Smooth Operator (16 page)

Lyfe stood silently for a moment and then he stepped away. Payton watched him walk toward the door and then to her surprise he rushed back toward her, snatched her from her desk and onto the zebra print couch. “Why is everything always a fuckin’ game with you?” He hoisted her black mid-thigh skirt around her waist and their bodies danced in a forceful erotic rhythm. To anyone walking in they would’ve looked to be wrapped in a physical fight. They weren’t … but then again, they were.

There was nothing passionate about their relationship—their marriage was about lust, mind games, challenges, and power moves. All of which resulted in an animalistic attraction to each other. And if they could control their hard-ons and G-spot tantrums that came from pushing and thrashing against each other’s buttons, if they could sit back and be quiet for a second, they would see that all they had between them was a beautiful piece of nothing.

Lyfe bit Payton on her ass cheeks and then rammed into her wet slit. Instantly her pussy walls felt as if they were sweating buckets of water and dripping all over his dick.

Payton turned her head to the right and looked at Lyfe out the corner of her eye. “That’s all you got?”—her ass jiggled against his shaft—“New York must not mean shit to you.”

Lyfe eased his dick from Payton’s heated pussy, ran it between her ass, and sank it into her third middle. He gripped Payton by the back of her neck, yanking her head back, and said, “Is that it, is that the spot?” He whipped the inside of her ass with his dick.

Payton struggled to answer as moans bullied her tongue to create grunts and groans, but within a few minutes she collected
herself. “You ain’t,” she fought off another moan, “doing shit. I said hit it!” She bucked her ass like a horse gone wild. “What the fuck is the holdup? Or are you slippin’!”

He pounded her in rapid succession and Payton quickly spat, “Now you wastin’ my goddamn time!”

Payton placed four of her fingers into her pussy and toyed with it. Her mouth hung open and Lyfe’s strokes crashed into her ass and he bit her on the side of her neck. “Now tell me again,” he rammed her, making her skin thud against his, “is this the spot!”

She couldn’t answer, she was speechless.

“Fuckin’ freak!” Lyfe carried on, “All you think about is dick!”

“That’s your payment to this pussy—” Payton stopped herself midsentence as her head turned wildly. She felt herself on the verge of floating into the Twilight Zone as hums oozed from her mouth.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Lyfe’s dick beat into her ass.

“Oh,” she fought off screaming, “are you still fucking me? I thought you’d stopped.”

“Ai’ight.” Lyfe whipped her around to face him and as her head lay on the couch her legs spread completely open. Lyfe slid back into her ass and her muscles clamped around his dick, causing him to remember, if only for the moment, why he had yet to let her go. “Now let’s try this again, look in my face,” he stroked, “and tell me if this is the spot.”

Payton thrashed about and did all she could not to tell him that this was the best dick session they’d ever had, the only thing missing were the nipple clamps and noose, or any other thing that would simultaneously bring intense pain and extreme pleasure. Lyfe pinched her nipples. “Answer me.”

Payton pounded her fist into his back, “Yes!” She could no longer hold it in. “That’s it!” She creamed all over his dick.

Lyfe smiled and said, “Now ride it.” He pulled her onto his lap, yet she fought against it and instead she crawled to the top of the couch and sat on his face. “Suck it.”

Lyfe looked at her heated and melting pussy and he wanted to tell her, “Hell no!” but his tongue inched out of his mouth and before he could control it, his tongue was running wet waves over her bullet-size clit. She jiggled her ass over his face and he gripped her ass cheeks, sucking in between her vulva until it dripped over his lips. Afterward, Payton slid from his face to his thighs, taking a squat position on his dick. The sound of their skin popped against each other like rubber bands. Payton pinched her clit as she bounced like a squatted duck against his thighs; the motions caused her juice to thicken and ease from the inside, forcing a scream to soar from both of their mouths.

Lyfe’s warmth ran between her thighs and instantly the guilt of being manhandled by her dug into his chest.

A few moments later, after they’d collected their breaths, Payton said, “Now your mission has been accomplished.”

After a quick shower in Payton’s private bathroom, Lyfe stepped out of her office with his suit meticulously draped over his delicious body. He watched her pour two glasses of wine and say, “Let’s have a toast.”

