Welcome to "The Roaring Twenties" — a time of Prohibition, prostitution, and social change. Little did the lawmakers know that banning alcohol would increase criminal activity and bring wealth to bootleggers in places like New York City. And for the first time, women defied the old society rules by tossing their corsets and raising their hemlines. It was time for the fairer sex to enjoy their newfound sexual freedom.
Chapter One
August 25th, 1926
Storm clouds gathered in the sky, perhaps foreshadowing the darkening mood of moneyed club owner, Mr. Sterling Rossini, sitting behind his richly-carved mahogany desk, thumbing through the black-and-white photographs. Suddenly, lightning flashed, momentarily lighting up the dimly lit room as one photo, in particular, caused him to pause.
He held the incriminating photo with one hand while stroking the sides of his neatly-trimmed black mustache with the other. His eyes remained fixated on the stockinged legs, complete with a garter belt and capped with black stilettos pointed toward the ceiling. A naked man filled the space between those slender legs.
Upon closer inspection, he identified the man as none other than his good friend, Duke Hollister, and a knot formed in his belly. Although the camera had failed to capture the woman’s face, the ice on her ring finger left no doubt as to whom the stockinged legs belonged. While the other photos of clothed embraces could perhaps be explained, the image he clasped in his hand left no room for denial.
The squirrelly man who had delivered the photographs sat on the other side of the desk, impatiently waiting for his payment and hoping Mr. Rossini wouldn’t choose to ‘shoot the messenger,’ having heard warnings about his client’s temper. The rain abruptly halted while Sterling remained eerily silent — maybe the calm before a different storm.
Finally, Sterling slipped the photographs into a folder and handed the man an envelope of cash, bidding him an expressionless thank you and farewell.
Once alone, Sterling walked over to the bar and made himself a Gin Rickey. Despite the alcohol ban, he had plenty of high-quality gin on hand, thanks to his association with "Lucky" Luciano. Just another perk of being Sterling Rossini. His position of power, however, hadn't kept someone he trusted from deceiving him.
With a heavy sigh, he settled in his favorite Italian leather armchair to contemplate his next move. He’d been hurt before by a dame, but nothing like the sucker punch to his gut he felt at that moment.
◇◇◇
A short time later, a body fell from the ten-story-high terrace attached to a swanky apartment. The victim’s bones shattered upon impact, and his blood quickly pooled underneath him, leaving a grizzly scene. Heavy rain returned and spread the blood, providing a widening red ring surrounding the body, keeping curious pedestrians from creeping too close. When the police arrived, they combed the crowd for possible eyewitnesses.
"No one's seen a damn thing," grumbled one officer.
The other grumbled back a response, "It's New York City, after all. There's no reason to look up with all the smog in the air."
While the police continued to work the scene, onlookers stood shocked at the horrific sight in front of the elegant high-rise apartment building on the Upper East Side. In that decade, the wealthy had abandoned their mansions for high-tech luxury apartment buildings equipped with telephones, central heat, doormen, elevator attendants, and such. The upper class enjoyed living high and suspended above the crowded streets below. Gruesome deaths, such as that one, weren’t supposed to happen in that part of the city.
A clue finally surfaced when a raven-haired beauty pushed through the crowd of onlookers and threw herself on top of the broken body, sobbing.
Chapter Two
April 1924
"Do you think I'm pretty, Mr. Rossini?"
He looked down at the broad on her knees, looking up at him with heavily rouged cheeks and hope in her overly-shadowed eyes. No, she wasn't his type — he preferred brunettes over blondes — but with his cock positioned so close to her kisser, he decided to charm her. "Sure, doll, you're pretty."
She blew him a kiss and then proceeded to smear her red lipstick up and down his shaft. Sure, she could get a man hard, but he wanted to see if she'd finish him like a pro. Sterling relaxed back in his high-back fine-upholstered chair in his luxuriously furnished office and closed his eyes while his newly-hired hostess showed off her oral sex skills. So far, so good. Her golden curls were spread across his lap while she confidently bobbed up and down on his length.
"I need you to take the whole thing, sweetheart."
