This is a short story about a couple engaged in threesomes
Salim entered his townhouse suite, closed the door behind him, and tossed his mahogany leather, attaché case and dark blue pinstripe blazer indifferently on a black leather ottoman in the foyer.
“Naomi, please tell me you chef’ed up one of your specialties tonight, cause I’m starving.”
A set of keys attached to a white gold keychain, and matching money clip, slid across a thick, dark green marble coffee table in the living room.
“Maybe that breaded chicken dish, with your famous style of Mac & Cheese. And if you really want to make it a good night, tell me you made some dessert too,” Salim added.
A stack of envelopes were scattered across the coffee table aside a couple of works from Diderot and recent issues of Robb Reports; credit cards, gym membership, light bill, cable. Junk mail. One by one, Salim glossed over them, and tossed them with a flick of his wrist right back on the coffee table. He just assumed Naomi felt the same way from the manner in which they were scattered about.
Salim loosened his tie with each step, and headed straight towards a sliding walk-in closet designed in polished wood resembling a wall. He knelt on one knee, moved shoeboxes aside, revealed a digitized safe hidden underneath a floor panel. A Glock 9MM was removed from his waist, he placed it atop close to a hundred grand in cash wrapped in bank tape; there were several passports, leather-bound ledgers, and documents neatly aligned within.
That had become only one of Salim’s rituals after a long day of work – stash his weapon away, document his day’s progress, soak in a visual of his secret finances.
Salim had been running his promotions company for close to five years. It took less than one year to get it up and running, and only another six months to partner up with the right sponsor to catapult their business well into six figures; not an easy feat considering the competitive field. He was just that good, Marketing and Advertising his element.
Another ritual: scan over one of his most prized accomplishments which skyrocketed his company to success – a glass encased poster in which he booked the Young Money/Cash Money triple team threat of Lil Wayne, Drake and Nicki Minaj, one of the hottest label’s at the time, to a sold out venue, The Stadium, one of the hottest clubs.
There were times where he lost countless moments just staring at it, dissecting every minute detail. Well, Nicki specifically, and that black cat suit she crushed with that seductive look over her shoulder, back shot. Not that evening. What held his focus is what sat in the center of a brass and glass table in the den: a crystal chessboard, by its side, a copy of Ars Amatoria by Ovid.
The crystal pieces weren’t set up to begin a new game. To the contrary, there were less than ten pieces spotted over the face. End game. White, distinguished by the ivory accents inside, checkmated black, onyx accents, with a clever stratagem of a rook, two pawns, and a bishop.
Salim knew he couldn’t touch it. To reconfigure the pieces for a new game would have opened the door for ridicule. Naomi won the last game; the last three to be exact. Just to think, in the beginning she hadn’t the slightest interest in the game. It was Salim’s keen interest in the centuries old game, which sparked a similar interest in his soul mate.
While it may have taken others years to get a deeper concept of the game – formulate strategies, project three and four moves ahead, study their adversary to play not only the game, but their opponent as well – for Naomi it took mere months. She made it a point to tout this gift to Salim. Rub it in by reminding him of the price of such losses: the winner could have any fantasy fulfilled for one evening. As it stood, she was up three. For the past couple of years they engaged in other such games, with chess currently trumping Scrabble, all of which in the recent past Naomi claimed victory to.
“You know we gonna have to run that last game back, right?” Salim made his way to the kitchen, cracked a stainless steel fridge door. “No more being nice to you and playing you with my ‘B game’ either, cause you might actually think you doing something.”
Salim twisted the top off an ice-cold Corona. After taking a hearty gulp, an eerie feeling came over him when he realized he might have been having a conversation with himself for the last five minutes. He stood motionless; sensing, listening, processing.
“Naomi?”
No answer.
$$ $$ $$
That was weird.
