The Jazz Singer

The Jazz singer's lyrics resembled soft candy, carefully crafted words so sweet they were like sugar slipping from his tongue. I sat at my table, straight black hair falling against my shoulders, a white blouse holding in my cleavage, a knee-length black skirt wrapped around my waist and one stocking-clad leg draped across the other. My fingers outlined the rim of a glass, which was once filled with bourbon as I watched the way he moved his broad, pink lips.

I found myself oddly fascinated with the stranger. His hair was dark, slicked to the side in a Cary Grant fashion, and I could almost see the lines beside his dark eyes when he hit a high note, causing them to slightly squint. The singer was tall with a medium build, not so large it looked as if he could crush a woman with a warm embrace, but not lanky enough to be swept away by the wind.

When the song ended, he lifted a drink from a nearby stool and tossed it back as if he had been nursing hard liquor for years, and I knew the brown liquid carrying the ice cubes that clanked against the glass was no iced tea. I could tell by the hint of hardness in his expression as he swallowed it down. Running a hand against his forehead, he took the mic in his hands and said, "Goodnight," walking off the stage.

Chairs scooted across the floor and people shuffled toward the exit. Waitresses snatched up their tips and recovered water-downed drinks. I remained in place still sipping my beverage and watching the singer make his way to the bar. I eyed him carefully, waiting to see what he'd do next. Part of me wanted to lift myself from the chair and go talk to him, but a small voice in my head haggled me, reminding me that I was no groupie and that I should put my spent body to bed. The voice grew silent when he turned, facing me. Our eyes met, and the window of opportunity opened.

Flashing him a quick smile, I lowered my head to hide the fire burning in my cheeks. He must have noticed me blushing, because as soon as he had a fresh drink, he approached me, slowly, his legs almost floating across the white-tiled floor. My heart raced. He was beautiful, every wrinkle on his forehead and every freckle below his eyes. Desperately, I grabbed my drink and wetted my whistle, trying to think of something to say.

"Did you enjoy the show?" he asked, willing to start off the conversation.

I nodded my head, avoiding his eyes. I felt like a panicky schoolgirl about to get a lashing from my instructor. "Yes. Yes I did. You have a marvelous voice." Looking up, I observed his heart-stopping smile.

"Good. I'm glad I could entertain you. Can I buy you a drink?"

No!

The voice in my head screamed, and for once I thought it would be wise to listen to it. "I can't. I should get going. The club looks like it's about to close and I'd hate to keep them waiting."

Rubbing his stubble-covered chin, he reached out and took my hand. "Let them wait. They won't mind. I practically own this place."

The heat drained from my cheeks, flowing to other areas below my skin. He looked at me with intense eyes, as if he were trying to read my thoughts through my expression, which I'm sure looked a lot like a deer in headlights. His hand was warm and soft like the voice that had drawn me to him in the first place. I wondered what the rest of him felt like and if he tasted as sweet as he sounded.

"I'd ask you if you came here often, but that line never works for me." He paused as I let out a let out a short, breathy laugh. "So, do you?"

Smiling, I shook my head. "No. I've been here once, a long time ago."

"And what brought you here tonight?"

His index finger moved gently across my hand in smooth circles, caressing the gooseflesh forming on my skin. "I was on this side of town and figured I'd stop in."

He leaned forward. "Do you have a name?"

"Yes," I replied, a smirk forming on my lips.

Something inside me was stirring, and for some reason, I was in no mood for chit-chat. "Do you?"

"Maybe." There was a brief silence. "But do names really matter right now?"

He must have sensed my thoughts. I had no interest in small talk, which was very unlike me, and if I had been, I would have referred to him as the "

jazz speaker

". I longed for his voice in song, his rhythmic words trickling down my body like hot wax. Perhaps I was caught up in the fantasy of being with a man who could woo me without too much detail, a mystery.

My hand still in his, he pulled me from my chair, leading me to a vacant hallway near the restrooms.

He pushed me against the wall, his strong hands taking me by the waist and pulling me close. Placing one hand on the wall, he used his free hand to trace the collar of my blouse. His lips touched my ear, then he began to sing in a smooth whisper. Every time he ended a line his warm breath brushed against my skin.

My eyes were closed, blocking out all visuals so I could concentrate on his voice. I felt the pressure of his hand against my blouse as he unbuttoned it slowly, pausing between buttons. Reaching behind him, I placed my hands on his ass, pulling his pelvis to me.

Opening my shirt, he slid in his hand, pulling my bra beneath my breasts, cupping one of them and removing his mouth from my ear. His tongue grazed a nipple, biting on it ever-so-carefully while I ran my fingers through his silky hair. It had been confirmed: The man had one hell of a talented mouth. He worked it gently, leaving wet circles around my areolas, tugging at them with his balmy lips.

I brought his face up to mine and pulled my mouth into a devilish smile. Gazing into his eyes, I drew close, opening my mouth and flicking my tongue against his lips. He accepted the invitation by opening his mouth, covering mine with the taste of sweet bourbon and cigarettes, soaking in the passionate kiss I'd offered. It was deep, long, lasting, two tongues dancing together haphazardly like snakes charmed with lust.

