About Sappho's Interim Affair E-Book

Jonathan Biernot

• Herausgeber: pinkflamingo
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

A chance encounter with a Black Investment Banker gives Sappho the outlet she needs to square her emotions. Sappho literally collides into Jackson in a local supermarket. The elegant black businessman is six feet tall and built like a track athlete. The chemistry between them is instantaneous, their conversation filled with innuendo, leading to Jackson’s invitation for lunch. During one their subsequent dates, Jackson introduces her to his twin brother, Johnston – Johnston, in turn, introduces her to his friends. Following is the story of how Sappho’s addiction to cock is transformed to an addiction to Black cock.

Leseprobe

About Sappho’s Interim Affair

An Erotic Interlude

by Jonathan Biernot

ISBN: 978-1-945648-11-3

A Pink Flamingo Media Ebook

Copyright ©2016 by Joanthan Biernot

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.

For information contact:

Pink Flamingo Media

www.pinkflamingo.com

P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083

The characters in this novel are pure fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. The situations described herein are also fictitious and should not be attempted by any persons. Any efforts to duplicate the events or conditions can result in serious injury or even death.

Preview

Jonathan Biernot writes Erotica for men and women of all ages and social groupsin many corners of the world.

Whatever your gender, it’s easy to imagine a personal inclusion because each Novella has realistic settings that are empathic to both; they blend irony with graphic imagery but the work is tasteful and there is no tendency towards pornography.

“About Sappho’s Initiation” recounts how a chance encounter changed the life of a beautiful, young, vanilla-housewife and mother and led her into the realms of submissiveness and an addiction to cock.

The sequel, “About Sappho’s International Role”, tells how Sappho uses her new found craving to become the facilitator for an Arms Trader in the pursuit of his African and Global transactions.

However, on returning to her Master, she recalls an interlude before her adventures in the Indian Ocean. In “About Sappho’s Interim Affair” she explains how her addiction to cock was transformed to an addiction to Black Cock. Readers of “The Sappho Trilogy” might wish to embark on this novella, first.

An Ode to Sappho

“Well remembered are your almond-green eyes

Your high cheek-bones

And your cherry-like lips

Set into a pale visage

Beneath your heavy, auburn tresses:

These sit atop

Your small, firm and well-rounded breasts

Formed high above your flat belly, narrow waist and slender hips

Which skirt your depilated mound:

All afront

Your perfect ass with its easy and unfettered access:

And each is surmounted on

Long, slim and shapely legs adjoining tiny feet”

To you, Sappho, goes this Further Salute

About Sappho’s Interim Affair

An Erotic Interlude between

About Sappho’s Initiation

And the sequel

About Sappho’s International Role

Prologue to “The Sappho Trilogy”

“About Sappho’s Initiation” is a well-crafted love story that brings a new dimension to erotic literature. The Novella is an anthology of the real events that led a beautiful young housewife and mother into the realms of submissiveness and an addiction to cock.

It ended in a sub-penthouse where four, young, Afro-Caribbean men were on Sappho; but the next time I saw her was in a photograph taken, and sent to me, by her husband who had shot it using a long-lens camera.

It showed Sappho looking radiant and strolling down a street flanked by two middle-eastern-looking gentlemen. Sappho was sun tanned and her long, auburn hair was wafting in the breeze and flowing, lazily, over her shoulders. She was magnificently bejewelled, carefully made-up and wearing a white, diaphanous dress but, this time, she wore flat court shoes.

What interested me were the handcuffs that manacled her to the two men. Beyond, her breasts were swollen and so was her belly.

“About Sappho’s International Role” describes how Sappho came to be in this condition. She recounted it shortly after her return to me and, in the course of her narrative, explained how a makeshift relationship had transformed her addiction from one form of cock to an addiction to Black cock.

She recalls this in “About Sappho’s Interim Affair”, which, like its precedents, will arouse men and women from all ages and social groups in many corners of the world.

