Angela

by Sydian

 

The first notion that was placed in Angela's head was this: 'one can be a slut and be elegant.' Sydian. Sydd went on: 'It—slutting; sluttish behavior—is something that one can put on or take off like clothes. Elegance is an enduring trait. Having said that, this one thing remains about being a slut—becoming one…requires work. Sluttish behavior is intellectual, particularly if it is to be exciting. Being a slut—for a person like you—is an acquired state of mind. And frankly, darling, that is exactly how I prefer a bitch….'

Her instructions had been quite explicit: take a long, hot, luxurious bath—yes, they began that way—shave: no pubic hair, legs, under arms, the works. Oil the body—something that had been left in the hotel room on her arrival—the slight scent of almond. Perfume—already selected; a complement to the oil, a natural fragrance again. Rest.

The room had an aura; as if someone had been there before her. The scents and fragrances she applied to herself had a lingering presence here. She was here….

Round Two. An hour and a half before rendezvous, make-up. Again, the instructions were specific. They were in strict accordance with the philosophy—being a slut is a condition of mind. The essential for tonight's experience was not necessarily to look the part, but to be it—'Angela, can you be it?,' a voice in the back of her head asked. Sydian, always addressed her as 'Angela'; always insisted on a certain formality and decorum for their public personas….Sydian, always gently controlled. She dominated. But then, 'Sydian' was 'Sydd' too—playful, witty, kind beyond belief, super intellectual; artistic in her way. That was why Angela gravitated to her sphere….

Angela had a somewhat Goth, Pagan sensibility about her. It was a sensibility that Sydian could work with…. In fact, the contrast between the two of them could be striking: Angela, pale and dark; Sydian, black and blond. Both quite fit. Sydd, an inch or two taller. Angela, slender, boyish, feminine. Sydian, slim, feminine, hung….

Angela was an artist; a sensibility that Sydian not only cherished, but nurtured. When Angela had inquired of how Sydian wanted her to present herself publicly—and she assumed privately, as well—really how Sydian wanted her to look, Sydian's response was in two parts: 'Look at me, Angela. What do you see?' The answer was almost obvious—almost: elegance with sensuality, almost lethal, seething beneath the surface. 'Now, after you've answered that question, how should you appear when you're with me—one, to complement me to that world outside, and two, to draw me into the world inside—to seduce me, Sweets. After you've made that assessment, I leave it to your formidable talents—with a little guidance every now and then,' she chuckled…..

So the 'guidance; came from time to time like this evening…. Her make-up had been laid out for her before hand. She and Sydian had even discussed hairstyle and color before hand. Sydian had suggested a wig or a stylist…. The stylist knew Sydian and would do whatever they wanted. Angela opted for an asymmetrical, 'oriental' cut, completely cropped on one side, dyed a bluish-black; playing up the contrast of her pale skin….

The make-up on the counter top was a range of the colors Angela normally used: blacks, grays; Sydian had suggested a kabuki white, blues, and one or two purples. She had, however, insisted that Angela's lipstick and gloss be a violent, bright shade of red. Sydian had murmured something about wanting to be 'marked'….Angela knew exactly where she desired to place her 'mark….'

Angela's talent got the best of her: her face was exquisite. One need imagine a Kabuki/Goth, or one of Michael Manning's graphics come to life. That was Angela on this night….Sydian had sent the clothes over. Something for an early fall night in the city….something to match Angela's Pagan sensibilities: black. The dress was a short, short, tight, tight, sleeveless turtleneck. There was a black knit duster to match, ankle-length. Black, Cuban-heeled, seamed, thigh highs…. And the shoes, both she and Sydian's weakness—soft, black kid; five inch stilettos with a broad ankle-band that tied in the front….

Angela gazed at her face in the full-length mirror. She felt the slight rise in temperature in her thighs…. She loved these occasions—being with Sydian, of course—but what being with Sydian allowed her to become. She was mirroring one of Sydian's quintessential lines: 'I'm simply an illusion.' She loved becoming.

She glided into the stockings. Slid her feet into the stilettos and tied them. Then she stood in the mirror again and let her ego have its way. The heat that had started in her thighs now collected in her pussy….what had been damp, now became wet as she stared at her reflection…. She glanced at the clock; there was time. There was the voice—Sydian's—'Always indulge yourself….'

