I decided to fore-go the perfunctory trip home for the holidays and spend it with my girlfriends. After a less than appetizing dinner, we threw on our best club gear and set out for a night on the town. The Blue Room, a trendy after hours hangout, pulsed with energy, and most importantly in my opinion, rock solid Servicemen. Trapped on our soil, those unfortunate foreign students of The International Air War College gathered together, as we had, to party their troubles away.
We quickly formed an attachment with a table of pilots from Kuwait who offered to buy us drinks. There was one in particular, a tall guy with kissable lips and smoldering good looks seated on the far side of the table, who caught my attention. He was less demonstrative than the others and every time I looked up, he was checking me out. We smiled and flirted back and forth a while. His sultry eyes seemed to undress me…so much so that by the time my third drink arrived, my nipples were aching beneath my bra. I imagine him to be an innocent aviator from a strict family who has always been attracted to Black women but dare not act on his desires lest he break some obscure Middle Eastern hocus pocus law which would condemn his mortal soul to hell and fall out of favor with his family. But now, far from those who’d chastise him, he sees me and is smitten almost immediately.
My imagination leans towards the fantastical after the second drink.
Finally after another drink, he stood and asks me to dance. His baritone voice and accent—his broad shoulder and misty grey eyes—damn, he was hot enough to melt butter! As long as he didn’t say anything stupid, he was guaranteed a piece of booty! He led me to the center of the crowded dance floor where our bodies did all the talking. Unexpectedly, he was a good dancer. I moved closer, flush against him and inhaled a scent so masculine words fail to do it justice. He snakes his arm around my waist forcing me grindingly against him. We exchange knowing looks—yeah, he’s getting booty, I thought as I turned my back to him. He grabbed my waist again and pulled me against his chest—the thin fabric of my dress and his jeans were the only thing between my ass and his bulge. Swaying to the music, I sank into him and allowed his hands to roam free as he pleased. From my stomach, he slowly caressed down to my waist—lower still to my hips and thighs. He hand felt heavenly against my bare skin. I found myself silently urging him upward, towards my satin covered slit.
He must have read my mind. One hand snaked around my waist effectively encircling me while the other explored my right thigh, playing with the short hem of my dress—he gave a throaty growled into the curve of my shoulder. His fingers moved upward, under my dress, I could feel the heat from his hand drawing closer and closer to my slick panties. His touch so intimate, his caresses electrifying, I throbbed with anticipation of his first touch. My hand drifted down between his thighs, gently rubbing, masturbating through his jeans. Tiny currents pulsed from his fingertips straight to my neglected clit. Just a little longer, I told myself. The thought of being publicly finger fucked by a complete stranger, letting him fondle the most intimate part of my being, knowing his sole purpose was to make me cum, tapped into a level of kink I wasn’t aware I possessed.
“May I?” He whispered into the curve of my shoulder.
“Yes.” I leaned back, allowing my head to rest on his shoulder, and then slowly, like a man claiming what was rightfully his, he moved my candy striped satin panties to one side and traced his middle finger back and forth over my wet lip, taking care to avoid my clit. Though his touch was soft and studied, there wasn’t an inch of my body it didn’t immediately consume. A low growl rippled across my neck where his lips rested and I felt his impish finger part my folds and slid it cautiously inside of me. I closed my eyes, breathed a lung full of his spicy scented hair and shamelessly humped his hand. Even now, retelling our story, I’m not ashamed. I never imagined what was occurring: some nameless guy with his hand between my legs, slowly fingering me, kissing my shoulder and massaging my clit in the middle of a crowded dance floor could be so erotic. I’ll admit, I loved it! I gasped and shook, wanting more—I needing more.
“If we go outside, will you take your panties off?” He moved my hair aside and kissed my neck.
“Will you finger me?”
“I’ll do anything you want.” His words were followed by a tiny lick. “Anything. Name it.”
Awww, his accent turned me to putty! I grabbed his hand and led him outside and a crossed the darkened parking lot to my car where he then leaned me against it, and kissed me softly, dangerously—his lips glided over mine, tasting me, taming me until I surrendered all responsibility for my pleasure to him. We stood there kissing for so long, I would have allowed him anything.