For the record, Sappho is a young, North American housewife and mother of Greek descent who emerged from a state of naivety into an unparalleled level of sexual maturity under the mentoring and tutelage of a Guiding Master.

As well as her natural beauty, Sappho is intellectually astute, emotionally mature and spiritually aware; a more elegant, dignified, wise and compliant partner no man could wish for: she brings a perfect blend of responsiveness, assertiveness and submissiveness to her lovemaking.

All-in-all, Sappho is an icon but there’s nothing flamboyant about her: it’s all down to her radiance, natural poise, beauty and bearing. If anything, Sappho is understated and she does not take long to make up her mind.

Chapter One

An Incident In The Supermarket

It all started, innocently enough, in a local supermarket when two shopping trolleys crashed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! That was careless of me; here, let me pick up your supplies!”

Sappho was cruising the aisles when the collision occurred; she’d stopped to check a row when the top layer of her packages started rolling around her feet and, as she turned, she saw an elegant, ebony-coloured, fellow looking straight into her eyes.

“Look, I just wasn’t watching where I was going and I’d be happy to pay for your groceries into the bargain. Anyway, let’s get this stuff back in and we can take it from there.”

Sappho hadn’t responded; she just stood there, looking chic, calmly letting him talk himself out, and then, all of a sudden, she opened her lips, flashed her teeth and smiled; “Ok, you great big clumsy oaf, you can pack it and then you can pay for it!”

She carried on smiling, which helped her suitor to break into a grin, then he introduced himself; “Ma’am, I’m Jackson and I shop here every now and then. I’m hosting a dinner party tonight and need a few things.”

“Oh, you cook, too?”

“Well, I can cook but this is a special occasion so I’ve arranged for Caterers to do the job; all I’m doing is backing up my stores to make sure there’s something in there for tomorrow.”

“You know, I’m so pleased to hear that because the way you drive your trolley makes me wonder how you’d tackle anything in the kitchen!”

Sappho still hadn’t moved; she’d straightened-up, turned on the spot and was facing him, almost front-on, but her poise matched his. She was wearing a heavy cotton, loose-fitting white blouse, a few buttons open at the neck, the collar half turned-up at the back; the sleeves were billowing, buttoned at the cuff and the whole lot was tucked under a broad leather belt into a below-the-knee red pencil skirt.

She wore red, high-heeled shoes and flesh-coloured hold-ups accompanied by simple jewellery; a signet ring, hoop-earrings, a watch, bracelet and a thin gold chain around her neck. Sappho’s hair is auburn, heavy, shoulder-length and the delicate perfume surrounding her was already catching Jackson’s nostrils. As he scanned her face he picked out her subtle eye-make up, the ruby lipstick and knew he was on his way to heaven.

What he couldn’t know was that Sappho never wore underwear. Since her initiation she’d abandoned bras and panties and maintained a depilated pubic mound. Now, the camel’s foot in that mound was secreting moisture and Sappho knew that she, too, was hooked.

So, an erotic connection had been made and the delicate process of courtship was begun.

Jackson, at over six feet tall and built like a track-athlete, was a businessman dressed in a single-breasted, dark blue suit with a tiny pattern in the weave. He wore tassel-loafers, a classic cut, plain white, herring-bone patterned cotton shirt with a yellow silk tie. No rings; just gold cuff-links, tie-clip and a slim Rolex. His cheek bones and his fragrance were prominent, his nose was aquiline, his mouth was full but his lips were thin and contained in a square jaw. Like his chin, his head was shaved and, as Sappho would soon discover, his balls were as bald as his bonce.

For what seemed like an age the players stood looking at each other: neither was staring nor feeling any embarrassment; they were just exuding all the signs of an easy comfort and then Jackson broke it.

He knelt down, started gathering Sappho’s groceries and re-stacking her basket and then, just as the last items were lodged, Sappho leaned forward, placed her finger on his bald head and said, “Arise, Sir Jackson, and take your place in the checkout!”

