Read an Excerpt
Come See Me
Zane
Do not get me wrong. I love money. I love making money. I love spending money. I especially love spending other people's money more than I love spending my own. That was one of the reasons that I decided that I did not mind doing event planning for the large corporation that I had worked for over the past six years. The opening came up and was a chance for me to get out of the office and stop sitting behind a desk. It was a dream job for me, planning meetings, trips, and conventions for top clients. My expense account was practically limitless. All of it was a tax write-off for the corporation.
I rented a pirate ship once in the Baltimore harbor for twelve dinner guests. It had cost a pretty penny but everyone had fun and I got all the praise. I had a wine-tasting at the embassy of Croatia and had the wine critic from the Washington Post teach everyone how to tell good wine from bad. I had organized a dinner at a restaurant that served emus, and everyone was so tickled and enjoyed eating the unusual bird. I had done a little bit of this and a little bit of that. However, like all good things, my happiness came to an end.
My job began to get a little stressful. The one thing that I had not counted on was the attitudes from some of the people who were being wined and dined. A lot of them felt like they were better than everyone else. They started talking down to me, like I was their servant. I did not appreciate that shit at all.
The two brothers who owned the corporation decided that they wanted to plan a trip to the Bahamas for ten of their top clients and their respective mates. I was relieved because I hoped to have a little fun in the sun once I got everyone settled. We had a lovely flight over on a private plane — for the most part, the limousines that took us to the hotel were on point, and then all hell broke loose.
The hotel was top-of-the-line but the wife of one of the men on the trip thought she was the queen of Sheba. She had this Southern drawl that drove me crazy every time she spoke my name.
"Mona, can you please get me some aspirin?"
"Mona, I need a pillow for my back. This plane seat is uncomfortable."
"Mona, can you see about getting me a fresh cup of coffee? This tastes stale."
"Mona, can you find out how much longer it is before we land? My head is really killing me."
She had done all that whining on the plane, and her husband, Steven, seemed embarrassed, but he had picked her. Jill, the queen, was a straight-up trophy wife; that much was obvious. She was dumber than a doornail, but her fake boobs stuck out like a bottle of water in the desert. I did notice that the left one was higher than the right and I was dying to make a comment, but somehow managed to control myself.
Steven was a cutie. He was about five-ten, dark-skinned with a goatee and a short, cropped haircut. Actually he was my type, and I had been without sex for a couple of months since an ugly breakup. On the plane, when I had a brief opportunity to sit down between Jill's ridiculous requests, I did embark on an intense sexual fantasy about Steven as I watched him read the Wall Street Journal. The two brothers who owned the corporation were single, but I would not have fucked either of them for bone marrow. Their arrogance was beyond belief. Steven, even though he was equally wealthy, was humble and down-to-earth.
Everyone was settled into their rooms and I was lying across the bed in my suite, looking out at the ocean, when my phone rang.
"Hello."
"Mona, it's Jill!"
Shit! Not the queen!
"Mona, this room simply will not do."
I sucked in some air. "What seems to be the issue?"
"It smells...funky!"
I wanted to ask, "Are you sure that's not your ass?"
Instead, I said, "What do you mean by 'funky'?"
"It smells like...like someone's feet? Someone's stinky feet!"
"Okay, Jill, why don't you call the front desk and ask them to have housekeeping come freshen up?"
I could clearly hear the gasp over the phone. I had insulted the bitch. "But isn't that your job? To make sure that we're all comfortable?"
"Yes, that is my job, but I do not own this hotel. I did not pack any air freshener in my suitcase, but I am sure that their housekeeping staff will do whatever they need to do to fix the situation."
"Can't you get us another room, Mona?"
I tapped my finger on the nightstand. "Okay, Jill. I will see what I can do."
"You do that, Mona, but make it snappy. My head still hurts and I need to lie down."
With that, the bitch slammed the phone down in my ear. I took several deep breaths, slipped my manicured toes back into my sandals, took one more long, admiring glance at the ocean, grabbed the pass card to my room, and headed to the front desk.
I was not expecting what I found at that front desk.
"My name is Yemi. How may I help you?"
His name should have been Yummy.
