Any Port In A Storm

It had been raining for three days straight, the unrelenting rain one normally associates with floods that drive the Mississippi over its banks, only not in New York. Computer nerds don’t pay much attention to the weather anyway, except while standing on the platform waiting for a commuter train. As Director of Information Technology, whether it was fair or foul outside made little difference to me.

I was busy configuring a new laptop when the overhead lights went out and the emergency spotlights lit. I ran through the connecting door from my office into the server room and saw the flashing light on the power control panel that told me the office was running off the emergency generator on the roof. I grabbed the phone and punched in the override code that activated the intercom everywhere in the office.

“May I have your attention, please. This is an emergency. There has been a massive power failure in the building. Log off the network and back up your machines. The servers will be going off-line in two minutes. Move it or lose it, people!”

I cut the servers loose from the network and shut them down. When that was done, I walked to the main part of the office, half-expecting to find a lynch mob waiting for me. Instead, I was met by the CEO.

“Jack have you heard?”

“Heard what, boss?”

“The Mayor has declared a state of emergency. All this rain has overwhelmed the drainage system. Water is shorting out electrical lines all over town, the subways are being shut down and the radio says Grand Central is about to close. The Mayor says anyone who doesn’t live here should go home right away. You better get out of Manhattan while you still can!”

I grabbed my coat and raced to Grand Central Station as fast as I could. I was too late.

The cops at the 42nd Street entrance told me the electric trains couldn’t move due to flooding in the tunnels and the last Metro North diesels had left 10 minutes before, crammed so full that a passed-out drunk couldn’t fall down before he sobered up. I splashed my way back and climbed the four flights of stairs to the office in a foul mood.

Everyone had left except Jasmine, our receptionist. She was a few years younger than me. Jasmine was a foxy black chick, cute, leggy and busty, with an acid wit that she used to keep the guys that constantly hit on her at arm’s length. I got along with her because I treated her like a person and not a sex object. She was putting on her raincoat when I squelched in.

“What are you doing back here, Jack?” she asked.

“Grand Central is closed, dammit. The subways are out too. I’m stranded.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Try to get a hotel room, I guess. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to sleep in my office.”

She looked at me for a minute. “Let me make a phone call,” she said at last. She pulled out her cellphone and dialed someone, walking away from Reception as I pulled off my shoes and dumped the water in them into a potted plant. She came back and said, “You’re coming home with me tonight, Jack. Don’t get any ideas, though. All Lia and I are offering is a couch to sleep on.”

“It’s better than I expected,” I said. “Thanks. If we can find an open supermarket I’ll cook dinner. You like Italian? I do a mean chicken cacchiatore.”

We went downstairs and hailed a cab. On the way to SoHo, Jasmine filled me in on where I’d be staying.

Her grandfather, a half-French, half Senegalaise, had emigrated here after World War II. He’d met and married her grandmother in Washington and then moved to New York. They’d started a little import-export business and bought a couple of buildings in SoHo, an undesirable area back then. They had converted the loft in one of the buildings into an apartment. Jasmine and her older sister Lia lived there rent-free while they went to school and worked in the city. Their folks lived in the suburbs now.

We were traveling along Canal Street. I leaned forward and asked the driver to stop outside an army-navy store.

“I just want to get dry clothes,” I explained. “I’ll only be a couple of minutes.” She laughed, understanding my reluctance to prance around their loft buck-naked

It took about 3 minutes to pick up a pair of khaki pants, a green T-shirt, some tube socks and a pair of black oxfords. No underwear, but at least the military surplus was dry. I rejoined Jasmine. We continued on to the grocery and bought dinner makings and a jug of good red wine.

An old freight elevator brought us up to the loft. As we walked in, we met a girl walking out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, vigorously drying her hair.

“You must be Jasmine’s stray,” she chuckled, completely unselfconscious. “Hello.”

“And you must be Lia. Hi,” I said woodenly.

Lia stood five foot eight in her bare feet. Golden-toast in color with straight black hair and shapely long legs, she put me in mind of Halle Berry, only with a pair of boobs in the Dolly Parton range the towel barely managed to cover. Jasmine nudged me with a shoulder.

“Okay, Jack, stop dripping on the floor. Bathroom’s over there and kitchen is next to it, through the great room there. Towel off, change, give me the wet clothes and I’ll throw them into the wash while you start cooking.”