“Ma’am, you are something else! And, even though you’ve never told me who you are, I have a feeling you’re a celebrity; have I seen you on television, in the newspapers or, maybe, at a Gallery or Museum?”

“Well, I’m not sure about the term ‘celebrity’ but I’m a Specialist at the City Gallery of Art, Fine Arts and Culture. Do you ever go there?”

“Yes, Ma’am, my Bank is a Sponsor and those soirees are a gig-and-a-half. What’re your interests?”

“I do Impressionist stuff and, every-now-and-then, there’s a Panel Event where major, potential clients come along to a preview and we give talks; history, genre, positive critiques, all that kind of thing. Sometimes we include a compare-and-contrast discussion about similar works. So, you’re a Banker? Investment, I presume?”

“Yes, Ma’am; I’m a Banker and that first letter is a ‘B’!”

They both understood the connotation and their smiles gave way to an audible chuckle before Jackson wheeled his own trolley in the direction of the checkout and Sappho followed.

“Please take payment for both of these loads and I’ll settle the lot.”

Sappho’s came to over $200 and his to a meagre $80; so, en route to the car, she reflected on how good fortune had smiled on her.

“Where’re you parked?”

“Mine’s the black Range Rover; it’s the Vogue on the next row; what’re you driving? A Porsche, I bet?”

“No, Ma’am, it’s a Ferrari; no need to tell you the colour and, as it happens, it’s right there, almost alongside yours!”

When they got there, Jackson hesitated before saying; “Look, Ma’am, you’re a lot of fun and, as well as still not knowing your name, grovelling at your feet, paying for your groceries, and escorting you to your car will you accept my invitation to lunch?”

“Yes, and my name is Sappho!”

“Sappho? Are you Greek?”

“Yes, right again. I’m of Greek descent; my parents emigrated here and my husband is from an immigrant family, too; European but not Greek.”

“Oh, you’re married?”

“Yes, and I have two children; two sons who’re about to fly the nest back to Boarding School.”

“Oh, ok; but you’re not wearing a Wedding Band!”

“No, I’m not but I’m not wearing a bra or panties either. Do you still want to have lunch?”

Jackson was a bit taken-aback at this but, gathering himself, shot back; “Sure; why not?”

So they made arrangements to meet at a downtown hotel the following week. Sappho explained that she’d make her own way there and that he should be in the lobby to receive her.

No problem and, between now and then, Jackson’s mind was awash with thoughts about this magnificent woman.

When the day dawned and his date walked into the lobby it was not only Jackson whose head was turned and whose attention shifted to Sappho. She has this affect on everyone everywhere she goes and this date, in her home town, was no exception.

What they saw was a tall, slim woman dressed in a navy blue, silk mini-dress gliding across the floor; she carried a navy leather clutch bag; her high-heeled shoes matching the soft leather: her stockings were flesh-coloured hold ups. The dress was close fitting, slashed to her waist, with tiny, over-the-shoulder sleeves; in the canyon lay a heavy gold necklace adorned with lapis-lazuli. Sappho’s earrings were large, gold hoops, similar to the ones she wore on their first encounter, and her hair, wafting over her neck, supported a pair of sunglasses nestling on top.

“Good morning, Sappho.”

“Hey, Jackson, you look good, how was your dinner party?”

“It was a big hit; we closed out pretty well but, hey, I’m all the better for seeing you: shall we go straight to the table or the cocktail bar?”

“Let’s go to the bar; a gin and tonic will go down great!”

Jackson led the way and, turning to the barman; “Two Bombay Sapphires with Schweppes tonic, please.”

“Ok, I’ll have two of those!” said Sappho with a smile.

After a moment’s confusion on both sides of the counter each guy saw the twinkle in her eyes and caught the gist; it broke the ice and, from then on, everyone was at ease.

It turned out that Jackson was an Ivy Leaguer, graduating magna cum laude; the Regional President of a Wall Street Bank; he was single, had never been married, didn’t have any children and, with bonuses, netted well-over $50m a year. So, whereas the grocery bill was of no material consequence, that small investment had the potential to land a big return.