Salim knew he remembered seeing Naomi’s Lexus in her parking space. Her Chanel pumps were at the foot of the recliner in the living room; on the seat, her compact black CK clutch. Her leather trench was even slung over the side. Salim took calculated steps through a darkened hallway, passed their daughter’s bedroom to see that it was empty, and headed to the master bedroom.
DJ Khalid’s ‘Major Keys’ rumbled quietly in surround sound with animalistic growls behind their cracked bedroom door. Pops of light flickered from a seventy-two inch smart screen inside, cast a dim glow, affected an almost angelic silhouette around the entrance. Salim prod the door open with the tips of two fingers as if he should have announced his presence in his own home.
The room took on a soothing aura.
Naomi had a habit, her pastime, collecting exotic oils. Turkey. France. Persia. India. Fragrances from foreign lands. Salim could detect mere moments prior to his arrival that she laced the entire place with a sweet aroma; a heavy scent of jade. A massaging leather recliner vibrated whisper quiet in the corner, next to it, a small end table. Aside from a night lamp, there was a bottle of Grey Goose with two half-filled glasses on ice; a quarter of the bottle was consumed.
“Hey baby,” came Naomi’s voice in a light, sultry tone.
Her greeting alone informed Salim that she was buzzing like crazy. He turned to the TV. On the screen, erotic images flashed, scenes from a porno, Black Angel, what Salim knew to be one of her favorites.
“Do you like what you see?” Naomi asked, her voice dripping in invitation.
A hazel-skinned porn star, Olivia Winters, looking as sexy as she wanted to be in two dimensions of Smart technology, so clear her image could have easily been mistaken to be right there in the room with them, was laid out, spread eagle, on the center of a plush white leather sofa, ass hanging off the edge, legs held high in the air, taking a thorough dicking from someone irrelevant to Salim.
She took close to a foot of that thick, vein-embossed, black phallus dipping in and out of her like a champ, her face twisted in the erotic throes of ecstasy every time that Mandingo long-dicked her deep with calculated strokes, but Salim was sure that’s not what Naomi was referring to.
Salim knocked back a few more gulps of his beer, downed it to less than a third. A part of Salim found himself drawn to the vibrating recliner in the corner and the relaxation emanating from it. That is until the lure of their custom king-sized draped in a delicate white silk canopy parted down the middle and fully raked back to give him the perfect view inside became too strong of a temptation to resist.
“You know I do,” Salim uttered smoothly making his way bedside.
He soaked in that feminine specimen positioned invitingly on the center of his bed, donned in nothing but a pair of cherry red, paisley boy shorts, and a matching paisley bra, like he’d never seen a spectacle so magnetizing in his entire life. Once Salim came within range to stand only a few feet away, she began to squirm across the surface of white silk sheets as if his presence ignited raging hormones she could no longer contain.
Salim finished off the rest of his beer, downed it to suds. He debated on if he should knock down a few shots of that Grey Goose. He could see from Naomi’s planning that he had a long night ahead of him, and strong liquor always did the trick of bringing out the true freak in him; what he could see it had already done to her.
Just as quick, he decided against that.
He didn’t want to blur his faculties too much.
Naomi invested energy into planning and execution, so he wanted to cherish that moment, savor it with a relatively sober mind, experience and remember everything it had to offer. Salim placed the empty beer bottle on the nightstand by the bed. He only managed to unbutton the top three buttons of his sky blue Kenneth Cole dress shirt before that anxious presence melted into his personal space. She reached out to rest her hands over his with a set of perfectly manicured, Gucci-tipped fingernails to stop him.
“No. Let me,” she said softly.
She took her time, proceeded sensually down each button, stripped him of his shirt, slacks, peeled his tank top from over his head. Salim stood before her, bare, in only a pair of black silk boxers. His eyes were sliced heavily in lust. He could see hers were too – she licked her lips deliciously, then lowered them to his waist.
The weight of his erection began to stiffen, gradually harden, but he was far from being as proud as he knew he could be; although the devilish glare in her eyes was sure to accomplish just that if Salim continued to stare into them long enough.
