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At each moment of conquest—this went on for forty-five minutes to an hour—she made sure that she made eye contact with Dick-Two....she especially did this whenever some big, meaty paw covered her thong—she would grind into it and then push off and dance away....
The last time she did this she strutted by his table....he reached out and grasped her wrist.... She looked down at him hot-eyed and let the words form on that perfect, thick red-slashed mouth: 'What do you want, Daddi?'....
His mouth was crotch-high, and she thrust it at him with movement so slight that even he doubted she had done it....the smell of perfume and sweat and pre-cum mixed together in a musk that made his head swim....he tried to bring his best game, but even to him, it was clear he was out of his league: 'I want you, Bitch....' He said, trying to sound the playa....
'That so?' 'Via smiled—trying not to laugh—'and what of this bitch, you want?'....pushing that crotch just a half inch closer....
Before he could answer, her music came up and she broke into the nastiest dance of the night—right there for him—or so he thought....
She straddled him and rocked in his lap....pulled his jacket back as she peeled down her top and rubbed her sweaty titties all over his very expensive, starched white shirt....she thought she could feel his nipples rise behind the fabric....
She cover his mouth with her thick, red-coated lips and hummed 'Nasty Girl' while her tongue wrestled with his....
Then she backed off him....turned round, and backed up on him....her ass all in his chest and worked....he reached between her legs and grasped the hardness in her thong and began to stroke it....
'Moment of truth,' she thought....pushed her mini up over her hips and gripped the bows of her thong between thumbs and forefingers...gave a slight tug—all in rhythm—and all of her goodness sprang forth....
'You want this, Daddi?' she cooed....
***
Poleman was 'drugged'...he was 'drunk'...he was 'intoxicated'.... This bitch was too fuckin' fine and here she was dancing in front of him...the prettiest, hardest cock he'd ever seen almost on the tip of his tongue, and this fine, muthafuckin' bitch was asking him if this was what he wanted....
He reached forward...caught Avia's hips and pulled her to him.... There was no resistance on her part.... She knew two things: she knew what she had to do—R was shooting her every move—had been since Poleman walked into the club....and she knew what she wanted to do—she was hot as fuck....she needed relief and she had fantasize all week about getting right here—in this mouth...she wanted to fuck this mouth...not because it was attractive...but because of what it represented....if ever there was a mouth that SHOULD be fucked, this was one....
So she leaned into him with a vengeance—intent on punishing him....no niceties.... 'Via bottomed in his throat on the first stroke...felt him gag and held him on her cock....strong hand away from the camera firmly behind his head....then she pulled back and began to ride....
R caught it all for posterity....
***
7 Cocksucker
Ricardo deCulo sat in his office....nice office....for a junior....not quite what he had in mind...yet not bad....not like the seniors' suites—nothing like what that bitch commanded....
DeCulo....bright boi from a very good family—'Hispanic'—he was quick to let you know...no taint here...no mixing of unsavory bloods....a youngster longing for the good old days of the Cold War, unbridled machismo, and when lessers knew their place....his favorite fantasy: Sydd in maid's uniform....happily dusting...or own her knees...waxing...Master Ricardo's cock....
Ricardo deCulo—Dick-One—was as white as they come for a Spanish-speaking white boi...and he wanted to remind you—emphatically—of the whiteness of his Spanish heirs—the conquistadores who made all of this possible....he took great pains to make all of this obvious by denigrating everyone below him, and particularly singling out people of color—specifically the Spanish-speaking dark ones—to unleash his own venom....
As usual, his mail had been neatly compartmentalized and stacked according to priority....external, sorted by client; internal, by the hierarchy of the firm....then the miscellaneous....
The manila, inner-office envelope sat in the middle of the desk....its presence was as portentous as it was out of place—it didn't fit into his system....As he slid behind the desk into the sumptuous leather desk chair, it both commanded his attention and threw him off-guard....
He lifted it...weighed it...noted its flimsiness.... Then undid the cord.... The content slid out effortlessly.... Two 8x11, high-resolution glossies....
***
Two 8x11, high-resolution glossies....
She was beautiful....coppered-colored, black chick in a red, Asian-cut wig....the face was exquisite....and in ecstasy....
