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A hairy tale...
“Tiramisu, please.” Hell, after compiling financial reports all damn day and being stood up, I deserved a little sugar.

“Would you like coffee?”

“Yes, thank you... decaf black.”

As the server turned to walk away, I felt a velvety swipe on the back of my neck.

Jon bent his six foot two frame at the waist, dry-kissed me on the mouth, smiled, and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want any cream and sugar with that decaf or a little caffeine with that coffee? You may need some endurance insurance for later, don’t you think?”

“No, thank you. I’ll get my jolt from the espresso-laden dessert. By the way, you’re late; dinner went down an hour ago. No text... no tweet.... no phone call...I’m listening.”

“Rain, I’m s...”

“Ntozke Shange-sorry?”

“Yes, baby... so sorry. I was stuck. The traffic was terrible.” Jon sat down next to me in the booth, as opposed to sitting across from me, to explain his pickle.

After five years of marriage, he knew I sensed when he was lying. One good look at his hazel eyes would reveal his deception. Normally, his pupils dilate; transforming the hazel to coal black, the moment untruth escaped his lips. Sitting next to me afforded him the luxury of not paying the direct-eye-contact-taxes due.

But I didn’t care. My hormones were raging, so I let his poor attempt of evasion slide. A whiff of that fragrance he was wearing had my pussy leaking. Smiling, I looked at his mocha face and moved my head in a horizontal mini nod. “Jon, please. Save it. Actually, I enjoyed the ‘me-time’. It was enlightening. The respite gave me an opportunity to think and strategize. Are you indulging in dessert?”

“Can we share, Rain?”

My tiramisu?”

“Yes, if that’s what you ordered.”

“I did.”

“Uh huh, I’d like some of yours. Yeah, let’s share, and let me place an additional dessert order for later. I’d like a cookie with cream, please.” Jon gave a single nod, and his eyes dropped down to the part in my thighs.

I leaned in, looked down, and whispered, “And I’d like something thick and long in my mouth. I’ll have a corn cob dipped in chocolate without the husk ‘n silk, please.”

Jon’s cob perked up, waved, and then retreated promptly.

“Oh, there you go! And to answer your question before you pose it, Miss Lady, I’ll give you an emphatic no!”

“Ahem,” I had to clear my throat. Gargling and coughing like a cat, I could feel imaginary hairballs gathering on my tongue. “Really? No?”

“I said no.”

What was he thinking? It’s not cotton candy; it doesn’t melt in your mouth before you swallow. It doesn’t blow away like tumbleweed. Hair just sits there awaiting its removal by means of a strong cough and a throat wash. My Gawd!

 “C’mon, let’s leave it out of dessert tonight. Okay?

“No worries.”

No worries for Jon; my Oreo cookie is well groomed. Damn! And like clockwork, here’s the server to interrupt my ka-billionth plea for Jon to shave, or at the very least, groom his goodies.

“Here’s your tiramisu and your coffee. Sir, can I get you anything?”

“Yes, would you bring a fresh napkin, a second fork, and a cup of regular coffee... black please.”

“Sure thing.”

The server’s return and departure were swift. She settled the items on the table. Silent, she left the check and vanished.

I was certain she sensed the naughty about to go down.

Jon handled the linen napkin like a bed sheet. He opened it with a jerk of his wrists and placed it over my lap. With the movement of a pickpocket, Jon slid his hand underneath my skirt, peeled the crotch of my thong to the side, and grazed the oozing cream between my Oreo.

“You asked for a fork. I’m confused. Did you need a fork for my cookie?” My actions and my words contradicted each other; my thighs parted wide, and I uttered foolishness, “The lady fingers are in the tiramisu. You should concentrate on those cookies right now.”

“You want more sweet, little girl?”

Perplexed, I lifted my fork and sliced into the table-dessert, “Mmhmm.”

With the slightest bend of my back, I opened my legs a little wider, and I brought the fork full of goodness to my mouth. Perfectly prepared, the espresso-soaked ladyfingers and cocoa-dusted mascarpone dissolved on my tongue. Man-fingers teased and taunted my jewel until my single layer of cream inflated to double-stuff.

With fork prongs dragging my bottom lip, I asked, “Let’s pay and leave now?”

“Sweet Rain, open.”