The eyes were the windows to her soul.
Everything that could be revealed was speaking to him through them; hunger, lust, desire, passion. She crawled from the bed to lower herself to her knees on their plush white carpet before him, peered up at him through those same desirous eyes, bowed before him, became his sacrifice, her offering to his flesh tabernacle. Her petite hand slipped into the slit of his boxers, nimble fingers circled around him.
“How long have you been planning this?” Salim asked, fragments of passion filled his voice. Her delicate hand managed to fish out and free his erection through the slit. It only took seconds under her firm caress to get his thick, close to ten inches stiff, pulsating within her hand.
“About a week. I did win that last game of chess, you know,” Naomi said, pronouncing her win as if she was victorious in all aspects. That gentle hand managed to coax out a few small droplets of his essence, two fingers smeared it all over his bulbous head. Her other hand cupped his heavy bloated sac to massage him lightly.
“Yes, you did,” Salim breathed heavily, “and this is your fantasy?” Salim remained glued to her tongue brushing deliciously across those plump red kissers, the way she licked her lips, before she proceeded to swipe up his essence with the tip. She began to lick all over him like a flesh lollipop.
“One of them,” Naomi mentioned.
Salim released a throaty moan when those soft wet lips wrapped around his knob. Her tongue licked fiercely at the tip inside, she sucked expertly on the head, her saliva-coated hand slid in a circular motion from his base to meet her lips, she squeezed him up in her mouth trying to siphon as much of his natural nectar as he would supply her with.
“But not quite the whole fantasy.”
Salim fought to keep his eyes locked on those lips sucking all over his erection, how those eyes attached to those lips made it a point to stare up at him the whole time to soak in his reaction, gauge the pleasure her lips provided, but couldn’t help but to be drawn to the movement coming from the corner. A hand weighed down in platinum and diamonds – three-karat tennis bracelet, charmed bangle, two diamond rings – circled around the neck of the Grey Goose bottle on the nightstand and drug it across the surface.
The massaging recliner shut off.
Naomi moved across the room toting that bottle of liquor, her gallant stride strong, her strut confident, smooth, like she was floating on water to take Salim’s side after knocking back a few more shots. She peered down at the female on her knees before her husband, the woman bobbing her head up and down, sucking all over his dick, then sliced her eyes up to him.
A mischievous grin rippled across her lips.
“In order for this to be my fantasy,” Naomi said, lightly running her nails down the female’s back as she would a kitten to make her purr, “I would have to get in on this too.”
$$ $$ $$
Naomi took it upon herself to alternate the images of erotica on the screen for another before she officially introduced Salim to that feminine specimen who already introduced herself to him by acquainting him with her lips and tongue.
Her name was Madie.
She was full-blooded Puerto Rican, fresh off the island, Boricua to the bone. Five-foot-five, one hundred and forty something pounds of physical power. She came equipped with milky, butter pecan skin, ferocious vixen curves, and thick, jet-black, spaghetti string curls that flowed over her crown down to the center of her back.
She spoke broken English, held an uncanny resemblance to Selena due to their similar characteristics, mainly around the eyes and the way she coated her thick lips in a bright shade of beet red lipstick, but it was her slim waist, wide coke-bottle hips, firm round ass, and powerfully thick thighs, making her debut in that expensive, designer cherry red paisley set, that really paired her with the Latina legend.
Salim lay completely stripped, down to his bare essentials in the center of their huge king-sized, with Madie equally stripped in her butter pecan birthday suit, snuggled up close by his side. From the moment she first laid eyes on his powerful Asiatic physique – his six foot, two hundred and ten pound frame of chiseled flesh, his almond brown skin, and throbbing ten inches covered in veins – she hadn’t been able to take her eyes, or her hands, off of him.
