Private Dancer - Part 2

As she finally stepped out of the shower, her fingers pruned, she felt her nipples stand at attention, the cold air hitting them like ice. Her body had never gone so long without that much needed release. Unlike others in her previous profession, she genuinely enjoyed the sexual games she played with others, the rush she felt when using her mouth and her tongue to submit someone into pleasure...the level of control she felt when pinning someone down and having her way with them....the arousal that came with watching someone else squirm in ecstasy. She missed having that kind of hold over someone, almost as much as she missed being caressed and touched.

Ariane changed and headed to the local Target to pick up some items before her shift. Doing a quick check in the mirror, she approved of what she saw: simple, clean face, sprinkled with tiny moles across her pecan sandie skin, a spot of lip gloss on her heart shaped lips, her almond shaped eyes dotted by naturally long lashes, long-ish hair blow dried straight, pulled back into a ponytail, simple diamonds in her ears. Acceptable. She took down her shades from the compartment above her head, grabbed her keys, her purse, and her IPod, and trekked inside the Target. She headed into electronics, where a tower of Nintendo Wii boxes greeted her, the ads all pointing to the Wii Fit game, as well as other Wii games. As she reached up to grab a box, the boxes began to wiggle a little and some fell off the side. Startled, she stepped back, only for more boxes to tumble. A low and deep baritone voice from behind her touched her shoulder and, gently removing one headphone plug, said, “Why don’t you let me help you, before you hurt yourself”.

Ariane turned around and stared into the eyes of what had to be the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

His attire was simple: white and black checked collared shirt, black chinos, a simple black loafer. The hand that lay on her shoulder was perfectly manicured and a smooth milk chocolate, as was the face that spoke to her. He had a low cut Caesar, the wave of his hair accentuated by the cut, and his keen brown eyes peered at her curiously behind square shaped designer frames. He smiled, and all she saw were crisp, white, perfectly shaped teeth. And a dimple.

Oh dear God, he had a dimple.

Trying not to get huffy, she straightened her back, and, gripping the cart tighter, she said, “Do you always take unsuspecting women’s head phones out?” He raised an eyebrow and peered back at her. “I do when they’re seconds away from destroying my store’s display and they can’t hear me when I’m warning them”. He smiled again. “I tried to catch your attention. You had the music blasting. Great song choice, by the way…I always liked Dirty Diana”. Ariane smirked. “This…is your store. If it is, you should tell your employees to fix the display right.” She drew herself up to her full 5 foot 7 height and waited for the retort. She’d heard it all from the men who tried to talk to her. This was sure to be a good one. One of the Target employees walked by, texting on the phone, seemingly oblivious. The gentleman stopped him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Samuel. I know you’re on break and all, but you should be texting in the break room, not on the floor. Can you fix this display for me immediately?” The employee peered at him; frowning, a retort ready, before his face dawned in recognition. “Right away, Mr. Grant. Sorry about that”. The employee put his phone away and got to work fixing the fallen boxes. Mr. Grant turned back to Ariane. “Target offers you their apologies”.

Ariane was stunned silent.

.

Mr. Grant chuckled and extended a hand. “Darren Grant. Senior Buyer, Northeast Region. I oversee this Target’s buying as well as most of the Targets in this region”. Ariane’s mouth dropped open slightly, then she shook her head as if to clear it and gingerly took his hand. Shaking it, she said, “Ariane Ryan. Not usually caught with her foot so deep in her mouth.” Darren laughed; a hearty laugh. “Well Ariane Foot-In-Mouth (wow, that was corny), I’m going to safely grab a Wii and place it in your cart for you, ok? Are you looking for any games in particular?” Ariane snapped out of the daze she found herself in. Shaking her head again, she said, “Wii Fit? Heard a lot about it.” Darren chuckled as he reached for the Wii Fit game from next to the display. Tossing it into the cart as well, he said, “Here it is. Although, I can think of a much better workout for you.” Ariane frowned. Here we go. “And that would be?” “Pole dancing. I hear it’s much more strenuous than most people think. Here’s a card for it.” Reaching into his pants pocket, he handed her a brightly colored postcard with information on pole dancing classes. Ariane rolled her eyes. “Pole dancing. Of course. Thanks, Darren.” She rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving Darren quietly assessing her in her wake. She paid for her Wii, along with a few other items she picked up on her way to the register. Flipping the card Darren gave her over in her hand, she chuckled to herself. “Just when I thought I had met a nice one,” she muttered to herself. Then again, she was a former stripper. Sort of hard to avoid...right? Putting her shades back on and turning her Ipod off, she head back out to her car in the sunshine.