His eyes slid further down the page.... 'Damn!' he mused... 'This one is 'special'....as he caught sight of her tits—two up-thrust cones...nipples straining for some invisible pleasure....
Then his eyes came to what really made her special and the source of the ecstasy and the angst in her face....from what he could tell, this black chick had a very, very big cock...and it was embedded in the mouth of some slobbering white boi....
Ricardo wanted to turn away but her image was just too powerful...the dick in Dick-One had gotten the best of him....
***
In what might be best described as a 'cold sweat', Dick-One reached for the second photo....when he brought it into his line of sight all the blood drained from his face....he recognized the face on the other end of that cock....the one that looked as if it was attempting to choke itself.... 'Poleman...!'he said under his breath—more in gasp....before he collapsed back into his seat....
***
'Get a hold, dammit! Get a hold! He cursed softly to himself....he needed to steady himself and think this through....
He rose from the desk and moved to the bar....the cubes clinked in the glass as they were splashed with Glen Livett....he keyed the remote for the cd-player....he needed to be calmed....
It was 'classical'....though not the kind of classical that either you or I— or even he— might have had in mind....this 'classic'—one that would certainly be remembered—would be archived in quite a different space....
The voice was looped....over and over....in a deep, shallow, guttural tone, the woman's voice repeated: 'Give me that big, black cock, Bitch...fill all my holes.... Give me that big, black cock, Bitch...fill all my holes....'
He thought he was going crazy—loosing it....
***
'So glad you could stop by, Richard....' She began down the long conference table....
He remembered Amy's description of her: 'an Executioner'.... She was dressed for the part...
It was a long, long, tight black dress that clutched at her calves....stopping just there....at a pair of very, very dark, seamed Cuban-heeled stockings that slid into black, patent-leather, peep-toed stilettos....at her waist was a very wide corset belt, making it all seem impossibly thin; making her seem impressively domineering...and in charge....and she was....
Then there was that incredible black face...and that shock of unruly, short, nappi blond hair....
'How long have you been with us, Richard?'.... how could he know that this question—like all the rest—was rhetorical....
'Five years'.... He blurted out....
'Five years,' she repeated softly....
He nodded like an embarrassed school boi....
'Five years,' she sighed again.... 'You, Amy, and Ricardo have been meteoric....'
He nods again...the heat in his cheeks starting to burn....
'Tell me....' --the tone is emphatic—he snaps to attention....
'Tell me.... Did you actually think that five years would be enough to insulate you against all the mischief you created?...would be enough to protect you from all the shit you caused to be rained down upon this firm?....Did you honestly think that someone—no matter how high—would be willing to cover your ass—YOUR ASSES—forever?'....she added the last bit, drawing out 'asses' for dramatic emphasis.... She wanted him to know that no one would escape her wrath....
He winced.... No answer....
She walked the length of the table....thumbed open the manila envelope she carried and twenty-five or more glossies cascaded to the table....
Behind the burning of his eyes he heard her ask—rhetorically—'Did you truly think that five years of snot-nosed, sophomoric, bigoted, and racist behavior, could protect you from THIS?....'
She glided back to the other end of the table and out the door....
Tears splashed silently onto the scattered 8x11s....
***
She re-entered just as noiselessly as she had exited....she wanted to give him time...but not too much time—old interrogation technique from her days in the DA's office....
'Worse day of your life, huh?' she said softly....
He nodded 'Yes'....
'That's what I like about you bois...regular candy-asses....you're probably thinking suicide about, now....'
He jerked up in his chair....Again the look of a school boi caught in his own shit....
'Could you possibly think I would let you off that easy?....Could you???!!!'
He stared...for a moment....tried to recall everything he had ever heard about S. O. Black....and then said sofly...almost inaudibly: 'What do you want me to do...?'
***
Amy was just about to emerge from the ladies' room after her routine afternoon relief...Before she could leave the washbowl, Sydd was at her side....
'You know....' --a rather long pause—'I would have thought that a partner in this firm—albeit, a junior partner—would have learned to practice a bit more discretion....See you in my office in—let's say—thirty minutes....'
Amy went whiter than usual....
***
Sydd began—Amy's loop playing softly as background—'Some psychiatrists believe in sexual addiction....Me...I believe it's a crock....What about you?'....another rhetorical question...that Amy didn't get....