Naked in the mirror, stockings and heels, she spread her legs and became her own lover…anticipating the lover to come…. Her left hand rose to her hard, apple breast; cupped it, kneaded it—hard—then slid up to the pencil eraser nipple. She twisted it in the mirror and the electricity slid from her arch to the back of her pussy. The familiar jolt was always unexpected.

Naked in the mirror, her right had slid up the course of her thigh, following the electric trail, instinctively causing her legs to part further…. 'Why waste time?' her inner voice said. The hand sensed the slickness of her pussy from the slickness of her thigh….it was a three-finger slickness….

The three fingers parted the lips of her pussy and plunged in as she twisted the nipple again…no time for niceties. She stared at the beauty in the mirror finger-fucking herself until her eyes began to glaze. Her legs began to tremble as she pistoned herself, and she fell back on the bed. Her hand didn't stop. The one that had punished the nipple found its way to the rose of her ass…. Another jolt; she shuddered and howled. The last word on her lips before sleep claimed her was 'Sydian'…..

***

 

Seven O'clock. She rose toweled her thighs but did not wash her hands—she knew that at first scent, Sydd would lick them. And her pussy would turn slick all over again…. She wondered if she would have cause to lick Sydd's fingers….

She pulled the turtleneck over her head and asked herself wherever did Sydd find these treasures, and where the hell did she find the time? This one was way tight—made the 'apples' look like 'D's'…especially with the black lace 'shelf' she had put on….not that she needed a bra; this one—like so many recently acquired—was just so damn sexy. And tonight was going to be full of sex….

'Way tight' and 'way short'….the dress barely got to the tops of the thigh highs. If she had to bend, or stoop, or even sit—except with legs crossed—she was fully exposed—Sydd, again: an intellectual proposition…. Angela was anticipating this evening more and more.

 

7:15.The phone rang. Familiar voice. Husky, low, throaty, soft jazz diva timber; the kind you wish would sing to you while you were fucked…. 'See you there….' Click. The restaurant was literally around the corner from the hotel, ten minutes or less…. She took the elevator down; got looks all around—men and women….smiles and whispers for beauty….and one or two leers for good measure—she needed those. She strode up the Avenue; the heels devouring blocks. The three or four guys who tried to hit on her between the hotel and the restaurant got the same reply: 'You'll have to ask my girlfriend.' Then she would glance back wickedly as they stood there with that 'No shit!!!' look on their faces…..Yes, she loved these outings….

7:25. She peered through the window. Their booth was empty. The cell chirped. 'I see you. Turn around.' Across the street, Sydd waved. Angela started to tremble all over again. It was like this at every meeting. Sydd, the older sister—'hmmmm….something a little incestuous in that?'—the older friend, mentor, confidant, lover. This stunning black creature crossing the Boulevard—the one who made the 'no panties' request—was making her weak and wet….

'Stunning.' That was the word. It has a number of meanings; all applicable: 'to stun—to stop in one's tracks; to arrest, as in to stop—traffic was stopping at this very moment—'stunning' as in incredibly beautiful; best of all, 'unconventionally' beautiful…. Yep, that one fit best….

From the ground up: the five inch, stilettoed, ankle boots were a soft, soft butter color; the legs poured up in sheer, soft, pastel sunrise tint stockings whose tops barely caught the top of the tight, hugging mini—a duplicate of the one Angela wore, just soft butter in color. The broad, broad brimmed fedora, snapped up in the front to reveal the most amazing ebony face, matched perfectly; as did the huge wrap that draped her shoulders….a big sling bag and gloves the tone of the boots—and 'Voila!' as the French would say, 'un ensemble' …. And people did stop and stare. None of them, however, picked up the one aspect of Sydd's dress that always amazed and delighted Angela. Like Angela, Sydd was panty-less too. And the result was much more obvious to the trained eye….tucked into the top of Sydd's thigh high, and then 'banded,' was a bit more than eleven inches of beautiful black cock…. Angela knew this; she watched for it on every encounter. She had seen others who knew do the damnedest things just for a peek, a glance—a look? In some ways, it was the hallmark of Sydd's appeal—it was the sum total—the sum of all her parts: this exquisitely feminine and beautiful creature with ten plus equally beautiful inches that she cared little of hiding on occasions like this. And Angela knew it was precisely because she had come to meet her lover. It was the ultimate sign of love—and lust….