If his cock loved her, he'd offer her a room above the club, and she'd be allowed to make some extra dough (minus his cut), pleasing some of his special club patrons. It was a good deal for the few chosen gals — affordable, nice housing in the building where they worked. Convenient for everyone.
“Look at me with smiling eyes, babe. A man wants to know you’re enjoying his cock.”
Her thick-lashed baby-blue eyes fluttered upwards to lock with his darker brown eyes, and he felt his sensitive head squeezed within the tightness of her throat. He smiled, picturing his growing stacks of money. You'll do just fine, doll.
◇◇◇
As a child, Sterling Rossini grew up in the slums on the Lower East Side of New York City. His first introduction to gangs came while working at his Italian-born father's shop in Lower Manhattan. It was Sterling who negotiated protection from the Five Points Gang after his father had been robbed and brutally beaten by a rival gang.
Sterling's mother had supplemented his education with fine arts, literature, and music teachings. On his own, Sterling figured out that appearances were everything in that city, and he spent most of his money on fine suits and shoes. As he aged, he became known in his neighborhood for his sophisticated persona.
He dreamed of owning a club and made calculated, sometimes above-the-law moves to ensure that dream came true. By 1920, he renovated a building on Fifty-Fourth Street to become a jazz club named The Black Rabbit.
As a natural charmer, he made important connections with mobsters like Lucky Luciano, socialites, and celebrities. His shrewd business sense told him alcohol would be a big draw to his club, so the building had been designed with secret doors and stairways, leading to a speakeasy below ground where patrons could enjoy additional music, illegal alcohol, gambling, and sexual favors by his select working gals. He negotiated a deal with Lucky for a supply of alcohol and protection from police raids in exchange for a percentage of his profits.
Years passed, and by 1924 his club had become one of the most popular in New York City. He'd forgotten the dirty slums he'd grown up in until one day he passed a homeless man warming his hands over a trash fire in the alley. The man's considerable size drew his eyes to him, and then he realized he knew him.
"James… James Elliot? Is that you?"
The heavy-set man, towering to at least six feet five inches, stared back at Sterling but didn't speak a word.
Confident he knew the man, Sterling walked towards him, saying, "I'm Sterling Rossini. We grew up on the same street. You rescued me from a gang beating one time, then we became friends."
The man screwed up his forehead, squinting at Sterling, then recognition crossed his dirt-smudged face. "I remember."
Sterling noticed his crooked nose that had obviously been broken a time or two and never properly mended. "You went on to do some boxing, correct? Then, I never heard from you again." Sterling gestured to the filth surrounding him, "How did you end up here?"
The man tried unsuccessfully to smooth the wrinkles from his ratty coat — his discomfort with his appearance obvious. "I met my Anna, and we got married, so I gave up boxing." Tears rolled down his face. "I went to fight in the Great War and came back to find her gone. A moviestar type had seduced her and dragged her off to California." He wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I… I couldn’t handle it. I guess I made some bad decisions."
Sterling walked up to him and squeezed his shoulder. He'd always liked James. His towering presence and strength intimidated people, which had proved an advantage when dealing with the city’s rougher element. Most importantly, Sterling viewed him as loyal, and finding people he could trust in New York City proved difficult.
An idea formed in his head, and he warmly smiled at the man, “James, this is your lucky day.”
Chapter Three
May 1924
James was grateful for his new life working for Sterling and didn't want to screw it up. Since he worked evenings, he slept during the day, but memories of Anna had him thrashing about in his bed earlier, unsettling and disrupting his focus. His wife had been the sweetest angel he'd ever met — that's what he called her — his sweet angel. I miss you so damn much, baby. Please come back to me.
Painful longings drove him to the edge again, so he went looking for a means to forget and unwind — a whore.
New York City housed no shortage of brothels, so James picked a direction to start walking and quickly came upon one. They were easy to spot with a broad on the doorstep, shamelessly flaunting her licentiousness to a potential trick. James brushed past them and entered the building, finding the parlor just inside the door. The prostitutes, not yet claimed, lounged about in red faux-velvet chairs, and he picked the first whore he saw. In his eyes, no prostitute differed from any other; he just needed to get his cock wet.