She answered, shakened.... 'I ....I...I don't know....' voice full of tremors....
'But it does seem that you have a --shall we say—'fixation?....'
Amy could only stare at the table....her turn to have the tears well up in her eyes....
'I suppose I should be flattered, though....Was that really my name you were whispering....?' Sydd had made her way down the table....Amy could catch that subtle scent of her that made hairs stand on end—that gave her a certain electricity—that made more than her eyes wet....
'So....the 'black bitch' turns you on, huh...?' Sydd whispered....stroked Amy's hair....and Amy did just as expected....came....
And quite hard, at that....
'Good....' Sydd said softly....the only thing punctuating the silence was the door closing behind her....And Amy's sobs—the combination of shame and release....
***
Sydd let her stew...
She re-entered with towels—hot and dry—and let Amy try to give some order back to her appearance....
Again, softly: 'Amy...Amy...Amy.... What are we to do with you?...'
Again, the rhetorical....Again, Amy misses her cue...she answers: 'Whatever you want, Ms Black....Whatever....' the voice trails off....
***
'YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!....' that was about all that Ricardo could get out before two burly gentlemen—both of them black—ejected him from his favorite watering hole—O'Shay's....
Amy looked at Richard—Dick-Two—with red-rimmed eyes and sighed....his eyes—blood-shot—told the same story....
'She was right....' He croaked....
'She said he would turn against us,' Amy began....
'He always thought he was better than us...superior....' Dick-Two....
They went on into the night—until closing....rationalizing--justifying about how they had turned on the friend—their one-time, erstwhile friend...their confidant....their CO-CONSPIRATOR....
They needed to rationalize....but if the truth be told, they didn't turn....they were flipped....
They had simply encountered a force they hadn't reckoned on....a force—in their young professional lives—that was both irresistible and immoveable.... A force, that for them, was also unknowable and therefore incalculable....
They had come across Sydian Black....
***
'Here...let me help you....' The extended hand was firm; the heft was strong as he was pulled up from the curb....
'Funny...that I should be pulling you up out of the gutter, Ricardo....' she said..... 'Funny, but not altogether unexpected....
'You need to learn a bit about strategy and tactics....there's a lot you need to know about under-estimating your enemy—and let there be no doubt—I AM YOUR ENEMY....' It wasn't loud...it was simply emphatic....
'Maybe I should give you a reading list....
'From the looks of things...You'll have some time on your hands....' With that she handed him his severance check.... 'Don't bother to pick up your things... I'll have them shipped to you....
'By the way....You should always remember one thing.... Never...never...fuck with me and mine....
'Gotta go....got a party to plan....Toodles!... O, wipe that shit off your coat!...'
She spun away from him....began her walk up the avenue, huge nappy-haired, unshorn poodle at her side....
The day before New Year's Eve....
***
8 Auld Acquaintance...Best Forgotten—Epilogue
New Year's Eve....
The condo beneath the penthouse is ablaze.... Its three glass walls are a show of lights that overlooks the river at the point where it joins the lake....
The door bell sounds over and over.... Richly resonates to the glittery sound of clinking champagne flutes and the flutter of laughter and light conversation.... This is a private party—a very private party....
Guests arrive....in little or nothing....feminine types drop their wraps at door to reveal nothing beneath them—save heels—or undergarments so flimsy—and provocative—that nudity would be considered more demure....the range of stilettos—pumps, peep-toe, sandals, ankle boots, over-the-calf, over-the-knee, thigh high boots—boggles the mind; sends the shoe fetishists into catatonic shock....their planes are only broken by garter belts and corsets—the most expensive and ornate—tethered to stockings of all hues and textures....these tending to end just beneath some meticulously shaven crotch....convexed and concaved
The men.... As for the men, there was the tendency for a bit more discretion....Many had arrived in silk pajama bottoms—some in leather pants—beneath their coats....many shirtless; others in all manner of tops that raised the eyebrows of potential partners: silk T's and tanks; meshes and nets; leather straps and wide, wide belts....some needed no encouragement to leave their pants at the door with their chaperones' wraps.... And for some—when the pants came down—there was both admiration and anticipation—even cocks that were not hard stirred the imagination....