***

 

On the sidewalk, at the restaurant door, the two embraced the way close friends do….the hug, the kiss, the peck on each cheek—the 'you look absolutely gorgeous' 'Kid, you've outdone yourself this time'—all lovingly and sincerely meant. And then the movement—the gesture, so subtle that even on a busy metropolitan street, it goes undetected…. In that o so brief embrace, Angela's hand slides up the inner thigh of Sydd's leg, raising an already short hem even higher…. 'am I Mae West, and are you happy to see, me?' She squeezes; Sydd's cock responds just as anticipated….'No, 'Skinni-Minnie,' you are not Mae West. But I am delighted to see you. Can't you tell, Silli?' They both giggle; an 'innocent' exchange of less than a minute on a busy sidewalk in front of a trendy restaurant in a very busy city…. 'Bad Girl!' Sydd calls after Angela, swatting her tight athletic ass and ushering her through the door….

***

 

'Mme. Sydian,' the maître d'. The accent is thick—affected—'How are you this evening? And you, Mlle ?' The proffered hand, the cheek kisses; Sydd loves the French thing—the 'non-American' thing—fake or otherwise—at least they got her name right—'Seeed-djahn'—slight lisp. Arched eye-brow and an internal chuckle. 'Your booth is waiting….'

'Jeeez! Is there anyone you don't know? Angela, wide-eyed. 'When you 'perpetrate a fraud' on the scale of this one, you make sure that you're known; and that those who don't know you wish to; and that you make sure that they don't. Got that, Kiddo?' And they both fell out laughing. But it was true…. They slid into the booth from either side, ending up on the same side of the table, very close—close enough to breathe one another. The heavy damask of cloth draped the table and cascaded to the floor….the setting was perfect; the ambiance, intimate….

In this little corner, waiting for drinks—'Only one—pleasure is best had and achieved when one is conscious and in control'—they took each other in….

 

***

 

Damask table cloth….folds and folds of heavy material over the table to the floor on all sides….tight, muscular, stockinged legs extend in all directions towards each other, twining and vining beneath the rich cloth that covers the table…. They are very close…very close. But their physical proximity, their intimacy is hardly noticeable in this day and age; in this busy city…. Angela's thigh crossed Sydd's beneath the table, the heat from her cunt radiating like a mini-blast furnace seeking the metal-hard ingot between Sydd's thighs…. They clasped hands. Sydd caught the scent of pussy still fresh on Angela's fingers and pulled her closer….their hips were aligned—above the table, their torsos were straight and centered—two women at dinner, chatting amiably even, intimately—beneath the table, the damask was steaming….

Sydd brought Angela's fingertips to her nose and breathed in the scent of her pussy, and got a jolt….she nuzzled the back of her knuckles, kissing them lightly…. Sydd's long lashes fluttered above the scented hand as she nipped its back…. 'Is this my cunt I smell?' she murmured? Angela had trouble with her breath…the answer, more huskily than ever, 'Yesssss….' Then one by one, each digit disappeared into Sydd's mouth. She sucked each finger down to the fist-knuckle, and then collectively took in the three 'offenders' and sucked hard, long, and greedily….Angela, who never took her eyes from Sydd, came beneath the heavy damask of the table, the leather of the booth beneath her growing increasingly slick….

The cum was duly noted…. Angela gripped Sydd's hand tighter; brought her own mouth closer to Sydd's ear….her moans were for her ear alone; hot breath flushed over it with the slight shudder that took Angela's body…. She blinked two, three times, smiled and whispered 'Thank you….' Then, in slow-motioned elegance, she fell on Sydd's full lips opened mouthed….without missing a beat, as tongues untwined and lips parted, the damask-covered hand slid up Sydd's thigh and over the head of her heavily leaking cock drawing the slickness of the pre-cum over it, covering her palm with it….

Sydd's turn to shudder now…. Angela leaned back in, her grip firm on the thickness beneath the cloth…her whisper was throaty: 'You know I'm going to take it, don't you?.....' slickness and thickness filling her hand as she milked Sydd's hard cock….

Sydd could only nod. 'You're not going to be difficult are you?' Angela whispered. Sydd shook her head 'No.' 'Then give it up…give your pretty, little bitch what she works so hard for…. Give me the cream….'

