The Diamond Club (15 page)

“Let’s kick it up a bit,” he said. I nodded and spotted a bottle of olive oil on a nearby shelf. I grabbed the bottle and began to pour it on his dick from the circumcised head down to his balls. He groaned in delight as I began to stroke him up and down, adding a skilled twist at the tip. With one hand I held his heavy balls, and I began to feel them tighten. Speeding up to match his breathing, I pointed his cock straight at my perky tits. He came hard, shooting his hot cum all over my chest. I reached down and tasted some on my finger.

“Delicious as always,” I said with coy smile. He smiled and kissed me again. Far from finished, I hopped from the counter pulled off his shirt. I kissed down his hot sculpted chest, his tight abs, and finally treated myself to the flavor of his amazing cock. It quickly jumped back to life and soon it was rock hard. He stood me back up and pressed me up against the refrigerator. He hoisted me up and began to fuck me right there against the door. I wrapped my legs around him as he pounded me, and held onto his strong shoulders as he ravaged my body.

“Bang!,” I shouted.

“That’s right, baby,” Alfeo laughingly agreed. As he continued to fuck me, I felt myself getting closer and closer to my second orgasm, and from his own moaning and panting, I could tell he wasn’t far off. Soon we were both shaking and shuddering as we came into each other. He set me down, and we held each other as we slid down to the floor, quite spent.
We sat like that for quite some time, but after we rose and cleaned up, it was time for me to leave Alfeo and his restaurant. I thanked him for a lovely time.

“No, thank you,” he said, “and you’re welcome anytime, no reservations required”.

As I walked out the door, I laughed aloud that I ever wanted Roman to take me to Alfeo’s. That night had been, by far, the best restaurant experience I had ever had, and it was certainly better than any night Roman had given me. Roman’s bullshit had become my cross to bear, and Alfeo had shot it off with a hot, fiery, Italian rocket. I made a mental note to mark Alfeo’s as a premier date location on fullydateable.com. I certainly planned to visit again.

“Bang!”, I said with a laugh, “bring on the next one!”

Breaking the Mold

Tonight’s bouncer was Greg, the biggest douchebag that worked at The Diamond Club, and trust me, that’s really saying something. Even the janitor, What’s His Name Gardiner (I just called him “Inconstant,” since I couldn’t be bothered to read his nametag) couldn’t measure up to Greg’s douchebaggery. Or that stupid soul patch he thought made him look younger than he was.

“Hey babe, since you ain’t picked who you’re fuckin’ tonight yet, why don’t you let me show you a good time? I get off in an hour.”

“Will you have grown a cock in so short a time then? Just let me in, asshole, before I tell every woman in line how inadequate you are.”

“You ain’t never even..”

“They don’t know that, now do they?”

Smoke. Clove mostly, but also cigar, pipe and a touch of pot. Diamond Club patrons tend to eschew cigarettes for some reason. Jazz. As smoky as the air. Fuck me, but I love this place. Fat. Short. Ugly. Hairy. I might need to take that last ejaculation back. The pickings are slim as… hello. Who’s this, then?

Tall, curvy and brunette as brunette could be. Shit. This woman’s hotter than I am. And that’s saying something. Been a while since I licked a warm, moist, pussy. Gotta play it cool, though. This dame might not be into muff. This will require some tact. Barney’s tending her side of the bar. Barney likes me. I told him his cum tasted like fresh-baked oysters. He’s been bragging about that for months. Pity he barely serves up an appetizer. At least the service is quick.

“Hey Barney.”

“Hey Luscious.” In spite of myself, I like that pet name.

“What’s the tall drink of love potion over there having?”

“The chick? Whiskey Sour. Knob Creek. Heh. Knob, get it?”

“Yeah, Barney, I get it. She with anyone?”

“Nope. Sauntered in all by her lonesome about fifteen minutes ago. Turned down four guys already. Damn good tipper, too.”

“Turned down any women?”

“None tried. Hell, half of them’s in the back with your boy anyway.”

“Really?” I tried really hard to keep the ice out of my voice. Don’t think it worked. Even on Barney, who’s brain is the only thing on him smaller than his dick.

“Yeah, well. You know him.” Shrug.

“Send me a Sour as soon as I sit down next to her. Be ready to make one for her.”

“Right you are, Luscious.” Why couldn’t someone I like give me a name that good?

I took a seat next to this gorgeous set of curves, being quite careful to let my skirt ride up as I perched, legs apart on the stool.

