tagInterracial LoveBlack Sex in New York

Black Sex in New York


Michaela had worn her sexiest and most expensive underwear for the meeting. She always did for big meetings; the bigger the meeting, the sexier the undies. Important meetings turned her on. Negotiating and getting her own way in business discussions excited her. They aroused her and could almost make her cum. Competing in a business meeting was like sexual foreplay to her, coming out top with a negotiation was like straddling a guy and fucking him and winning was like having an orgasm. She rarelt left an important meeting with dry panties!

Michaela was one of the most successful investment bankers in London and, in her book that meant the world. She was in the top two or three female UK bankers and was undoubtedly the top female M & A specialist, probably in the world.

At just thirty-six, she was now about to win the job she had set her heart when she left London University, some ten years ago. She was about to become, she was sure, the first female MD of the Global Mergers and Acquisitions Department of a serious investment bank. And Goddens, the US owned banking conglomerate, was the most serious of all serious investment banks; they were big, secure, American blue blood with a touch of UK aristocracy, which of course was bought. But the in their worls they could buy anything and anyone. They were aggressive, influential and stupendously successful. There was hardly a major takeover or merger that happened anywhere in the world where Big G, as Goddens was known, was not involved. And from now on Michaela would be responsible for all of that, for she was attending her final interview for the very top job in the world in that part of the bank's extensive activities.

As the panel of two American, one German and one English mature bankers, drawn from the main board interviewed her in New York, she was tingling all over. Her heavy, full breasts felt so warm and alive and her prominent nipples were pounding with sensations as their puckered hardness fought valiantly to make indentations in the smooth material of her designer suit. She was used to that, however, so now she bought suits with suitably thick material to prevent them showing. Nevertheless, she knew they would be stretching the gossamer thinness of the Janet Reger, black lace and silk bra. Just as she also knew that the gusset of the black, lacy boy-shorts would be damp if not soaked. Often she had to excuse herself in an important meeting to change her panties and she always had at least three pairs in her bag and case.

She knew they would be damp because she knew the meeting had gone great. Michaela could read people, especially men so well that often she knew what they were going to be thinking in two minutes time before they even knew what they were thinking now. She was like a chess player in thinking ahead and it was that, in the main, which made her such an effective and successful negotiator.

It always amused to look at her adversaries in meetings. They were mostly male, often, like today, much older than her and usually, she could tell, they fancied her like hell. Then that was hardly surprising. She was stunningly good looking, but not beautiful, she knew that. She considered herself to be dramatic looking rather than glamorous; she preferred that and worked on it. In keeping with her profession she had a rather hard look, a little like Madonna or Glen Close on a bad day. Her lips were probably a little thin and her nose slightly too pointed for her to be considered classically beautiful, but her big, perfectly oval, blue eyes made up for anything else that might be thought of as an impediment to her looks. Having had poor vision since she was a child and never having been able to get on well with contacts, Michaela wore glasses that she thought gave her a more studious look and yet another advantage when negotiating a deal. Her hair was naturally blonde with darker streaks and she wore it short as it was easier and quicker to wash and dry. Off duty she gelled it and made it a little spiky, which made her look younger, more casual and overall sexier, or so she hoped. But then she had little off duty time for she averaged twelve hours a day six and often seven days a week working or travelling. Her skin was pale with the pallor associated with her Danish race and all over it was as smooth as a baby's bottom.

Her body was rounded or, as she preferred it to be called, very womanly. She was under no illusions about the fact she was quite a big girl. Five feet eight inches tall and weighing in at just under one hundred and forty pounds she had C cup breasts that often swelled up to D, rotund hips and a slightly oversized, but nevertheless shapely bum. Never having born children her stomach was relatively flat, although when she relaxed there was a slight paunch that she put down to airline and hotel food. She avoided many of the bodily excesses of working too many hours, travelling and eating at the world's most expensive restaurants by regular very hard workouts in the gyms at her offices in London and New York and at her apartment block in London Docklands. Her weight never varied by more than a few pounds usually being spot on one hundred and thirty-nine pounds.

