Slippery When Wet: A Novel (Zane Presents) Page 14

  “Stop fucking teasing me,” she demands, breathlessly. “Give my pussy what it needs.”

  “Do you surrender to me?” I ask the question, knowingly. Sasha turned over her sexuality to me, surrendered what little inhibitions she may have ever had, the moment she laid eyes on me.

  “Yes,” she says, rolling her hips. “Now lean in and kiss my pussy, please, goddammit. You’ve teased me long enough.” I lean in and close my mouth over her wetness, lapping every so often. “That’s it, go slow. Ooooh, yes…Tongue my pussy. Mmmm, yes…like that, yeah. Kiss it. Mmmm. Give it to me good, baby. Oooh, yes…That’s right…”

  I take her clit in my mouth and lick the tip, then around the edges. Her fingers slid into my hair, fisting, as she grinds deeper into my mouth. Her pussy becomes hotter and wetter to my touch. The more I lick, the hotter it gets. The hotter it gets, the wetter she becomes.

  A river of juices flow out of her.

  I slip a finger into her hot wetness, curling it to an arch until I find her spot.

  “Mmmm…yes, that’s it.”

  I take her pussy deeper into my mouth, wriggling my fingers inside of her, hitting her walls before replacing my fingers with the tip of the wooden spoon. I dip it in and out of her as if I’m preparing to taste a special sauce. Her delightful, creamy cunt sauce.

  I slide the spoon down through her crack, over her tight asshole. Then smear my wet fingers over it. I push a finger into her damp tightness. Her anal climax is what will send her over the edge.

  She chants, “Yesyesyesyesyes…Mmmmmmmm…”

  She is coming again.

  As her clit fattens, the lips of her pussy swell, I slide my tongue into her slit while pushing the dildo into her ass. She gasps. Her chest heaves, her nipples tighten. I push the dildo in and out of her ass. Plunge my mouth over her clit, licking and laving, teasing and taunting. My fingers dig into her hips, plowing my tongue into her thudding cunt.

  “Oh, yes…mmmm, fuck…ooooh, yes…my pussy, my ass…uhhh…it feels…so good…”

  I pull back, peel open her sticky lips with my wet fingers. “Look at this naughty cunt, all wet and juicy.” I smack it with my hand. Then reach for the wooden spoon, again.

  Whap!

  Whap!

  Whap!

  She flinches and whimpers flexing her calves as she spreads her legs wider. I smack her cunt, again and again and again. She grits her teeth. Lets out a low growl. Another intense wave of heat shoots through her, I’m sure, as she bites her lip. I give her two more whacks of sweet torture, then bury my face back between her legs. Glide my tongue over and around her clit, then wet lips. I suckle and lick and nibble. Then dive my tongue inside her drenched heat. She grinds her hips and moans, coating my tongue in her sweet, slippery juices as she shudders out a moan of ecstasy.

  I lick deeper.

  “Ohhhh,” she whispers. “Don’t stop. Please. You make my pussy feel so good.”

  My eyes flicker upward. A fire dances through me, causing my cunt to clench, my juices trickling out of me. Sweet surrender, I think, cupping Sasha’s pussy and pushing a finger back into her and curving it upward. My fingertip presses against her spot. And in rushing waves, Sasha comes fast and hard, her body shuddering as her pelvis crashes into the pleasure I have given her.

  Who am I?

  I am Laila Reynolds.

  I am the Cum Master.

  My pussy juice covers my fingers like a thick heated blanket as I ease them in and out of me; slow and purposefully, at first, then faster, rhythmically, smoothly. The heat of my pussy pulses around my fingers. I can feel my slick, silky walls clenching around my knuckles. I can’t believe how wet I am. How hot I am. Then again, that’s a lie. I am always wet. Always hot. Wet with want. Hot with need. Wet and hot with hidden desires. Unspeakable desires. Dirty wants. Filthy needs.

  Rough and degrading.

  Name-calling.

  Hair-pulling.

  Neck-biting.

  Fucking.

  Fucking.

  And more fucking.

  Deep and fast.

  Hot and nasty.

  Shamelessly misogynist.

  Fucking me raw.

  In my pussy.

  In my ass.

  In my throat.

