing bulb and stroked it lightly. Denise’s orgasmic scream pierced his ear as her breathing became more ragged and she went limp against his chest. Continuing to stroke her clitoris, Trevor slipped out of his boxers.

Standing on tiptoe, she tried to move away from his insistent fingers, unwittingly easing herself up onto the piano-key cover. She gazed hungrily at him and reached out to touch his erect penis.

He gently removed her hand from his shaft and placed a condom in it.

“Dress me,” he said huskily, latching onto her heaving breast with his mouth.

Feeling the wet juices beginning to run down her legs, Denise clumsily took the condom from his hand and unwrapped it. Fighting the weakness in her knees, she slid the condom onto the tip of his penis and began the process of unrolling it up the length of his shaft. She’d never done this before and would never have imagined how exciting it was to watch the silken skin disappear inside the latex casing, knowing full well the length of it would soon be disappearing inside her.

Trevor moved the piano seat closer to the piano and instructed Denise to raise one leg onto the stool. With the stool as leverage he was able to ease her buttocks into a seated position on the piano keys and enter her from a standing position.

Ignoring the discomfort of her position on the piano, she relished the feel of him inside her. Wrapping her free leg around his waist, she accepted the pain of the unyielding wood against her back as she pushed forward, driving him deeper inside. His hands clasped firmly onto her buttocks, holding her aloft while he rhythmically stroked in and out of her body.

He admired her strength. He knew she was uncomfortable, but she was taking every inch he had to offer. She was as strong as a bull. She was a large woman, but her skin was taut and firm. Her stomach was flat, her hips wide, and she possessed firm, round buttocks. Nothing on Denise jiggled; daily workouts made sure of this.

Feeling her orgasm again, he eased her down off the piano and led her down the hallway to the back bedroom they always used. Denise followed silently behind him. She stopped just inside the doorway and looked at him as he stood next to the bed waiting for her. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, and he was naked from the waist down except for a fresh condom, which she’d never even seen him put on. Such a handsome specimen of African-American manhood, and he was waiting for her. She smiled at the thought. He’s waiting to make love to me again.

Trevor studied the play of emotions on her face. Denise was a walking, breathing contradiction. She wanted a man as a permanent fixture in her life, yet she couldn’t yield the inevitable control over her life she assumed having one would take. If she gave herself a break, she would make a fine wife and mother. But she was too hard on herself and those around her. So she paid for the fantasy instead. He held out his hand to her. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said and invited her to join him.

She smiled demurely and started toward him. Her large breasts swayed naturally with the sexy roll of her wide, rounded hips. As she started across the room, her gaze fell upon a framed picture on the opposite wall. She looked from the picture to the man who waited at her bedside, and her fantasy came alive. He was home; her man was home.

She pressed her breasts against his bare chest and laid her face on his shoulder. She breathed deeply of the essence of him and was warmed by his scent.

He nestled his face in her long, thick hair and cupped her jaw in the palm of his hand, lightly running his tongue along the outline of her ear. With his other hand he caressed her large buttocks and pressed the length of his manhood against her belly. Small asses might be cute to look at, but he liked Denise’s ass. It was large, sturdy, and made a great cushion in the bed. When he pounded her deeply, her buoyant ass gave her a boost right back up against his dick. The throbbing in his dick got harder just thinking about the ride he was about to take.

Without further delay he got into the bed and pulled her onto it with him. He eased into the comfort of her soft, rounded curves. Her body enveloped his, and he rested comfortably on her double-D-cup breasts before pushing deeply inside her hidden passion.

Denise emitted a deeply satisfied sigh as she matched her movements to his. She rocked him back and forth, using the strength of her stomach muscles and buttocks to create a rolling sensation. She preferred the missionary position because it allowed her to watch her partner’s expressions. She’d practiced and perfected her own special hip roll for maximum pleasure.

Trevor let her take control because that’s what she paid him for, and he enjoyed the feeling of free-falling into her deep sea whenever she hit the perfect wave. He massaged one of her breasts and brought it to his lips, covering the large brown nipple with his mouth. His tongue encircled the sensitive button tip sensuously, licking and sucking alternately.

Denise’s breathing quickened, and her heart beat faster. His warm, wet tongue on her nipple was creating a raging storm in her body, and she knew an explosion was near. Her legs tightened around his thighs, and she gripped his ass cheeks with her long nails.

He felt the change in her body and immediately picked up the pace. He pumped faster, longer, and deeper inside her body until her rumbling moan signaled her climax had been reached. This signaled him to release his own cum deep inside his protective sheath.

Five minutes later he was back in the living room collecting his clothes off the floor. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes over. He would have to be more careful next time. Clients weren’t allowed extra time unless they planned it in advance and paid for it. He wasn’t too worried about Denise, though. Usually she didn’t even keep him the full ninety minutes anyway. He dressed quickly and headed out the kitchen to the side door. His envelope was waiting on the side table as always. He stuffed it into his pocket and closed the door behind him.

Denise lay in the queen-size bed staring at the ceiling above her. The ceiling fan was still and the room eerily quiet after his departure. She stared vacantly at the white blades of the fan with the gold-accented tips, the tiny ball chain dangling beneath. She switched her focus to the E.C. Wright framed print on the far bedroom wall—the handsome Black Union soldier leaning down from his horse to plant a kiss on the upturned mouth of his black wife as he prepared to journey to war. Denise had loved this picture from the moment she’d first seen it. She was deeply touched by the handsome ultramasculine soldier heading off to war, stopping for a tender moment to say good-bye to his wife.

The perfect man, the man she’d never found. The embodiment of what she wanted was only a figment of someone else’s imagination. She’d often felt she was born in the wrong century. Not that she would have wanted to have been born a slave, but certainly in the after years she could have seen herself as the mistress of the plantation. Resplendent in the glorious gowns of the period with a manor-style home decorated with the finest artwork and collectibles. Yes, she could even see herself being waited on by servants. Even the idea of black servants did not disturb her dream; after all, she would be a good mistress to her help.

She shifted her position in the bed again and thought about the stunning specimen of a man who had just left her. She could picture him in the soldier’s uniform sitting upright on the horse, his sword holstered and his rifle at the ready, his strong steed dancing lightly beneath him as he used the strong muscles of his thighs to control the snuffling beast. There she was beside him in her fabulous pink gown, cinched at the waist and puffing out over the crinoline underneath. Her hair would be swept up in a French chignon, with little wisps escaping, creating a subtle softness to her face. She saw it all in her mind’s eye with a matte finish; painted with an artist’s brush. This was what she desired most but gave up looking for many years ago.

She rolled off the bed and walked to the bedroom door. Turning back into the room, she looked longingly at the print once more. Brushing an errant tear from her cheek, she closed the door and headed down the hallway toward her bathroom.