His choice, a blonde-haired looker, wore a black chemise with a dull sheen revealing its cheaper fabric, and her legs were crossed high enough to expose pink knickers. She looked up at his towering frame, then her eyes lowered to his trousers. She’d seen cocks of all sizes in her occupation and had created a fun game — guessing its size. By the looks of his massive hands, feet, and broad body, she guessed his trousers concealed a pretty big cock.
She led him down the hall to her room, and as soon as they were inside, she looped her arms around his neck and smiled sweetly, asking, “What’s your name, handsome?”
With her body pressed against him, her cheap perfume hit his nostrils, and he wrinkled his face. Its purpose was no doubt to douse the unmistakable stench of sex. In contrast, his Anna had always worn a light floral scent dabbed on her neck and between her breasts. The pain accompanying the memory annoyed him, so he pulled her hands away, refusing to look her in the eye. “I’m not here to talk.”
Before she could respond, he aggressively pushed her back against the wall and trapped her small hands above her head in one of his enormous hands. His other hand grabbed her pussy through her knickers. The whore moaned, which only served to fuel his aggression. Wasting no time, he yanked her knickers down and plunged two fingers deep inside her, almost lifting her off the ground with the force of entry.
"Not so hard, handsome," she whimpered, but her pleas fell on deaf ears as a third finger penetrated her.
The more she squirmed, the harder he finger-fucked her. Once she grew wet enough to hear her pussy squelching, he withdrew his fingers.
“Maybe we should move to the bed,” she pleaded, moving her hands back to his shoulders and hoping they could find a more comfortable position to fuck.
James glanced at the bed and, like every other time, found himself haunted by a vision of his wife. "Turn around," he ordered.
She didn't want to turn around but wanted to look him in the eyes. The sex became more intimate when they locked eyes which led to a stronger connection and improved chances that he'd return for another round. But he wasn’t interested in what she wanted, so she’d remain a meaningless object to him.
While she stood motionless, struggling to figure out how to work him, he grew impatient and barked louder, “Turn around.”
Alright, I’ll play along, handsome, but you better leave me a big tip. She obeyed and turned her back to him, her legs trembling and struggling to hold her upright. Upon hearing a zipper, she glanced over her shoulder, wanting a look at the cock about to ravage her insides. Oh my, you are a thick one, just like I suspected. I may not have to fake it with you.
He lined up his throbbing member between her lips, not thinking about if she was ready for him or not. Clenched with apprehension, she braced herself as his massive cock tore into her pussy, plunging deep until his balls smacked her sensitive flesh.
“Oh… oh… oh,” she panted, wincing at the abrupt intrusion between her legs.
James pulled almost all the way back out to thrust deep again. Her walls stretched to accommodate his girth… this thick cock engorged with blood. He slammed into her over and over and over until she released her held breath, grateful her narrow pussy finally accepted his size.
While his hips maintained their relentless thrusting, he lost himself to the fuck and rested his head on her shoulder, his warm breath heating her neck. The whore moaned in pleasure, waking him from his brain fog and poking at his conscience. He wasn’t there for her pleasure. She means nothing, Anna. With his eyes clenched shut, visions of Anna flooded his mind, stealing the focus from the ache in his crotch.
He opened his eyes again and looked down at the plump rump jutted out to meet his cock. You mean nothing to me, whore — just a hole for my cock. The force of his thrusts would've sent her through the wall if he hadn't held her to him. All she could do was take his fucking, but her body responded in ecstasy despite his roughness. Her hands clawed at the wall, trying to find a place to grip.
His knuckles paled as his fingers dug into her hips, squeezing her bones until she thought they'd break. When his thick cock hit her hot spot, she screamed, cumming hard. Nonreactive to her orgasm, he continued his relentless fucking. In and out, in and out, each thrust harder than the last while her orgasm shook her insides.
Soon after, his deep-throated grunts and the warmth flooding her insides told her he was cumming. Without warning, he painfully bit her shoulder, then her back, growling into her skin. The whore released a soft cry of pain that again fell on deaf ears because he’d been silently begging forgiveness from his beloved Anna as his cum seeped out of the whore’s pussy.
Once fully emptied, his body collapsed against hers, mashing her into the wall with his strength. One hand circled her throat, pulling her head back to him. She rolled her eyes toward him, finally locking eyes, and she trembled in fear at what she saw — a man plagued by demons.