  Oh, yes! I love to fuck. Or should I say, be fucked. Love to be dominated—even smacked and choked to get my juices flowing. There’s no other way to say it. Fucking, being fucked, is heaven. It’s blissful. It’s oh, so, delicious! And there is nothing reprehensible about being fucked.

  Give it to me filthy!

  The dirtier it is, the nastier it is, the better. Period.

  And there’s nothing more tantalizing than a hot, sweaty, cunt-throbbing, ass-pounding fuck. And, no, not the kind of fuck that involves having my pussy gutted or my asshole stretched by some big, ol’ black dingaling attached to some tall, dark, scrumptious thick-bodied man. Oh, no. I’m talking about dirty, sinful fucking.

  The kind of fucking that’s laden with the smell of sweaty bodies—curvy and firm with beautiful breasts and wet, horny cunts; blanketed in soft moans, feminine wiles, and lascivious growls. The kind of fucking that is filled with reckless abandon and cum-slick fingers.

  And that’s what I’m masturbating to right now—the thought of being fucked mercilessly, all three holes filled and stretched beyond their limits, by an array of beautiful women of all shapes and sizes—at my desk in my office, behind a locked door.

  It’s my ritual. Masturbation. Playing in my pussy. Bringing myself to orgasm. Fantasizing about being gang-banged in an abandoned building. Being fucked like a slut. Being tossed around like a two-bit, cum-loving whore. Naked women wearing harnesses and strap-ons with soft skin, full breasts, long tongues, and wet, horny pussies fucking me, choking me, stroking multiple orgasms out of me.

  Oh yes…

  Tongue hot. Pussy churning. Hard nipples rasping against the fabric of my lace bra, my print jersey shift dress is hiked up over my smooth, round hips as I play out my fantasy in my head.

  As an educated, professional woman—who sits on the board of directors for numerous organizations and has spent practically her entire life fighting for women’s rights and speaking out against injustices against women, the fact that I have this desire to be gang-banged rolling around in my head is almost ludicrous. No, it is ludicrous.

  It’s crazy.

  But I can’t shake it.

  The images.

  Being dragged behind a dumpster or the back of a dilapidated building or forced into an abandoned car on the side of railroad tracks and fucked mercilessly. The urgency that comes with being fucked multiple times over and over and over by random participants, cunts exploding in my mouth, cocks fucking into my holes. My pussy wet with spit and cum, my throat raw.

  In my personal and professional life, I’d never allow myself to be disrespected. Calling me anything other than my name, Ebony Jaleesa Rice—or maybe a pet name if we’re intimate—is a no-no. To do so is grounds for getting cursed out from A-Z. Or worse…getting slapped.

  But behind closed doors, in the throes of hot, sweaty, shameless sex, I welcome it. Calling me whore, and bitch, and slut. It heats my pussy.

  I am a walking contradiction. I should not have these kinds of twisted thoughts. Should not have these kinds of desires. But I do. And the hushed conversations, the whispered giggles, the sideway glances, the accusatory fingers that would sure follow if any part of my secret fantasy came to light all fuel my sick want.

  “There she is. Nasty bitch.”

  “Someone said she was found naked, gagged and bound.”

  “I heard they fucked her in all three holes.”

  “I heard she liked it rough.”

  “I knew that bitch was a whore.”

  Oooh, yes…mmm…

  Yes, I’m a whore! A dirty, filthy, fuck-box!

  Oh, fuck me! Fuck my slutty pussy!

  I lean back in my leather, high-back chair and spread my legs wider. My ass sinks de
eper into the memory foam cushion of the seat as my fingers press against my clit, just so. Then slip into the softness, the slickness between my legs, into the hot slit where warm juices lubricate my pussy and coat its swollen lips.

  I feel myself about to be swept up in a thrashing wave of carnal need. The need to feel a tongue in my pussy, a finger in my ass, a cock in my throat; the need to be fucked from the back, fucked sideways, fucked upside down. The burning need to smell pussy, to taste it, juicy and wet; to feel it, hot and horny and pulsing. To have my face pressed into its musky, sweet feminine odor.

  To be forced to eat it. To have my face smeared in it. To have my head yanked back and my face slapped. To be thrown to the ground, hands held down, legs snatched open, and one cock-wielding woman after another, fucking me over and over.

  Dirty whore!

  Slut!

  I close my eyes.