Jon retrieved his fork with his free hand, and cut a huge chunk of the cake. Eyeing the sweet headed for my mouth and certain disaster, I opened wide. And indeed, the portion was entirely too big for my bite. Jon chuckled, as he pressed two fingers inside my kitten.


I chewed my sweet and reached to wipe my face, but Jon stopped me.

“Nope. I think it’s adorable. Let me get it.”

Man fingers clamored to make me cum while man-tongue twirled a playful dance just outside my mouth.

“Is it good, Jon?”

Jon’s answer came in the form of a sugary tongue down. Our tongues wandered in a lake of syrup, frolicking and paddling as if we were newlyweds. We almost drowned in PDA. For a moment, I didn’t care who was watching, because his kiss tasted like heaven.

“We’re in public.”

“And?” Jon continued kissing my neck and toying between my legs.

“We should continue at home. Let’s pay and go! How ‘bout that?” I suggested, as I gave him a loving nudge.

“I haven’t finished my sweet yet. Don’t you want me to finish?” Man-fingers pumped a steady in and out, while a man-thumb strummed my gem.

“Yes...I mean, no. The tiramisu or the Oreo?”

“Ha-ha, both. Rain, release it doll,” he said as his innocent smile melted into a devilish grin.

An orgasm was not in the plans. I wanted to ride on the edge...and Jon knew it. So, I responded, “Nuh huh.” I picked up my fork, sliced a sliver of cake, and slid it in my mouth.

Insistent, Jon responded by pressing the flat of his palm into my vulva. He moved his hand back and forth; he fingered my vee and plucked my clit with more determination than ever. His movements seemed exaggerated. The linen appeared to conceal a hamster or mouse digging for sustenance.

My hips instinctively began an uncontrollable grind against his motions. I propped my carriage upright to try to gain control. Wanting to counter and cover the pleasure on my face, I jammed a little more cake in my mouth. Denial and disguise had no effect on the wave baking in my loins. My posture slumped; I squeezed my legs tight, dropped my head down, and held onto the cake bite tight to keep from screaming.

Jon pushed my messy long jet curls behind my ear, and then lapped at my neck like a puppy. After ten years with this man, he still knew how to drive me off a cliff. He moved my soggy thong back in its place, removed his hand, and wiped it on the linen. He took a sip of his coffee, eyed the bill, dropped some cash on the table, looked at me, and smiled.

“Now, we can go.”


We both drove to the restaurant, which was ideal, because I needed time to concoct a plan. I had no intentions of dealing with Jon’s afro-down-below on that night. As much as I loved giving head, I detested navigating through a thicket to get to the treasure.

Believe me, I tried to get Jon to trim the lawn just a little, but he insisted on the ‘earthy’ look. It was earthy all right. He had hair enough to style in no less than three different once, I might add: a braid on the left, curls in the middle, and dreadlocks on the right. Rapunzel has nothing on Jon.

So, during my drive home, I planned a few moves.


“Bae, would you pour me a little Moscato? I’ll be right back, okay?”

I darted for the bathroom off the master bedroom. Took me a couple minutes to locate the necessities for the evening’s activities. I put a hand towel on the granite countertop, and placed electric clippers, hand trimmers, disposable razors, a straight edge, and some shaving cream on top of the towel. Surely one or more of these sharp objects would do. To the right of the towel I positioned a comb and brush, a box of chemical relaxer, a straightening comb, a flat iron, and some hair rollers as alternatives. I gave him options.

I’d play the barber or the beautician: client’s choice.

“I have wine for my gorgeous wifey. Rain, what are you doing,” Jon asked as he stood in the doorway of the bathroom.

Damn...busted! I wanted to change into something sexy to sweeten the deal. But Jon was too quick. There I stood in my work clothes; a mid-thigh navy pencil skirt, a beige blouse, and three-inch pumps.

Determined to make my attire work, I placed my hands on my hips and greeted my patron, “Welcome to Rain’s Salon. What is your pleasure today? Would you like a press ‘n curl, a relaxer, or some braids?”

Jon broke out in laughter, “Neither.”

I was glad he was game to play along. So, I continued, “Perhaps you’d like our Bob Marley special: five dreads for the price of one? Are you looking to add some length today; how about some hair extensions? I believe we have your color on hand; color number two will blend beautifully.”

“Mi-su Rain...I’ll have the Bob Marley special; dread me baby!”

Shit, shit...shit! Can’t avoid the repeated epic fail.

