Blac

It was 6:30 p.m. He had a date tonight. In one hour to be precise. He had seen her the past 27 nights, each evening always new and refreshing. And he had never been late. But he had a few minutes to spare, so he leaned forward in his small shower stall and braced his powerful forearms and shoulders against the slick tile, the blistering stream of water sluicing down his broad back. It was amazing really, how they met. He had been free, unattached, and lounging on a wooden bench along the sidewalk, nursing a cup of black coffee. The day had been unremarkable, the wind blustery, pigeons cooing, people rushing in their private worlds. The comforting aroma of warm bread and coarse salt that made one wish they were home and hidden, away from the steel glare, concrete and bleakness of the job.

No one took notice of him, but he wasn’t offended. Such is the way of his kind. And suddenly it had all changed. A teasing of wind, like a fine ruffle of fingertips along the dark matte of his hair, and he had glanced up with penetrating blue eyes. His best feature though few ever noticed. But she had.

Weaving effortlessly through the throngs of people, her steps calm, unhurried but still with purpose. Her long black coat swung gently around her tall, lissom form, a perfect compliment to the thick luster of her wavy mane. A small, private smile curved the edges of her full, soft lips as she walked, oblivious to the other pedestrians. The rude blaring of a car horn never fazed her. He stared, entranced as she inclined her head towards him, the opaque darkness of her eyes clashing with the light of his for one stunning moment. The wind had strengthened, shifted. His cup of coffee toppled to the pavement, a bitter pool staining and unnoticed.

Immediately rising, he had followed her down the busy sidewalk where shortly thereafter, she entered a large office building and disappeared into an elevator. Determined not to lose her, he had cajoled the reluctant receptionist to release the enigmatic stranger’s address and phone number. A brilliant smile combined with a secretive wink truly were potent persuasion. And he had seen his dark beauty that very night and each night since then.

Pulled from his reverie by the now lukewarm water, he shook his head to clear the indulged memories of her, spiky strands splaying across his forehead. The shower had taken too long; he was late, and that was unacceptable. He had never disappointed her, and wouldn’t start now. The clothes he had chosen for the evening lay meticulously on the bed. Black pants, a black wool turtleneck, black socks and shoes. Even his boxer briefs were black. He wore this outfit faithfully each night, but she never complained. Dressing methodically, he palmed his keys and plunged the house into sepulcher silence, eager for the night to begin.

Alternately slipping into shadow and reappearing in the orange glow of interstate lamps, the large motor purred as he guided his sleek, black truck seamlessly through the now familiar route to her home, his thoughts once again shifting to her. Though he had only known her for a relatively short time, she had become his world. He shared her joys, suffered when she wept, shouldered her weariness, and guarded her when she drifted off to sleep. He had even witnessed her intimately, the arch of her graceful back as she approached climax, the high airy cry that spiraled from her lips, deep crimson with arousal. The flutter of fingertips around the slender vibrating tube she pressed tightly to her pulsating clit. And he had come with her, male cream spurting hotly, cherishing her lazy smile of satisfaction and repletion.

He groaned at the memory and pressed the accelerator harder, his growing erection bulging tightly against his jeans. Finally at last, he reached her neighborhood and parked in a dark alley, choosing to walk the last quarter mile. Her home was the last on the block, a simple yet cozy structure of dark pine, brick and glass secluded behind a grove of trees. It was this grove he entered, melting into the thick foliage, eyes reflexively adjusting to the darkness though it wasn’t necessary. He knew the path to the rear of her house by heart. Settling into the worn patch of pine needles partially hidden by a large branch, he breathed a sigh of relief. 7:23 p.m. The house was dark. He wasn’t late. The scant extra minutes providing him time to compose and prepare, straighten his clothing. He would not give her reason to send him away like the others did. They had labeled him dirty and unfit, his intentions black and obscene. But he wasn’t bothered their claims, it merely gave him reason to find another. And then he had found her. His goddess of the violet twilight. He would never abandon her. No movement save for the crisp autumn breeze drying his damp hair, he waited.