The hand that once roamed my chest was now drifting up my thigh, his fingers outlining the hem of my stockings, then traveling further up to the heat hidden within my panties. He stroked my slit, pressing a finger against the cloth, carefully rubbing back and forth with the tip of his finger. Parting my lips, I moaned against his mouth, drawing from the kiss to jerk my head to the side as the sensation consumed me.

I bit my bottom lip, closing my eyes tightly as I felt his finger move from the outside of my panties and brush against the edge where the inside of my thigh met the cloth. I could feel them being pulled away from the wetness within, the fabric slightly sticking to my clit before he was able to slip his fingers inside. When they touched my flesh, I wiggled with delight. His fingers were just as soft and gentle as the rest of him while he slowly parted my burning lips and filled me with two of his fingers.

I lifted one of my legs, resting a heel against the wall behind me. I parted my thighs as far as I could, thrusting my hips toward him, aching for his fingers to deepen. He reacted to my motions, pushing them in so far his knuckles were forced against my clit, which only magnified the sensation. Every time he pulled back, then pushed forward, a wet sound erupted from my pussy, driving me wilder. I put my fist against my mouth trying to muffle the moans I couldn't contain by catching them in my throat.

My pleasure was briefly interrupted as the lights fell low. I heard the snapping of locks from the main area where we had been sitting. Apparently, everyone had left.

"You're so wet," he whispered, his voice deep and raspy.

His words quickened my breath. I still couldn't get over the amazing voice that had landed me against the wall in the first place. I wanted more of him, but couldn't advance. The pleasure of his fingers had me locked in place, twisting against his body as I came closer to orgasm.

"Faster," I whined, bucking forward, wanting to explode into his hand.

Using a third finger, he stretched me wider, inserting it roughly, working his flesh- happy fingers quickly and relentlessly. My heart raced from the pressure, slamming into the walls of my chest. Removing my fist from my mouth, I punched the wall and screamed, then threw my arms around his neck and buried my chin into his chest. I came fiercely, my clit jumping and the inner walls of my cunt pulsating, clasping onto his fingers.

My Jazz singer slid them out, bringing them to my face and running them against my lips. I licked the sheen from them, smiling coyly as I lowered myself to my knees. Within seconds I had his slacks around his ankles and my hand on his thick, bouncing cock. Parting my lips, I took the head of his phallus into my mouth and suckled it like the tip of a bottle. I looked up at him, my eyes locking with his lust-heavy gaze. Overwhelmed with the musky taste of his cock skin, I took it all in, every hard inch, my lips rubbing the surface smoothly until my nose was merely inches from his dark, winding hair. I tightened my lips, sucking in my cheeks until there was enough suction to give him friction-filled ecstasy as I brought him in and out of my mouth.

His hands moved through my hair, massaging my scalp as he guided my bobbing head. A mixture of wet slurps and deep moans bounced off the walls of the club. I could tell he was enjoying it, because he could no longer hold my stare. He rolled his eyes into the back of his head as he stretched his neck backward. Reaching below his cock, I stroked his balls, feeling them tighten in the palm of my hand.

Before I could finish, he reached down and lifted me into the air, pinning me against the wall with my legs wrapped around his ass. My singer lifted my skirt and tore my panties right down the middle, letting them fall down my legs. He then thrusted himself into me, pushing so hard, my back hit the wall.

"I cried out, "Yes!" as he gave it to me raw, uninhibitedly, powerfully. He pumped me so hard one of my heels fell to the floor, filling the hall with the loud smack of hard leather hitting tile. With my hands around his neck, I yanked him forward, burying my lips into his. We licked and sucked each other's fleshy mouths as he held my waist in place, bringing it back and forth with the rhythm of his hips.

"Take me from behind," I ordered in a whisper.

A huge grin grew between his cheeks. Apparently, he was just as keen on the idea as I was. He carefully let go of me, sliding me down his body and back to my feet. I turned, bending over and pulling my hair forward across my shoulders. That way, I could watch as he slipped it in. And slip it in he did, much more slowly than he did the first time around. He used his large hands to spread my ass cheeks to make way for my cock-craving cunt. In and out it dipped, like clockwork, starting out slowly until I needed an increase in movement. I bucked back against him, moving savagely backward until he was completely still, letting me do all of the work.

Reaching out, I placed my palms flat on the wall in front of me, using my arms to push myself back even harder, so hard, his dick was slamming deeply against the elusive spot within. My body couldn't handle it anymore. The smell of bourbon, the reverberation of his moans, the feeling of his hard dick beating me up on the inside drove me mad. I opened my mouth, letting out a lengthy moan, which turned into a scream when he took control again, thrusting, pumping, slamming into me with all he had. His balls slapped against my clit, over-and-over again as I released.

"Mmm," he moaned, letting go himself. I could feel his warm fluid fill me, mix with mine and drip down my thighs when he pulled out.

I turned, out of breath, pulling up what was left of my ripped panties and smiling at him.

"So, do you have a name?" he queried, stuffing himself back into his slacks.

I kissed him, savoring the feeling of his mouth against mine. "Do names really matter right now?"