***

It surprised her how packed the pole dancing class was when Ariane walked into the dance studio some hours later, after much internal debate and examining the card Darren had given her earlier. Sure, she was annoyed at the suggestion, but there wasn’t any reason she couldn’t check it out, right? She figured it would be fun to mess around on the pole again. Even though it was a far cry from her formal dance training, it was always fun. The instructor walked each participant through the various moves and when it was Ariane’s turn, she tuned everyone else out, channeled the Trey Songz song playing, and followed the instructor’s directions as she had perceived them. When she finished, she looked around and realized everyone was staring at her, including Darren, who was leaning against the doorjamb at the far end of the room. Her classmates burst into applause, including the instructor, but all Ariane could focus on was Darren’s stare at her from across the room.

Oh Lord. What was he doing here?

Naked With Socks! (and Stroke Development)

Sorry I've been out for a while! I promise you, though, I've been working hard on keeping things hot and spicy...

If the initials NWSO don't sound familiar to you, then you should concentrate on knowing them. NWSO is the acronym for Naked With Socks On, a premier relationship/lifestyle blog. If you don't know about his Wet Wednesdays series in particular...then you're slacking. *wink* Seriously. His site is chock full of helpful info on relationships and the like...and then there's Wet Wednesdays.

*fanning self*

Your girl Kaye, for the last three weeks, has been helping NWSO keep Wet Wednesdays dripping with her installment of The Highest Cost. Today was the steamy conclusion, and I could not be more thrilled at the feedback I've been getting! Thanks to all who enjoyed. If you want to check it out for yourself (as I'm sure that you do), here <--- is where you can find it. Be sure to click the links for Parts 1 and 2 before you get to reading part 3! (It's better that way. Or should I say 'wetter'? *wink*)

Anyway, I'm making it my goal to post something every other Saturday, be it a little anecdotal or a steamy story, starting this Saturday. So look out for it!

And check out NWSO's site. Trust me, it's worth it.

Private Dancer - Part 1

Her back arched off the bed as his tongue snaked a trail from her hardened nipple to her belly button. Grasping at the pillow cover, she peeked down to watch Michael’s head make its way further down, to her center, already dripping wet and ready. He kissed it once…twice…three times, his lips touching her lips from her hips while her lips uttered incoherent phrases of pleasure. Her arms struggled to be freed from the silk scarves currently wrapped around her tiny wrists, struggled to be able to grasp Michael's head as he rewrote the Kama Sutra on her clit one position at a time. Over and over, she called his name, moaning then screaming it as his tongue brought her closer and closer to the edge. He lifted his head quietly, letting his chin stimulate her clit as he whispered to her, “you coming, baby?” “Yes, oh God yes, please…”, she cried as her hips climbed up and up, the sounds of club hip hop booming around her…

Wait. That wasn’t right.