Soft amber halogen appeared in the growing dim, the low whine of a slowing engine. A large gray vehicle materialized from the evening mist and turned slowly onto the paved driveway, disappearing under the garage door. It was her. Metal clicking to concrete, a drawbridge effectively closed. The queen was in her castle. The thud of his heart suddenly sounded painfully loud in the ensuing quiet. Blue heat in his eyes, he traced her path through the rooms, as one by one, soft lighting illuminated each window. An invitation. Unlike the others, only gauzy veil draped the glass, a glowing portal. And in the deepest region, the bedroom, there was no barrier at all. He reveled in this knowledge, that she wanted to hide nothing from him. Bare all her secrets. The others had been afraid of him, of his black demands. But not her, his nocturnal mistress. Shifting on the balls of his feet, he watched her mechanically flip through the day’s mail and fix a light supper, each morsel slipping into the dark recesses of her mouth. Dumping the remnants, she flicked the light off, once again the night covered her in its protective cloak, obscuring her from his merciless scrutiny. But he not was troubled. He knew her patterns by this time, knew her habits well. A low, mocking laugh rumbled his broad chest, as he stealthily crept closer to her bedroom, blending into a shadowed eave. Nothing could hide her from him. He was the night. Black, omnipotent, inevitable. Their date would begin in earnest now. She was ready, would perform for him, at his direction. There was nowhere for her to go that the darkness wouldn’t find her.

With a defeated sigh, the window relinquished its treasure, and she was there, a shimmering vision of obsidian and ivory, long legs and velvet mysteries. Unable to breathe, he watched her light an iron candelabra, three crimson tapers flaring to dance merrily in her eyes. Crossing her arms, she lifted the edges of her sweater and pulled it over her head, the expensive cashmere tumbling onto the matching carpet of dove gray. She turned her back to him and reached for the fastening of her knee length skirt and unzipped it slowly, wiggling her rounded hips and stepping out of the pooled fabric. Shallow, rapid breaths now, he freed his throbbing cock from the confining denim, not taking his eyes off of her. Stroking the blood engorged shaft while she stood for a moment, tall and regal in black thigh high stockings, matching lace demi-bra and stiletto heels. Full, creamy breasts proudly jutting from the scant bra cups, he could see the dusky shadows of each areola. Stroking faster, his large thumb skimming the sensitized head, powerless in the enchantment of luscious curves and silky waves. Every sweet inch, all his to behold. He nearly groaned aloud in the perfection of her, of the night, when suddenly she pivoted sharply on one spiky heel, bending at the waist, searching. He wanted to slide his tongue between the top of stocking and the lush, sloping underside of her peach-shaped ass. Wanted to slap the twin mounds and taste the scented patch of flesh while she bent over for him.

At last she straightened and depressed the call button on the cordless phone, holding the device against the soft shell of her ear, speaking in a low, warm tone. The sudden quivering in his limbs had nothing to do with the prolonged crouching, but instead was the fury, the indignance of who would dare interrupt their date. He should leave his patient vigil at her window and storm rightfully into her bedroom, watch her soft red lips form that O of surprise. He should punish her. Force her to watch him stroke his pulsating shaft in her face. No, she wouldn’t be allowed to touch. He wouldn’t permit it. She would suffer the absence of his cock in her silky mouth. Her hungry, heated gaze on his angry frown, the meddlesome chatter assaulting her ear, he would coax every salty drop into her smooth palm and silently command her to massage the scalding cream into the patent leather of those fuck me heels. Watching her struggle to conversate and rub, pinned by the warning in his icy stare, daring her to lick even a single droplet from her slender fingers. This would be her lesson, to never disrupt their precious evenings again. A mute order for her to walk about the room, the damnable modern device clutched in her hand. Black lace and lust incarnate. Candlelight gleaming in the slick leather of those shoes, in his cream encasing her small feet. Every step, an acknowledgment of who she obeyed. He would yank her to his stern face, fist coiled in the wild, ebony mane. Need, a yearning plea in her eyes; his own remote and derisive. She would already know his answer. Words were never needed between them, their language existed in her shuddering sigh, in the back of his tanned fingers lightly tracing the curve of her flushed cheek. No, my love, my little cockslut. There will be no reprieve for you this evening. The loud smack across her soft flesh, her responsive purr. A bruise, black and marking.