Lyfe hesitated and his gaze lingered on Payton longer than he expected.

She pointed the glass toward him and her eyes clearly asked why he was taking so long. “We’re at least civilized?” Payton asked.

“We can be.” He accepted the champagne, “What are we toasting to?”

She kissed him on the lips lightly. “To you remembering what you need to do to earn your keep.” She clinked his glass. “So let’s recap and go over the rules of our mutual understanding: as long as you look pretty,” she stroked his chin, “fuck me
like you did today, do what I tell you to, and don’t ignore my calls anymore, then we’re fine.”

“So that’s what this is all about,” he said, as if it had all finally clicked, “me ignoring you all weekend.” He smirked and the corner of his top lip curled. “Ahh, so we’re throwing these kinds of fits? But see, what you don’t seem to understand is that you chose the wrong ghetto-ass-Compton-motherfucker if you expect me to fold, concede, or surrender to whatever kinda fuckin’ war you’re trying to wage with me. He was on the other corner, the one you passed to get to me.”

“Really?” Payton questioned.

“Pretty much,” Lyfe said confidently. “And what you need to understand is that the very thing that makes me different, the very thing that keeps your panties wet,” he spoke against her lips and his minty breath covered them like a kiss, “is that underneath this Versace suit—as you so eloquently put it—and these platinum cuff links, and this well-groomed box beard is a man who doesn’t have shit to lose.”

“You would lose this money and I would see to that.”

“How?” Lyfe pressed. “Impress me, please. You’re going to do what? Create a prenup? What? Because from what I remember when we got married all we signed was a marriage license. So, like I said, I wouldn’t lose shit; as a matter of fact I would walk away with half of yo’ shit. So, let’s recap and reiterate the rules of Lyfe’s understanding. As long as you behave”—he kissed her on the forehead—“and be a good little lady who stays in her place,” he sat his empty glass on the end of her desk, “you have nothing to worry about.” He paused and when Payton said nothing in return he winked his eye. “Cross check.”

Payton stared at Lyfe and for the first time, she actually thought that she just might need to kill him. She lifted her glass as if she were toasting to him again. “Have a safe flight,” she said.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Lyfe turned toward the door and walked out of her office.

D
ull yellow streams of light from the fading streetlamps and the sounds of cars splashing through the rain set the stage for A Smooth Operator’s fantasy. It had been one too many nights since Arri had taken her cyber stroll, and just when she thought that maybe she would attempt to tuck this shit away for good, her nine-to-five blew up in her face, reminding her once more that this right here—standing before a strange man with his dick in his hand, awaiting her erotic performance—was all she had to fall back on.

Maybe that was fine, because as sure as there was a spring breeze men would always want pussy, whether it was flesh to flesh or innovative masturbation via the computer screen. Perhaps her thoughts of stopping and becoming an average and everyday woman were ludicrous, and maybe she needed to learn to be appreciative. Shit, there was obviously no need to stop—at least no time soon—besides, she’d learned a long time ago to work with what she had. So here she was again, handling her business: her client said that his fantasy was to fuck a streetwalking bimbo, and for a fee she agreed.

Arri placed the Webcam toward the open window and facing the street, to give the illusion that she was a prostitute pounding the pavement, and as if it were planned, a trucker’s horn blew loudly outside of her bedroom window. She stopped pacing and
turned to face the computer screen. She could see her client’s eyes absorbing the view of her black lace bra, black fishnet thigh-highs, six-inch Cinderella platform heels, and red hot pants that were cut so high up her ass that at a quick glance they resembled bikini panties.

The sunny blond wig she profiled in swayed over her shoulders as she placed her hands on her hips, popped chewing gum on the side of her cheek, and said to her client, “Wassup, Daddy?” She blinked her extremely long, fake, curly blue eyelashes. “What you out here for tonight?” She smacked her lips and popped her gum once more.

“I’m just driving around,” he said, sounding like a tired old truck driver.

Arri licked her lips. “A handsome and big-dick daddy like you, out here all alone?” She squeezed her breasts and blew him a kiss. “So tell Mama what you need so you don’t have to be lonely.” She palmed her pussy and then stuck her index finger suggestively in her mouth.

“Why don’t you show me what you got for me?”