 “Aw hell, I didn’t even get to do the barber dialogue,” I whined, folded my arms, and poked my bottom lip out hoping Jon would play on.

It didn’t work.

Preparing to enter the dense forest, I unbuckled his belt, unzipped Jon’s black slacks, and let them fall to the floor. On bended knees, I swallowed hard as I moved to pull down his boxers. I decided to use my fingers and my tongue to cut through the brush and clear a path to the cob. However, the simple thought of trudging through the woods and weeds slowed my tempo down to a crawl. Grabbing the legs of the silk boxers, I gave a good yank to expose the jungle.

My eyes bounced from Jon’s groin to his hazel eyes, and then back to his hardening cob.

“You’re a doppelganger.”

“No, silly. Surprise!”

“It’s clean! The cob is clean!” I screamed with glee, “When did you...?”

The afro was gone! Jon’s seven inches no longer looked like three inches. The continuation of mocha from his balls to the tip of his cob actually made him look more like nine inches.

 #happy, #woohoo, #hellyea, #nomoafrodownbelow

“That’s why I missed dinner. I was getting a full wax. See, no hair below the neck! What do you think?”

Jon waved his cob right in my face.

“Yes, yes...Mmhmm!” I stood, ripped my blouse and skirt off, pulled down my thong, and asked, “Want a cookie, little boy?

Instead of answering, Jon removed his shirt, posed, and asked, “Want a chocolate dipped husk n’ silk free cob, little girl?”

Words were no longer necessary; I bit my bottom lip and motioned Jon to the bed. Kneeling at the bed’s edge, I held and squeezed his hardened third leg in my hand. I just had to bask in the smoothness of his sack. But, I wanted to take my time, so I started my licking at his left knee.

He stood there, while I applied kitten-laps to his loins. My hands traveled a few paces behind the licks, as I kneaded his inner thighs. Twirl-tonguing his silky chocolate jewels undoubtedly aroused his desire to enter my throat.

Impatient and hungry, Jon latched his hands to my head tight and pulled me toward the cob.

Eager, I took it all in. The sudden impaling caused a slight burn in the corners of my mouth and at the back of my throat. But, didn’t resist. I loved Jon. I loved what he did for me. I loved giving my man a good deep throat. The afro’s absence made me crazed and lit a fire in between my legs that made me want to suck every bit of sweet out of his cob.

I grabbed onto his shaft with both hands, massaging a gentle twist up and down while I sucked and slurped his mushroom tip. My gentle head-bobbing turned into an all out face fuck when Jon changed his grip on my head.

Hands shifted from the side to the back of my dome. Tears ran down my face and I moaned with every stroke. Still, Jon didn’t let up. He drove his hips in and out of my mouth with several forceful thrusts until he sent streams of sweet liquid down the back of my throat.

“Sweet, Rain.”

Jon lifted me, pulled me to his lips, and kissed me as if he hadn’t just cum. This kiss was different from other kisses. It was swelter on steroids. Lip sucking and tonsil tickling went on for a while. Jon unfastened my bra, pinched and twisted my nipples, and squeezed my ample cinnamon breasts. Neither of us wanted the kiss to end. I believe that if the passion from Jon’s kiss had a voice and words to speak, it would have said ‘I’m grateful, and I should have fulfilled your request long ago.’

Our lips unlocked, he turned me around and pushed me onto the bed.

“On your knees, Rain.”

Expecting the cob, I was surprised to feel man-tongue entering my kitten from the rear. Jon’s tongue circled and cajoled my button out of its hiding place. Then I felt a finger enter my vee followed by two more fingers. Jon had such a voracious rhythm going, he almost sent me into another mind-numbing climax.

“Jon, fuck me now, please,” I begged to feel his satin skin slamming my pussy.

Without further delay, Jon obliged, “Back that ass up, Rain!”

I waddled back, and Jon pushed forward. Inch by inch, he eased the cob inside me. Once settled, he began a full stroke; he drove his length all the way in and brought it all the way out. His bare sack slapped and clapped against my bottom as he pummeled my vee. Jon flattened my body onto the bed and turned me on my side. He hooked my leg with his arm as he continued to pump and grind.

That’s how we went, all night long. We hadn’t made love like that in years.

The power of a good waxing... Amazing.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © 2013-2018 Tamar A Doll. All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author.

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