The exotic hoot of an owl floated through the chilly mist, and he exhaled harshly, easing the death grip on his throbbing shaft. Blinking rapidly, the vision had been so clear in his mind, he frantically searched the window for her. Her lacy bra hung on the bed post, the intrusive phone lay harmlessly on the luxurious black comforter. He gasped audibly as she exited the adjoining bathroom, framed in wisps of steam, wearing only the sheer thigh highs and a peaceful smile. His renewed lust surged almost painfully, swollen balls tightening in exquisite torture. Sinking into the mattress, she pointed a maroon toe and hooked her thumbs beneath the elastic band, deliberately rolling the hosiery down her supple calf and onto the floor. Completely nude, she lay back on the firm mattress and stretched, arching the long line of her back, raising both legs and spreading wide. He could clearly see her mauve, dewy petals, the hidden pucker of her fuckhole. Echoing her groan of contentment, the brazen temptress. She loved to torment him, unabashedly display what in so short a time had become irrevocably his. Tonight she would have mercy on him and refrain from pleasuring herself. He knew that she realized by allowing him to be with her each night was in itself a monumental gift. Surely, she must know that his every desire was hers to reciprocate. Rolling from the bed with catlike precision to stand on her tiptoes, she stretched one final time, pert breasts thrust impossibly high, her satin belly taut. She glanced once at the barren window, into the black void of forest and then slipped into the jets of steam.

He gratefully used her brief absence to collect his scattered senses, breathing slow and controlled. The cramped muscles in his legs screamed for relief as he hadn’t noticed their plight earlier, having been totally enthralled with her seductive entreaty. Only his cock remained unswayed, its steely length still pounding, a single drop of precum adorned the head, its demand oblivious to the chilly air.

A muffed click. The squeak of unused hinges. Sounds incongruous to the night. He froze, shrinking back against the brick as she stepped onto the patio adjacent to the bedroom. Still moist from the shower, clad in a silk robe of the purest snow, an apparition bathed in moonbeams, lightly curling her fingers around the iron railing. One lunge and he would be able to touch her, sink his trembling fingers into that inky spill of hair, gaze into the endless pool of her eyes. He could cover her hands with his own, let the black steel bite into her clean flesh as he tore the offensive cloth from her damp skin replacing it with his own. Loose himself in the frantic clamor of her hips against the unrelenting tumescence of his cock teasing her slick pussy. Biting, growling along her spine, branding. The night rejoicing in her agony, hoarding each whimper that escaped her throat. And she would welcome him, beg for him, surrender to his possession with each undulation of those splendid hips.

No. NO. Knuckles bleeding pale with the effort to stay hidden, tiny pinpricks of desperation exploding behind the azure of his eyes. He would never defile her, never stain a single centimeter of her skin with his black motives, his bane of unrequited lust. She lifted a cigarette to her parted lips, igniting the thin paper and inhaling deeply. His angel. He could do nothing but worship her, stroke his cock harder with each pull of her mouth on the cylindrical tube. Tendrils of smoke circled lazily, forming an eerie halo in the radiant moonlight. Finishing, she crushed the remaining embers and retreated into the house. At the definitive latch click, ensuring her safety, he lost his erotic battle and ejaculated, the searing wave of semen splashing onto the still warm railing where her hands had curved only minutes before. A living pearl necklace, glimmering thickly on the dull metal. A man should always bring his date a gift.

His desire sated, a black beast caged for now, he sat back on his heels as she removed the robe, draping it over the bed post and slipped under the soft cotton sheets. Sooty eyelashes fanning her translucent cheeks, she drifted into the arms of Morpheus. Hours passed, the moon reluctantly deferred to the insistent hint of the Eastern sky. He remained, protecting his sleeping beauty until the golden rays threatened to expose his black vigil. And then, only then did he leave her. But the darkness would come again, night would once more seduce the land, and he would arrive to claim her for another dance in the shadows. Until then, my love, he whispered, placing his hand on the window, a bedewed promise. Oh how he hated the morning.