Zane's Sex Chronicles, page 11
Boy, did he eat! All I can say is the man was starving like Marvin. I lost count of how many times I came. He was not lying—he loved eating some pussy, unlike the sexually disappointing fuck who had been on the very same bed not long before. After a while, my left leg, which was hanging out there in the air, started getting tired. I put it down on the bed. He immediately pushed it back up and told me to hold it there.
I wasn’t used to holding my leg up like that. Normally, the man’s shoulders would be holding them both up. Instead, his back was holding up my right one, and it was mad comfortable, but my left leg was having problems. He unzipped his jeans and guided my hand to his dick. I started jacking him off, even though that wasn’t in the contract. It was cool with me. I was kind of lying there with nothing to do with my hands, so what the hell.
He ate and ate, and I jacked and jacked, and he ate some more until the moment of truth arrived and he detonated. Scared me shitless, too. He came so hard and made these sounds like a fucking animal. Never in life have I seen anything like that before or since.
He passed out right there, with his head in between my legs. The right one was still resting comfortably on his back. The left one was cramped up, but holding its own, since it could finally lie flat on the bed.
The shit was too wild, and I wasn’t about to go to sleep, not knowing a dayum thing about the man, so I flipped through cable channels all night with the remote while he drooled on my pussy and enjoyed his slumber.
At 7 A.M., I told him I needed to get ready for a meeting. He woke up, turned over onto his back, and started rubbing all over his own chest and up and down the shaft of his dick. I thought to myself, “Oh, shit! Now his freaky ass is gonna masturbate in front of me!”
He did play with himself until he came. I watched it. It was sort of interesting. Besides, a woman doesn’t get to see such a command performance often. Then he got up and asked me did I want his number. I replied with, “Sure, why not?”
He wrote it inside a matchbook cover with the hotel name imprinted on it, and I saw him to the door. I couldn’t believe I had done that shit, but bottom line, the first guy wasn’t ’bout it, I got what I craved in the end, and it was all good.
I took yet another shower, threw on a navy business suit, went to my meetings, grabbed a pizza on my way back to the hotel, ignored the messages the clerk gave me from the lousy-ass fuck who was all talk and no action, and went to bed.
I flew back to California the next day, none the worse for wear, and now I’m sitting here writing my scandalous, yet sexually fulfilling, escapade down in my journal. It may be a long-ass time before I have something this interesting to write in here again. Then again, maybe not! The fact of the matter is, as wild as it was, I truly relished it, so I have learned my lesson. Before that night, I would’ve told everyone I wouldn’t do something freaky like that. The lesson that I’ve learned is to never say never again.
The Dick You Down Crew
They were known as the Dick You Down Crew. Women across the nation spoke of them in whispers and sometimes even in code. Women who had actually experienced them sometimes resorted to speaking about them in tongues. There were three of them: the Wishmaster, the Lickmaster, and the Dickmaster. The Wishmaster was the one who granted your every wish and helped you to live out your every fantasy. The Lickmaster was just that: a master at licking you wherever and whenever it pleased you. The Dickmaster was, aw Lawd, what can I say? He was the master of pleasure, pure and simple.
I saved up for eleven months to acquire their services. Once I hit twenty-nine, it became painfully clear that the man of my dreams was not going to come along. The thought of turning thirty without ever really having an earth-shattering orgasm was too much to bear. So I saved and I saved until I had accumulated the necessary five thousand to hire them for the evening. I know five grand is extravagant, but after all I had heard, I felt it was well worth the investment.
I made the initial contact through their website, www.dickyoudowncrew.com, and received an instant reply from an autoresponder. It informed me that my inquiry had been received and that someone would contact me within forty-eight hours. I actually fabricated half the information on the form I was required to fill out. I don’t trust the internet, no matter how secure they claim it to be. I am one of those sisters who print out the mail-order form instead of ordering online at those e-commerce sites. Sure, I can get things faster if I do the real-time creditcard processing, but I prefer to wait the extra time and play it safe.
I lied about my name. I said it was Chiquita Locksley instead of Laura Connelly—same initials but reversed. I used my free email address instead of my regular one with my real name attached to the end of every message. I had to put down a phone number, so I put in my cell phone. If things got out of hand, changing it was nothing but a thing because less than a dozen people had the number in the first place. Besides, my live-in boyfriend would have had a fit if someone called me from dickyoudowncrew.com and left a message on the voice mail.
I know. I know. I said that the man of my dreams had not come along, and he hadn’t. That didn’t mean I was determined to go without sex altogether. Puleeze, that was not even an option. I was living with Scott, and most of my girlfriends were crazy jealous—but if they only knew. Sure, Scott was fine, brilliant, successful, and drove a seriously fly car. The convertible Jaguar had always been in my top three for the bomb-ass-car-of-all-time award. That’s how he managed to pull me. I was walking down the street during rush hour, and he almost ran my ass over in the crosswalk. My first instinct was to cuss his ass out, but when he got out of the car and I got a look at him, the sun started shining even though it was forty degrees and dismal a moment before.