“Evening,” I said, nodding a bit more slowly than required for a greeting so I could take her in a bit. This girl was Marilyn Monroe and Jane Mansfield with hair that cascaded all the way to her heart-shaped ass in long, dark ringlets. My pussy was getting so wet, I wish I’d worn a pad. Oh, well. Management expects cum stains on the furniture.

Right on cue, Barney shows with my drink. “Here you are, Brianna. Whiskey Sour, as usual.” Fuck me, he actually did it right. I’ll blow him tomorrow if this works out.
“What do you take in that?” Tall, Dark and Please Lick My Pussy asked.

“Knob Creek, of course.” Perfect. The cherry even had a stem on it.

“Bourbon girl. Nice. Of course, a Knob’s only good for mixing. If you’re drinking neat, you want a Fighting Cock.” I had just put the cherry in my mouth, and nearly choked on it. Still, I managed to get the stem into a knot as I pulled it out. Yes, I really am that good.

“You alright, there, honey?” She asked, patting my back and completely ignoring the cherry stem I placed on the napkin.

“Fine. I’ve never heard of Fighting Cock before. Is that a whiskey?”

“It’s a bourbon, all right. One hundred and three proof, but as smooth and mellow as a virgin boy’s cum on his eighteenth birthday. Not as smooth as a woman’s cum, though. A woman is more like a Glenfiddich than any bourbon.” She looked me over as she said this. “Bartender! A Glenfiddich neat for my friend and me.” Oh my cunt. She was playing for me. Fuck it, I’m game. Poor Barney already had a whiskey sour ready to go. I told myself to make sure the tip covered that. Always tip well, girls. Keeps the boys from jerking off in your drinks. That’s only fun if you’re expecting it.

“Thanks,” I murmured, looking at her through my eyelashes. Then I held out my hand, “I’m Brianna.”

“Sophia,” she said, taking my fingers lightly, but firmly. Perfect nails, but short. Like a musician’s. “So what do you do, Brianna?”

“Coder,” I breathed, trying to focus all my desire into those mundane words, “and you?”

“I certainly hope you will,” she said. She still had my fingers. Fuck me, I was on verge of orgasm just talking to this goddess.

“I… I meant… Of course I will.. but,” Oh my. I was getting flustered. “what do you do?”

“I custom mold dildos and vibrators for ladies of discriminating needs.”
That was more than I could bear. Not only did I cum at those words, I didn’t give a fuck if the entire club knew it. I found out later only about a third of the patrons heard me.

“To hell with the drinks,” she said, rising (she still had my hand) “let’s get you somewhere you can cum in peace. Like my face.”

Sophia was nearly six foot four in heels. She stood out and strutted. She drew attention and she knew it. She just didn’t care if she wasn’t interested in you. As we walked out, I was given my first empirical evidence that Greg was hung like a baby. Hard as diamonds, yet it looked as if he had a Mini-Bic shoved down his pants.

I never drive to the club. I never take anyone back to mine, and I never leave alone. Well, there was that one time but we don’t speak of that night. Ever. Sophia guided me to her car, by my ass, I should say (want to cum again…). And what a car. Aston Martin DB9. Black. Made my A6 look like a mom-mobile. She opened the passenger door for me and lowered me into the soft, tan leather seat. As she slid the seatbelt over my heaving breasts and my quivering hips, she softly bit my neck, releasing my pent-up orgasm as easily as touching a switch. She quickly slid her hand from the buckle to my pussy, slipping two fingers in, then pulling up! Hard! I gasped someone’s name, I hope it was hers, I was so out of sorts I honestly don’t know.

“Five miles, Short Stack.” She growled into my ear. “Save it for five miles. I want that cum on me, not this leather.”

I know how not to cum. It’s important to squirting (no, that’s not a myth), but I’ve never had to hold one back for more than about thirty seconds, and it was building. Wow, was it ever building.

Good news, Sophia likes to drive fast. Bad news, speed gets me wet. Wetter in this case. And there were speed bumps. Oh sweet fuck, and a motherfucking railroad track. It was only three minutes, but when we pulled into her driveway, I had my seatbelt off and was scrabbling for the door before the car even stopped. I tackled her (all five feet five of me) as she was stepping out of the car, pushed her into the grass, pulled my panties aside, thrust my throbbing pussy into her face, and came and came and came.