Ariane awoke with a start, her alarm blasting the latest in hip hop and R&B “trash”, as she called it – there was nothing like classic R&B. Sitting up in her bed, she looked around for signs of Michael, her ex, and, finding none, even went so far as to feel the sheets to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming. Except that she was. Her sheets were wet from her sweat, her body was throbbing, sitting on the edge…Michael wasn’t here, he was gone with the next trick, for lack of a better word, and she was here…alone. Alone and, now, horny as hell. They always said that you shouldn't turn a 'ho into a housewife'...but Ariane never saw herself as a whore. Granted, there were no cliche reasons for her previous lifestyle: she wasn't a struggling college student or a back-against-the-wall single mother in desperate need of some cash. She, quite simply, came from her parents' money and didn't want that lifestyle to change when she was forced to move out. For what it was worth, the money that she had saved from the countless escapades she cajoled her way into paid off handsomely. Coming back from her distant memories, she jumped in the shower and turned her shower head on to pulse, placed it directly on her Pandora’s box, let the water stream over her clit, leaned back against the wall and moaned, brought herself to a gentle orgasm that was a poor substitution for the real thing she was used to getting.

This was some real. Live. Bullshit. Sigh.

As she showered her dreamed lust off her, her hands caressed her honeyed skin, moved down it's dangerous curves, massaged the remainder of her weak orgasm down the drain of her mother of pearl inlaid shower tile. The advantage to her former lifestyle was the inevitable material perks - the humongous bathroom splashed in mother of pearl...the four bedroom house with wall to wall New Zealand plush wool carpet...her massive, label heavy wardrobe, complete with a separate closet for her shoes. Ariane always thought that continuing to have what she had would make her happy. Even growing up, her parents, before they parted ways, stressed the importance of looking important and 'fresh', whether it was a black tie affair, or to the local supermarket. As a result, Ariane grew up with an overwhelming sense of entitlement, reflected in her choice of boyfriend (and sometimes girlfriend), as well as in her sense of style, down to her eating habits. After a few years of turning tricks and playing in assorted 'clubs' throughout the area, she grew tired of using her body to get her what she wanted - but she didn't know any other way. One of her favorite hookups, when talking to her about her dreams, suggested community college as a means to find, well, herself. She enrolled in City Community and got her AOS in Massage Therapy. She still used her body to please others - simply in a less direct way now.

Speechless, Pt. 2

All I could see in the air were words.

Well, no.

Obviously, I couldn’t see the words exactly, but I knew one thing: my assistant was trying to grasp my attention…and I was hearing not a word. She could've been screaming at the top of her lungs, for all I knew.

I felt a trickle of sweat creeping down the side of my face. My head lolled back and I gasped. I was aware of a persistent knocking but I was oblivious...blocking out everything but the sensations coursing through me...

creeping up my thighs...

warming my middle.

I ran my hands through my hair and put my finger in my mouth. Sucked it like it was a Charms Blow Pop and I was trying to get to the gum center. Muffled groans with the palm of my hand. Rich cream dripping down my thighs was lapped up like ice cream as I could barely control the sounds that came from my body. I tried to move down in my chair to give him better access and to perhaps get to the orgasm that he was artfully keeping me from, but he stopped me with one touch of his hand.

Knock.

I held onto my chair for dear life and bit my lip. Tried desperately to suppress the desire creeping out of me. Thought that I might have hid my nana’s last slice of chocolate caramel cake down there. This boy was eating me like the sweetest meal he ever laid hands on. Up and up and up I pushed my hips. I couldn’t take it anymore.

Knock.

The softest of moans rose from within me and bounced off of the walls of my office. The slightest of trembles snuck up my leg as waves of pleasure crashed over me. He brought me to the peak again and again. Another moan came from me, this one louder than the first. His ‘shh’ reminded me of where I was and made me come all over again.

The loud, insistent knocks at my door and someone jiggling the frame were my rude awakening. Realizing that the door was locked, I jumped up, aggravated. Fixing my shirt and tucking in my blouse, I unlocked and yanked open the door. “What?” I barked. My assistant jumped back, startled. “Uh…well, I just wanted you to know that the package from…” “Just leave it outside the door. I’ll get it”, I said, and practically slammed the door in her face. I traipsed back to my desk and plopped in my chair. He crept out from underneath the desk. “I’m going to be the talk of the office for the next week”, I said, and sighed.