"Yes, I am with the group that checked in about an hour ago, and one of the guests is requesting a room change."
"Which room might that be?" he asked.
"They're in suite 508. Mr. and Mrs. Steven Lewis."
Yemi's fingers sped across the keyboard and then he frowned; not a good sign.
"I'm sorry, Miss..."
"I'm Mona Young. Forgive my manners for not mentioning that when I walked up. I'm the organizer of the trip."
"Well, Miss Young, I'm sorry, but we don't have any more oceanfront suites available for tonight. We could possibly move them tomorrow night. What is wrong with the room? Maybe we can fix it."
I giggled. "That's exactly what I told the bitch, I mean, lady."
He laughed. "Rough day, huh?"
"Yeah, you could say that." I paused and stared at him, realizing my panties were getting damp. "The lady said that the room smells funky, like someone's feet."
"I apologize. We will send someone up there to take care of it right away."
"Good, but can you do me a huge favor?"
"Sure," he replied with a perfect set of white teeth, attached to a perfectly chiseled caramel face, attached to what I was sure was a perfectly chiseled body.
"Could you call up there and make it clear to Mrs. Lewis that changing rooms is not an option in this hotel? She will not believe me; even though she should recognize that I have nothing to do with it."
"I would be delighted to do that."
I licked my lips, then bit the bottom one. "You are quite accommodating."
He leaned closer to me over the counter and I could smell his cologne. It was enchanting. "I try my best."
"Well, you are doing a bang-up job. You have certainly brightened up my day." And dampened my drawers.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Young?"
I hesitated, then the little voice in my head said, Fuck it! Go for it, Mona!
"Actually, there is something else you can do for me, Yemi."
"What's that, Miss Young?"
"Please, call me Mona."
"Sure, Mona. What can I do for you?"
"You can come see me. You can meet me in my room tonight, after this crazy business dinner that I must attend with the bitch, and you can eat my pussy for me and fuck the shit out of me."
I couldn't believe those words had actually left my mouth, but they had.
Yemi stood there, grinning and apparently speechless. Then it hit me.
"You're not gay, are you?" I blurted out. "Not that there's anything wrong with being gay. It's just that, if you are, then I didn't mean to make a fool out of myself." I found myself rambling. "Oh, goodness, are you married? Involved? I am so sorry for making presumptions. You might not even be attracted to me. Do you find me attractive?" Before he could even form a response, I kept going, "Of course, you don't find me attractive. All these beautiful women over here on the island. What was I thinking? I'm so silly. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to..."
"Mona, what time?" he asked in the sexiest accent.
Damnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Um, around eleven. Is eleven okay, Yemi?"
"I'll be there."
There was nothing left to add. I started to walk away, then said, "Oh, do you need my room number?"
He chuckled and pointed to his computer screen. "I've got your number."
"And the bitch?"
"I'll take care of her, and then I'll come see you and take care of you."
I do not even remember dinner; the food, the conversation, the people. Even Jill was invisible that night, but Steven was still kind of hot. We ended the evening right around eleven and I rushed back to my room, wanting to take a quick shower before Yemi showed up. When I put my key card in the door, the red light came on instead of green. I tried again. Red. I kept jiggling the handle, as if that would make the light change colors. I hated it when the cards were demagnetized from rubbing up against another card, but that was not the case. I had left everything in my room but the key card and a tube of lipstick. I hoped that whoever was at the desk would replace the key without an ID.
Halfway to the elevator, I heard a door open behind me and Yemi's voice. "Going someplace, Miss Young?"
I grinned and turned around, holding up the key card. "My card wouldn't work."
"That's because I had the double lock on. I didn't want turndown service to show up and turn me in."
He had only his head poked out the room as I approached. When I realized that he was wearing only a pair of red silk boxers, I almost lost it.
"Doesn't turndown service occur earlier?"
"Yes, but why take chances? I do work here, you know."
"What are you doing here?" I asked as I entered, playing dumb and realizing that as an employee, he had easily made his own key card. "I want to hear you say it, in that sexy-ass voice of yours."
"I'm here to eat your pussy and fuck the shit out of you."
"Amen, my brother. A-men."