“You’re not her. No one is her,” James growled, more for himself than for the whore’s benefit.
To the whore’s relief, his cock slipped out, releasing her, then she heard his zipper sliding back up. Without another word, he headed toward the door, and she reached for him, calling, "What's your hurry, handsome?" But he shrugged off her hand and slammed the door behind him without looking back.
Leaning back against the wall with his cum trickling down her moist thigh, she cupped her swollen pussy and pouted, feeling used. Not only had he wrecked her for other tricks that night, but he'd also left no tip.
◇◇◇
“Christ, James, you smell like a cheap whore.”
“Sorry, boss, I’ll change my clothes.”
James turned to walk away when Sterling grabbed his arm and spoke with a softer tone, “And I’ve told you that you don’t have to pay for it. Any of the biscuits with rooms upstairs would spread her legs for you for free.”
“I don’t wanna know their names,” muttered James.
"Look, friend, you gotta move on. She's not coming back."
"I gotta believe she will one day," he said, then turned and headed for his room upstairs, not wanting his boss to see the tears in his eyes.
Chapter Four
August 1925
Dorothy Jean Potts sat staring out the train window, spotting nothing familiar in the new landscape. She may as well have been headed to the moon.
Trying to calm her fears, she clutched the pearls hanging around her neck — the only thing she had left of her mama. I don't know if I can do this, Mama. Fear of the unknown had crept inside her twenty-two-year-old self.
Her daddy had passed away four months ago, and a few months later, her mama had died. The doctor said she passed from pneumonia, but Dorothy knew she had died of a broken heart.
As she’d sat holding her mama’s hand, Mama’s last words to her were, “Dorothy, leave this place. There ain’t nothing for you here.”
“I wanna be a singer, Mama. Maybe go to the big city.”
“You got the voice of an angel, Dorothy, but it won’t pay the bills. Now, you listen to me. You go find a good man who’ll take care of you. You here? The big cities are full of men with money who’ll take real good care of you.”
“Yes, Mama.”
So, she sold the farmhouse and decided to move to New York City… to pursue her dream of becoming a singer. Sorry, Mama, but I wanna be a singer. Maybe she’d find a good man, too, like her mama wanted, but she was determined to make something of herself.
"Where are you from?" The passenger's voice in the seat beside her interrupted her memories.
"Kansas," she answered, turning to smile at the passenger.
Dorothy wished she could say something nice about her hometown, but in truth, that small town represented a coma — a heartbeat but no other signs of life. Nothing ever changed. No growth. No excitement. And no one ever left… except for her. And so when she left, just like that, the Potts family name disappeared from the barren landscape of that sleepy little town.
When Dorothy exited the train in New York City, she fell awestruck by the horde of people, fast-walking this way and that way, bumping shoulders with each other with no "Excuse me" uttered. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” she murmured aloud.
Everywhere she looked, she saw nothing but shades of gray - the ground, buildings, and sky. The bright yellow sun was nowhere to be found. It felt as if she’d climbed into a stark black-and-white photograph.
Immediately Dorothy felt boxed in… even before she moved into her shoe-box-sized apartment. To add to her concern, finding a singing gig proved harder than she thought, so she settled for a waitress job in an all-night diner to pay her bills. Although disappointed, she put on her big-girl bloomers and promised herself she’d make a life for herself in that city.
◇◇◇
Dorothy walked into The Black Rabbit on Fifty-Fourth Street and became instantly mesmerized by the luxurious interior: silk-covered walls, an impressive stage suitable for a chorus line, and ample, plush seating for patrons. Excitement rippled through her body as she pictured herself on that stage. You can do this, Dorothy Jean.
She had doubted the word of the gentle giant named James when he offered her a chance to audition for a singing gig at a high-end club. What luck to have the diner she worked at be the same diner he chose for his late-night coffee. Her shoulders finally relaxed when she saw him, and he rushed to greet her.
“I’m glad you could make it. Mr. Rossini will be here in a moment.” Then, he gestured to the Black man settling onto the piano bench. “Mr. Adams is preparing to accompany you on the piano, so why don’t you get comfortable on the stage.”