Under the table, Sydd erupts…. The hot cream that Angela covets falls heavily on heavy damask folds. She is quick to scoop up this caviar; three-fingers full she raises the thick cream to her mouth and sucks the digits clean. Once more she leans toward Sydd with an offering. Her creamy tongue twines with the other. The nectar of the moment is shared. Sydd forces her to hold the kiss longer than anticipated. An act of control and appreciation.

Drinks arrive. No one in this room seems the wiser….

***

 

'So…what shall we do tonight, Boobi?' 'Hmmmm,' Angela's eyes light up, 'go back to the room and fuck—furiously?!' 'Too mundane. Exactly to be expected. Where's all that creativity; that spontaneity—all the craziness of youth?' Angela screwed up her face at Sydd, and Sydd laughs…. Then, Sydd begins, 'There's a new place I've heard of—within walking distance—rumor has it that it's just the place for people like us…..' 'People like us?' Angela teases…. 'Now just what is that supposed to mean?' 'You know. Beautiful, intellectual, sophisticated. Hot. Omnisexual.' 'O. those kind of people like us….' Angela laughed…..

***

 

It was a light dinner, and though the air was laced with anticipation, Sydd imposed a disciplined pace of leisure…she wanted them to take their time; to savor each moment together….

'God…you look absolutely gorgeous. I love the make up. Didn't notice, did you? You gave that cute waiter a hard-on….Hmmmmm, maybe you should give him a 'tip'….Sydd scandalized…

'You'd love that wouldn't you?' Angela shot back. Sydd nodded. 'You know me. You and sex are a winner—always.' 'Particularly when you're anywhere in the picture,' Angela reminded her. 'Now where could I accomplish the task?' 'What task?' 'Tipping the waiter…give him a blowjob…. You know—somewhere discrete where you can watch….' 'Why not ask him?' Sydd laughed. Angela's eyes widened, as Sydd slid the check and credit card to her side of the table. 'Let's see you handle this…literally….'

The waiter was cute. The color of bronze; well-cut; nicely hung….Angela made her move as he approached the table…. She placed her manicured hand on his as he reached for the check folio…. 'I'd like to 'augment' your tip….' Her nails trailed to his thigh…. She glanced toward a secluded exit as she squeezed the hard flesh…. 'Is there somewhere…?' He regained his composure, hesitated a moment, then murmured, 'the rooftop garden'…. 'The rooftop garden?' Sydd said softly….he anxiously shot her a glance, 'Yes, Ma'am. It's closed for a party tomorrow.' 'Excellent,' Sydd hissed…. The bewildered waiter looked from Sydd to Angela. 'My partner likes to watch,' Angela replied licking her lips. He swelled a bit more….

Sydd and Angela made their way up the stairs. The door opened onto the crispness of the garden, a story up. A moment later they were joined by the waiter. Sydd and Angela sat. Angela motioned the waiter to them. Again, Angela stroked the inside of his thigh; milked him. The moan was almost inaudible. 'You should feel this,' Angela glanced at Sydd, taking her hand…. 'Mmmmmm,' Sydd's grip was strong and firm. Her technique was expert—how could it not be? He began to pump in her fist. She smiled at Angela. 'Very nice. I think he's ready for you, Babi….'

Angela unbuckled and unzipped him. His pants fell to his ankles. His boxers tented and glistened with the slickness of precum…. She pushed the shorts down over his hips and eight inches of thick, pretty cock 'stared' at her through its single, teary eye…. 'Mmmmmm….Very nice, indeed….'

Sydd passed Angela a tube of lipstick—bright, bright red…. One hand stroking and pumping the cock, the other applying the lipstick, thick and creamy. All the while looking directly at the waiter…. Sydd shifted slightly in her seat. The scene was having its intended effect. She crossed her thighs; leaned forward in her seat as her cock slid from beneath her short shift, rubbing against the fabric of the chair…. She began to leak as well….