  I am on the verge of climax, my sex spasming as I delve my fingers deeper into my slippery slit. My mouth is full of saliva, drooling at the thought of my wet tongue laving a clit, feeling it swell against my licking tongue as I slowly suck it between my lips, then use my mouth so that it almost feels as if it’s fucking a wet juicy cunt.

  In my mind’s eyes, my fingers become replaced with the cocks of three women. One woman is beneath me. I am straddling her. The second is in back of me. They are double-penetrating me. Both of their cocks stretching open my cunt. I am screaming and gaging as the third woman shoves her dick into my mouth, fucking my throat. Woman number three’s cock is neither as long as woman number one’s nor as huge as woman number two’s. But it’s thick, and it’s one of the prettiest shades of purple I’ve ever seen. She pulls it from out of my throat, slaps my face and lips with it.

  In my head, I grip it with my hand. Take control of it as I take it back into my mouth and massage the tip with my lips as if it were a real dickhead. I imagine it being her clit. Imagine my lips squeezing hard around it, sucking her creamy juices out.

  Oooh yessss…

  In my mind, I hear myself screaming out in ecstasy, coming in the hungry heat that deluges the inner space between my thighs as my fingers fuck into me, caressing my cunt walls with each stroke.

  Mmmm…

  My eyes float behind my lids as my free hand slides into the opening of my dress and caresses my right breast. My nipples are so hard, begging to be touched. I pinch it, then roll it between my fingers, finding the exact rhythm that intensifies the sensation.

  The air from the vent in the ceiling brushes against my pussy, cooling my slit and causing my clit to stiffen. Even with the chill in the air from the air conditioner, the softly oozing slickness and warmth of my pussy has my body overheating, melting.

  I gasp, pumping my hips onto my hand. The more I pump, the more I want, need. I need more than fingers stroking and stretching me. Removing my fingers from my sex, I lick my fingers clean, then reach over into my oversized purse and fumble inside, pulling out a bottle of Pink, one of my favorite lubes, and a thick dark-colored, three-inch silicone butt plug, its bottom flaring out into a curved base.

  My pussy floods with liquid heat and my nipples tighten at the thought of the plug being pushed into my ass, greedily and hungrily—my empty, aching holes being filled.

  Oooh, yes…

  One hand slipping back between my thighs, I rub my clit between my pointer and middle fingers, then dip them back into my wet pussy while using my other hand to slide the butt plug in and out of my mouth, wetting it with spit. I suck it as if it were an enlarged clit, suck it as if it were covered in sweet, decadent chocolate.

  Oooh, yes…

  I lift my legs. Plant my heeled feet up on the edge of the desk, spreading my thighs wider. I let my hand go from the base of the butt plug, sucking it as if it were a pacifier, while reaching for the lube. I pull my fingers out of my pussy, smearing my juices over my asshole, then remove my butt plug from mouth and squirt a globe of lube over it. I smear some into my hole, the cool lubricant causing my hole to pucker. I poke the spit-lubed plug into my tight ass.

  And gasp.

  “Oh, yes,” I whisper, pushing the plug deeper into me until the base presses up against the rim of my hole. Vivid images of a room full of naked women come into view. Colorful wet panties are tossed up on my desk. And the women are sprawled out around my office, fucking and sucking one another while I look on. I am a voyeur.

  My fingers sink into my cunt, getting entranced in wetness and heat and imagination, as thick brown nipples are licked and nipped and sucked into greedy mouths; as soft hands spread open ass cheeks and fingers dig into dark heat; as hairy and shaved and bald mounds are being stroked by wet tongues, the sweet sensual sound of pussy being licked and eaten; as cunt walls are caressed by thick, gliding cocks, being fucked into deep, delicious orgasms.

  The explicit visions cause my breath to quicken.

  “Oooh, yes…mmmm…fuck them sweet pussies…” I softly murmur, pulling in my bottom lip and using my free hand to pinch my nipples.

  I shut my eyes tighter and, surprisingly—well, okay…it’s not a surprise since I’ve had these images of the stuffy bitch two office doors down from me pop in my head twice before. Ellen James—with her smooth, milk chocolate skin, full hips, small waist, and big beautiful ass, clutching her black Mikimoto pearls—comes to view. She’s peeking through the slits of the blinds covering the long glass window that looks into my office, watching my fingers click in and out of my wet folds with prying eyes—judgment and curiosity coursing through her body.

