|Pretty Please? Three
Deacon looked languidly at her, holding her gaze as he smiled softly at her. “Angi, tell me about your marriage,” he instructed her.
The tears formed in her eyes, but true to her nature she replied “Yes Sir!” and began to tell her sorrowful story of her husband’s indifference to her needs, her desires, her goals in life. She described how she felt like a thing, not a person, how she wished her husband would kiss her with passion, rather than just take her and use her then roll over and go to sleep, or worse, get up and do something else.
Deacon’s fingertips slowly stroked her shoulder as she talked, making her feel warm and fuzzy as she unloaded to someone after so many years of a stale marriage.
“So tell me Angi, how old were you when you had your first orgasm?” Deacon asked out of the blue.
Angie’s eyes opened wide as her head jerked up to look her boss in the eye. She held his gaze for a few seconds, then her face fell as her lower lips started to quiver. “Well, Sir, . . . . . that . . . . remains to be seen,” she murmured faintly, barely loud enough for Deacon to hear.
Deacon was shocked. “Your what . . . thirty three years old, . . . right Angi?” he asked, trying once again to understand white men that obviously cared not one whit for their women’s needs.
She glanced up at Deacon’s face again, then, almost defiantly, pulled her shoulders back, sitting up tall and proud. “I will be on Friday, Sir. Friday is my birthday.” Then she crumbled, her shoulders hunched forward, her lips trembling in unmitigated vulnerability.
Deacon realized that not only was Angelina’s husband an undeserving cad, he was also a thoughtless ass. “Angi, Friday you and I will be on a tropical island in the Caribbean ocean drinking wine and having fun. So go home, pack your bags, and get ready to rock and roll! We leave tomorrow, so come to work ready to travel. We will be gone from here for a week. Anything you forget we can buy on the road, so pack light, just bring what you really need, OK?”
“Yes Sir” she replied, her sniffles already drying up. Angelina did not pull away when Deacon leaned down and gently kissed her.
Her soft yielding lips were even more than he had hoped for.
Angelina scurried around her cozy, clean little home getting everything ready for her absence even as she prepared her suitcase. She was determined to take only one suitcase, and she wanted it to be light enough that she could carry it herself. From the years she had worked for Deacon, she knew where his travels were taking him, and knew that she did not have to worry about cold weather in the next week. All of his projects were in the Caribbean this week. She packed her new single piece bathing suit, her underwear, and a few light dresses.
She dared not think of what she might do while with Deacon. Her lips still tingled when she thought of his kiss. Her face flushed each time she remembered the sensations that had flooded her when his soft lips . . . . . . his sooooooo soft, cushiony lips . . . . . how they had caressed hers. They had not been demanding, just assertive yet giving. Her husband’s, though he now kissed her rarely, were always brusque and uncaring. A kiss was her husband’s way of announcing to her he was going to have sex with her. He never made love to her, not even at first. She remembered their wedding night in the Motel 6. He had kissed her once, pulled her wedding dress up, pulled her frilly white panties and jammed himself into her opening. He had pumped for a few moments and then soiled her body with his sperm. He had then pulled out, and left to go get a beer, leaving her in the room sobbing, her beautiful new panties red with her virginal blood.
Thirteen years of his indifference had changed her perception of life. ‘Is it not time for me to begin to experience life?’ she asked herself.
She glanced in the mirror in the front hall as she walked by it on her way out the door. She was surprised to see twin peaks protruding from the front of her crisp white blouse. She stopped, backed up, and stared at them. She felt her nipples grow even harder as she stood there, studying them. Her mind fleetingly reassured her doubtful ego that Deacon would enjoy seeing them if they stood out like that. Her cheeks blushed when she realized she was again wondering what it would be like to have Deacon inside her. She flashed on what his manhood might feel like as it sank slowly into her. She felt her cheeks glow red, burning in embarrassment at her daring thought. Her fantasy when she had showered flooded back into her memory. Her fingers had been meticulously cleansing her tawny tangle when they had grazed her sensitive nubbin. She had gasped, surprised by her sudden heightened sensitivity there. Furtively she had again washed herself, wanting to be super clean . . . . just in case she decided to be daring and selfish. She shuddered as she half pretended it was Deacon’s dark fingers touching her there.
She wondered if, perhaps even hoped, that Deacon, would be proud to have a white woman on his arm, her nipples possibly taut with her anticipation, her breast pressed against his well-developed bicep. Angelina again sensed prickles where she was not used to feeling them. She tingled in her tawny ‘V’, a place she had never before felt such ruddy pleasure. And her nipples, . . . . turgid again, were tingling too! Staring at her obviously growing sensuality, she raised her hand and softly touched their prickliness. Her fingernails on their protruding cones made her lips draw back in a feral response to her own subtle stimulation. Electrical tingling flooded her breasts and womanhood.
She reluctantly admitted to herself that she liked these new sensual sensations.
Embarrassed by her unusually lurid thoughts, she quickly hurried out the door, refusing to admit to herself what was probably going to happen over the next few days, refusing to think about what might happen, unwilling to admit to herself what might be her thirty-third birthday present. Tugging her suitcase behind her, she banishing the remnants of her midnight dream of a tiny, kinky haired baby at her breast, suckling contentedly.
The flight to the island was quick, barely an up and down it seemed, as she felt the warmth of her excitement continue to flood her mind and body. As the plane began its descent, Deacon covered her small white hand in his huge, powerful, black-skinned one. Angelina’s body had stiffened when she felt his touch, but then had turned her hand over, interlacing her long slender fingers with his. They had not looked at each other, simply sitting in their seats seemingly looking straight ahead, but both their eyes sliding to look sideways at their interlaced interracial hand holding, each of them basking in the experimental, fond touch of the other.
Deacon’s dick had hardened, stretching down his pant leg in glorious, furtive display, which had caused Angelina’s succulent lips to part in timid astonishment.
From the time they landed until past dark the two of them were busy doing the as-built measurements of Deacon’s new architectural project. About nine-o’clock they finally trundled, exhausted, to their lodgings.
“Thank you Angi for all your help today. You are fantastic, I trust you know that.” Deacon hugged her affectionately.
Angelina’s heart skipped a beat as she soaked in his praise. “Thank you Sir!” She lingered in his embrace for as long as felt seemly. Her heart rate was elevated when she finally stepped away. “I think I will shower now, Sir,” she murmured as she headed for her bedroom with its private bath.
Deacon watched her incredible body till she disappeared into her room. He grinned when he noticed her look furtively at him as she shut the door. ‘What a woman!’ he groaned noiselessly. ‘Never seen a body as perfect as that one!’ He again felt his groin swelling as he visualized what he wanted to do to her curvy, tight body.
She was washing her loins when she heard the bathroom door open. She froze, wondering if it was really Deacon, or if it were someone else, like the hotel staff, or rapist. She grasped the curtain, pulling it protectively around her body as she peered out of the curtained enclosure.
“Just me, Angi. I came to wash your back for you.” The sound of his voice made her skin tingle. Angelina caught a brief glimpse of a long thick black phallus swinging as he stepped into the tub with her. He gently moved the shower curtain back and stepped in behind her. Before she could unwrap herself from the curtain and lean back into the tub, she felt his strong muscular arm encircle her, his large strong hand cradle the flat muscularity of her stomach. She sniffed his masculine smell as his forearm nuzzled her breast. His thickness felt hot pressing itself between her cheeks. She laid her head back on his shoulder, surrendering her body to him, no reservations. She had never felt as welcome in her life as she felt right then. His large hands on her breasts felt so very natural.
They both groaned as he began to harden.