Angela warmed to her task, glancing at Sydd's fidgeting…she loved this—all of it—cock in her hand; her lover responding exactly as she hoped…. This was all for her….he was incidental—a prop…

Angela looked directly at her prey, creaming her lips: 'My lover is a very special woman—a very special woman….Show him, Babi….' Sydd uncrossed her legs. The 11+ inches snapped from between her thighs, pushing back the hem of her dress. He was even more disconcerted. Angela gripped him harder. He responded jerking his hips, his eyes fixed on Sydd's crotch. 'I think he likes you, Girlfriend. She's beautiful, isn't she?' He nodded, forced to pump into her fist—the 'voluntary involuntary.'

She ovalled her richly polished lips, then tightened them as she pushed the head of his cock through them, forcing him into the heat of her mouth. Sydd gripped the arms of her seat forcing herself not to touch her cock…. She took in the entire scene, her eyes moving from Angela's beautiful mouth, full of cock to his face…. From moment to moment he would make eye contact with her—she would smile wickedly, and lick her on lips as she settled back in the chair…. His gaze became bolder as it moved from Sydd's beautiful face to her beautiful cock…. Then, Angela commanded all of his attention…

She literally fucked him with her face. With both hands on the cheeks of his ass, her nails sunk in separating them, she pulled him to her and deeper down her throat…. She had been well-coached. From the corner of her eye she caught Sydd's disciplined straining in the seat beside…. She knew she was saving herself for her and the night's later activities….the sight of Sydd's big dick caused Angela to redouble her efforts….'places to go…things to do'….

She slid one finger, then two up his sweaty asshole. He lurched. 'Yes, Babi,' she thought as he pushed deeper. Then she pulled back, just the cock-head in her mouth, a quick glance at Sydd….she twisted her lips round the head and pistoned her fingers in and out of his asshole. The roar was muffled; the load copious, sweet, hot…. She made him pump til she was certain she had all of it. He thrashed and whimpered slightly. She stood up, grabbed the nape of his neck and forced her tongue between his lips making him taste himself. She leaned to Sydd, tongue out. Sydd's lips circled Angela's tongue tightly and sucked….her own cock bobbing…. 'Time to go, Hun.' She looked at him. 'Service was excellent.' She pressed a scrap of paper into his hand, glanced at Sydd…. 'You might want to come play with us, sometime…. That is, if you're not afraid….' Sydd nodded, and the two of them head to the stairs….

***

 

 

It was a nice spot, and they all were quite beautiful in their own, individual ways—'eclectic'…. The crowd was diverse, style-wise—from jazz sophisticate to Goth diva in search of a movie-set. Everyone was cool and hot. The lights gave the club a subdued, blue glow. What would have been smoke years ago, was a blend of the natural and the artificial now…a soft mist of beverage cooler steam and the haze—almost imperceptible a 'smoke-machine'…. The music was undecipherable: it shifted from techno, to jazz, to world, to rapp and back. Angela swore she even heard a classical strain somewhere in the mix. None of imposed itself on the 'real' music of the space—the rich, intimate murmur of this enclosure's voices….

There were three floors to 'this enclosure'—the name of the spot—'Enclosure.' Each floor was deep, stretching the half block of the building. Each floor became exceedingly more sexually complicated the deeper and higher one ventured….Sydd quipped, 'Heaven help us when they open the basement.' 'Dungeon,' Angela mused? 'If it is, let's hope the use some imagination….'

Back past the bar at the entrance, was a small dining area to the left; angling right, beyond that, was a lounge—not terribly large, but comfortable and intimate—the jazz was live, and the couples and multiples were decorously carnal—kissing, discrete groping….foreplay was clothed….well-clothed, in fact….

The stairs ascended to the right….the frosty, blue haze gave way to a soft, pastel yellow with its own mist. All along the walls, from the front of the floor to its rear, were alcoves of booths jutting in and out. They filled with bodies chatting, drinking, caressing—even a stray sucker or fucker. One couple caught Angela's eye. They were gorgeous. Two extremely well-dressed men—one's trousers bunched at his ankles, crisp, white shirt pull over very taught abs. And what she could of the very thick cock pumping his friend's mouth, he must have been equally as long as well. The heat rose to her face as she stole a glance at Sydd….Sydd gave her hand a gentle squeeze. 'Just like us, huh?' she murmured. Sydd just smiled.