Squirting isn’t what it looks like in porn, boys. we’re talking at most about a half an ounce of fluid. Unless you’re holding back a huge orgasm for three fucking minutes.

It’s still not the gusher they show in porn, but it sure the fuck feels like it.

Now I should point out that this is a nice neighbourhood in the middle of town. Also, it’s not even 10:00 yet. Sophia strips me down, in her front lawn, throws me onto the grass, and starts licking and fingering me for all she’s worth. And trust me, she was worth a lot in that area. She brought me off three more times, right there on her lawn, with the light from her neighbors’ televisions shining out all around, then lifted me up into her arms (where I immediately began kissing her neck) kicked her car door shut, and carried me into her house.

Somewhere, between the lawn and her sofa (and I swear she never took either hand off me), Sophia was completely naked. She pressed me down into the sofa, and straddled my chest. She was a curvaceous woman. Not fat, but generously proportioned. Breasts nearly the size of my head jutted above a wasp waist, and a perfectly waxed pussy ground into my own, generous breasts. The juices of her desire flowed all over my breasts, as she lifted a breast of her own into her mouth to lick and bite the nipple, while staring into me with her deep, brown, smoldering eyes. She leaned back a bit, bringing her pussy just barely into reach of my questing tongue, teasing me with it! Then reached back and sank half her hand deep into my flowing pussy.

I couldn’t hold back. Teasing is all well and good, but I needed her on my face. Now. I grasped her hips and pulled her down hard, onto my face, nearly smothering myself in her wet, musky flesh. I didn’t care. I breathed her, I drank her, I consumed her. I took all she was into myself and begged for more. As she came into my mouth and onto my face, I came as well, my pussy convulsing tight onto her hand, then opening… allowing her wrist-deep inside me. My screams of pleasure reverberated through her loins, kicking off another wave of orgasms in us both. We must have lain there for an hour, clenching tight against each other, barely flexing, driving orgasm after orgasm through each other.

Sometimes, there’s an urgency to passion. A deep and primal need that is almost violent. Must cum. Must make this one cum. Now. And now. And now. Once that’s settled down, though, that’s when the good sex starts. Long, slow. Gentle and firm, fast then slow. All night or all day. Sometimes both. With Sophia, it was both and a half. We kissed, we licked. We bit. We caressed and kneaded. All over each other, inside each other. We pistoned each other with dildos, we fucked each other with strap-ons. I admit I was very clumsy with that bit, but Sophia fucked me as hard and as deep (and much longer) as any man has ever fucked me. We cuddled, we napped. We ate breakfast off each other, then we ate each other. We cleaned each other, we got each other dirty. Mostly though, we came. And came. And came. At the end of it all, she cast a dildo molded to fill me precisely right.

That’s what I left that night and day and night with. Wobbly thighs, a fully satiated pussy, and the perfect dildo.

Nine and a quarter inches. Silicone. Supple, yet springy.

And yes, I did go back and blow Barney for wingmanning me.

Three nights running.

Do the Research

I should have cancelled.

That was the thought that rattled through my head as I strode up the path to half-timbered home. It was the dwelling of one Professor John D. Gardner. Someone at the Diamond Club had said that he had some really, really kinky tricks to show me, ones that had fallen from the public memory and now existed only in dirty old magic books. The boy who’d told me had had a solid reputation, too, so after we’d slept together, I did some research to follow up on his tip.

I had hoped that Professor Gardner would be my ticket to finally sticking it to Roman, and so I’d emailed him and set up an appointment. Unfortunately, I’d then found a website that listed the professor’s date of birth. He was old, way old, way too old to sleep with. It was only politeness that brought me to his door now; it would’ve been rude to just up and cancel on him. I at least owed him the courtesy of backing out in person.

So I rang his doorbell and waited. A few minutes later, that door opened, and I gasped.

The man who answered it was certainly not in his late 80s; he looked to be about my age, with flawless dusky skin and black hair pulled back into a long, straight ponytail. He was a full head taller than me, and his eyes were a vivid amber. The cut of his suit accentuated the angles and shape of his muscular form in such a way that, even though the man was fully clothed, I couldn’t help but envision him naked.

“Excuse me, “ I finally managed to say, “but I’m here to see Professor John D. Gardner.”

“Of course. Brianna, isn’t it? I’d thought from the tone of your email that you’d be…plain.” Those evergreen eyes looked me up and down, bringing a flush to my pale cheeks. “I’m pleasantly surprised to be wrong.”