He dropped his boxers down to his ankles and I dropped to my knees in front of him without a second's hesitation.
"I'm so hungry," I whispered.
"Didn't you just leave dinner?"
"Yes, but they didn't have dick on the menu."
"You like dick."
"I love dick. I cherish dick."
I licked the head of his dick and added, "I adore dick."
I lifted his dick up and licked his balls. "And I worship balls."
"Damn, I think I love you," Yemi stated.
I gave Yemi a blow job that he would never forget, adding in ice and a couple of breath mints for good measure. I told him, "This is what us American sisters call the icy hot."
"It's what Bahamian men call off the fucking chain!" he declared as he fed me his dick for the next thirty minutes or so.
I had him lie on his back on the bed and placed my bikini-waxed pussy on his lips. "Now eat me while I continue to enjoy you," I said as we got comfortable in the sixty-nine position.
His tongue was thick and long, and I could tell that he was one of those men who did not eat pussy so much to please the women as to please themselves. He and I were compatible; we both performed oral sex because we loved it and not as a matter of reciprocity. If a man never ate me out, I would still insist on sucking his dick. Even as a child, I was always sucking on something: lollipops, Creamsicles, dill pickles. Somewhere along the line, in my formative high school years, I graduated to sucking dicks.
Later on that night, we fucked in the Jacuzzi. I let the warm water pulsing through the jets soothe me as I sat on Yemi's dick and cradled back and forth like a mother and child. He was so damn sexy, and I began to regret that I would have to leave. That's the only fucked-up thing about "vacationships." Every once in a while you run across someone that you do not want to be a one-night stand. Yemi was one of those. I craved to take him back to the States with me, but that was not to happen. I realized it, as did he, so we made the most out of the next thirty-six hours.
I still had to work and deal with Jill's bitchy ass, but once I had the chance to get away from the group, Yemi and I were fucking and sucking. We went to town on each other on the sand, right by the ocean late at night. That had always been a fantasy of mine, and Yemi had made it come true. I tried anal for the first time with him and he made it seem easy. It was nothing horrible, as I had imagined, and when his dick entered my ass, I felt like I was giving him a special part of me. He rode me on the sand, with the waves cascading on us. It was such an incredible sensation; one that I will never forget.
I asked Yemi not to tell me good-bye. I promised that I would be back when I got the chance. He promised that he would come see me again, but this time in my hometown. None of that ever happened. I will tell you what did happen though.
Jill got on my last nerve on the plane ride home. I could not wait for her to get the fuck out of my face. When we landed, everyone left except for the pilot and me. I was doing some last-minute paperwork on my laptop, and he said that he did not mind my remaining on board while he performed routine maintenance on the underside of the plane. I jumped when I heard someone get on board. It turned out to be Steven.
"I'm sorry, Mona. I didn't mean to startle you," he said. "Jill left her sunglasses in the cup holder by her seat."
"No problem. I'll get them for you. Is she waiting for you in the car?"
"No, she's already at home. I said that I would come back and get them. She tried to insist on making you bring them. I didn't feel that was appropriate."
I didn't comment as I retrieved the glasses and handed them to him. Our fingers brushed against one another's and it was like lightning.
"I apologize for Jill. My wife has this way of turning people off, and I've tried to explain that to her."
"Well, as long as she turns you on, that's all that matters," I stated sarcastically. "Sorry, I didn't mean it that way."
He stared at me. "Actually, you turn me on."
"I'm flattered, Steven, but — "
Before I could finish my sentence, he was all on me. His kisses were sweet. The way he suckled on my nipples was intense. The way he fingered my pussy with an urgency was invigorating. We crash-landed on the queen-size bed in the quarters in the back of the plane. Then we commenced fucking. We've been fucking ever since; eight months and counting. Do I regret it? Yes and no. I regret that Steven's still married to Jill. He denies sleeping with her but I know he's lying. But I like fucking Steven. It's comfortable, and in a way I like knowing that I am sticking it to Jill. One day, I believe that I can take him, but do I really want him? Once a cheater, always a cheater. That's what they say.
Maybe, just maybe, Yemi will come see me again one day.
Copyright © 2008 by Zane
