Addiction Ch. 01

I've got a secret.

Wait. Before you close the cover and discard this because you think you've already heard this story-STOP.

This has nothing to do about anything I'm not proud about or scared that someone may find out.

I am a slut.

And I'm trapped.

I need sex. I live and breathe sex.

I'll die if I can't get what I need.

I'm not a slut because my father left me or my mother abused me. I have good, kind God-fearing, church going parents. In fact, I too, attend church.

I just love sex. The smells...mmmmm the sounds. Feeling him pounding me from behind, balls slapping against me, panting my way to a soul-shuddering climax.

Yet, the soul-shuddering climax eludes me often.

Why? Well...that leads me to secret number two....

I crave white cock.

Don't believe the hype. It is still taboo for an attractive black woman to want an attractive white man. It is much more common to see white females and black males together and I say-more power to you.

But I want- the Robert De'Niro story. The man loves black women. I wish there were more of him around. If Colin Ferrell ever gave the inclination that he would want a caramel-colored, 5'10, leggy, busty 30-year-old woman, then I'd release that sex tape to the world. He is scrumptious....mmmm good enough to eat.

I don't hate black men, before you are tempted to classify me as a man-hater or give me some other psychoanalytical label. I have a Masters degree too. I took the same courses that give most people a superiority complex.

However, as the popular culture continues to give the impression that swag and grille is the style of choice-I'll stick to men of class, men who dress up to impress, men who don't spend all their time and money on spinning rims and baby mama drama.

Men who realize you don't have to address a woman as a bitch or a hoe to her face in everyday conversation. But...if you are pulling my hair and fucking me hard and fast feel free to call me what you wish, lover.

The man who encouraged hip-hop to go down a path of degradation and glamorizing hood life should be shot in the balls. I love men in suits who dress for success. I don't want to get shot to have a good time, just fucked.

Anyways, I digress. I'm trapped in this good girl body, in a relationship in which I fake climaxing often. We've been together for three years and he has no idea what I keep underneath the drawers by the bedside table.

Toys. Condoms. Lube. Books. Movies.

Michael Stefano is porn's best-kept secret, next to Jean Val Jean and Evan Stone. They are large and in charge in their films. Women probably buy as much porn and toys as men, but we just hide it better.

Just the thought of those three men makes me so aroused; so wet...mmmmm so ready to fuck. I could come right now thinking of them, especially all at once.

My trapped life as a try anything slut though began to end when I met someone. Someone as perverted and twisted as me. A man who opened my eyes to see that it was okay to embrace my inner slut......

Derek

"No, honey, I'm not mad you have to work late. I understand completely." I said as I was pushing the grocery cart through the supermarket aisle. "I''ll just curl up with a good book." And watch my new DVD's, I thought to myself gleefully. I had just ordered "A White Guy's Guide to Ebony Addiction" to see Michael Stefano and I couldn't' wait to also try out my new toy I bought as well. Thank god for sex toys, otherwise I would never know what a climax felt like.

"I'll finish up grocery shopping so that I can make that Chicken Broccoli Casserole you love."

"You are a God-send." David said. "Most women would be pretty angry that I had to work on their birthday." David was tall and muscular with green eyes. I loved how good he was to me, but our sex life was like raw vegetables. Bland and boring.

"Davey, we are lucky we have jobs right now, it's no big deal. Besides, I really am not excited about turning thirty."

"Babe, you don't look a day older than 25. We will have a special celebration later if you get my drift."

Joy. Boring sex on my thirtieth birthday. This day keeps getting better and better.

"I have to go, but I will see you soon, okay? Love you, babe." David said.

"Love you too," I echoed. As I went to end the call, I turned the corner and ran smack into a wall of solid chest. I dropped the phone and my purse. As soon as it hit the floor, my purse exploded, items scattering everywhere.

"Son of a bitch!" I muttered. Like I really needed this today.

An amused Southern voice drawled, "Need some help?"

I arched my eyebrows and prepared myself to give a frosty "get the hell(o) kitty away from me." until I looked up into a pair of green eyes.

I was mesmerized by the secrets that he held in his eyes and his mischievous smile.

"Miss....can I help you?" He bent down so that we were eye to eye.

Yes. You could pull my hair and spank me from the back. Make me scream your name.

"Should I call someone for you?"

Blinking, I shook my head to clear my lusty thoughts. "No I'm good. Sorry about running into you."

I began to pick up the various items that belonged in my purse: car keys, gum, appointment book, makeup, etc.

"Wait." He grabbed my hands and stared into my eyes. "Let me help you, at least. Buy you dinner."

I snorted and continued throwing stuff in my purse. "Do I look like the kinda girl that line works for?

He smiled. "Do I really look like I need a line to talk to a woman?"

I stared. No he definitely did not. He was at least 6 2 with muscles to die for and seemed like he had the six-pack armed and ready. Perfect for licking and tasting.

I wet my lips with the thought.

"No." I replied.

I reached out to grab my phone at the same time he did. Suddenly, I felt his hands, a light, accidental touch. A heated spark I felt in my belly as well as my pussy. Then, a firm grasp.

"Wait." he said. His hands squeezed, flexed. I felt his touch and my body grew warm, aroused.

His nostrils flared.

I tried to free my hands. He grasped them tighter. "Don't," he said. " Have dinner with me."

"I can't," I whispered.

"You won't", he countered.

He used my hands to pull me up. "Tell me your name at least, since you won't have dinner with me."

I break our eye contact. I think for a moment.