I walked past Lia like a badly maintained robot and did as I’d been told. A few minutes later I was in dry clothes and learning my way around the kitchen as I got things going. The two girls disappeared into their bedrooms. From conversation shouted between them, I gathered both had dates with boyfriends later.

Dinner was casual, served in the great room that adjoined the kitchen. Jasmine and Lia were in bathrobes, halfway through date-prep. They ate like ravenous wolves and praised my cooking to the skies. After dinner, they dove back into the primping while I did the dishes and settled on the couch to watch the news. It was still raining, with no sign of a letup. Good thing it was Friday; if the rain stopped over the weekend the diesels at least might roll on Monday morning. My musings were interrupted by Jasmine’s whistle for attention.

“Hey, Jack! What d’you think?” I looked up and my eyes popped out of my head.

Jasmine was in tight black leather pants and a red leather top that fit like a second skin, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Lia was wearing shiny black tights and pumps with what I though of as dancer heels, a green and black camouflage miniskirt, and a black silk top with a plunging neckline that made her standing as a member of the taxonomic class Mammalia crystal clear. Her hair shone, dropping straight to her shoulders like a blue-black curtain. Both were made up in the restrained way that manages to gild lilies that need no gilding. Overall impression: lust, drool, lust, drool.

As soon as I could get my tongue to work, I said, “Jasmine, you look absolutely stunning. And the only word to describe you, Lia, is ‘WOW!’ How come I never meet girls who look so good?”

They laughed and dropped mock curtseys to me. Downstairs, a cab honked. Over dinner, they’d agreed to share a cab and went down the elevator to take it. I shut off the TV, put the classical music station on the stereo, and picked up one of the computer magazines I had brought with me.

I was lying on the couch, deep in an article describing research into nanodrive technology, when I heard the elevator switch on. I looked at my watch. It was only 9:30. What could this be?

Lia got off the elevator and slowly walked into the apartment. Her raincoat was sodden, her hair hung in strings around her face, she was soaked from the knees down and her shoes looked ruined. Streaks of mascara told me that she had been crying. I went to her and helped her out of her coat.

“Lia, what’s wrong?” I asked.

She turned and buried her face in my shoulder, sobbing. I held her gently, patting her back and trying to soothe her. After a couple of minutes, between gulps and tears she told me what had happened.

She was supposed to meet her boyfriend at a hot new club in the meatpacking district. She’d had a couple at the bar waiting for him, but he hadn’t shown. When she headed toward the ladies’ room, she saw him. He was in one of the banquettes on the far side of the dance floor with another girl. He had been french-kissing her and had had one hand up under her skirt. A knock-down, drag-out screaming match had followed that ended with Lia slapping the poachin’ ho-bag across the face hard enough to knock her down and punching her EX-boyfriend in the gut so hard he’d dropped like a poleaxed steer and puked all over her shoes. She’d grabbed her coat and made it three blocks before she’d started to cry. She had walked back all the way from the club.

“Two months I’ve been going with the guy, and he pulls this on me!” she said, sniffing back tears. “I’m done with him. What a loser!”

“He has no idea what he’s missing,” I agreed, stroking her hair. “Some people don’t know good when it’s right in front of them. He’s a fool in every sense of the word.” I tipped her head up and said, “Go get out of those wet things. I’ll hand you in a towel. Go on, now.” I gave her a gentle push towards her bedroom.

I hung her raincoat next to mine in the kitchen and brought Lia a towel fresh from the dryer. I knocked on her door and, eyes closed, opened it and reached the towel in. I felt her take it and closed the door before retreating to the great room. I got the wine and two glasses out. I had a feeling Lia might want a drink.

A little while later, I heard footsteps in the hallway. Lia walked into the great room and came toward me with a runway model’s strut. She had dried and brushed her hair and scrubbed her face. She was still wearing the silk top and the miniskirt, but was bare-legged and had changed into a pair of black stiletto heels that brought out the curve of her calves. She changed the radio to a smooth jazz station, crossed the room, poured two glasses of wine and handed me one.

“I don’t want to drink alone, Jack, okay?”

She sat next to me and tossed back half the glass in one swallow while I sipped at mine, unsure how to react. I looked at her cautiously. She caught me at it and burst out laughing.

“You look like a puppy dog that isn’t sure if he going to be kicked or not. Relax. I’m not mad at you.”