The conversation over the table was easy; nothing flirtatious, nothing salacious and nothing intrusive because both were big-time players in social etiquette: they knew that business is done on the back of relationships and that relationships are founded on trust: so they were spending their time investing in the foundations.

Even so, both ate heartily, drank plenty of sparkling mineral water and shared a well-chilled bottle of Sancerre before their eyes settled into an over-long gaze that bored into the depths of one another’s soul.

“Sappho, I want you!” emerged from Jackson’s throat.

“I know, Jackson, and you’re a very handsome guy; but let me share something with you: I’m a married woman, I have two sons and I’m the fully-fledged mistress to an Englishman. It was that guy who initiated me and I love him more than I’ve ever loved any man, before or since. Right now, we’re apart because I need the space or he’d just consume me; but I miss him and still can’t get enough of him.

“The fact is his intervention has left me addicted to cock!”

“Oh, God,” mouthed Jackson, “you’re beautiful: has he shared you?”

“Yes, he has but he’s never used me or abused me; that guy knows how to respect a woman and he’s made me one. He’s my only extra-marital liaison and the only times I’ve been with another man were with him. He’s a leader and I’d go anywhere and do anything for him; except for now: I need time and exposure to settle my mind, my soul and my emotions because, sexually, my husband just isn’t there for me, anymore.”

“Sappho, I may not be able to match your master but I’ll never use you or abuse you; you’re just too valuable, too beautiful and so wise.”

“Jackson, you don’t get it: I want to be used and I want to be abused but I don’t want to be debased. I need to see if I can live without Jonathan; I’ve grown so much under his mentoring that I need to know if his hold on me is limiting or whether it’s empowering.

“If we start something I want you to feel free to ‘go-to-town’ on me; I don’t want you to hold back or harbour any inhibitions. You have to forget about Jonathan and his influence. Is that understood?”

They’d had a long lunch and the dining room was already cleared but, since Jackson was a big, and a regular, customer, no one ushered him away and the staff, sensing something very private was going on, were busying themselves somewhere else. It was at this point he stretched out his black hand, slipped it inside the fabric of Sappho’s dress, cupped her white tit and squeezed the nipple.

Sappho barely moved but her green eyes shifted to his dark brown irises and held them. Jackson increased the pressure but she didn’t demur. Eventually, he let go and said, simply, “Sappho, I can hurt you!”

“Do it!”

“Look, it’s Friday afternoon; I live around the corner and there’s no way I’m going back to the office: are you free?”

“C’mon, Sir Jackson, saddle me up; I’m your mount today!”

Chapter Two

Inside Jackson’s Penthouse

These were powerful players; both were conscious of their social standing so there was no overt ‘conquest’ stuff; no hand-holding, no arm-around-the-waist nor any cuddling and, certainly, no kissing.

Instead, Jackson offered Sappho his arm; she took it, they left the Restaurant, walked through the Lobby, out of the door, strolled a few blocks along the street, collected her grip from the Vogue and then onto the Tower that held his apartment.

Once inside there was no mad, lust-crazed dash for the bedroom. They just faced one another before Jackson took Sappho in his arms and kissed her; it was a gentle kiss that held a tenderness to which she responded by pressing her body against his.

“Take off your clothes,” murmured Sappho and, when Jackson obeyed, she led him to the Master Suite, hitched-up her dress, lay back on the bed, opened her legs into a wide-V and said, “go down on me!”

Jackson knelt at the foot of the bed and, ever-so-gently, leaned forward to taste her nectar; he started at her clit then ran his tongue around the circle until he caught her juices at the bottom and, from there, he opened his mouth, covered Sappho’s pussy, and sucked.

Sappho has perfected a way to ‘respond-without-responding’, but she never disengages with her lover and, this time, she cupped her breasts, tweaked her nipples, ran her hands down to her hips, took hold of Jackson’s head, clamped him between her thighs and came in a flood that left his face glistening.

