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The ride to the penthouse is nonstop and for fifty floors we indulge ourselves with each other. He drops to his knees, raises my short skirt with his warrior hands, gnaws at my tissue-thin laced thong, then rips it away with one wild tug. My hotbox is so wet with anticipation. He lands his full, voluptuous tongue on my clit and teases my erectile organ like a madman, sucking it, pressing on it, and gently biting it. That drives me crazy. I grab the back of his perfect fade and hold his head right where I want it. He swirls his tongue all about my pussy, soaking my hair and inner meat. His tongue swoops inside my cavity.
“Keep it right there, Bishop,” I moan.
Damn, this shit is off the chain. He tongues my kitty cat with his large, movable flesh and I cum on the substitute dick, long and hard. My creamy wetness covers his mouth. He stands and shares my pussy juice with me in a passionate kiss. I unzip his trousers and feel the heat of his desire to have me as I rub his overly warm penis and enlarged sacs. I continue to let him think he has the upper hand and allow him to slam his tongue into my throat while his middle finger goes into my vagina. I whisper, “more,” into his ear to let him know I’m not a beginner. He includes his index finger and just begins to thrill me. “More.” He gives me three. Now I’m starting to enjoy it. “More.” Yes! The four fingers of this fine, dark-chocolate prince pumping in and out of me sends me into a spin. He watches me as I hump his foursome. He’s more turned on. Damn, I want to let go of these two rails and do my thing, but he obviously likes this. I look up at the red numbers. We’re halfway to the top. Only twenty-five floors remain. Sorry, Bishop, but I got game, too.
I release the rails and push his hand away while still locked in our passionate kiss. I unbutton his starched, blue-and-whitestriped Sean John shirt, rip open his cotton tank undershirt, and rub his six-pack and chest with my free hand while the other drops his trousers. Now, what shall I do first to this panting, mostly naked specimen?
I quickly press him into the corner where the rails don’t meet. I kneel and deep-throat his delicious meat. I watch his head toss back and feel his nine-inch dick grow another inch as I release it slowly from the back of my throat. I lick the tasty lollipop, up, down, and around with long intentional strokes. When I place Bishop’s penis on my lips to enjoy his pre-ejaculation juices, I feel him motioning forward, wanting me to take it deep again.
“Not yet,” I whisper.
I go to the base of his ass, spread his cheeks apart and run my tongue all around the outer rim of his asshole.
“Shit,” he yells as he squirms with my tongue.
I spread his cheeks farther apart and poke his asshole with my tongue, making quick, wisp-like licks
. Now, he grabs the rails. I stay there a moment, eating the athletic booty. I release his cheeks and hear him take a deep breath. I hope he doesn’t think I’m done. I kiss his tight muscular thighs and venture to his scrotum. I engulf one ball, then the other. I hold Bishop’s sac in my mouth and suck it like an ice cube on a hot summer’s day. “Shit!” he announces, again. His satisfaction with my work makes me hotter. I release his nuts and look into his eyes; they speak with lust and desire. I place the circumference of his penis in my hand to lower him back into my throat. I can’t touch my middle finger to my thumb. I’m more than pleased. I smile at him. He smiles back. I deep-throat him again. I feel his dick pulsate as the blood engorges the long-dong vessels. As I suck and lick, I feel the big dick swelling as Bishop begins to climax. He pants heavily and his body tenses. “Shit! Damn, Connie.” His breathing is irregular and his dick is about to burst.
I hear the ding of the elevator bell indicating the arrival at the penthouse. “Fuck!” Bishop proclaims. I quickly released him from my mouth. He pulls up his trousers to find the badge in his pants pocket. He grabs it and hurriedly swipes the sensor just as the doors begin to open. I hear an executive say, “Hold the elevator, please.” Bishop rapidly presses the “close door” button, then “L” for the lobby. I get another ride for fifty floors.