"Gabby," I finally relented.

He looked amused. "You don't look like a Gabby."

"What do I look like?"

He paused for a moment, his eyes closed in thought. Then he smiled. "Age can not wither her, nor custom stale. Her infinite variety. Other women cloy the appetites they feed. But she makes hungry where most she satisfies."

Intelligence. Bonus points for him. "So I'm Cleopatra now?" I smirked. "Comparing me to a queen stupid enough to fall in love and then kill herself is not a good way to entice me into accepting your dinner invite." I attempted to pull my hands free. "Plus, plagiarizing Shakespeare just seems like a rehearsed pick up line."

His grip tightened. "You miss understand me, Gabriella." he whispered. At his low sotto voice, I could feel me growing wetter. He raises my hands to his lips, "Antony saw Cleopatra and in that moment, he knew his life was changed forever. All he had to do was get her to say yes."

Intelligence, charm, and style? Oh my God. I had to have this man, right now. "Yes."

I don't remember paying for my groceries or even getting into my car. All I remember is giving him directions to the nearest restaurant, which was attached to a mall. We pull into the parking lot.

He opens my car door, "This way, Gabby." He ushers.

"I can't do this," I whispered, trembling. "I just can't."

"What's wrong?" He looked concerned.

"I don't even know who you are. And yet I'm here getting ready to have dinner with you," I replied.

"Derek." He instantly responded. "And you're Gabby. What's the problem? He steps nearer. The space between us is but a heartbeat. I look into his eyes. The sexual intensity sears me in place. "Are we really going to quibble over something as inconsequential as names?" His breath is warm on my face causing my skin to heat and respond.

"What was I supposed to call you?" I parried, breathless with anticipation.

"Master, pretty one." and then he kisses me.

There are kisses that explore, kisses that tempt, and then kisses that devour. He tasted the depths of my soul with one kiss. I pull him closer and he makes an approving sound as he grabs my hips. He is hard and grinding against me. I gasp and he swallows the sound. We find a rhythm with our tongues, our bodies. He breaks contact to take in our surroundings, the parking lot. "Come on." He tugs on my hand for me to follow him. My heels sounding like gunshots in the quiet night.

He pulls open the door that says Employees Only and pulls me inside. As I open my mouth to protest the risk of being caught, he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth while grabbing my hips and grinding into my pussy. I purr while scratching his back in approval. He breaks free to suck at my neck, kiss the tops of my breasts.

'I have to taste you" he murmurs and sinks down to his knees. The moment his tongue touches my clit, I come. He is merciless as I climax, licking me as I convulse and bite my lip to keep us from being discovered.

"Mmmmm," he whispers, the sound muffled with his mouth over my pussy. "So wet, so delicious." I grab his head and pull him upwards for another kiss. His entire face is wet from my climax. I taste myself on his tongue. "Condom," I mutter, "Hurry."

He laughs. "What's the hurry?" He sucks on my neck and thrusts two fingers inside my pussy. "I'm not sure if you are ready for me yet." As his fingers thrust inside of me, my teeth sink into my bottom lip. I can taste blood in my mouth as his two fingers relentlessly fuck me into orgasm number two.

"No," I counter and grab his fingers. "I want to cum on your cock." He nips gently at my fingers with his teeth. "Impatient slave. I set the pace." He places his hand on my pussy and kisses me. As he kisses me, he thrusts his fingers inside of me. "Three fingers easily done, but can you take four?" At his teasing smile and talented fingers, I cum for the third time. While my knees tremble with exhaustion he reaches into his back pants pocket, rips open the condom, sheathes himself deftly, and enters me with finesse.

He is large and thick, stretching my walls beyond fullness. "Oh God" I whisper. "Not quite" he mutters and I giggle. Suddenly, a door opens in the corridor. We freeze, his cock still inside me, his mouth near my ear. "Let's see if you can be quiet," he says and continues to thrust inside my wet pussy, the sound of him gliding in and out the only sound in the corridor. He bites my ear and hoists my legs higher on his torso. "Shhh, Gabby." We don't don want to be caught. I hear footsteps heading our way. Again, Derek stops mid-thrust, but this time he eases us further into the dark corridor.

"Is anyone out here?" I hear a male voice inquire. We stare at each other, our eyes conveying a million messages of desire, of impatience. After a moment, we hear the rasp of a lighter and the sound of a stranger inhaling. Derek begins to enter me slowly but forcefully the tip of his cock hitting my cervix. My scream is trapped in my throat as Derek swallows my gasps, moans, sighs, and pleasure, his tongue mimicking his cock. The stranger finishes his cigarette and leaves us exploring each other in the darkness.

He shudders as I tear my mouth away to bite his shoulder in pleasure He hisses when my nails drag him closer. He kisses me again, a punishing kiss, and I can feel his movements becoming harder, faster. He is about to cum and so am I again. He stares into my eyes. I am trapped; I am pinned by his thrusts and his gaze. Inspiration struck. I lean into his body, rake my fingernails down his back, and whisper, "Come for me, master. Come inside my wet pussy." He thrusts harder and groans. Faster and faster he thrusts until the last thrust which triggers my own orgasm. A moment passes. He lets me slide down his body, sweaty, sated, and addicted. Capturing my mouth, he kisses me gently. "I'm not done with you yet, Gabby." he whispers in-between kisses. In that moment I was addicted. I would have done anything for him. I inhaled his scent, as I rested in his arms, content within the moment, but impatient for the next.