He was fine. True, that. Six-one, tight body, deep chocolate skin, and a smile that could light up a room. Little did I know that he was seriously lacking in the sex department. The first time we threw down, I wasn’t even sure that his dick was in until he started yelling, “I’m cuming!” I wondered how the hell he could be cuming when I hadn’t even begun to get my freak on.
It must seem strange that I ended up living with him, huh? Well, to be quite honest, Scott was good at some things, like sucking on my breasts—which happened to be one of the greatest turn-ons to me—and sucking on my toes. Besides, I adored his mother and the rest of his family. His sister and I had become the best of friends over the three years we had been together. Yet and still, I needed something extra in my life. I needed to be fucked six ways from Sunday.
I only made thirty grand a year at my administrative job, but I managed to come up with the five thousand I needed. I asked Scott to cover all the bills for a few months, and he happily obliged. I think it made him feel more like a man, having a woman dependent on him. I realize my methods were shady, but hey, I needed the money before I lost my damn mind for real.
For the next two days, I patiently waited for a phone call. One time my battery went dead on my shitty-ass cell phone. Why do they lie and say that a battery has a long life when they know it sure as hell doesn’t? As soon as I had it up and running again, I checked for voice mail messages, and there was a message from this dude named Joe. I didn’t feel like being bothered with his ass.
Joe had been my first “creeping” experience during my lackluster relationship with Scott. He talked big game but turned out to be just that: all mouth and no action. I got naked, and he acted like a scared bitch. For a second, I thought the fool might have been a thirty-three-year-old virgin, but he got his act together and did a little sumptin’ sumptin’. Still wasn’t worth my time, effort, or ribbed condom, though.
• • •
I was juggling three paper grocery bags and my briefcase up the stairs to our second-floor apartment when my cell phone rang, exactly forty-eight hours after I had hit the submit button on dickyoudowncrew.com. In my haste to catch the call, I dropped one bag and heard the carton of eggs splatter on the outdoor carpet.
“Hello,” I breathed heavily into the phone in disgust.
“Is this Chiquita Locksley?”
What the hell was this? There was a woman on the other end of the line. Surely, she couldn’t be the Wishmaster or Lickmaster, and she damn sure couldn’t be the Dickmaster unless she was working with a strap-on.
“Who is this?” I demanded to know.
“This is Robin.”
“Robin. Hmm, I don’t think I know a Robin.”
Looking back, I don’t know why I was frontin’. The odds of some sister ringing my damn cell phone, having the wrong number, and happening to ask for my recently created alter ego were slim to none.
“Once again, is this Chiquita Locksley?” she asked in a pleasant enough voice. “Did you fill out an information request form on dickyoudowncrew.com?”
“Umm, yes I did.” I put the bags down and put my key in the lock, making sure to avoid stepping in the egg yolks that were all over the place. I hesitated for a moment and peeked over the balcony to make sure Scott’s Jaguar wasn’t in his assigned space. I didn’t want to go inside if he was home, because he was the nosiest brother on the planet. “I filled out the form, and I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
“Sorry for the delay, but we get a ton of requests, and sometimes the staff gets a bit overwhelmed.”
I managed to get myself and the groceries in the house, opting to clean up the mess in front of the door later.
“Hmm, you have that many women asking to get put on, huh?” I asked, wondering if it was such a good idea after all. I mean, damn! How many sisters had these dudes knocked off?
The sister on the other end of the line started laughing. “Well, the men are rather popular. It seems that the word has really gotten out lately.”
“So, how much is it?” I already knew the price but decided to ask anyway, in case they were running some specials. In fact, I asked, “Are you running any specials?”
She laughed again. “No, sorry. We just have the flat rate of five thousand a night.”
“What exactly constitutes a night, and what services are performed for the five thousand?”
I could’ve sworn I heard a lip smack on the other end of the line. No, she wasn’t tripping on me all of a sudden. We were talking about five thousand damn dollars.
“Didn’t you read the description of services on the website?”
“Yes, I did but it didn’t define ‘night’ to my satisfaction. Are we talking a certain amount of hours, sunset to sunrise, or what?”
“You get eight hours. Additional hours are available upon request, but there is a fee.”
“And how much are the extra hours?”
“Five hundred an hour.”
“Damn!” I exclaimed into the handset.
“Is there a problem, Chiquita?”
“No, no problem.” I collapsed onto the sofa, wondering if I was doing the right thing. After all, five grand could stretch a long way at my favorite mall. Fuck it, I was going for it. “So, when can I get an appointment?”
“Hmm, let me check.”
There was a brief silence, and I could hear paper shuffling on her end.
“We have Tuesday, July ninth, available.”
“That’s a month from now.”
“Yes, I know, but it is our only available date. Would you like to be scheduled or not?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll take it,” I answered excitedly. This was going to be more interesting than I imagined. July 9 was my thirtieth birthday.
“Cool. I need to get some further information from you, like where you would like the gentlemen to meet you. I’ll assume you want them to come to your place?”