Except for the hostesses and hosts, the guests were all given masks—a matter of party discretion—which they might or might not wear....the more creative—particularly among the feminine types—had simply made their faces up so exquisitely and with such creative fervor that they were incognito cognito.... 'the unknown known' so-to-speak....
Host and hostess—sometimes all four—greeted guests at the door....coats and wraps were gathered by a tall willowy blonde wearing little more than an extremely sheer apron, hose, stilettos, a smile and upturned breasts with gold-studded nipples....her face made up artistically to disguise, but not to hide beauty or....ardor.... One got the impression that she was truly pleased to be here....that something or someone had smiled upon her...she had been blessed....
A young, blondish white male toured the flat wit a tray of champagne....his only attire: a half-mask, bow-tie and gold-plated cockring....the heft of his cock and its leakage indicated that he, too, was quite happy to be here under any circumstance....he, too, looks vaguely familiar....
***
A New Year's Eve sampler: they virtually came from all walks of life—to be sure, there were no pimps or drug dealers here—no hardened criminal types—if they had even thought of appearing on the premises, let alone at Sydd's door, there would not have been a stiletto long enough to pry out of their asses....but there were some women...and wmn...and young men who ...shall we say...on other occasions would be using their charms in the most 'professional' of ways....but tonight, they are guests of S.O. Black....and like everyone else on the premises—including the District Attorney, the Commissioner of Police, and the Mayor's chief aide, all knew the meaning of the word discretion....The only power that truly scared Sydd was her own....
So....At the New Year's Eve bash people mingled and fucked....or had whatever kind of sex they wished that was consensual and within....even Sydd's BDSM friends were tame by their standards at this event....
A sampler: two gorgeous young men on a divan facing the river, its back to the crowd, are reflected in the ceiling to floor glass as they jerk one another off....the only thing as passionate as the pumping fists is their lip-lock....
Just beyond them, near a brazier on the balcony that wraps three sides of the condo, is another couple...in furs....two women it appears...at first glance....the dark one leans over the rail with her fur raised while the pale one approaches her from behind....the scene unfolds as the pale eases a thick, bright red strapon up her lover's ass—that is her lover for this instance—then reaches round to grasp what is equally as hard between her lover's thighs....at that moment, their tongues, too, start to grapple with each other....
The floor in front of the front fireplace is also occupied....a young Asian woman had made herself the center of attention...two young men—of unidentifiable ethnic background—dark, built, exquisitely hung...filled her holes, front and back....her moans were muffled as they echoed into an equally exquisite black cunt....perched above her mouth, pussy lips spread and splayed, was a stunning, bald, black woman, whose temporarily tattooed face, gave off a fierce eroticism magnified by the rapturous grimace her climax fixes on her entire person....
These scenes are replicated throughout the flat....they exist along with the tinkling of ice and crystal....conversation and laughter....against a backdrop of sighs and moans....
***
The condo is filled with revelers....the door chimes once again....Sydd opens it...Avia flanks; R and Jr are to their rears—actually not bad places to be, given who they are....
Schuyler—he of Clewles, Oles, Cunter, and Koch—Sydd often mused what the would be called on the street if her name preceded all theirs—'Black C.O.C.K.—(bad joke, huh?)—in any case, Schuyler had arrived with his former trophy-wife, whom Sydd had only, and purposely, met in passing....she had aged well over the years—in spite of what Sydd might have supposed were Schuy's antics—or maybe because of them—but quite well, indeed....
An olive-complected, redhead, statuesque—stunning, even Sydd would share....legs for days—roughly Sydd's height—and ass that some secretive African ancestor must have bequeathed to her—and a rack that only Schuy's money could have bought.... Great smile, too....
Sydd mused.... 'How could I have let all that pass me by all this time....'
'Welcome Schuy....Diana, soooo happy you could come....'
Diana coos: 'Wouldn't have missed this for the world.... Heard so much about this affair, as one hears about it, that is'....she chuckled, as she shed her floor-length ermine to reveal gold nipple-rings, a gold, chain-link belt, and a pussy-ring that appeared to be a small bell.... All this was mounted in gold, four-inch stilettos, whose gold chain motif wound their way up her calves....
