Fantasy (2 page)

“Aw, sweetie, I’m so tired. I wish I could see you, but I can barely muster the strength to take a shower. And after I shower, I’m planning to fall right into bed.”
“Can I fall in bed with you?” Isaac’s voice was low and sexy but held a subtle pleading quality.
“Not tonight. I’m so beat; I know I won’t be an exciting lover. And you know how I do . . . I like to put my back all in it; I give as well as I get.”
“But you don’t have to do anything,” Isaac said beseechingly. “Let me come over; let me do you,” he cajoled. “I’ll give you a massage from your head down to your toes, and when my fingers get tired, I’ll massage your body with my lips.”
Isaac’s sexual innuendoes were starting to stir her desire, making her wet. She was tempted to tell him to come over, but she knew Basille was already en route.
“Isaac,” Marissa interjected.
“What?”
“Are you dressed?”
“Yes,” Isaac said excitedly. “I can be there in twenty minutes or less. Unlock the door, lay down and wait for me.”
“No, no. Listen. Do you have on a belt?”
“A belt? Yeah, why?”
“Unbuckle your belt and unzip your pants,” she said using a sultry tone.
“Oh!” Isaac said. His breathing quickened as he began to comprehend the meaning behind Marissa’s words.
“What color are your boxers?”
“Blue,” he told her. His voice was strained.
“I want you to run your hand over that blue cotton until you feel your dick swelling and getting hard.” She paused. “Do you feel it? Is it getting big for me?”
“Yeah, baby. I feel it; it’s real hard. It wants you.” Isaac’s words rushed out in a shuddering whisper.
“Now I want you to imagine my lipstick stain where the fabric splits on your boxers. Can you see my lips?”
Isaac moaned.
“Slip your hand inside, sweetie,” Marissa continued. “Pretend that it’s my hand touching you, squeezing that big dick.” She felt extremely powerful and sexy. It was a good feeling knowing her voice had the effect of an aphrodisiac. She knew her soft purr had Isaac feeling as sensitive as if he’d just popped some E. “Touch it, sweetie. Rub it for me,” she implored.
“I got it,” he moaned. “It’s in my hand.”
“Is it hard?”
“Real hard,” he groaned. “Damn, I wish you were here; I want you so bad.”
Marissa could hear Isaac’s labored breathing; she could hear the sound of rustling and friction as his hand brushed against fabric and stroked his rigid flesh.
“Slow down. I don’t want you to cum yet. I want to take your thumb and rub it up against the head of your dick. Mmm. It feels all slippery and moist. Now, hold onto it and rub it against my pussy. Don’t put it in,” Marissa cautioned. “I just want feel that good feeling of the head of your dick pressing up against my clit.”
“Ugh,” he uttered. “I wanna put it in; I wanna fuck you so bad; I wanna give you all this dick.”
“Okay, you can fuck me in a minute. But not now. Right now, I want you to get me real hot, make my pussy so juicy, that my sticky stuff is covering your dick like a second skin.”
“Okay,” Isaac agreed, panting. “Just the head,” he said.
“Wait a minute, Isaac. I have to take off my panties. Can you wait for me?”
“Yeah, but you have to hurry up, Marissa,” he urgently whispered as he stroked himself.
Marissa flung off her silk robe. She reclined on her bed and settled against three plumped-up pillows and then she opened her legs. She parted her inner lips with an index finger and circled her clit until it became firm and sensitive to her touch. Next, she inserted two fingers into her slippery hole. Her flowing juices, thick and syrupy, made a sensual slurping sound.
“Listen,” she told Isaac. “I want you to hear something.” She placed the phone between her legs so he could hear her pussy talk. Then she brought the phone back to her ear. “Did you hear my pussy; did you hear it talkin’ to you, sweetie?”
“Oh damn, girl. You’re really fuckin’ with me. I’m about to bust!”