He took my leg and massaged it gently, starting at the balls of my feet and creeping his way gently up my calf. I rested my head on the back of my chair and sighed again. “We shouldn’t be doing this here”, I said unconvincingly. “You said this was your fantasy”, he responded, and went to rub my other leg. “Yeah, I know,” I said softly, “but its different when something of this nature actually comes true…you never actually think these types of things through”. “If you want me to go, I’ll go,” he said, letting go of my foot gently and standing up. “Yeah, it might be best”, I responded tenderly and stood as well. My eyes told a different story, one of desire and passion, but my mouth forced out the words “I’ll see you later”.

And so he left, the only reminder of him a voicemail message, my personal scent, and his Fahrenheit cologne. I stayed in the office for the remainder of the day, a bit embarrassed to come out, intimidated by my own staff and their wayward mouths. I was the last out of the building later; my assistant came to wish me a good evening and I offered her an apology, citing pent up frustrations as the cause. “I understand, gyrl”, she whispered as her head darted around slightly for any sign of other powers that be. In the the corporate world, one tended to make it their business to leave the ‘sistergirl’ in us at home: the uninhibited, ‘I-don’t-give-a-damn’, neck snapping, and high five-ing. This time, she winked at me, an "I get it" wink, and walked away, the ‘sistergirl’ in her walk a bit more accentuated, the tailored cut of her Ann Taylor suit no longer hiding her curves.

Heading home, it began to drizzle, so I put the top up on my luxury car and closed my window. So much for a nice breeze, I thought. I got home pretty quickly and immediately headed for the shower. I knew that the Mister was at work, so I quickly decided that my night was best spent with me, my television, and my hand, since there would be no chocolate sweat on my sheets and batteries were just too overpriced these days. I threw on a comfy baby tee and some gray and turquoise pajama bottoms and settled down on the couch for some r and r. I was channel surfing when I came across this well endowed by way of surgery 'nurse' and her male 'patient' getting it on in the soft porn flicks you catch on the premium cable channels after 10 pm.

As I watched the contrite scene, I let my mind wander. I just never understood the attraction with these types of shows. To me, the chick, 9 times out of 10, is plastic, the sex is fake, and the plot is so predictable that you know how the segment ends before it begins. Watching the madness for a minute, I couldn’t take it anymore and went in search of something better. The Movie Channel was showing, surprisingly, Cappuccino, a movie I rather enjoyed, so I cuddled up with my pillow, pushed all erotic and erotic related thoughts from my head, and tried to enjoy the movie.

It didn’t work.

To be continued...

Speechless, Pt. 1

The taste of his back called me.

It called me in the office. On the phone. In that insipid meeting with my boss, I dreamt of chocolate flavored sweat stirring my coffee, relieving the need for cream or sugar, and I just wanted to take a sick day to become one with him and collect it all. I almost came when my boss said "yes" and I realized that I was reliving the night before...to the point that I almost moaned aloud.

Wow.

Collecting my thoughts, I dropped everything on my desk, grabbed my twenty four pack of packaged death, and hightailed it for the parking lot. Leaning on someone's car, I lit, puffed, and inhaled. Sigh. My mind drifted back to his lips on my...

"You know you have to quit smoking, right?" I looked up. Why was everyone trying to ruin my fantasy? Nick, the resident fix it-all-do-it-all guy at my job, was leaned again the side of his company van, puffing on a cigar. I looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Um...aren't we a hypocrite?” I quipped. Nick chuckled, the smoke from his Oliva pluming a thin greyish stream from the side of his mouth. "Listen, sweetheart, I always tell you, leave the ugly stuff to the ugly men". Nick coughed. It was the deep phlegmy of a seasoned smoker. I retorted, "And I always tell you, stop calling yourself ugly. You know ugly people make me itch". Nick laughed again, and this time I offered him a true smile. I enjoyed talking to Nick. He was one of the few people in the office who I enjoyed talking to on a regular basis. Unlike others in our office, it didn't matter to me that he cleaned our toilets and our floors. I liked Nick. Nick was real. And consistent. A quality that I wished many other people that I knew possessed.

