Author's Note: This story is completely fictional and did not happen. All characters and names are fictional and were made up. I do not make money from these stories. Please do not copy and plagiarize my work.
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Miami, Florida
The plane had touched down in southern Florida, merely minutes after the clock turned to 8 AM. Three hours was the standard flight time from New York City to Miami, counting all the security checks and need of retrieving luggage. The season of fall was in full swing, as anyone back home would be counting down the days of the dreaded winter season. Those were the months it was better to escape the north east and head down south for better weather. Michael Eboli had made that decision more times than not in the past decade since buying a vacation home down in Miami. Working and living in New York was only one part of his life, but come October, he didn't want to be anywhere else but Florida. There was no place like his home down under.
An escort vehicle had been arranged by Michael's security team, awaiting him outside the airport as the aging man stepped out in a black pinstripe suit. Dark sunglasses shielded his eyes from the glaring sun up above. His short brown hair had a few layers of fading gray slicked back in the front. At forty-five years of age now, he kept the hair short to hide where age was beginning to catch up with him. It was one thing to stay in shape at the gym and eat healthy, but time remained undefeated throughout the course of life. Clutched in his left hand was the black plastic handle of a rolling luggage bag. Gold zippers went well with the black leather bag itself, sporting a style that matched the Rolex watch across his wrist. Being the type of man that stood out in a crowd based off his looks alone, Michael strolled without a car in the world as he met with his security outside the airport.
A slick black BMW was his car of choice when it came to getting chauffeured around by his security in Miami. The backseat was empty, reserved solely for Michael himself and a date if he ever had company. Some times he brought a woman along with him, but today's trip was one where the company was awaiting him back at his mansion. Having spent over twenty years working in the music industry as a financial consultant, Michael had made quite the contact list in his book of addresses and phone numbers. This career had started out in his youth, fresh out of college when he was offered a job to join a tour for an up and coming pop band recently signed to a major label. The band didn't go anywhere with flopping record sales and a breakup among the lead singers, but it was a foot in the door of the music industry for Michael.
Along the way, he had managed other bands connected to Colombia Records. Within a few years, Michael found himself looking for new opportunities with offering his skills behind a financial background. Five years after working at Colombia, he met Beyonce Knowles in the summer of 2005. She was preparing a new album, but wasn't ready for a tour. Looking for someone that could help manage the finances to her side projects involving fashion modelling and other ventures, Michael soon found himself newly employed to someone beyond the label. He could still remember the day it all began with Beyonce herself inviting him out for a date to discuss business matters. Early on, he got to learn that she liked to deal with matters in a more personal way than his previous employers. Everything came face to face between the two of them.
That had been more than fifteen years ago at this point. Life had changed greatly for Michael once he started working for Beyonce as she was growing her media empire. Over time, he met her husband Jay-Z and received a small dosage of what their married life was like. So many rumors swirled of cheating and other such scandals. Michael figured early on that both of them led a sort of hedonistic lifestyle, respecting one another's wishes not to indulge in their affairs. It was almost like an open relationship at times, as Michael was quick to realize that Beyonce herself had desires for him. As the years went by, their affairs remained a closed secret only to themselves. She moved him around, giving Michael different jobs with his financial background as he was led to marketing. It would be a few years before he finally got to help with a tour under her name.
All of that had been in the past now. For many years, they had kept what had become an on and off again relationship between work. This occasion of coming down to Miami for a meeting was another long awaited affair with the woman known as Queen B or 'Bey' as he liked to call her. Michael had never married throughout his twenties and thirties. Between his years of having continuous affairs with Beyonce, he did treat himself to escorts. Spending time working in London several years back after Beyonce became a mother, Michael had indulged himself with a series of 'parties' involving glamour models masquerading as high priced escorts. To hear him say it, he had to get his rocks off somehow. But those women couldn't amount to his black queen. Thankfully today, after not seeing her for the past five months, Michael would soon be reunited with Beyonce.
"Is she back at the mansion already?"
Michael spoke to his driver while sitting in the back seat. He pulled the sunglasses from his head, carefully folding them before opening his jacket to slip them in the inner left side pocket.
"Yes, the Queen B arrived a half-hour before your flight, sir."
"Good, see to it that she gets anything she wants."
It was routine for the security chief and driver to know any demands of luxuries and service when Beyonce was at his Florida home. Michael had instructed them some time back that at all times, they refer to her as Queen B. Sunlight peeled out of the windows of the car, glaring across his aging face and dark brown eyes as the BMW continued to roll down the streets. The last time Michael had been in Beyonce's company, he had been overlooking a marketing project from her recent adidas clothing and sneaker line. Ivy Park was an immediate success, just as planned without any doubts whatsoever. That was on the business side of things, but today was a more personal matter. She had her own vacation home across town in Miami, but tonight was meant to be an evening spent between Michael and Beyonce with no disturbances.
Last Friday had been the first time he spoke to her in a few months. Though he was older now, Michael couldn't fight off the surging feeling excitement that was rushing through his body. The relationship went so far back. On one hand, he knew he should've been grateful that she still liked to have affairs with him. On the other hand, Michael felt Beyonce couldn't quit him when she needed a different kind of taste from a man in life. Sitting back in the car, he quietly thought about that last photo shoot she had for Ivy Park. He went to bed last night fantasizing about that beautiful black ass. So plump and thick, oh how he couldn't want to squeeze those cheeks. He bit down on his bottom lip while thinking about that sweet black pussy. So juicy and sweet. It felt like it had been too long since the last time seen her great big tits or even touched them. Finally, there was eyes to look forward to. Dark brown hues that burned through his soul through the night.
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3 HOURS LATER
The sound of a glass touching metal was heard loud and clear throughout the living room as Beyonce sat down. She had finished what was a third glass of wine, sitting there with her strong legs crossed together. Her high heels had been removed from her feet hours earlier, sitting in another room as her feet were fully revealed to Michael's eyes, quickly noticing the red paint across her nails. Beyonce had arrived in what could best be described as a casual lazy look underneath a black trench coat. Michael was given a slight show when she pulled that trench coat off, revealing a pair of black booty shorts that covered her curvy hips and a cut T-shirt to reveal her tone stomach. She knew precisely what she wanted, coming dressed like that. No jewelry covered her dark skin. Her long brunette hair had curly blonde streaks, parted down the middle as usual.
"This is good wine you've got today, Mikey. What year is it?"
She spoke softly, gazing back at her empty glass and grazing her right hand index fingernail across the rim. Michael stood across the room, having taken off his suit hours earlier and changed into something more comfortable with white leisuire shorts and a button up matching shirt. He offered a smile before replying to Beyonce.
"It's nineteen-eighty-one, darling."
Smirking back at him, she uncrossed her legs before responding.
"The year of my birthday, huh? So I guess that's your way of saying sorry for missing out on my big fortieth."