“No, not yet. Wait!” she whimpered. She wanted to cum with him, with their toes curled as they harmonized their plaintive wails. But she was too late; she knew that her pussy talk was too much for Isaac. It was more than Isaac could bear. There was no way he could have possibly held back much longer. As she’d feared, Isaac gave an impassioned cry and ejaculated into his own hand. Marissa gave a heavy sigh.
Damn, her pussy was on fire, but she’d have to wait for Basille if she expected to get the release she needed.
Isaac continued to groan and mutter incoherently. Finally, he found his voice. “What the fuck! I felt like I was really inside you. I don’t know what you’re doing to me but, damn, girl, I love the shit out of you.”
“Yeah, sweetie, I dig you too,” Marissa said, deliberately leaving out the word
love
.
And then the doorbell rang. “Look, Isaac. I have to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said hastily. There was no time to murmur softly and pretend to cuddle after having phone sex.
Not tonight. Basille, slinging good-ass dick, was standing outside her door.
“Was that the doorbell? Were you expecting someone?” Isaac demanded.
“Pizza delivery,” she said. “I have to eat something before I go to sleep.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, sounding unsure. “Well, okay. Pleasant dreams; have a good night.”
“Oh, I will,” she said, quickly. Too quickly. But what the fuck. She was excited about Basille and no longer cared about making Isaac suspicious.
She hung up the phone and trotted to the door. Grinning from the knowledge that Basille’s joint was already rigid, knowing her man was packing a rock-hard, dark chocolate dick, sent Marissa’s sex drive into second gear.
She flung open her apartment door. “Hey boo,” she said to Basille. She was butt-ass naked. Her nipples were hardened, and a creamy dew was gathering between her legs. Her eyes devoured him; she licked her lips in anticipation of tasting the bittersweet nectar that would be intermingled with hard dark chocolate. The combined tastes were simply delectable.
One look at Marissa’s naked body and Basille groaned and grabbed his crotch. Wordlessly, he swooped her up in his arms and kicked the door shut. Using his lips to brush aside her red tinted locks, Basille kissed and nibbled on her neck as he made long, urgent strides toward Marissa’s bedroom.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Marissa as if she were a newborn, Basille used his chin to brush her locks from her face. He kissed her eyelids then quickly sought her lips while gently rotating her nipple between his index finger and thumb. With his free hand, he rubbed her belly and smoothed her tangled pubic hairs before slipping a long, thick middle finger into her silken wetness.
There was such an assortment of stimuli; Marissa lifted her butt from Basille’s lap and jutted her pelvis as she eagerly parted her legs. Accepting her unspoken invitation to probe deeper, Basille explored her inner lips and walls. Then, using his finger as if it were a hard penis, he drove in and out causing her pussy juices to splash and trickle down her thighs. Unable to endure much more of this sustained torture, Marissa expelled an endless gasp. “Oh God! Basille! Baby, stop…” she said in a faltering whisper. Then building up to a crescendo, she screamed, “Baby, please. Put it in. Give it to me. Now.”
Basille withdrew his finger and eased Marissa from his lap. He laid her down on her back; her legs dangled off the side of the bed. Then Basille stood and positioned her with her legs spread, knees bent. The heels of her feet dug into the mattress as Basille dropped to his knees and licked the juice that poured down her thighs and then drank from her shimmering pool.
Anyone listening would have sworn that Marissa had found religion as she chanted and called on Jesus, speaking fervently in what sounded like a foreign tongue.
She felt that familiar buildup to a climax and urgently pressed herself hard against his mouth. But Basille removed his beautiful full lips, rose and reached for her hand and gently pulled her upright. He guided her mouth to his stiffened dark penis.
Marissa shuddered as she opened her mouth wide. She had to brace herself for the massive size that always overwhelmed her initially and which often felt like an oral invasion. On numerous occasions, when she wasn’t prepared, she’d choked on Basille’s big dick.
