She could feel his wet hotness as her husband's member exploded inside her.
‘Noooooooooooooo,’ she thought desperately, ‘Not yet, honey! Wait for me honey!’
It was too late though, he was already softening and getting ready to pull himself out of her warm tightness and leave for work. Like he always did lately.
She lay there panting, unfulfilled, for almost ten minutes, then slowly, dejectedly, pulled her thighs together. Her fingers had not been enough to overcome her disappointment.
She cried softly as she padded into the bathroom and adjusted the water temperature and volume. She washed herself meticulously, as usual. She was not in her fertile period, or she may have lain there longer. A few more days though, and they might have taken.
Turning off the water, and then using a fluffy towel for drying off, she stared pensively at her face though the fog of the mirror. The tears on the mirror seemed to mirror her own as they trickled slowly down the face of the glass. ‘We probably won’t have sex again till next month,’ she thought dejectedly.
In her bedroom, she gazed sorrowfully at her image in her dressing mirror. Her mind saw only her defects. She saw only her slight thigh bulge just below her too-wide hips, the miniscule remnants of childhood skin blemishes, how her breasts no longer seemed to be as high, or as bouncy, or as firm as they had been when they had married.
She traced her hand softly under the tiny bulge of her abdomen. ‘Why does he not find me sexy?’ she asked herself for the millionth time. She left her mascara for when she was at work, since her tears would only smear it as she drove. She again resolved to lose that stubborn pound she had been working for the last year.
Deacon noticed her smeared makeup as he walked toward his office. She had been crying again, he could tell. ‘What the fuck is it with white men? They have these gorgeous women and yet refuse to keep them happy?’ Deacon shook his head as he moseyed on into his plush office.
As he sat in his high backed leather chair, he realized he needed to do something about his secretary. This was the third time this week he had seen she had been crying. She was too good a secretary to lose; and too dammed good looking. His eyes wandered to the swell of her breasts, modestly hidden behind her slightly tight, slightly form fitting sweater. He felt his dick swell as he thought about what a woman like that would be like in bed.
She always had this affect on him.
He pushed her intercom button and instructed her, “Angelina, would you come in here with your pad? We need to do some planning.”
“Yes sir,” she instantly replied, as she always did when he called. She grabbed her ever-handy steno pad and hurried to his office.
Deacon chatted about what his, and therefore ‘their’, goals for the week, then looked directly at her. He sensed her stiffen, as though his direct gaze made her uncomfortable. He could not help but notice that as she pulled her shoulders back, her nipples became obvious under her sweater. He felt his tumescing member swell even more.
She had quickly cast her eyes down, seemingly studying her pad of paper, but her blushing cheeks hinted at more.
“Angelina, call Madgeliies and make a reservation for me for Eleven Thirty this morning. Make it for two people, and then clear your lunch calendar and plan on going with me.” Deacon smiled in triumphant when he detected the deep blush on the woman’s perfect cheek bones. His eager, virile cock was now hard as a rock, pulsing for action.
Pretty Please? Two
“Reservation for two,” Deacon said smoothly. He pointed at his name in the reservations book.
Angelina was nervous. She had never been out to eat with her boss before. ‘He’s sure well built,’ she had admitted to herself. She wondered idly, feeling a twinge in her lower belly, what it would be like to be with him. The private thought instantly embarrassed her causing her to bow her head and her eyes to quickly fall to the floor. Her whole body was still tingly from being so turned on by her husband only to have him expend himself too soon then immediately pull out and head for work. He hadn’t even bothered to bathe himself. And her own fingers had only made matters worse. She looked shyly out of the corner of her eyes at Deacon’s creased trousers with their manly shape. She realized that she felt vulnerable, mostly because of her neediness and that . . . tingling sensation . . . . “down there”. She could not stop herself from wondering if it were true what they said about black men.
She followed respectfully a few feet back as the obviously gay Maître d' lead them to their table. She could not stop her eyes from glancing at Deacon’s well-packed tightly contained butt. She reproached herself for her carnal thoughts, but still caught herself glancing at his behind.
The Maître d’ made a few suggestions then left them to ponder the menu. Angelina was quite certain she was too nervous to eat. But then she worried that she would seem ungrateful and decided she would have to force herself to eat something.
“Would you like to split the seafood paella with me, Angi?” Deacon asked in his deep voice.
Too on edge to think further, Angelina quickly nodded her head and smiled nervously at him. “Thank you, sir,” she mumbled.
Deacon looked at her with those dark intelligent eyes of his for quite some time.
Angelina’s phone rang. “Hullo?”
She listened for a bit, then seemed to redden. “But honey, I thought that wasn’t going to happen for another month or two.” She was silent for a few seconds, the look on her face turned ashen. “OK, see you when you get back then.” Another few seconds of silence, then softly “Bye.” There were tears in her eyes.
Deacon’s dark eyes were still on hers. “Bad news?” he asked nonchalantly.
Angelina nodded, trying hard to fight back her tears. Her lower lip started to quiver.
Deacon put is hand over the top of hers, gently touching her. “Angi, you’ve been having problems at home, haven’t you?” he probed gently.
Not trusting her voice, Angelina nodded bleakly, her eyes closing as the tears came like a river.
Deacon let her cry for a few moments before he asked compassionately what was going on in her life.
Like a dam breaking, Angelina unable to hold back, heard her own words spill forth, even confessing that she deeply wanted to become pregnant, but that her husband felt it was not the right time. She finished her tale with the confession that her husband had just told her that he was going to be out of town for a week and a half, right during her most fertile period. Angelina began to sob, her perfect little body wracking in her disappointment as she desperately tried to keep the sounds of her anguish quiet.
Deacon let her cry, still gently caressing her hand as she sobbed. After a few moments, he scooted around the circular booth until he was sitting next to her. He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her head onto the side of his chest. Angelina did not resist. Deacon found himself cuddling the woman he had admired from afar for several years. It was everything he had imagined. The clean smell of her hair, the moist smell of her perfume, even the softness of her breast against the side of his stomach were more than he had ever dared hope for.
Their paella came, but they did not move apart. Anglina was able to eat more of it than she had thought she could. And when they had both finished eating, she smiled softly at her boss and murmured, “Thank you sir.”
Deacon smiled at her. “Angi, I am going on a one week site visitation starting Wednesday. I need you to come with me to help with cameras and measurements and categorizing, and all the other things I rely upon you so much for. Since your husband is out of town, that will work for you as well?”
Angelina found herself nodding in spite of herself. ‘Oh my god, a week with my boss, out of town. A week. With Deacon.’ She felt a strange sensation in her lower belly, as if butterflies had invaded her nether region.
Deacon smiled at her. “I will teach you how to love yourself, Angi. Like many young white women, you don’t do that very well right now.” His eyes bored into her head as if he already knew all about her.
She didn’t dare look away. “Yes sir,” she replied obediently.
The delicate fluttering sensations in her flat little tummy got stronger.