“Thank you, James.” She briefly looked at him before another man entered the room and stole her gaze. That must be him.
His appearance intimidated her in every way. Shorter than James, he still rose above the average man in height and wore the finest black suit she’d ever seen. Glancing down at his shoes, she marveled at their shine. And his crisp, white shirt highlighted his darker skin color. She’d never seen a man of Italian descent but noticed the difference in his complexion from the men back in Kansas. His black hair was neatly slicked back, and a thin black mustache adorned his upper lip. More than his appearance, his mere presence unsettled her.
James straightened when he walked toward him. This man was important, she could tell. How can I, a nobody from Kansas, impress him? she wondered.
She tucked a wisp of her raven-colored hair behind her ear and stepped onto the stage. She’d spent a week’s pay on her stunning yellow sleeveless dress with a dropped waist and hemline trying to creep above her knee. Sterling did a double-take, murmuring, “Stella?” When she faced him full-on, however, he realized his mistake. This young lady exuded an innocence that Stella had lost ages ago.
"Where did you find her?" he whispered to James.
"Waiting tables in a diner a few blocks away. She likes to sing while cleaning up after the place empties of customers."
Once she reached the microphone in the center of the stage, her hands nervously grasped the stand and slid up and down the pole. Sterling shifted in his seat, becoming aroused by her sensual hand movements. After a few deep breaths, she turned to the pianist and nodded, signaling him to begin.
He whispered out the corner of his mouth to James. "She's a real beauty without even trying. Why she’ll tighten every trouser in the joint whether she can sing or not.”
What happened next would change Dorothy Jean’s life forever. Fixing her eyes on her potential boss, she took a deep breath and sang with all her heart. Sterling couldn't believe his ears — a deep, sultry voice oozed from that fresh-faced young gal. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her — obviously inexperienced but oozing with sex appeal and raw talent.
When she finished, Mr. Sterling Rossini rose from his seat and sadistically enjoyed watching her squirm, waiting for his response. Patience, doll, patience.
He turned towards James and lowered his voice. “She’s perfect.”
James smiled, happy to have pleased his boss. “Would you like to give her a room upstairs with the other gals?”
“Indeed, yes. I want her close by.” Then he looked back at the vision of loveliness on the stage. “But, she won’t be providing extra services to our guests. No… I want her for myself.”
Then, he walked toward her and, upon reaching her, extended his arms and lifted her by her tiny waist down from the stage. "My name's Sterling Rossini. And you are…"
"My name is…" She clasped her pearls, and suddenly an idea hit her. "... Pearl, Mr. Rossini." Goodbye, Dorothy from Kansas.
"'Pearl' suits you, doll." He raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed her soft, porcelain skin. "And please, call me Sterling since you're gonna work for me."
Pearl beamed. "I got the job? You mean it?"
"Of course, I'm gonna make you a star."
Pearl clasped both his hands in hers. "Thank you so much, Mr. Ross… I mean, Sterling."
"James will show you the wardrobe room, and you pick some nice dresses. Then, he'll introduce you to the dancers, and they'll help you with hair and makeup. After that, I'll get you set up with the band to select your songs, and I want you ready to go on stage in a week."
"A week? Oh, my goodness, but I'll be ready." She clasped her hands together in excitement.
"Very good, doll. Consider The Black Rabbit your new home." He turned to James and added, "Go show her around the joint."
"Sure thing, boss," he said, gesturing for Pearl to follow him.
Sterling stood still, appreciating the contours of her ass as she walked away. He’d not only found a hot new singer for his club but perhaps the rare breed of woman who could make him forget all about the dame named ‘Stella.’
Chapter Five
September 1925
Although Sterling sought her company most nights since meeting her a month ago, sexually, he had taken things slowly — just kissing and light petting. He didn't want to rush, scaring her off with aggression. No, Pearl needed a special touch. She needed him to build a foundation for the intimacy he craved with her.
Pearl had been kissed before, but they were boys. Sterling was a man, and despite his gentle touches, she found him intimidating yet couldn't deny the appeal of an older man seemingly wanting to take care of her. Maybe Mama was right. Maybe I do need to find a good man to marry.
Her heart beat faster before each meeting with Sterling, and she admired his sophistication. Was it love? She wasn't sure but liked the security and opportunities he provided.