The second scene Naomi decided they were to indulge in was one of Salim’s favorites – strictly ménage-a-trois. One well-endowed brother servicing two, extremely curvaceous women in their sexual prime; exactly what he had before him. Naomi started those sultry scene of events from the beginning, episodes they both knew to be over four hours long, and sliced her way through the folds of the canopy at the foot of the bed like a human feline.
She crawled over to her husband on her hands and knees, her short, spiky, a la circa Hallie Berry haircut styled to perfection. She held Salim locked in her line of vision, stalked him. Salim remained silent, perfectly still.
He just watched her.
Her heavily mascaraed thin eyes and high cheekbones. Her undiluted blue/black skin glowing in the dark. Her 36C-24-43 inch powerhouse measurements as she rose upright on her knees and reached around to unclip her bra, the last article remaining to take her down to her born day; she tossed it indifferently over her shoulder for it to land next to Madie’s crumpled designer jeans and half-shirt that read, ‘Got Milk?’ across the chest at the foot of the bed.
Two layers of chocolate with a creamy caramel center on the surface of white silk.
“Look at you, laid up like you the king,” Naomi said in a fluffy voice.
Salim sat propped up on huge down pillows against the headboard with his arms stretched out; one of them was coiled around Madie’s shoulder palming her breast, his legs spread wide as if it was some unspoken invitation to Naomi.
“Get it right. I’m the god,” Salim corrected, quite sure of himself.
“That you are. And who am I?” Naomi ran her French-tipped fingernails from the heel of Salim’s foot up his right calf, and traveled deliberately into the center of his thighs; he shivered from the sensation.
“My beautiful Asiatic goddess.”
The title he bestowed upon her got a wicked smile out of Naomi. She used that as her sign of permission to pay homage – she smoothly circled her fingers around his shaft, then eagerly secured her lips over the head.
Salim melted, groaned, an ecstatic, “Ohhh…that’s what I’m talking about, my queen,” poured from his lungs.
Naomi ventured there enough times before to know exactly how to push all of her husband’s buttons; push all of his buttons, maneuver the levers, and even twist a few cranks. That was the difference between Naomi and nearly every other female Salim ever encountered. Naomi genuinely loved to perform oral, a woman with an insatiable oral fetish. She got something out of it, and not just the gratification of being aware of how much pleasure she delivered to her significant other.
Salim paid little attention to the images on the screen. Madie on his side watching with intent eyes as Naomi worked his dick over something serious with her hands and mouth provided more entertainment than any visual of some faraway strangers.
Naomi perfected the art of sucking dick, and within just a few minutes of showcasing her talents – she took close to a ruler’s length of his thick, black shaft down her throat to his neatly trimmed pubic hairs, a couple of times, as if to show off her talent to that little Puerto Rican voyeur, performed tricks even Superhead would salute – could sense how her skills, and the excitement of the event she planned for the evening, was pushing him dangerously close to the edge. That prompted her to cut him short; she smoothly sucked up the entire length of his shaft, kissed the head of his dick coated in saliva with puckered lips, and released him.
“Naw, chill, don’t stop.” Salim instinctively reached out to guide Naomi’s head back over him. He gently caressed the side of her face inches over his throbbing erection. “Wisdom, what is you…what is you doing? Don’t stop. You got that shit feeling so fucking…”
“Easy, Sa,” Naomi purred with a smile, “remember, this is my fantasy. Not yours. Mine.” Naomi winked at him.
She turned and set her sights on Madie.
Naomi went on the attack, and crawled to hover over her like big game claiming the prize of prey after the hunt. Their lips met, Naomi tongued Madie down with passion, dominated her. A murmur of muffled whimpers vibrated from deep in Madie’s chest. Salim thought it was only a product of Naomi applying her talented tongue on her, rolling it in waves in her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip. That is until he caught glimpses of Naomi’s hand deep between Madie’s thighs, exploring, stimulating, tickling her fleshy petals with the tips of two fingers.