The tropical infused cancer stick did nothing to abate my hunger. If anything, it increased it. I knew it was only a matter of time when the temporary high would go away and I would be reliving it all again. Nick spoke, and I heard moans, soft utterances of pleasure like tiny pulses running through me. He wiped his forehead, and I tasted salty sweet sex. It wasn't Nick. I was trapped in a yesterday.

There was a pop. I jumped. Nick chuckled. "You're someplace else, miele. Perhaps I talk to you later, no?" I grimaced slightly. "Sorry, Nick. I am someplace else. I'll talk to you later". "No prob, doll face, whenever you wanna talk". And Nick was off. Nick reminded me so much of Santa Claus sometimes, if Santa had no beard, told dirty jokes and, well, cleaned toilets. I stepped on my cigarette and went back inside the office. The message light blinked incessantly on my phone. Checking my voicemail, I realized I had four messages. Was I gone that long? I wondered. The phone was on speaker, so I sat back in my chair to listen.



It was as if pure passion had wafted through the vents and took a seat on my desk.



I sat up and took the phone off speaker. I must have looked like the RCA dog who meets that pit from the projects, because as my assistant knocked and peeked in, she took two steps back and asked if I was ok. I shook my head yes. "Oh ok. I just wanted to make sure. A Mr. Johnson is here to see you". I furrowed my eyebrows. I didn't know who a Mr. Johnson was, but my assistant looked like the cat that swallowed both canaries, so I told her to tell him to come.

He didn't say a word as he walked in. All he did was point to the phone, and I felt his voice, smooth as chocolate, ooze out his caramel finger and land on my breast. "What are you doing here?..." He put his finger to my lips. The sweat I had been craving all day was literally at my fingertips and I was busy making small talk. I sat up, silent but eyes sending constant inquiries. He walked back to the door and closed it. Locked it. He pointed to the phone again. I caught the hint this time and replayed the message. Ginuwine floated through the air again as he walked over and kneeled down in front of me, sliding off one red pump.

Then, the other.

His hand caressed my foot and licked it. Gently. Softly. His tongue rubbed my toes and trailed a path, well past the point of no return, where it met a pleasurable entrance that by this point was dripping. I wore a no frills g-string, which he moved to the side. He explored my delta, wrote his name in sexy curlicued script that left no room for displeasure. It was a wonder that I remained silent. I wanted to scream. I settled for soft, breathy moans. I didn't do the saying names thing, but I was seconds away from making an exception. And then, someone knocked on the door. He looked up at me, only for a second before moving to kneel under the desk and wheeling the chair and me closer. I said, "Come in". I could only hope that the person would be quick and that he wouldn't be found out under the desk. Or me. Especially since he didn't stop...

To be continued...

Lunchtime In'her'mission

His words sex me on a summer day
Spread like butter
Smooth like cake
My legs part involuntarily
He mind shatters me
Pleasing arousal without touching me
From alliteration whispered to me over lunch
Desire wafting through me
I groan his name
Words of unfettered erotica play pit a pat with my nipples
Sing song across my peaks
Fan an unimaginable flame
It pierces me
So deep
I want him
To pierce me
So deep
His words so carnal
Voice soft as his touch
He wrote me a story

5:45 pm 5.16.07

Stroking for the First Time

Your first time is always filled with surprises - the unexpected first stroke, the unsureness of every movement, every touch...

You can always expect sexy here.

It is our hope that the words that will trail across your screen here will encourage you to explore the sensual side of you. Whether it is our words or the words of others who are masters of their stroke...we hope to engage your mind...as well as your loins.

Take a peek inside our passionate minds...sit back...and enjoy...