"Tyrone, get that for me will ya? Thank you honey." Ophelia grabbed the lavender chiffon scarf that Tyrone curve balled at her, and draped it round her shoulders, gazing at herself in the mirror, tugging it in various directions, each fussy pinch, pull and pluck to enhance a cleavage that already appeared to be buoying gratuitously out of her blouse like sepia mangoes.
"Got a special meeting?" Ophelia didn't detect the dry, bitter subtext stringing Tyrone's seemingly innocuous question together. He rubbed his shiny ebony temples as he watched her pick up her briefcase and rifle through it. His black brows knitted together.
"She's a bitch she's a bitch she's a bitch."
"Oh yeah, real special, uh- Mr Waterman and I are close to getting the Fisherhouse company to giving us the account for their new e-business ads. It's kind of exciting dontcha think? This could be the big one. I get a bonus if we nail it. Our shareholders will go berserk with joy. Probably not berserk, I guess it ain't all that exciting."
Ophelia turned and looked at him, her dusky face, sweet and heart shaped as a mouse gazing at him with wide exotic eyes broke into a devious smile.
"When I get my bonus, we'll cruise the Pacific, and you can paint something naked of me somewhere, maybe it'll even be your big break. Kissy kiss kiss." As quickly as she had adhered herself to his lips, she unglued herself, snipping over to the car with scissor-like precision. She got in, and drove off.
Ophelia was half-Korean, half-Jamaican, with soft-focused corkscrew curls, cock screwing puckered lips, and generous breasts. A petite curvaceous woman who had always had a surprisingly ruthless attitude for a dungaree-abusing, art school graduate, she had chosen to follow advertising whilst Tyrone, after art school where he had met Ophelia, had opted to 'suffer' for his art (whilst secretly dreaming of big bucks and eager naked models.) The results had been more dismal. Tyrone was Ophelia's big cocked parasite, attached to her only by his eight-inch appendage and calloused fleshy fingers. Seven years after graduation, and Ophelia was no longer starry eyed in love with Tyrone, the 'Black Byron', the 'Boy Medusa' (he'd had dreads, back in the day), the player with a paintbrush. When she looked at him, it was no longer with bedroom eyes, she simply looked tired, specifically,
tired of him
. He languished, he burned, he sculpted, he was as broke as fuck, and he had housekeeping skills of a Tyrannosaurus rex with extra tiny arms (he didn't do any.)
She did everything. Still, he had to keep himself useful.
Tyrone was no good, he was bad, and to prove this, he was also fucking the neighbour.
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"Oh Tyrone! Oh Tyrone! Oh! Oh! Oh! Marry me!"
"You're already married slut." Tyrone smacked Rebecca's small pale bottom that reddened with the force of his slap. He then gruffly squeezed her ruby nipple between his forefinger and thumb, before stretching it out and letting it twang back onto her breast like a lovelorn cherry.
Rebecca's puffy white pussy mashed hard against Tyrone's swollen black cock, and Tyrone grabbed her hips and ground against her, like her pussy was a mortar and his cock was a fleshy hard pestle.
Rebecca was bouncing on top of him, strands of glistening long red hair stuck magnetically to the sheen of perspiration that had enveloped her small slender body.
Tyrone watched his cock slide into her body, he liked it a lot when she went on top because he could see everything, he liked watching his pink cock-head slide into her pale shaved pussy, until the pink had disappeared and you could only see the black gold of his shaft peeking out, and boy did she work him like a gym session.
"Do you think of burning calories when you fuck me?"
"Kinda."
Gruffly, he moved her lithe hips and picking her up whilst she was still spiked on his large black cock,
He whispered 'wrap your legs around mine, you're in for a wild ride girl.' She wrapped her arms round his neck and wrapped her legs round his strong rippling spine; a cream bow wrapped around a rippling dark body.
Then with her back plastered to the door, he ploughed his cock into her, forcefully fucking her, gripping her hips so hard that it would leave light indigo bruises, and tenderly nibbling her jaw line as she whimpered his name. His pubes tickling her aching clit.
"Tyrone, please, Tyrone, please..."
With one last thrust as her heels dug into the small of his back, he gently bit her earlobe and spilt his seed into her squeezing pussy.
They gasped, and then slowly he slipped her off, and turned his back to her.
He got dressed with jerky discomfort as he could feel her eyes following him longingly. Expecting.
When he had fucked her, every time, he could only see someone who looked needy, pathetic. But it fed him; fed an appetite he didn't care to ponder. He smiled politely, avoiding her gaze with some embarrassment and left.
Suddenly the room felt cold, Rebecca, naked and with cum stuck to her thighs, closed the window overlooking the garden. And then just watched the garden, initially not thinking at all, but then the amorphous mass of thoughts began to gain clarity. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Tyrone only wanted sex from her and that was the turn on for Rebecca- she was waiting for the day when it would mean so much more, knowing that day wouldn't arrive gave her a reason to keep fucking him.
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Their 'affair' had the cliché feel of a Porky style flick- she was married to a bore of a systems analyst, Rebecca was beautiful and twenty six, he (Norman) was okay looking and thirty five. Their sex lives had been adequate, but it hardly had the sailors singing at sea. Then Tyrone and Ophelia had moved in next door, and both Tyrone and Ophelia had gone round to see their new neighbours.
Rebecca had always been bisexual by imagination, though not by deed and had initially been attracted most to Ophelia. Ophelia was gorgeous, Rebecca wanted to run her slim fingers through Ophelia's curly hair, and her personality was aromatic and sparky; Ophelia was compelling company. Rebecca felt a bit shy around her, and was keen to impress with tall tales of the Muir's who lived across the road and who were amusingly anti-social neighbours.
But Tyrone had been the one to watch her, barely flickering predatory eyes, and a still smile that was a camouflage against a backdrop of friendliness. Rebecca had decided she would be careful with him. She was surprised Ophelia didn't seem to realise how creepy her partner was.
Even Norman had noticed.
"There's something not kinda right with that guy. He kept watching you."
"At least someone's looking."