He eased himself inside her warm and willing mouth. Her tongue flicked against his shaft. “Mmm,” she murmured. She liked the flavor and after a few moments of generous licking, his dick became slick and smooth.
She sucked Basille’s dick, applying pressure with her lips, careful not to scratch him with her teeth. Then, enjoying the feeling as the head of his dick brushed against the soft and warm part of her cheek, Marissa threw her head back and allowed the chocolate stick to slip and slide against her tongue, her gums, and the roof of her mouth, giving her a delicious oral massage. Pre-ejaculation oozed from the head of his penis; it tasted bittersweet.
The moment his dick began to expand and pulsate, Basille withdrew. Marissa crawled into the middle of her king-sized bed and bent down into a crouch. Basille steadied himself by gripping her butt cheeks, but his hands were so sweaty from excitement, they slipped from her smooth skin. He grabbed her again, held on, and this time he plunged inside. Working his back, he rotated in slow motion. It felt so good, Marissa cried out softly. Her sensitive insides craved this personalized attention.
The wonderful sensation of his hard flesh, embedded inside her softness, made her buck and thrash until she became downright unruly.
Marissa was so aroused, she felt crazy—insatiable—as if possessed by a sex demon. She couldn’t control the profanity that escaped her lips: “Oh goddamn!” Marissa screamed. “Fuck me harder . . . Oh shit!” she shouted.
The profanity began to run its course, but when Basille sought and located her hidden place—her G-spot, Marissa cussed like a sailor until the words transformed to a prolonged orgasmic scream.
Burying her face in a pillow, she attempted to smother her cries. Her pussy muscles tightened and clenched uncontrollably. She could feel Basille trembling violently before he discharged a booming roar. Marissa’s vagina seized Basille’s quivering appendage and held it in place, throbbed against it, and sucked its semen until it went limp and became dry.
Exhausted and sweaty, Marissa and Basille clung to together. Her head was nestled against his chest. The feeling of his wellmuscled arm wrapped around her and the sound of his strong and steady heartbeat provided a comfort that she hadn’t realized her heart still yearned for.
Luckily, Marissa would not be fooled again; she realized that the peaceful allure of the feeling that came in the guise of sexual satisfaction was nothing more than a set-up—a dangerous trap that would lead to pain and heartache.
“So, where we headed, baby girl?” Basille wanted to know. His words were a gentle whisper inside the dimly lit bedroom. Words that enticed, tugged on her womanly nature, softened her. Made her weak.
Briefly warmed by his words, Marissa’s eyes darted about wistfully. Then, she came to her senses. Weakness was doom and damnation. An arrow in the heart. She cleared her throat and shifted her position. She sat up straight. “What do you mean?” She asked, buying time.
“You ready to take this to the next level or what?” Now his voice sounded rough and demanding.
“What’s the next level?” She suspected Basille was trying to take her to a place she refused to revisit.
“Live together. Get engaged. You know . . . commitment. Fuck it, I’m ready to wife you.” Basille laughed, but the sound was without mirth. “Man, I can’t even believe I’m talkin’ this shit. You got me acting like a bitch.”
Better you than me,
Marissa thought cynically. She already knew that the next level would not be to her benefit. After buying into the hype that their relationship was solid and would last forever, Basille would gradually begin to change. And she’d be caught up—trapped in a place where she was emotionally neglected and made to feel insecure. Forced to tolerate blatant disrespect.
Where you going? How long will you be gone?
She’d whine at first. Then, as time passed and his lack of sensitivity became more pronounced, the whining would escalate to a hysterical shriek.
You’re cheating. I know it; so stop lying and tell me that bitch’s name.
Marissa shook her head.
Thanks but no, thanks, Basille. Been there, done that.
“Basille, that’s sweet. I’m flattered. But I’d like to keep things the way they are.” Marissa wrinkled her face. “You know… Uncomplicated.”
Basille didn’t speak a word. He responded by leaning down and kissing her forehead, a sweet gesture. A loving surrender. * * *

“What do you feel like watching? Drama, Comedy, or an action flick?” Isaac asked.