She had good legs and men that were arse men simply adored her for her bum was full and rounded with surprisingly full cheeks for one so slim; a real black girl's arse a lover had once complimented her as he plunged his tongue between her cheeks, something she enjoyed from a lover.

What amused her most of all in meetings, was that as her opponents and colleagues lusted after her, wondering what it would take to get inside Ms Michaela Henrison's knickers, she was most likely sitting there creaming them at the buzz of the negotiations, not the men.


She realised that it was a little dangerous and that did concern a bit, although she was more concerned that someone might find out. A female, senior investment banker who paid for extreme was hardly someone a multi-national would want on their takeover team, but then that was part of the buzz. Buying sex was not so much physically dangerous, but could lead to blackmail, she figured. Nevertheless, Michaela had been buying it for several years now. Buying it wherever her travels took her, New York, Paris, Frankfurt, Japan, Beijing, Mumbai, Dubai and even where they did not take her, her home town, London. Buying it in many forms, buying it to be with men, with women and with both. Buying it to satisfy her fantasies, sex with several men, a gangbang, being fucked by a huge cock and having two guys simulate raping her. Buying it in place of letting sex, romance and love find her.

She did not have time to meet friends, to develop relationships other than for business, to meet people outside of her job with whom sex might come about and she fervently avoided any form of attachment to anyone inside her high finance world. She would do nothing to prejudice her naked ambition of making it right to the top in the banking industry.

So, since being introduced to upscale escort agencies and the like a few years ago, by a woman who at the time was her boss, Michaela had developed a network of contacts. Trusted contacts that could, for a price, usually an exceedingly high one, but when you are earning over a million a year sterling who cares, provide her with exactly what she fancied and when and where she fancied it.

The drive from Wall Street up to the Pierre, although in a chauffeur driven Cadillac, was tiresome. The traffic was terrible and even with the AC, the ninety plus outside temperature and high humidity got into the limo. The only redeeming feature was what she knew would be waiting for her at the hotel.

It was that what had got her through the drinks and chat after the interview. It was the expectancy of what would be waiting for her that helped her survive the unnecessary, but traditional, dinner with the head of investment banking, the HR Director and the non-exec director responsible for recruitment. It was the knowledge of what would be waiting in her suite that had enabled her resist going to the toilet after the interview and wanking herself off. And it was that which was stopping her sliding her hands up her stockinged legs and masturbating behind the smoked glass in the back of the limo.


It came as no great surprise to Michaela when Roger Grevis the third, the CEO of the bank and Lord Ludlum, the Chairman, told her she had been successful, for she just knew she would be. Despite that, she had not arranged her real celebration of her promotion for tonight. That would come later. For tonight, she had called the agency from London.

"Hi it's Missus Mason" she had said to the receptionist, using her ID.

"Hello Missus Mason, could I please have your registration number and the answer to your security questions?

Michaela gave those and was immediately put through to Naomi, her consultant.

She had been dealing with this agency, or consultancy as they called themselves, for some time now and was quite well known to Naomi, albeit by the assumed name; just in case. The agency insisted on not knowing the real identities of their clients and thus went to great lengths to maintain the privacy. That extended to the payment methods. Michaela had to set up an account with a third party with whom she had to lodge five thousand dollars. When a payment was necessary, she would advise the third party as would the agency and the funds would be transferred; there was rarely any change from the five grand!

After using this agency for a year or so, Michaela had come to trust them. She didn't buy sex on every trip to New York, after all, she was over about every other week, sometimes just for a day or evening, but when she wanted sex, she now only used them. She had tried others but this lot always produced the goods. They were extremely efficient, something she demanded and were ultra-discrete, something she needed. , They did not know her real name or what she did so there was little risk in letting them know her hotel and room number; in any case, Michaela was used to assessing risk and living with it, that's what top bankers do.

She had carefully briefed Naomi on what she wanted and had explained that she could not specify a time that she would arrive back at her hotel. She had agreed that she would pay an hourly rate and that the clock should start ticking at seven, the earliest she felt she would be able to get away from the interview.

"I may not be there until eleven, though," she explained.

"That's no problem we can be on call all night if you wish, but of course we will have to charge from seven."