Arri turned her ass toward the camera, stuck it out as far as she could and slowly bent over, gradually peeling her shorts over her ass, stopping midway down her cheeks and shaking her ass in a stripper’s frenzy. Afterward she dropped her shorts to the floor.

Arri slapped both of her ass cheeks and the sound sizzled around the room. “Is that what you wanted to see, Daddy?”

“More,” he commanded while squeezing the head of his dick. Arri complied, gripped both sides of her behind and allowed him to see all that glistened in between. “Fuck,” he moaned in delight. “I want you to ride me”—he paused—“and reverse the cowgirl so I can watch that ass swallow my dick.”

Arri eased onto her inflatable dong seat; which at first glance resembled a plastic blowup seat, but it was far from that: there was a nine-inch rabbit dildo, and a clit tickler that felt ice
cold to the touch. Arri turned her face away from the camera and worked the stage like she was on Broadway. It was pretty easy to do, especially since this was Arri’s favorite toy, one that always allowed her to get lost in the chills it sent up her spine and through her fingertips. “Oh … ummm … Daddy … ummm,” she squealed, “this dick is so big.”

“You like that shit?” he grunted. “That’s how I fuck my bimbo bitches!”

“However you like it, papí.”

“I wish I could fuck you all night long.”

Arri could tell by the sound of his voice that he was due to cum, so she rode the dildo stool until the bottom started to rock and as her ass knocked against the seat the client screamed, “Dooooooon’t stop I’m cummmmm … ming!”

Once the client gave another hard grunt, Arri knew he was done. She turned around and noticed how exhausted he looked. His dick dripped and ran over his knuckles.

Arri’s lips turned into a frown as his mouth hung open and he started to snore. She checked her account and then shut the computer down.

After she showered she went to Zion’s room and peeked in on him. “I’m not sleep,” he said as she turned to walk out.

Arri laughed. “And why not?”

“Because …”—he paused—“I was thinking that maybe … I should ummm … sleep with you tonight.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really.” He grabbed his blanket and Spider-Man toy. “Let’s go, ’cause I’m tired.”

Arri watched him as he walked out of his room and she said, “Just for tonight.”

Arri lay down and Zion snuggled beside her, his body heat felt like soothing butter as he wiggled under her arm. “Auntie, do you ever think my mommy will get better?”

Arri paused, the question completely catching her off guard. “I hope so.”

“I don’t,” he said matter-of-factly, “because if she does then you might send me back to live with her and I don’t ever want to go back to live with her again. Do you know she slept on the street and in dirty houses with wood on the windows? I was so scared, Auntie.”

“I don’t want you to be scared, so you stop worrying about that. I love you and you can live with me forever if you want to.”

“Yay!” Zion pressed his mouth into Arri’s cheek, and blew hard against it; the slobber from his lips provided an extra-wet coating.

Arri cracked up laughing. “I’ma get you.” She tickled him.

“Okay, okay.” Zion laughed so hard that tears filled his eyes. He hugged Arri tight and said, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She squeezed him.

“Auntie,” Zion called her as her eyes started to drift toward sleep. He pointed toward the single stream of light easing in from the streetlamp, “Why does that stool have a big ole pee-pee?”

Arri’s eyes popped open wide. “Oh my God!” She rushed from the bed to deflate the seat and place it back into its case.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Zion said, impressed.

Six a.m., and Arri’s eyes peeled open at the all too often pounding on her apartment door. She sighed and decided that this time she was going to use her peephole. Her mind was already made up that whoever it was would be left standing there. Slowly she crept to the door, stood on her tippy toes, looked out the peephole, and her eyes took a tiny glimpse of Lyfe with his hands fumbling around his beard.
Worried again.
She hated that
she was never blinded of his beauty. He raised his fist, preparing to pound again, but she opened the door before it landed.

Her eyes ran over him as she noticed he had on the same suit he wore yesterday. She could see her reflection, as she stood before him in a black satin negligee, dancing in his gaze.

“I hope you don’t make this a habit,” she said.

Lyfe hesitated. “My apologies for coming by here so early—”

“What is it?”

“I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“You already have.”

“I just want you to know that everything worked out with the office. You and everyone else can come back this morning.”