“Whatever you like is fine with me.”
“Are you hungry, baby? Want me to bring you something to eat? What are you in the mood for? Pizza? No, you had that last night. How about Chinese?”
The hell with Chinese food; tonight she’d have some yummy milk chocolate. But she didn’t share that with Isaac. “I’m not hard to please, I’ll eat whatever you’re eating,” Marissa said, sounding as demure and low-maintenance as a Stepford wife.
She gave a soft chuckle. Once Isaac caught a glimpse of the black cherry candy panties she wore beneath a black lace negligee, he’d forget all about his silly movie and Chinese food.
The aroma of Szechuan Chicken wafted into her apartment when Isaac arrived. Marissa took the bag from him, opened it, and felt around inside. She pulled out a single packet of duck sauce. “This is perfect for my appetizer. It’s all we’ll need for the moment.” With her teeth, she ripped open the packet. “You know I love duck sauce on my egg roll.”
The glimmer in Isaac’s eyes told her that he was bracing himself for a sensual surprise.
Marissa backed Isaac into a wall. Her gaze wandered to his groin, and then she began to unzip his pants. She quickly found what she was looking for—a penis that instantly sprang to life. She fondled it until he moaned with desire. Next, Marissa squeezed the orange-colored sauce onto Isaac’s fully erect penis and watched it pulse with excitement.
She lowered herself down to her knees. Murmuring sounds of pleasure, she licked the thick, tangy sauce from his dick. After licking it clean, she stood, reversed their positions, and leaned against the wall. “Want some candy, baby?” She asked as she seductively raised her black negligee, exposing black cherry candy panties.
Isaac dropped to his knees and hungrily bit the sides of the candy waistband, but he didn’t bother to eat the hard candy. The real sweetness, he knew, was between Marissa’s legs. What she had for him was thick and rich—sweet and syrupy.
Marissa placed one foot on Isaac’s shoulder to allow his tongue better penetration. His experienced tongue drove inside her slit, lapping up the rich honey, slurping and lapping hungrily until Marissa removed her foot from his shoulders and nudged his head away.
Isaac looked disappointed, but she smiled and led him into the kitchen where she gracefully eased up on the kitchen table. With her rear-end practically hanging off the edge, a smile flickered across her face and she crooked a finger, beckoning Isaac to oblige.
He didn’t need much coaxing. He instantly inserted his wellhung milk cholcolate into her dripping vagina. “Hit that pussy. You know it belongs to you, don’t you, baby?”
“Yeah, it’s my pussy,” Isaac murmured huskily. He released a groan as he drove inside; Marissa wrapped her legs around his waist, her hot pussy convulsed and tightened around his thick rod. Isaac’s breathing increased; his thrusts intensified; and within seconds he exploded, involuntarily ejaculating a hot gusher.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Isaac said, sounding embarrassed. He pulled his glistening dick out of her pussy; he sat down on a kitchen chair, his pants gathered around his ankles. “I don’t know what happened, babe. I just couldn’t hold it,” he explained with an apologetic expression, his tone solemn.
It was not the norm for Isaac to perform so poorly. He was usually a long-lasting lover. However, the sensation of his dick being slathered with duck sauce, as if it were an egg roll, had caused Isaac to lose his ability to maintain control.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” Marissa smoothed the hair on the side of his face. Actually, Isaac’s blunder provided her with the leverage she needed to execute her plan. “I know you couldn’t help it. Let’s just eat and watch the DVD you wanted to see.” Her tone was deliberately self-sacrificing. But her face was set in a scowl.
“No, I don’t want to eat yet. I can get it up again. I can’t leave you hanging like this,” he said, shaking his head adamantly.
“No, really. It’s okay, sweetie,” she said softly. “I’m really not in the mood anymore. Go ahead and eat. I’m going to take a shower and just go to bed.” She had the resigned look of an unsatisfied woman, a woman whose man was unable to make her reach her peak. And her expression was fashioned to give the impression that she may have to look elsewhere.