I stayed where I was, in the middle of the couch. She chuckled and patted the cushion right next to her, taking another sip of wine.

“I know tension I see it. Slide on over here and I’ll give you a shoulder and neck massage. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” She patted the cushion again.

I eased over and settled beside her. She touched my shoulder and I jumped, spilling wine down the front of my shirt. Lia snorted.

“Put down the glass, clumsy, take your shirt off, and let’s try it again. I’d rather work on bare skin anyway.”

Flushing red with embarrassment, I handed her the wineglass. She put it on the endtable. Lia took hold of my shoulders and I jumped again. She laid her right leg across my lap to hold me still, her miniskirt hiking up to micro-mini length. My hard-on started to grow, but if she felt it she gave no notice. She started to work on my neck and shoulders.

Although it felt good, I couldn’t relax and enjoy it. I was painfully aware of her. Beads of sweat started on my forehead. Here I was, in proximity to a stunningly gorgeous woman, and I was afraid to move, much less make a move!

Lia must have felt it through her fingers. After five minutes of firm, steady massage she stopped and half-turned me so she could see my face.

“Jack, I swear you’re even tenser now than you were before. What’s your problem, for heaven’s sake?”

You really want to know, Lia?” I asked. She nodded. “It’s two things.

“First, I think you’re one of the sexiest women I’ve ever met, but I’m afraid to try and start anything because I think you’ll deck me if I dare to touch you, much less kiss you.” She watched my face, her expression unreadable.

“Second,” I went on, “you’re a black chick. A gorgeous black woman,” I hastily amended. “I’ve never been with a black woman, but I’ve heard the stories. I’m scared I just… won’t – measure up, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” I finished in a rush. I turned my head away, expecting either to be shoved away as unclean or slapped for my presumptions.

Nothing happened. After a few seconds, I felt Lia’s gentle fingers turn my face back to her. I opened my eyes. The look on her face was tender. She stroked my chest and I was glad I hadn’t skimped on my schedule at the gym.

“You’re sweet, Jack, but you don’t know anything about women. I wouldn’t have offered to rub your neck if I wasn’t interested and if I didn’t want you to touch me.” She took my right hand and laid it on her left breast. I could feel her nipple under my fingers.

“And as far as measuring up – “ Lia slid her hand into my slacks to find my cock, caressing it and feeling it erect in her hand. “Don’t believe everything you hear. It feels to me like you’ll measure up just fine.” Her hand started to move slowly on my cock.

We leaned forward and our lips met. Hers opened under mine, her tongue probing into my mouth as I returned her kiss. My left arm slid around her back, drawing her closer while my right hand gently squeezed her breast. She moaned softly and arched her back, pressing her tit harder into my hand. I slipped my hand to her waist and up under the blouse, her skin hot velvet under my fingers. I found her nipple and brushed my thumb over it as I cupped her cantaloupe-sized breast and squeezed very gently. Lia moaned again and broke our kiss, throwing her head back.

“Go ahead, baby,” she whispered hoarsely. “Suck ‘em. Suck my tits. Bite my nips. Go on. Twist ‘em, pull ‘em, lick ‘em, whatever you want. I love it. They’re all yours, baby. Use me.” She pulled my head down to her massive bosom, moaning in need.

I pulled the blouse out of her waistband and up above her breasts. She let go of me and yanked it off over her head, leaving her awesome boobs exposed for me, lifting them to my lips and repeating urgently, “Suck my boobies, baby! Suck ‘em!”

I dove down and seized her right nipple in my mouth. The plum-colored nipple was stiff, like a long pencil eraser. I sucked and nibbled on it. Lia pressed my head down while my right hand latched back onto her left tit and twisted the nipple roughly, feeling it harden even more. I pulled on it and at the same time caught the right in my teeth and sucked air in past it. Lia’s back arched and she groaned.

“Yes! That’s it! Don’t stop, lover! Bite ‘em! Maul ‘em! Don’t stop for anything! Hurt me! Make me cum, stud! I love it!”

I didn’t stop. I kept on, pulling, twisting, easing up, then coming back harder. Lia was panting, her eyes closed, her hands coming up to push those massive mounds together, her long nails digging into her sensitive tit-flesh. I shifted my grip and released her right nipple; she growled in protest. Ignoring it, I opened my mouth as wide as I could and managed to suck both swollen nips and a good amount of her aureolas into my mouth, whiplashing my tongue frantically across them as my hands squeezed her breasts even harder.