  I imagine the prudish bitch dropping to her knees in her Joan & David pumps and knit pantsuit, crawling over to me, wildly flapping and flicking her tongue out as she makes her way over to me. She purrs, soft and kittenish. A possessed need in her eyes as she slithers in between my legs.

  “Yeah, bitch, eat my pussy,” I hear myself sneering, snatching her by the back of her shoulder-length, Brazilian weave and thrusting my pelvis into her face with its high cheekbones and narrow chin.

  Snotty bitch!

  I smear my pussy all over her lips. Bang my hips into her mouth.

  I should fuck your teeth loose, bitch…

  Ellen moans and licks my pussy in hungry, wet sounds.

  Oooh, yes, lick my pussy…

  Frigid bitch!

  I giggle at the image of Ellen’s full lips being glazed with my cunt oil as I am wiggling another finger, my third, inside of me, lifting my legs and pushing the butt plug in and out of my ass, stretching heat into its tightness.

  A gasp catches in the back of my throat.

  Ellen and I were both hired on at our firm around the same time. And were in the same training program. From day one of meeting her, I disliked her. She seemed to turn her nose up at everyone, like she was better than everyone else. My first impression of her: She’s a phony bitch! And ten years later, nothing’s changed. She’s still phonier than ever. Still stuck up. And—from what I’ve overheard around the gossip mill—a bore in bed. An Ice Queen.

  Hence her miserably single, lonely, sexless existence.

  I imagine yanking her prudish ass up on her feet, spinning her around, bending her over my desk, hiking up her skirt and tugging her underwear down to her ankles. I envision her wearing some basic cotton panties—white, maybe or some other boring color, her cunt hairs neatly clipped.

  I visualize myself pulling open her ass, pressing my clit into the center of her crack, my breasts rasping against her back as I lean forward and reach between her legs, playing with her slick cunt as I ride into her ass, my clit swelling with each thrust.

  I groan, arching into the pleasure and pressure that shoots through me, flooding my beautiful pussy with liquid heat, pumping hard and fast.

  I blink my eyes open, steadying my breathing. My face and body feels flush from the fire still burning inside my pussy. I shut my eyes, lean my head back, and finish riding out the flames.

  • • •

  “Miss Rice, there’s a Miss Swan on line one
for you,” my assistant announces over the intercom, startling me. I quickly compose myself, reluctantly pulling my fingers out of my warm wetness.

  A smile eases over my wet lips.

  Tamara Swan, with her tall, voluptuous body and large breasts, is my fantasy fuck. Even though we flirt unabashedly with one another, we’ve not once slept together, yet, in the two years that I’ve known her. But there have been plenty of nights where I’ve fucked myself to sleep imagining her thick body pressed against mine and my legs wrapped around her waist as she fucks—what I imagine to be—her large cock, into me.

  I take a calming breath. “Thanks, Kristina,” I say, clicking over. “This is Ebony Rice speaking.” I slide my fingers into my mouth, licking them clean, then reach into my bottom drawer for my box of Wet Ones, tear open two packets, then wipe my hands.

  “My, my, aren’t we the formal one today.” The minute I hear her rich, sultry voice on the other of the line, my pulse quickens. And I feel myself on the edge of another climax. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  Oh sure. I’m sitting here with a wet pussy and sticky fingers.

  I lick my lips. “No, not at all. I was just finishing up lunch.”

  “Mmmm, yum. What did you have?”

  Pussy.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease, shifting the phone to my other ear. She lets out a soft chuckle, then tells me she tried reaching me on my cell before calling the office. I reach for my iPhone and see that I have four missed calls, and six text messages. “Well, I’m glad you called. I’m wet with desire hearing your voice.”

  “Such the flirt.”

  “I’m serious, Tamara. As much as I enjoy our cat-and-mouse play, why don’t we stop toying with one another and go right for the kill. I wish you’d just take me and have your way with me already.”

  She laughs. “Some things are best left untouched. For now, anyway.”

  I grin. “So there’s still hope.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Ugh, you’re such the dream-killer.”

  She chuckles. “Umm. Sweetie, I make dreams come true. So I would wait to hear my reason for calling you before you go labeling me.”