He brought his hands up to my breasts but instead of squeezing them, he ran his thumbs over my nipples and teased them to life, his lips never left mine. I could feel my panties getting wet—I moaned into his mouth—the need to have my pussy filled swelled when I felt his left hand drift up the inside of my thigh, simultaneously teasing my dress upward. He ran his fingers over my panties, and kissed me deeper, more passionately when he felt my wetness. Short shallow gasps, my desperate need to be taken by him, a perfect stranger, consumed me.
“Fuck you’re wet.” He crooned heavily, sliding the thin piece of satin to one side. I tried to remove my panties but he stopped my hand in mid motion and admonished me kindly, “Not yet. Slow down.” He slipped a finger deep inside me, fingering me slowly, delicately yet purposefully; I grind against his hand needing to cum. “My name is Tariq. Yours?” He opened my shirt and exposed my breasts to the night air.
“Stella.” I watched his tongue and lips lick and suck my nipples with the same precision and attention to detail his finger bestowed below.
“Pleasure to meet you, Stella.” He kissed me then returned to my nipple, taking my cue and sucking harder while his fingers fucked me to orgasm. I threw my arms around his neck—my gasping screams were ensnared in my throat—I struggled to choke them back lest their howling cry break the spell he had over me.
“Stella,” he breathed, his fingers still lodged in my slippery hole.
“Oh God, I want you.” The words came out in a gasped rush. I couldn’t believe how skilled his fingers were.
“I want you, too. But not like this,” he rumbled, his voice heavy with desire. “I don’t want to hurry.” He nibbled my lower lip then sucked it between his. “I want to take my time.” My back arched as his hand began pumping lightly. “Is there somewhere we can go?”
“My place.” I whispered in his ear. “What will you do to me?”
Without a word, he withdraw his wet fingers from my pussy then, bring them to his lips, he licked them clean before claiming my mouth—letting me taste myself on him. Once then twice, he licked my lips then crooned “What will I do to you?” Another lick. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
Tariq and I gave the finger to our friends and left like a shot!!
Back at my place, the realization of what we’d just done sank in and I became a little timid. Yes, me…the chick that less than twenty minute beforehand was cumming on a stranger’s hand in a parking lot was now timid, meek as a mouse! Standing in my bedroom, something changed; Mr. Stranger Sexy Hands had a name. There in my bedroom, he was Tariq Canaan, a thirty-five year old F-22 fighter pilot with a mother and father and six siblings in Kuwait City awaiting his return. To make matters worse, he and I shared a fascination for the macabre and, get this, a passion for hint of lime Tostitos. Given enough time, I could actually fall for this guy! With that nugget of info in my head, how was I supposed to see him as a means to an end?...the end being my orgasm.
Sure, I was still horny but I wanted more. I can’t say what ‘more’ meant at the time, but I want it…and he sensed my hesitation and took his time. He wanted to give me a night to remember, a night where his narrative could be easily summoned should I ever desire to relive our time together. And you know, he did actually that.
“Listen, and go along with me. We can stop any time you like,” He said close to my ear, his accent weakened me. “You look delicious this evening, Stella. Such a tiny dress you’re wearing and no bra underneath.” his hand roamed sensuously over my breasts. “Are you teasing me?”
“No,” I said quietly, engrossed by his ease and confidence.
“Yes, you are,” his hands caress my ass. “The way you were dancing—you practically begged me to touch you down here,” he hand ran smooth over my mound, his eyes drew me in. “Kiss me.” He cupped my face and brought my lips to his, softly they caressed mine. His hand gradually danced up bare thigh, our lips still joined.
Higher and higher his hand wanders under my hem, over my ass. “May I take your panties and dress off?
“Yes,” I sank into him.
Tariq lifted my dress over my head and peeled my panties down my legs, I stepped free of them. In his arms, he spun me away from him, one hand traced up the inside of my thigh, under my dress, while the other lifted my chin and said in a smoky tone, “Let me touch you.” He kissed my jaw line. I rested my head back against him, my legs parted willingly. “I love teasing you. Your skin…” he strayed higher, and growled. “…looks perfect against mine, don’t you think?”
I opened my eyes. I hadn’t noticed my large floor length mirror standing before us. He was right, of course, his rich butterscotch skin intertwined with mine was heaven, enticing and arousing. I studied our reflection; I felt so small there enveloped on his powerful legs to anchor me in place—it was too perfect for words. All the while, in an low undertone, he told me how lovely I was—how sexy I was—how seeing us, skin on skin, turned him on—how wet I was. “Part them just a little for me.”