One night at dinner, Pearl noticed a change in his personality. He grew quieter, contemplative.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, even though she feared his response. Maybe he'd grown tired of her already.
He put her worries to rest when he squeezed her hand, caressing it with his thumb.
"Pearl, are you happy working for me? Spending time with me?"
"Of course, why it's a dream come true to perform on a stage. And everyone has been so sweet to me, but none more than you."
"And you've liked the room I provided you above the club?"
"Why, yes." She began to worry she hadn't adequately thanked him for all he'd done for her. "My other apartment was scary. You saw it. My goodness, I didn't know rats or cockroaches could grow so big." She shivered at the horrid memories. "I can't thank you enough," she said, squeezing his hand tightly.
"I'm glad to hear it, and I want to do more. I knew you were special since I first laid eyes on you." He kissed her hand and gazed into her vivacious emerald eyes. "I think I fell in love with you at first sight, Pearl."
Tears formed in her eyes. A man like him loves me — a simple girl from Kansas?
"Sterling…" her eyes sparkled, but the words wouldn't come.
He left his chair, knelt beside her, and withdrew a box from his dinner jacket. Her eyes remained locked on his, not yet understanding his intent. A sharp gasp escaped her mouth when he opened the tiny box to reveal a sparkling diamond ring.
"Pearl, will you marry me?"
She gasped at the ring, and tears rolled down her cheeks. He offered her the life she'd always dreamed of… but did she truly love him?
"Please, say 'yes.'"
She hesitated, then thought about Mama's words about finding a good man. "Before I answer, you are a good man, aren't you, Sterling? I mean, what goes on underneath the club…"
Staying down on one knee, he plucked the ring from the box and ensured his eyes never left hers when he answered. "The speakeasy brings joy, Pearl. Doesn't a man have a right to drink what he wants? The good citizens of this city need a place to relax and enjoy themselves, right? Hell, even the mayor comes. It's nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, okay?"
He lifted the ring to her face, and her eyes stared at the dazzling ring — the symbol of a life she'd always wanted.
Her contemplative expression broke into the lovely smile he adored so much. "Then, yes, I'll marry you."
He slid the ring on her finger and leaned forward, capturing his mouth in hers.
After tasting her smiling lips, he pulled back and whispered, "Come home with me."
She looked into his eyes, absorbing the implications of his words. Oh my goodness, am I ready for this? She glanced from her newly ringed finger to his pleading eyes and nodded. "Yes, I'm ready."
◇◇◇
As soon as they were inside the door to his lavish apartment, he kissed her — a slow, deep, meaningful kiss.
She wore that same apprehensive look on her face he'd seen before but sweetly smiled at him. He thought her expressive eyes revealed a passion waiting to burst free, and he wanted to be that man.
He led her by the hand to his bedroom, dimly lit, showcasing a king-sized bed with the covers turned down. They stood beside the bed with him pressing his forehead against hers. He studied her eyes, trying to read her soul.
"You do love me, right, Pearl?"
This time she didn't hesitate. "Yes. Yes, I love you." I truly think one day I will.
He lifted her chin to connect his lips with hers in a soft, unhurried kiss. Despite his hunger for her, he promised himself he'd take his time.
His fingers touched her back, caressing her bare skin above her zipper. She melted against him.
"I'm going to give you everything you've ever wanted," he whispered, brushing her ear with his lips.
She simply nodded, growing weak in the knees. He moved behind her and started unzipping her dress, kissing every inch of skin revealed. Her body trembled with each kiss.
"Are you a virgin?"
"Yes," she whispered.
“I will show you pleasures you've never known before. All you have to do is give yourself to me." With those words, her dress dropped to the ground, the fine silk puddling at her feet.
Sterling moved back in front and lowered his eyes to her naked breasts. She blushed under his gaze and folded her arms across her breasts, trying to conceal herself from his heated gaze. His hands pulled her hands away.
"Don't hide from me, sweetheart. Don't hide anything… ever," his voice turned stern, but she didn't notice.
He took a deep breath at the sight of her, then cupped her sweet face and tasted her lips. She had always kissed with closed lips, but he would teach her a lover's kiss that night, prying open her mouth with his tongue. It didn't take long for her to lose herself in the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, unconsciously grinding her pelvis against his crotch.