Lia shrieked, “Y-e-e-e-s-s!” as she came. Still sucking on her nipples, I dropped my right hand to her silky thigh and slid it up to the junction of her legs. She wasn’t wearing panties. I could feel the wetness of her climax as I covered her mound with my hand, feeling for her clit. I found it and stroked it with my finger. She pressed herself against my hand and I introduced her cunt to first one, then two and finally three of my fingers, finger-fucking her thoroughly as she humped against my hand and my thumb brushed her love-button.

“Oh God, you’re killing me!” she panted. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop… aaiigh, it feels so good… don’t stop… ohhh… ohhh… ohhhhh, cumming again! AAAHH!”

She let go of her breasts and pushed my hand into her as far as it would go. I felt her nipples soften and go slack as her body went rigid and she screamed in orgasm. She fell back limp on the sofa and I eased away from her. Exhaling deep gasps of pleasure, she reached up and grabbed my hand.

“Oh no, you don’t. I’m not letting you get away so easily, Jack. We’re just getting started, you pale stud.”

“So you think I might measure up?” I asked cockily, bringing my right hand to Lia’s mouth. She took the three fingers I had used to finger-fuck her and slowly, sensuously sucked them clean, tasting her own juices as I sat back down and caressed her skin.

“I want you inside me,” she said softly. “I want you to fuck me, Jack. I want your white cock. Let’s move into the bedroom.”

“But what if Jasmine comes home and catches us?” I asked, pulling my black beauty to her feet. She put an arm around my waist and I reciprocated. She kissed my cheek, her eyes bright.

“She won’t. And even if she did, A) it’s none of her business; and B) if she wants to share, she’ll have to ask. Or isn’t having two sexy girls, ready and willing to do anything you want, every male’s secret fantasy?” We walked toward Lia’s bedroom, savoring our skin-to-skin contact.

“Only in my more foolish moments,” I admitted. “Fantasies aside, there isn’t a man alive that could satisfy two foxy girls like you. I’ll be content if I can manage to please YOU tonight.” Lia turned into my arms beside her big, inviting bed and kissed me again, her talented tongue teasing mine and starting my erection to rising again.

“You have, baby. Oh yes, you have. And there’s lots more where that came from,” she whispered. “Let’s get naked.”

I stepped away from Lia and knelt to take off my shoes and socks. Standing up again, I unbuttoned my pants, let them fall to the floor, and stepped out of them. Lia looked incredibly erotic standing there topless, her huge breasts inviting caresses as she stood hipshot for my inspection. My cock, already hard, stiffened even more as I put my hands on her miniskirt and unfastened it. She wriggled out of it, and I slowly slid it down her brown legs. She stepped out of it and put a hand on my head to brace herself; but when she would have taken off the black stiletto heels she was wearing, I stopped her.

“No. Leave them on, sugar. You’re sexier that way.” She straightened up again, her hand lightly brushing my hair, her eyes closing in anticipation.

I kissed my way from her knee up her leg, running my tongue along her thigh and continuing to her pussy. She kept her bush well trimmed, with the lips shaved or plucked clean so as not to interfere with a questing tongue. She was already wet, and her breathing quickened as my tongue found her outer lips and slowly traced them before moving higher to her clitoris.

I was pleased to see Lia had an unhooded clit. I had long nursed a theory that women whose clits did not have to be coaxed out of a hood were much more responsive and eager for sex, and much faster to cum, than their less fortunate sisters. My field research tonight indicated I might be on to something.

Lia gasped as I gently sucked her clitoris into my mouth. I ran my tongue slowly up and down the shaft, avoiding the supersensitive tip for the moment. I could feel the shaft hardening as blood flowed into the tissues, marking her arousal. I nibbled at it; Lia’s hands pressed my head into her crotch. She began to purr as I continued to work her clit.

“Ohh, baby, that’s sooo good… I like it… don’t stop!”

I pulled back and replaced my tongue with the edge of a fingernail. Lia jumped a little and whined, but only for a moment, because I had something else for my tongue to do. I traced her labia with my tongue, tasting her dew and taking my time. They got wetter as her body responded to what I was doing. After a couple of minutes of this, I curled my tongue and drove it between her pussy lips, holding it straight and nodding my head up and down so it moved up and down the length of her cunt. Up and down, from clit to base, over and over.