"Yes I appreciate that, just make sure that whatever time I get there, everything is ready."

"Of course Ms Mason, I will handle it personally."

"Thanks Naomi," Michaela had said from the first class lounge at Heathrow as she waited for her BA flight to New York two days ago.

She had known from experience that the interview and the offer of the job she had always wanted would turn her on. She knew that when she walked out of the Big G Head Office she would be sexually aroused and she was acutely aware that by the time, whatever time that was, she got back to The Pierre she would be in dire need of sex. It was always like that after a big meeting and that's why she made prior arrangements. She was scared that if she didn't do that, the need to be fucked would be so strong that she might just go to a bar and get herself picked up; she had done that before, but not since she had started buying it: so much tidier, cleaner and safer this way!

The doormen and bellboys mumbled their hellos as she glided through the white and cream lobby of what many consider to be New York's finest hotel. Goddards certainly did and, although it was way uptown from the offices, they maintained two suites there. Michaela had guessed the job was hers when she had checked in and had been shown to the premier suite. Just in case, she had checked to see if any other Big G executives were staying. They weren't, so that is when she was sure the MD position was hers.

Being in that suite, which was usually used by only the top level of management, had a similar effect on her to winning a negotiation. As a result, she was only in the sumptuous, elegance of The Pierre a few moments before she was lying in the middle of the king sized bed, her designer jeans round her ankles her hands inside her Agent Provocateur panties finger fucking herself to a very welcome and much needed climax. She had felt like a dog on heat all the way across the Atlantic and at the subsequent meeting. In fact she had felt like that since the phone call to the agency in the first class lounge, yes, she had felt like that since she had placed her order for tonight.

This evening, though, when she entered the large suite she knew she would not be masturbating. She knew everything would be ready for her. She knew that because she had called Naomi on the way uptown.

"Everything is set ma'am, just as you specified, you'll be there in ten minutes then?"

"Yes, we're just passing the Hilton on 6th."

Her entrance was as good as silent. The plastic card made no sound, the heavy door effortlessly opened. She put her Italian leather briefcase that she'd bought on a recent weekend in Florence, on the credenza in the hallway and walked across the thick pile, pale cream carpet to the bar in the living room. She poured herself a generous vodka, added a little water and some ice and lemon. She sipped it, waiting a moment or two as she looked at the closed bedroom door.

Undoing the buttons on the jacket of her power suit, she glanced into one of the numerous, gilt framed mirrors. Her tits looked good in the tight, black lace and silk bra. Quite big varying between a C and D they were nicely shaped, full, firm and reasonably upright for her age and their size and were capped by big nipples that were dark, almost brown. Her breasts were aching and her nipples felt ready to explode.

Momentarily thanking her lucky stars that she had lined something up, Michaela knew that she wanted sex badly and that she needed to be fucked hard and fast and probably several times. She slid her pencil skirt off, leaving the expensive garment crumpled on the floor and stood looking at her reflection in the mirror. The lacy shorts fitted her very snugly, emphasizing her quite prominent and, if left unattended, rather hairy pubic mound. Recently, Michaela had not left it unattended and had taken to keeping it billiard ball smooth by regular shaving.

She was aching to go into the bedroom, but she resisted that and sort of tested her resolve by wandering round the living room in her AP 'intimate apparel.'

She propped her bum against the back of a sofa, her legs stretched out before her, her ankles crossed as she sipped the almost neat vodka. She looked good and felt good. She put the glass down and undid her bra, dropping it casually onto the floor near to the eight hundred pound suit. Idly stroking her very erect, hard nipples with the side of the glass she hoped that Naomi hadn't screwed up and that all the arrangements had, as they usually did gone to plan. She took a deep breath and then walked towards the bedroom door clad in just the black, lacy boyshorts and her black, lacy-topped holdups. Stopping by the door, she took her panties off and went to grab the handle, but stopped.

"Fuck," she said to herself, realising that what she wanted was in the bathroom. Then she remembered that she could get to it through the kitchen.

The baby oil felt wonderful on her pubic mound as she massaged it into that tender area. It felt so good she could not resist pouring some onto her tits and rubbing it into them. The combination of rubbing the oil into her mound and breasts had the inevitable affect and Michaela was badly tempted to masturbate.