Isaac stroked himself; he was frantic as he tried to bring his sex organ back to life. But without Marissa’s assistance, his selfmanipulation was useless. His dick was hopelessly shriveled and limp.
Marissa was glad that he couldn’t get it up. Pleased that he felt guilty and ashamed. Isaac’s sense of sexual inadequacy, his inability to perform, would ensure his willingness to satisfy her and fulfill her fantasy.
She suppressed a giggle. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon, she’d invite both Isaac and Basille to her pussy party where she’d be served up some milk chocolate and dark chocolate. Mmm. It would be thugaliscious—a double chocolate treat.
Having enjoyed multiple orgasms from Basille the night before, Marissa didn’t mind the sacrifice of being sexually unfulfilled. In bed, she turned her back to Isaac, curled into a ball, and soon drifted to sleep.
The next morning, she awakened to the feeling of Isaac’s face between her legs. He had spread her legs and lay beneath the covers inside the large V created by her opened legs.
Marissa threw off the covers. “Sweetie. Stop! I have to get ready for work. I don’t have time.”
“Just a quickie, baby. Please. I don’t like it when you don’t cum. It’s not right.”
She eased off the bed, threw on a silk robe, and headed for the bathroom. “We’ll have to finish tomorrow. I really don’t have time.”
Isaac sat on the side of her bed, looking pitiful.
Better he than me
, she thought to herself and trotted off to take a shower.
Later that evening, she licked melted chocolate from Basille’s scrotum while giving him a handjob with a palm covered with motion lotion. Basille also succumbed swiftly, busting a nut before he’d even touched Marissa.
And once again, she pretended everything was just fine, but sulked and was ominously pensive, giving the impression that Basille’s days in her bed were numbered.
Marissa refused to answer her phone for two days. Between Basille and Isaac, there were dozens of pleading messages on both her home phone and her cell.
Finally, she decided to show a little mercy. She called Basille first. “Hey boo.”
“Marissa!” he shouted. “Where the hell have you been?”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind and we need to talk.” She became quiet, allowing the meaning behind her words to sink in.
“Is something wrong?” Basille asked nervously.
“I’d rather talk about it in person. Can you come over tonight at eight?”
“Yeah, I can come through tonight, but I wish you’d tell me whassup. You got me feeling real fucked up. Why you being so secretive? Talk to me. Whassup?”
“We’ll talk tonight,” Marissa said firmly. “I’ll see you tonight, boo.”
She hung up and her lips spread into a big cheesy grin. One down, one to go.
She called Isaac next. When he answered, she took on a somber tone. “Can I see you tonight, sweetie? It’s really important.”
“Of course. Are you all right? I can come over right now,” he said sounding panicked.
“No, I’m fine. But what I have to say, I prefer to tell you face-to-face.”
She could hear Isaac swallow. In fact, it sounded like a frightened gulp. Then, he cleared his throat. “Are you dumping me, Marissa?” He asked in a tone that was clearly distraught.
“No,” she protested and then deliberately sighed and paused.
“Are you there?” Isaac asked.
“Yes, I’m here. What I’m saying is . . . I don’t want to break up. But maybe you’ll want to see other people after we have our talk.”
“Are you crazy! I’m in love with you; why would I want another woman? No one can compete with you.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” she said solemnly.
“It’s not empty flattery, Marissa. I love you. You know that.”
“I dig you too. I’ll see you tonight at eight.” She hung up and began to pace, cradling her chin thoughtfully. Should she write a script or just wing it? She flopped down on her cushy sofa and allowed her mind to marinate on the subject. Finally, she decided to wing it; she’d let the men set the tone.
After Isaac and Basille realize that neither had been her only lover, she’d let the scene play itself out. If things went according to her design, she’d be a very happy woman tonight.