Bishop looks surprised when he turns around and sees my bare breasts standing at attention for him. I keep the excitement going, undisturbed by the ding of the elevator bell. Bishop approaches me, lets loose of his trousers. I watch them drop to his ankles, exposing what I long for—his ten inches. He lifts me with his strong, Hershey arms and situates my anxious pussy atop his perfectly round, thick-headed penis. He doesn’t waste time. I’m glad because I want every moment to count. I grab the rails for more support and lock my long, espresso legs around his six-pack. The thick head penetrates me, in a little, in a little farther, in more, in deeper, in all the way. Bishop is huge inside my wet box. His girth reaches from one side of my pelvis to the other. His length touches my cervix and bottoms me out. There is no space left in me. He consumes the center of me, just how I like it.
“Damn, Connie. You got some good-ass pussy.” He fucks me with repeated, fast motions, bucking my body like a wild rodeo bull. Shit! This brother is laying it on me some kind of good! I let go of the rails, crisscross my arms around his neck, and sink the tips of my fingers into his broad shoulders.
“Hold on,” he orders. I hang onto Bishop as he grabs my ass and walks across the elevator. He smacks the “stop” button, causing the elevator to freeze at the thirtieth floor. He thrusts me into the far-right corner where that silly man stood and fucks me harder. We slide down the wall and onto the floor. There we lay, my blouse open, my short skirt hiked up around my belly, pumps in the air, Bishop’s trousers around his ankles, his Sean John open, tank ripped, his bare chest against my excited nipples, and his ten inches at the bottom of me, pounding against my cervix while I drench him in my delectable juices.
He positions his arms under my knees and raises my legs backward over my head, pointing my moist box straight up to the ceiling. He descends upon my vertical pussy with such force that I moan his name, “Bishop.”
“Yeah, baby? You like that big dick?”
“Yes!”
I feel his cock grow wider as more blood rushes to it. My body quivers and my vaginal muscles rapidly pulsate and send an uncontrollable amount of cum over his rod. I barely hear him say, “My turn.” Bishop curls me into a ball under his Adonis body, squeezes me until I almost can’t breathe, and then releases his white, gooey serum into my unprotected pussy with a long, satisfying grunt followed by ahhhh.
“You like that, huh?” I ask even though I know the answer. He looks at me, smiles, then answers, “Yeah. You got skills. I like that.”
He rises off of me and presses the “stop” button again. We begin to descend the remaining thirty floors. His hazel eyes look at me ever so confidently, like he just conquered something. I gotta set him straight and let him know that I run this show, not him.
“You say that like this shit will happen again.” I’m just fucking with his head now to hear what he says.
“Well, won’t it? How can it not? And I wouldn’t call this ‘shit,’ either.”
See how easy a man’s ego surfaces. He is so concerned about his Johnson and fucking capabilities. This makes it easy for me to control this conversation. I got his ass now.
“Well, I don’t know,” I remark.
He looks stunned, probably because he thinks that he laid something on me that I’ve never had before. He wants me to crawl back to him for more like I’m sure some girls have. Little does he know that he merely gave me what I’ve had in the past, and what I’m currently lacking from Keith. This makes me sexually dangerous, and him my play thang, if I want. He walks toward me, takes me within his grasp, and rubs his semi-flaccid penis against my saturated wet zone. He’s determined to save face.
“So, what are you saying? This isn’t what you expected?”
“Well—”
Before I can finish my sentence, he embeds his tongue into my mouth. During the midst of our kiss, he whispers, “You feel the heat like I do. I know it.”
I don’t need convincing, but it’s fun to let him think that I do. I turn away from him and purposely look at the red numbers.
“Shit!” Bishop exclaims, realizing we’re going to get caught if he doesn’t let go and allow us to dress. We hastily fumble with our clothes as the elevator counts down from the fifth floor to the lobby. At the second floor, I ask Bishop how do I look as I fret over my skirt and blouse and fluff at my mid-length locs.