Salim sat back to luxuriate. Lust-filled squinted eyes scrutinized every second of Naomi, his wife, reducing that little badass Boricua to putty under her touch. She fingered Madie knowingly, curled her index and middle finger under her hood, stimulated her G-spot, rolled her thumb simultaneously in circles over her wet clit, and tongued Madie down like they were lifelong lovers making up for lost time.
Madie panted stifled breaths of, “…Aie, mama…aie…aie dios…” into Naomi’s mouth.
She squirmed, spread her legs wider, anxious, thirsty, her pussy greedy, she raised her hips up off the bed to roll them in perfect synch with Naomi’s hand. When Naomi thoroughly wet her fingers between Madie’s thighs, sensing she had her right on the edge of an orgasm, she withdrew those soaked digits and raised them to their lips.
Both women licked all over Naomi’s saturated fingers, both determined to savor most of Madie’s natural flavor to themselves. Naomi finally fed her those two fingers, which Madie sucked like a small dick, until she pulled them from her lips to kiss her again. Not for long, just enough to feed on Madie’s sex from her own tongue. Naomi kissed the side of Madie’s neck, sucked on her earlobe, and whispered into Madie’s ear. There was no hesitation on Madie’s part. She anxiously folded over in the next breath to take Salim back in her mouth.
“Do you like her?” Naomi asked, taking her place back by her husband’s side.
“I do,” Salim confessed.
He cleared away loose strands of Madie’s long hair that partially veiled her face, and made sure he got a real good look at her plump, red lips stretched around his erection sucking him so beautifully.
“I knew you would. I know you got a little thing for the Spanish mommi’s.”
Naomi spoke to Salim, but kept her eyes on Madie. A woman studying the skills of another woman unleashing her skills, sucking all over her man’s dick. On the scale of technique, skill, overall talent, Naomi rated her at about a six. That was being generous. It wasn’t too hard for Naomi to tell that Madie probably hadn’t had the fortune of enjoying such a glorious piece of black flesh in her twenty-four years of existence.
Not the way she struggled to fill her red-coated lips around his huge bulbous head. Not the way she could only take him down to about half no matter how badly she tried to squeeze him in her mouth. Not the way she groped at him with both hands, with her caramel fingers appearing unusually petite circled around his thick black shaft.
Naomi received an internal sense of pleasure out of that.
Yeah, six was generous. Time to up the ante.
“Do you want to fuck her?” Naomi posed flatly.
$$ $$ $$
Madie’s slurping became more vocal, sloppy, animated, she moaned pleasurably, and tried to stuff even more of Salim in her mouth. Naomi wasn’t sure if it was a product of her voicing the possibility of allowing her to experience all of that meat digging up in her thighs, or if Madie sucked him so passionately to make sure he answered in the affirmative.
“Do you want to…watch me fuck her?” Salim returned quite coolly considering the request, and under impressive composure considering the intense pressure that bombshell applied, bobbing her head up and down in his lap. “Is that your fantasy?”
He didn’t leave Naomi much room to respond before he leaned over to kiss her; he snaked his tongue deep in her mouth, as if he could no longer resist. She appeared mouthwatering to him at the moment. Her lips, her chest, her ass. He reached over to fill one hand full of it.
Oh, how he loved her ass.
Salim was convinced that his woman, his wife, his one and only, had the roundest, most perfectly shaped natural ass. Better than any other woman he ever dated. Another hand slipped between her thighs, searched for heaven. Despite the foreign mouth sucking between his thighs, he wanted to soak in her flesh, that tight, wet silk he knew to be dampening his wife’s fleshy pussy lips from their carnal foreplay. Naomi refused. She only allowed Salim a taste, a slight touch of two fingers sampling her wet lips open before she stopped him cold.
“It is,” Naomi confessed.
She lifted Madie’s head from her intense ministrations, and helped to position her over Salim. She held her husband’s rock hard erection at the base, his saliva-coated black shaft pointed like a dagger to the ceiling, and even used a couple of fingers to slice Madie’s fleshy petals open for his entry.