I obligingly do so.
“You’re so soft,” he said as we watched him touching my pussy. “So warm and lovely.” He kissed my neck without breaking his gaze.
“Ohhhh” I moaned seeing my juice glistening on his fingertips.
“You like that, baby? Does that feel good?” His eyes still on the mirror. “Feel my fingers parting your swollen lips, teasing your wetness—stroking you right here, slowly—flicking your clit softly. Tell me, Stella, is this what you want? You want to cum with my finger sliding in and out of your wet little kitty?” His mouth on my neck, his other hand massaged my breasts. “I love the sound your pussy makes when I play with it. I could cum just from fingering you, beautiful.”
His finger flicked my clit a few times, and then dipped rhythmically inside of me—setting a steady, insistent pace that pushed me towards orgasm. “Yes, please,” I arched seeking his hand—the slushy sounds of him playing inside of me was hypnotic. So open and wet with excitement—he gave me what I needed before being asked, caressing and stroking with such care it brought a tear to my eye. I reached back and rubbed his bare cock.
“See what you do to me? See how hard you make me?”
“I want you inside of me.” I said in a lust deepened tone.
“Inside of you? Where do you want me?”
“Anywhere.” That single word garnered a heavily uttered ‘fuck’ from him.
“Take me in your mouth. Suck me, Stella.” He softly nibbled my earlobe. “I want to see your lips wrapped around my cock.”
His fingers tickle my clit on their retreat. I piously kneel before him, my back to the mirror. His fingertips softly traced my cheek, and tipped my face up towards his—with cock in hand, he said tenderly, “Suck.” My soft, warm, and wet mouth engulfed him, and began nursing his cock—I loved how it swelled and filled my mouth and throat.
“Ohh fuck yes...” Tariq groaned, pushing his cock deeper into my mouth, his hand firm in my hair, fucking my mouth slowly—in and out, back and forth. His eyes darted from our reflection in the mirror to looking down and watching his cock throb in and out—long, slow, steady thrust—my lips and tongue obediently service his thickness. Looking down, he thumbed my cheek, and said weakly, “Ohhh your tongue feels so warm on my cock.” “His thighs tremble, watching as he fucked my face. “Put your hand between your legs and masturbate while you suck me.” He said to our reflection. “I want to see your fingers sliding between your lips.”
I complied, and dipped my middle finger into my wetness; my other hand stroked his length, trying my damnedest to jack him off on my tongue. My juice dripped down my hand and excited us both. The more I dipped, the more he swelled and pumped, and urged me on with dirty words and groans. I was close…very close…cum hungry and close!
“Look at my cock sliding into your mouth,” Tariq said looking down at me. “You’re so hot, Stella. Your tongue licking me—your pouty lips wrapped around me—I could cum right now, just watching your head sliding up and down.” He looked in the mirror. “Deeper, finger yourself deeper; I wish you could see how wet you are” His held my head and rolled his hips into face. “Your mouth is full, isn’t it? Can I fill your pussy?”
“Yes,” I fingered myself like a bitch in heat!
“Do you have condoms?” His eyes followed my finger, pointing to my night table. “Good…now, would you like me to go down on you or would you prefer to fuck?”
“Anything you like.” Admittedly, the question itself ceased all brain function, and I came loud and hard—a feat I’d never performed until Tariq’s lovely cock came into my life. I struggled to breathe and move, so Tariq obligingly carried me to bed where his pulled back the covers and laid me gingerly before retrieving three condoms from my stash. He placed them on the table top, and went to the end of the bed and crawled up to me; between my legs, he sat back on his knees. By then, I was eight-five percent recovered and enjoyed the show!
We grinned at one another, knowingly. I remember, quite clearly, thinking at the time: This man is about to make me fall in love with him!
Gently he took my left leg and placed it on his chest, then slowly began kissing and sucking my toes while his hand explored the length of my ebony legs, the fullness of my hips, the tautness of my stomach and finally and mercifully the swell of my breasts. Shortly thereafter, I watched his mouth, tongue and lips glacially blaze the same trail; his intense eyes never strayed from mine. I moaned and writhed under his keen attention—each lingering upward lick, nibble and kiss held more promise than the last, all the while his hands continued exploring the hills and dales of my body. “Please,” I labored to whisper.