At the very rear of the floor the lights dimmed even more on pastel walls, and couples became more frequent in their gropings—here, the music made the walls pulsate….through the arch were tables, a dance floor, and a stage—several small stages, to be precise—and a most unusual array of participants. The dance floor was packed. And every conceivable style of dance was going on, all of it intent on the sexual if not the sensual. At some tables, and along the walls—indeed up the corridor leading to the dance space—lap-dancing was the vogue, in every possible combination: conventional female on male; less conventional male on female; to be expected male/male and female/female; and then those like Sydd—in all their variations, from dressers to transsexuals, grinding…. The real variation was the partners some of them had taken on: folk like themselves of course, and then, women and men in every possible configuration. It made Angela's head swim. Asses pressed into crotches; hands cupping and stroking cocks and pussies; nipples tweaked and breasts kneaded….What was really confusing was the attempt determine the 'professionals' from their 'clients'….conclusion: everyone was off the clock—the sex was just too thick for money to be a consideration….this was fun….

Angela could hard bring her head to the stages that lined the front of the room. Here were the serious performers—hardcore exhibitionists. Some solo; others anything but…. Some sexual—highly so….others dancing to all the different drummers….

Angela noticed that the naked flesh above her stocking tops was slick…. She backed up against Sydd in the crowding space until she felt the hardness of Sydd's cock force a slippery wedge between her slick thighs….the coolness of her naked ass rested on the hard bones of Sydd's pubes. And she began to dance….

***

 

Sydd put her hands on Angela's hips and began to work to her rhythm. The dorsal of that beautiful, thick, black cock slid between Angela's pussy-lips, frictioning her clit with every stroke. Angela reached up and behind with both hands, finding the nape of Sydd's neck, pulling Sydd's face into the hollow between her own neck and shoulder. Sydd opened her mouth wide, white teeth gleaming, and seized the sinew connecting neck and shoulder between them like a big cat on her prey…. Angela winced, then moaned, then started bucking and grinding feverishly, her ass dancing circles on Sydd's pelvis. Sweat collecting between her ass-cheeks found its way to the nakedness of Sydd's flat stomach—just the proper lubricant for Angela's spiraling apple-ass….

It didn't take long. The world—the room—jogged in slow motion…. Why were so many people turning to look at two exquisite, impeccably dressed women—not quite—grinding; one clearly about to loose it as that pretty, purple-headed cock sawed between her thighs and the lips of her pussy? Was it their 'look?' Was it the intensity of the act? Was it Angela's low pitch keening as she first gritted her teeth and then bit her lip as she came the full length of the cock sawing between her thighs; purple head banging her clit….? She came as Sydd's hands glided from her hips to her breasts, seized each nipple thumb and forefinger through the nubby knit and twisted. The slickness of her pussy had been churned. The upper side of a black cock that moments ago glistened was now thickly streaked its entire length with heavy, white cream….

***

Sydd attempted to disengage, holding Angela's almost limp body upright. As she pulled back from between Angela's thighs, she was literally pulled back by a hot, liquid, muscular suction…. She canted her head over Angela's slumped shoulder and saw another beauty on her knees with her head wedged between Angela's thighs fighting Sydd's withdrawal….

Angela pushed her ass further back against Sydd's pubes and hard abdomen, affording their new playmate easier access. Her tongue was joined by another. This one lapped the cream Angela had deposited on the top length of Sydd's shaft…he was a fine, muscular cock-sucker….

Angela roused. Sydd politely disengaged. Angela giggled. 'I see you're still up for it….' Sydd's cock protruded through the tight, creamy knit of her short dress. The pre-cum stain expanded in larger and larger concentric circles. There was mo mistaking he excitement or desire….

Though she had no intention of cumming any time soon, Sydd seized Angela by the wrist and pulled her toward the nearest level form; this happen to be one of the stages. Sydd braced her muscular ass against the stage and tugged the hem of her dress over hips and straining cock, exposing her flat stomach. In that brief moment, the nakedness of her thighs and the beauty of that cock were evident to everyone.

It was a brief moment, however. In a deft move, she snapped Angela's wrist and spun her to her, pulling her full body between her thighs. Sydd's full mouth cover Angela's as she clutched the cheeks of her ass pulling her against her cock and breasts. Angela tried vainly to even closer; grinding, the knit of her dress scratched Sydd's cock. The sensation caused it to swell and leak even more….