“I want to see you fuck the shit out of her. Punish her! Blow this little pecan bunny back the fuck out!”
Madie instinctively arched her back, and with her eyes closed, took him in slowly with her mouth agape, mewling out an almost pathetic, “Aie…papi…grande penga. Aie dios…es grande. Por favor…es pacito…es pacito, papi,” the more Salim filled her tight, wet crevice with his thick slab of black flesh.
Salim took his time with her.
He knew how to make love, and he knew how to fuck, and the way that little Selena look-alike responded to him, he knew exactly how to fuck the shit out of her to give her exactly what she came for. He palmed her meaty ass cheeks in both hands, an ass that wasn’t nearly as fat or firm as his own woman’s, opened her up from behind, and slowly worked her hefty but petite frame up and down…up and down, side to side, with each thrust feeding her more and more of his rock hard flesh.
It took some time, effort, and concentration – that little bad ass Boricua was surprisingly, and deliciously tight – yet slowly but surely, Salim exhaled a throaty, “That’s it, mommi, take it for the team. Cause I’m getting all of this shit up in there,” and managed to squeeze himself all the way up in her to the hilt, grinding it up in her from underneath for good measure, nestling her snugly on his lap.
“Aie…papi. Dame…dame mas. Feel sooo good. Es good. Por favor, dame…dame,” Madie moaned when she felt every inch of him deep in her belly.
Salim gripped her ass tighter, and pulled her down on him even closer; he purposely ground it up in her with the most wicked of intentions to open her, deepen her, make her little petite ass feel every inch. She folded over, stuffed her tongue in his mouth, tongue kissed Salim with an unbridled lust, moaned, panted, and cut off her own cries of ecstasy that filled every crevice of their lavish master suite.
Salim felt a warm hand cup his balls. Naomi massaged him delicately between her fingers. Her other hand found the small of Madie’s back. Every time Salim danced Madie up to the tip of his dick like a slow rising ’64 Chevy Impala on switches, Naomi fiendishly pressed her hand on the crown of Madie’s ass to ease her down to impale her with all of her man’s pipe.
“There you go. Don’t run from it. Get used to it. Take it all in like a champ, J-Lo. You doing good, you got it. Don’t let him win. Be a big girl, back him down. Don’t keep running from it, bang back on that dick,” Naomi urged, like a corrupt coach on the sidelines.
Salim began to fuck that Spanish girl so smoothly, so strong, with such rhythm and finesse, that it took him less than five minutes of straight long stroking that pussy from side to side, up and down, with a corkscrew snap of his hips on the down stroke, for Madie to cry out, “Aie dio…aie dios! Oh, FUCK… papi…papi…I’m…I’m cumming. I’m cumming!” and squirt her orgasm all over him.
She threw her head back to the ceiling, eyes rolling in her head, fingers clutching at his tattoo, muscled chest. She cried out to the savior in Spanish, and shook violently on top of him like she was having a climatic seizure, all of which only enticed Salim to not let up for a minute. In fact, her moans of ecstasy only urged him to switch positions, flip her over on her back, spread her sweat-glistened, caramel thighs wide, and long dick her little ass even harder like she disrespected him by giving him the pussy.
The bed rocked underneath them to a smooth rhythm. Madie was snatched from one dimension of pleasure to another. Her head bobbed like she was nodding to the beat; pants of excited breaths popped from her lungs. Salim threw her thick caramel thighs up over his shoulders, reached underneath, palmed both of her ass cheeks, spread her open wide like a massive, three thousand page legal textbook, right down the middle, and began to lay down the law, pronouncing judgment on her.
He manhandled her, bullied the pussy, busted her open, a melody similar to mixing macaroni & cheese in her honey pot. He contorted her petite body into the most compromising position, left her helpless, utterly vulnerable, tossed her sturdy frame under his weight, dug that pussy out, deepened her, left her with some elasticity forever lost, left her pussy gushy, sloshy, spitting up cum, the whole time growling animalistic pants of, “Yeah…yeah! Fuck…you think…this is? Take this…take all…this motherfucking…dick!” banging on her pleasure box from all angles for a good twenty minutes, straight, with Naomi lying next to them.