"What a fucking waste," she said to herself as she strode purposefully across the lounge, turned the bedroom door handle and walked in.


His arse looked gorgeous, full, rounded, firm and tight.

His back looked gorgeous, wide yet tapered, muscular yet lithe.

His legs looked gorgeous, long, slender and fit.

His skin looked gorgeous, smooth, silky, tight and stretched.

Michaela didn't say anything as she approached the huge bed. There was no need, the man was fully briefed. He knew what was expected from him; after all, he was a true professional, an experienced gigolo, one of the agency's top, gay studs.

She climbed onto the bed clad just in her lacy, holdup stockings, nothing else. She knelt beside the big, guy. He was six feet four and weighed just on two hundred pounds, or so his agency portfolio had stated. In close up his body was every bit as good as Naomi had claimed. His muscles were well defined but lithe not bulky like a body builder or a weights guy. She ran her eyes admiringly up and down his back noting his broad shoulders, narrow waist and rounded full bum. He was, she thought, truly gorgeous and she hadn't even seen his front yet.

She trailed her beautifully manicured, white painted, square cut fingernails down his back enjoying the slight shudder as they reached the base of his spine. She stopped there and ran them across each cheek flattening her palm on his cool, smooth skin. Each buttock jerked as she cupped it. That and his arse felt fabulous.

She put her fingernails back on his spine, between his shoulder blades. She dug them in a bit, not too far, but enough so he would feel it. She scratched him. Then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, she drew them downwards watching fascinated as they marked his skin: not enough to draw blood, but certainly sufficient for it to hurt him and without doubt enough to leave a mark that would be with him after they had finished.

In addition to her fetish for buying sex, Michaela also liked rough sex. She liked sex with pain, sex where people get hurt, sex where her partner gets hurt and sex where she gets hurt. Yes, she liked receiving as well as giving the mixing of pain with sexual pleasure.

Her pulse started to race when she saw the strong guy's huge body jump as the pain hit him, she liked that. She pressed her stockinged leg against his hip; he was firm, solid, hard. A great body she thought, as she raked her fingernails down his spine leaving four trails of scratch marks that nearly punctured, and certainly deeply grazed his flesh. Her fingernails reached the bottom of his spine, they arrived at his buttocks, they came to rest on his arse, his gorgeous arse. She used two hands here, both sets of fingers, all ten nails. Mmmmm, she breathed as she dug them, deep and hard into both of the full, rounded cheeks. She loved the way that when she first touched the two symmetrical orbs of flesh they were soft, but then, as the pain got to him, they hardened, until now they were like two rocks.

But Michaela was not all about pain. Her sex was not just hurting and being hurt. No it was more than that, much, much more; more complex, more involved, more delicate, more subtle and far more sophisticated.

Just as suddenly as she had dug her nails into the soft, pliant flesh of the male hooker's arse, so she stopped. Just as quickly as she had ravaged those cheeks with her hard nails, so she caressed them with her soft fingertips. Just as she had looked on seeing his buttocks jerk and contract, so now she bent forward. Just as she had been detached from him, they had not spoken or seen each other's faces yet, so she now became extremely intimate.

She laid her face on one of his cheeks. She kissed it; she ran her lips and tongue over the hardening and softening flesh as, at the same time, she rested her fingertips right on the tight crease. God he did have such taught buttocks, she thought 'Strong enough to crack a walnut' she smiled. Simultaneously, she licked the mound and pushed gently with her fingers. His bum relaxed, the flesh went soft, the crease opened, the cheeks parted. Her finger slid inside the deep crevice. She ran them up and down the valley, crossing and recrossing the entrance to his anus. Crossing and recrossing, yes, but each time going a shorter distance away from it. Each time spending a tad more time on the puckered skin, each time applying an increasing pressure, each time sending strong hints to him as to what was soon to come. At last, she stopped crossing and recrossing, for she had made her point, she had sent the invitation, she had made her needs obvious, she had let him know very clearly what she wanted. Yes, her actions had told him in the most sublime way that she was going to finger fuck his arse.

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