Then Sydd's hands rose to Angela's shoulders and slowly forced her down between her thighs. With her hands on Sydd's thighs, not once touching Sydd's cock, Angela engulfed Sydd in one move. Sydd bucked once, involuntarily. Gained control by placing her hands behind and leveraging the stage…. Then she began one of the things Angela loved most. She began to fuck that pretty face….

Angela's dress had risen over her ass as she squatted between Sydd's thighs…. Honey was leaking from her pussy like a spigot with a busted valve…. It was all that some could do not to lick the floor between her thighs….

She was an artist in more than one way. She matched Sydd stroke for stroke, sometimes twisting her mouth on that pretty rod, making Sydd desperate…..all this lasted no longer than two, three minutes, before Sydd hoisted Angela up, flipped her ass towards her and buried cock up to the balls. One smooth, extremely well lubricated move, that nonetheless made Angela extremely vocal. 'Awwwwwwwww, shiiiiiit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Oooooooo, fuck! Babi! I'm gonna cum again!!!!' Sydd knew as she sank all 11+ inches in Angela's hot box, pinioning Angela's arms behind her; using them to angle even deeper into that pussy….

Sydd realized that they had drawn a crowd. Angela came hot and loud. Sydd pumped her harder, two or three times to force it all out….Angela freed one arm, reached back to caress Sydd's flank. She was spent…. She slumped a cushion at Sydd's feet, that big, black cock drooling over her shoulder….

***

 

Sydd searched the crowd. Her eyes fell on exactly what she wanted. A tall, willowy blond with muscular, bandy legs that bowed as if she had been fucking all her life. And an equally, tall, copper-headed, black tgirl, who looked like she was about to pop her thong. Sydd pointed and crooked her finger at the two of them…. They complied eagerly….

For the moment, Angela had wilted alongside of Sydd, legs splayed and leaking. The odor of her sex perfumed the entire room. Most eyes were drawn to the thickness radiating from Sydd's thighs….

'Your choice, ladies,' Sydd said huskily…. The blond hesitated. The black t-girl stepped between she and Sydd, flashed a smile as she sank to her knees. In two fluid moves, she freed a cock that rivaled Sydd's and wrapped her luscious lips around the head of Sydd's and invaded its cum-slit with her tongue…. Now, it was Sydd's turn to moan….

Before she reached round to grab and spread Sydd's cheeks, Sydd gave a knowing look to the blond. The blond placed herself between Angela's spread thighs and lapped the co-mingled goodness like a thirsty kitten….Angela was roused again; gripping the back of the blond's head, she pulled her tongue deeper into her hot, seeping pussy….

Sydd's cheeks were firmly palmed and spread. The lacquered digits that forced their way pass her sphincter caused her to wince and press forward….the tongue tried to burrow deeper into her cock-slit, rasping the delicate inner-flesh….the black t-girl was in control, setting a pace and rhythm; doing her best to secure an invitation for an encore—a repeat performance where she might be the recipient of all this cock up her pretty ass. She worked it well….

Sydd and Angela humped in tandem. The blond's face was buried in Angela's cunt….Sydd was sheathing eleven or so inches into the black bitch's greedy mouth…. The moaning of the four sounding like a chorus….

On key, Angela was the first to give way. The moan began in sobs and crescendoed to a high loud wail, filling the air-waves with sex….Sydd started in behind her. A low, throaty gasp—a swimmer coming up for air; a drowning victim being revived. Then a hard, deep drone accompanied by the gurgles of one choking on cum and fighting mightily to retain it all—to not waste a drop…. Thick cream, oozed from the corner of that full, pretty mouth and dribbled down the chin. The blond turned in time to catch the dribble in her eye, and then with her tongue. Her act set off another chain reaction as the black t-girl found the perfect place to bury her own hard lust…. What had been spectacle now turned into sexual pandemonium….

***

 

Sydd tugged Angela to her feet, and still hard, staggered to a booth…. Catching their breath, they took in the sights of the night's orgy….Angela's head fell to Sydd's shoulder….a gentle kiss…. Her hand slid to the tent between Sydd's thighs, marked and soaked by the stains of pre-cum, cum, and pussy juice…. 'We're not done yet'…. Was it question or command as she brought her mouth over the 'tent-pole' and proceeded to add the rich red of her lipstick to the parade of stains?…. Sydd slid back in the booth and murmured, 'We're not done yet….'

  

  

  

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