Naomi observed her husband behind the mask of a perverse smirk. She analyzed in his performance, his technique, studied the way he slowly chipped away at her arrogance, conquered her conceit, broke that little badass mommi down to the last compound who fought through it all, took it all, until she could take no more, and finally shrieked out for a final time when she came for the fifth time, “Papi…papi…pa…pi…aie dios mio! No mas! No mas! No mas!” tapping him excitedly on his thigh, her unspoken signal of waving that proverbial white flag.
Salim slowed his pace, took his time, and hit her off with just a couple more long, deep, all the way in, all the way out thrusts, just to make sure he worked the last of Madie’s explosive orgasm out of her. Just to make sure she remembered his manhood, and that moment. He gradually eased his thick, black, cum-glazed, veiny chunk of flesh from her insides, unsheathed his Excalibur from her womb, his weapon that bodied her, rendered her to a panting pile of flesh, and soaked in the results of his handiwork.
Madie’s entire body was damp with sweat; she shone in the afterglow of several orgasms. Salim beat that pussy up like Tyson in his prime. He left her open, custom-fitted for his comfort, deepened, and soaked, enough to puddle and fuck up the white silk sheets underneath her ass cheeks; she left a huge wet spot, tears of joy about the size of a volleyball. Salim fell out on his back between Naomi and Madie, slightly winded, his thick dick still stiff and strong, shining like a glazed doughnut from being drenched in Madie’s multi-orgasms.
“Damn, Sa. You really tore her little ass up. Why you do her all like that?” Naomi asked mockingly, peering up at Salim with a sly smile. A few beads of perspiration bubbled up on his forehead. He was panting throughout his horizontal workout, but just as quick, came into full control of his breathing. “I told her she couldn’t handle you. Handle all that dick, or that stamina, but she said she could.” Naomi chuckled. “I knew she couldn’t.”
Madie lay spread out on her back, on the edge of the bed, she struggled to catch her breath. Winded, beat down, exhausted, she became the mirror of a woman who reflected the image of someone who just got thoroughly, and savagely, and severely fucked.
Hair disheveled, lips flush, eyes sliced low, handprints and red marks on her ass, thighs, ankles, she breathed in labored pants like the end of a five-mile run, nonstop. Naomi glanced over to her. When their eyes met, Madie cowered, shied away, embarrassment humbling her. Her look spoke volumes, her demeanor that of a woman who couldn’t face the fact that she took on a challenge she clearly couldn’t live up to.
“So, did you like my fantasy?” Naomi questioned.
Salim ran his hands up and down Naomi’s hips. Her waist so slim, stomach so flat, thighs so thick, so smooth, so chocolaty black, her hips ballooned out something incredible. The weight of her succulent C-cup hung too close to his face to avoid the temptation – he wrapped his lips around her right nipple, nibbled at it tenderly, rolled his tongue over it. Naomi’s ecstatic giggle sounded like music in his ears. Salim worked his hands down and around to palm her ass. He massaged her round bubble in complete admiration.
“I did like that,” Salim sighed, positioning his wife perfectly over his waist, “I liked that you enjoyed seeing me enjoy myself. But all this beauty right here,” Salim parted Naomi’s ass cheeks, spread her open from behind, and guided her over his erection to slide that pussy he custom-fitted himself in for the last seven years down so smoothly in one stroke till he sat her in his lap.
“I love this even more. Love this more than anything on this planet. More than any fantasy you could ever bring home to me. Because you, my queen…” he began to stroke her, with passion, like he’d been given a second wind, staring deep into her eyes the whole time, “…ain’t nobody fucking with this shit. You are my one and only, true fantasy in the flesh.”
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