“Please what?” He asked with a sly grin followed by a long lick with the flat of tongue. “Tell me what you want.” His tongue swirled wetly around my nipples. His fingertip brushed circles around my clit until I hissed, “Lower.”
“Lower?” Tariq purred. “Where?” He kissed the heaving flash between my breasts. “Say it, tell me what you want.”
“Eat my pussy,” I said barely audible even to my own ears.
“Say it again, please.” His lips were on my belly button. “I love the way you say ‘pussy’—it excites me.” He kissed my clit. “Please say it again.”
Oh yeah! This SOB just got himself a Sex Black Card: No limit, no interest rates, Frequent Flyer Miles with no blackout dates, and access to the exclusive club…meaning my ass!
“Eat my pussy, Tariq. Damn you, eat my pussy! Don’t you fucking stop until I cum!”
“Ohhh, I like that. Say it again.” He licked his lips and positioned himself in between my legs. “Tell me to eat your pussy.” He opened me, and disappeared between my thighs, two fingers stroking into me.
Fearing I’d rip his hair from his scalp, I gripped the sheets and fired off a debauched, porn inspired string of expletives that would’ve made Ron Jeremy blush!
“Sweetie, relax...I got this. We have all night.” He chuckled, then licked my cum-slick lips. “Calm. I’m not going anywhere until you’re completely satisfied, understood?”
Suddenly, I felt his tongue, warm and wet, sliding between my neglected slit—he dragged the flat of his tongue up and down my pussy—sucked my lips— paid fleeting homage to my clit—continued fingering me—tenderly fingering me until I lie in a trance, looking up at the ceiling, savoring the velvety manner in which my clit slithered between his lips. I’d expected him to ravage me, but he didn’t. I’d wanted his cock to pummel and stretch my deep cavernous reaches until I came like a slutty banshee in heat, but lying there, tame and timid as he pleased, those desires swirled away, leaving me feeling pampered and cared for. Tariq, a man I’d known less than twenty-five hours effortlessly satisfied my unbeknown wish to be indulged—physically—mentally—and emotionally. I ran my fingers through his dark hair and our eyes locked as he ate me, so gentle and wet.
“Are you happy?” Tariq asked, exploring me with his tongue. His quizzical eyes on mine.
I shook my head.
He sucked decadently harder; the sheer joy of triumph twinkled in his eyes. “Better?”
I nodded and closed my eyes; my body throbbed with howls of sensuous delight and mind bending delirium. I reached down and took his head gently in my hands while Tariq coaxed my orgasm from the deepest, darkest recesses of my very being.
“Do it again. Ohhh my God, my pussy…” I implored him, breathlessly. “Please, just once more. I’m so close.”
Tariq moaned and licked—licked and sucked—beseched and begged me to cum for him; all the while the steady ebb and flow of his fingers beckoned my orgasm forth. It mushroomed and swelled in force and pleasure, it demanded I surrender—obligingly, I did so, allowing orgasm to hungrily devour my last threads of rational thought and decorum.
He kissed every inch on my heaving flash on his journey upward to my neck, then my lips; body to body, heartbeat to heartbeat. We smiled at one another and he cradled my head and we past a thousand tiny breathless kisses—I felt so small lying beneath him, swaddled in his muscular arms, his erection pressed between us. I could taste myself on his lips; I exhaled and went with the moment.
“Mmmm,” Tariq purred with a grin. “Someone is satisfied.”
“Very satisfied.” Looping my arms around his neck, I gave him a lazy kiss. This time he melted into me, ignoring his cock tapping my labia. In stark contrast to my handful of past lovers, Tariq was patient and attentive to my needs. In truth, given our impassioned rush to copulate in public, his tenderness left me perplexed—content, but perplexed. We kissed so long my lips went numb and my arousal peaked once more. I reached between us and began stroking him, encouragingly.
“Condom,” he pecked my lips and stood.