“No, no, no! They can’t come here!” I yelled in a panic. Imagine that. Scott coming home with roses and a birthday cake, only to find me ass out with three men slapping skins.
Robin didn’t skip a beat. “What city and state are you in?”
“Chicago, Illinois.”
“Not a problem. We have various hotels that we work with throughout the country. We have several there in the Chicago area. I will email you a list, and you can make the appropriate arrangements.”
“Hold up. Are you saying that I have to pay for the room?”
“If you want a room, you have to pay for it. The five thousand simply covers the sexual favors and travel expenses.”
“Fine,” I stated nastily. At least they weren’t trying to take me for plane tickets, meals, and all that shit.
“Wonderful. You will have an email within the hour detailing our rules and regulations, a list of local hotels in your area, and payment instructions. All monies must be received at least seven days before your appointment.”
“Okay, whatever.”
“Thank you for your time, Chiquita.”
Just like that, Robin was gone.
• • •
July 9 was the strangest day of my life. Scott woke me up with his tongue. Now Scott had licked a lot of things in three years, but he had never licked my pussy. But there he was with his head buried between my legs, going to town on my coochie. I didn’t have a lot of experiences to compare that one to, but he seemed to be doing okay with it. He wasn’t making my thighs tremble or anything like that, but it was interesting.
“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispered about ten minutes after I’d opened my eyes to his surprise. “Thirty years old. You’re about to be over the hill.”
“The hill you crossed over four years ago, huh?” I asked jokingly.
“Hey, that was a cheap shot.”
Scott tickled me until I was screaming for mercy.
“See, that’ll teach you not to make fun of a brother’s age,” he said after finally letting me go.
“You started it,” I childishly replied.
He reached over and retrieved a small black velvet bag from the drawer of the nightstand on his side of the bed.
“Seriously, happy thirtieth, Laura.” He handed me the bag. “This is something special for someone special.”
I took the bag and just stared at it. What on earth was he up to?
“Laura, open it already.” Scott laughed.
I undid the drawstring on the bag and pulled out a black velvet box. At that moment, I knew the thing I had most wanted and dreaded at the same time was about to happen. I tried to think quickly, but instead my mind went completely blank.
Scott took the box from my hand and snapped it open, revealing a two-carat diamond ring. It was stunning.
“So, will you?”
I was speechless. My eyes fluttered from the ring to his face and back again.
“Laura, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said the first thing that made sense. “Can I have some time to think about it?”
The look of disappointment on Scott’s face was nothing short of depressing. We sat in silence for a couple of minutes before he asked, “How much time do you need?”
“Just a day or two,” I replied hesitantly. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting this.”
“But what do you have to think about, Laura? We’ve been together for three years.” He set the ring down on the comforter and gently took my hand. “Don’t I make you happy?”
“Yes, Scott, you make me happy,” I said halfheartedly. “I still just need a little bit of time. Cool?”
“Cool.”
Scott got up from the bed, and while he didn’t exhibit anger in his movements, I knew he was fired up inside. He had taken the ultimate step to commitment, and I had shot him down.
He got dressed, and as he was leaving, he asked, “Do you want to go out to dinner tonight to celebrate your birthday?”
“Umm, I can’t.” My lies were about to begin. “I promised my mother that I’d spend tonight with her. Like you said, this is a big day, and she really wanted to do something special for me.”
“Kind of like I tried to do this morning,” he said.
I ignored his comment. “In fact, we might be out kind of late, so I’ll probably just spend the night and head to work from there in the morning.”
“Laura, all I can say is, enjoy your birthday, and I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”
Scott walked out the bedroom, and a few seconds later I heard the front door slam.
Taking the day off from work was a given. My boss was not a happy camper about it, but that was his personal problem because I never, ever work for the man on the day of my creation. I spent the morning being pampered at a day spa. If I could put out five grand to get laid properly, I could splurge on a pedicure, manicure, hairstyle, and massage. By one o’clock, I was walking out of the spa on pillow-soft toes and looking fly as shit.
I lucked out and found a spot in front of my favorite lingerie store. I selected a hot pink satin bra and thong set, even though I didn’t anticipate having it on too long.
While I was standing in line to pay, I called my mother from my cell phone to do an intervention. If she happened to call Scott for any reason to discuss making plans for my birthday, my ass was toast. I told her that I would be spending a quiet, romantic evening with Scott. She was disappointed but felt better once I promised her that we would do lunch the following day.
• • •
By three, I was ready to check in at the luxurious downtown hotel that I had selected from the list Robin emailed to me. It was actually the most expensive, but anything worth doing was worth doing right. The men were not due until eight, and that was cool because the nervousness had set in. What the hell was I doing?
The room had one big-ass bed. I read the card placed on the pillow and couldn’t believe the prices of the bedding offered to guests that wished to purchase items in the gift shop. Eight hundred dollars for a down comforter? Only big ballers could roll like that. For one night, I was going to be a big baller. A big baller surrounded by big dicks.