Pearl knew there was only one "first time" and tried to commit to memory every second — where his hands were — where his mouth was. She struggled to keep a toe in the conscious realm while her spirit spiraled out of control with passion. Maybe I do love him, she wondered. She had no other word for the feelings he was creating with his experienced touches.
He grazed his thumb over her taut nipple, and she drew in her breath and arched her back.
"You have perfect breasts, Pearl," he said. "I could pleasure them all night."
She sharply drew in another breath as he ran his tongue over her nipple. She started to wriggle around, and he held her hips in place while continuing his tongue assault.
"That feels incredible!" she whispered. "Please... more more more."
Pearl grabbed his hips and pulled his hard cock against her knickers. Unable to wait any longer, Sterling lifted her into his arms and laid her on the bed. He leaned over and pulled down her knickers, revealing her most intimate part.
He lay alongside her and slid a hand between her legs, exploring her slick folds. Watching her face, he explored her insides. First one finger, then a second. She gasped and tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, loving her wetness.
"Do you want me to kiss you here, Pearl," he teased, patting her pussy and knowing she'd be initially embarrassed.
Her soft, round bottom wiggled back and forth, and she panted, "Oh no, you mustn't."
He slid between her legs and started licking her pussy from the back to the front. Just a few flicks of his tongue on her clit to tease her. To his delight, his shy future wife responded with gasps at each flick of his tongue.
"Do you enjoy my kisses, Pearl?"
"Oh yes," she cooed. "Yes. Your moustache tickles too."
She struggled to stay still, and Sterling struggled to hit a moving target, so he lifted her bottom and held her tightly so she couldn't move. He sucked her moist lips and engorged clit while she moaned in pleasure.
"Just relax and enjoy, sweetheart,' he whispered. "You taste like the sweetest honey to me."
She felt something building inside her. An indescribably coiling of tension. It's almost painful, she thought. The tightening in her tummy increased. Her sweet spot burned. Then, Pearl stilled and, within a few more seconds, silently screamed out her orgasm, her mouth forming the tell-tale "O." Sterling moved back alongside her and held her tightly as she calmed her breathing. Then, she rolled over and looked at him with fire in her eyes.
"I've never experienced such pleasure," she moaned. Mama, why didn't you tell me about this?
"I want to make love to you now, Pearl," he said urgently. "Open your legs for me again."
He rolled over on top of her and settled between her legs, positioning his tip against her tight, wet opening.
"What do I do?" she whispered.
"Nothing, sweetheart." His mouth mashed against hers in a passionate kiss until he felt her body relax. He stroked her hair and reassured her. "I'll take it slow."
Sterling pushed in his tip and pulled it out again, repeating the process, sliding in a little deeper with each push.
"It will just hurt for a moment," he whispered before breaking her barrier.
Her eyes squinted in pain, and he held his position, kissing her cheek, allowing her virgin pussy time to adjust to that new intrusion. Once her legs fell open further, he slowly began his fuck.
Before long, she felt the pleasure and began lifting her hips to meet his thrusts. That's it, doll. Get into it. He clasped her slender hips and pushed himself deeper into her pussy.
"Open your eyes, darling. Look at me while I make love to you," he urged.
Pearl looked at him, and he swore he could see into her soul, see her pleasure through her eyes. She lost herself in the passion of the moment and loudly moaned with each thrust. His balls ached for release, and he held nothing back. He grabbed her waist and pounded her delicious pussy hard until the world froze and he exploded inside her. She felt the wetness coating her insides and wrapped her legs around his waist. Something inside her wanted to keep him inside.
Spent, he lay his cheek against hers and whispered sweet things in her ear before sliding out of her. She nuzzled her nose under his chin and planted butterfly kisses along his neck.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He rolled over, pulling her on top of him, and softly stroked her back, writing words of love with his fingertip. She smiled at him while her breath slowed, and then she fell into a deep sleep on top of him.
He ran his fingers through her soft hair and thought what a treasure he had in her. You won't leave me for another, will you, Pearl? No, you're a good girl.
The next day they were married.
To be continued...