I rolled over on one elbow and watched his sheath himself. Good heavens, he was hot! Even his cock was beautiful. And for the time being at least, it was mine. He smiled and rolled me onto my back, himself on top in position. He caressed my right thigh and placed it about his waist and kissed me. Words can’t capture the unearthly awakening I experience with his first stroke; so warm, so full and close. Our eyes silently held one another. Try as I might, I couldn’t speak—I wanted him closer, deep. Each stroke filled an intractable void left vacant by fuckings past—with each stroke he made to the hilt—with each stroke he became a part of me….formless and fleeting yet still an ephemeral part of me.
Tariq felt it also. He kissed my neck. I basked in the sound of his breathing in my ear telling me how beautiful I was, describing in exquisite detail how good I felt; all the while his cock was kneading my pussy like a proverbial lump of clay under the skillfully hands of a master. My hands roamed over his back and down his tone body with sensual familiarity—our mouths, as if pulled by invisible forces, were drawn to one another; our kiss went on and on, stoking the flames of our passion higher and higher until it threatened to consume us entirely.
“Damn baby,” His hands went to my hips and pulled me onto his cock harder. “I could stay in you all night,” The words dripped from his tongue.
“Tariq,” I growled, rubbing my clit softly. We moved in sync—rocking back and forth. My orgasms are always rapturous, but this—this was different. The feel of his cock inside me, the sight of him fucking me, the sound of his groans as he thrust, the feel of his skin on mine was all too much. “Tariq.” I repeated.
“Yes, love,” His accent entered my ears and traveled straight to my pulsing clit. “Cum for me, Stella.”
“Ohh shit,” I hissed. His voice pushed my over the edge—the sensation was overwhelmingly savage and primal; my orgasm barreled down, and seized my body in languid waves of white hot bliss. I pulled him close, bit and licked his neck, stifling my cries.
“I’m cumming,” Tariq crooned in my ear, his hands gripped my ass cheeks, lovingly holding my body where it gave him most pleasure—his short gulps of air warmed my skin. Two more deep thrust and he came so hard, I felt his muscles flex then give way.
After returning to ourselves, I lie cocooned in his arms, buried in his chest—both of us lulled in a surreal, dream-like state where boundaries between what is real and what is not blur and merge. His fingers traced ever so lightly along my skin; my neck, my shoulders, and my arms—something I hadn’t experienced in so long, I didn’t know how to react. So, I nuzzled into him warmth and exhaled.
“I thought you were asleep,” He kissed the top of my head.
“I have trouble sleeping.” I mumbled into his chest, soothed by his fingers brushing up and down my spine. “I have nightmares.”
“Do you want to talk about them?”
“No.” I lied. I wanted to tell him…I wanted to have my fears allayed by the tones of his voice as I was physically held by his arms. Maybe he sensed I wasn’t being truth, he asked again. “Positive,” I drew closer to him and closed eyes and drifted to sleep.
A few hours later, I felt our bodies detaching from one another. Sleepily, I opened my eyes to see him sitting on the edge of the bed. The room was still dark. “Hey.” I touched his back.
“Hi, didn’t mean to wake you,” He turned and smiled over his shoulder. “I should leave now.”
I masked the sinking feeling in my stomach and said weakly. “You’re married.”
“What?” Tariq’s brow furrowed. “What makes you think I’m married?” he stroked my bare leg.
“Um, well, the sun isn’t up and you’re leaving.”
A big smiled crossed his face and I immediately feel stupid, though I know not why. He leaned over and kissed me.
“I’m not married. I’m Muslim. I have to prepare for Fajr, our morning prayer.
“Prepare.” I stared blankly. “Prepare what?” He flashed another smile…now, at this point, I’m really feeling stupid.
“I have to prepare my body,” he continued. “After sexual intercourse, it’s mandatory that we perform the ghusl..." My vacant expression compelled him to add, " The ghusl is the full washing of our bodies. Long story short, I need to shower before I pray.”
“Do you need some kinda special water—holy water perhaps? If not, you can knock out a quickie in my bathroom.”
Tariq looked towards the window and puckered his lips in thought. “Your shower will do just fine.”
“Good!” I sprung from bed and showed him where everything was. “While you’re doing your thing, I’ll fry us a couple of bacon sandwiches.”
“Very funny, gorgeous!” He laughed and pulled me in for a deep kiss......then slammed the bathroom door in my face.
©Tracy Ames, 2011
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.