“Jackson, just follow my lead and lie on the bed!”

Taking orders were a first for the Regional President but he complied and Sappho spread his thighs; then she raised his regal-sized prong and licked the underside; then his balls; then the perineum between his sac and his asshole and, ultimately, his asshole, itself.

Jackson was responding in the way men do and his kidney-wiper was already reaching for the sky but Sappho continued her arousal; nibbling, licking, sucking and probing.

He started to moan, even before she got to his dick, but he had his work cut-out to contain himself when Sappho inserted first, one finger, and then another, into his butt and started to frig his backside. At about this time she took his bell-end into her mouth; closed her lips around the red tip and, as her tongue found the eye, her hands took hold on the length and began a slow rhythm: up-and-down; up-and-down.

Jackson was wet from his own pre-cum and from Sappho’s saliva but he could feel her swallowing him deeper and deeper into her throat until her lips were flush with his belly. Then Sappho adjusted her neck, hunched her shoulders and Jackson experienced the ultimate when his scrotum exploded and he blew his load into her gut.

Still she kept going and, instead of softening, Jackson felt himself recovering: hard, once more, Sappho moved swiftly, climbed onto the bed, mounted him and sank herself onto his poker; still unfinished, she held his hands, looked into his eyes and clamped her walls around his cock.

“Urgh, Ga’ad! Sappho, you’re something else! I’ve said it before, and imagined it every day since we met, but you’ve just confirmed it: baby, you’re special! Please take off your dress; I’m going to serve you.”

As she stripped, Jackson watched her; seeing her unclothed for the first time left him muted and in awe: their activity had spun-off more fragrance and, as Sappho hung her dress over a chair, Jackson turned-down the bed before his muscular black body took hold of and entwined her smaller, but equally virile, white body and an orgy of passion began that was neither wild nor lusty: but neither was it gentle.

He felt her nipples against his chest, her lips against his, her hands on his back and the cleft between her thighs eager to be filled; so he hooked his glans into her folds and let it run its course. Meanwhile, he kissed her and Sappho’s addiction to cock was sated.

When she was comfortable, Jackson rolled on top and started to pound her body; her legs came over his shoulders as he squeezed himself all the way in, coming out and going in, again and again until the sweat broke and another rush of man-juice flooded Sappho’s womb. Even so, he kept on and, without waiting, flipped her over when, still impaled on his dick and with her legs splayed wide into a doggy-style, her tits started to jiggle.

Then she felt his athletic power smashing into her cervix; gripping her hips, driving himself into her body and changing his position so he could crouch behind her to lunge-on between her thighs.

Again, there was a grunt, a sigh and another splash into Sappho’s baby-making chamber but no relief: Jackson was a cross between a railway train and a record player; he just kept going on-and-on and round-and-round but, always, his mate took it.

Another ejaculation and another flip onto her back; Jackson was now lying on top of her, his hands under her backside, his lips pressing onto her mouth, his cock sawing its way into her belly and Sappho stretching her legs to lock around his waist: no relief; then came the coup-de-grace.

Jackson stopped moving, leaned back, withdrew himself from Sappho’s loins and sprayed his load onto her tits and throat: great globules of semen plopped onto her nipples, welled in her jugular notch and, otherwise, made a mess of her face. Where he got all this stuff was anybody’s guess but the evidence was indisputable; Jackson was a ‘cummer’.

As it happened, Sappho was able to take it and she had no grumbles when she saw him lick up and swallow his own jism. Then he kissed her and, although his mouth was empty, she could taste the delicate mixture of saltiness and sweetness on his tongue.

They’d been going for a few of hours, the sun was beginning to set over the lake so their thoughts turned to calories and some fresh air but, first, a shower: so, they moved ass, headed for the bathroom, washed off and changed into casual gear for a walk along the promenade.

Sappho suggested a beer and something fast, like a burger, but she wanted to eat outside and Jackson was game.

“You drink beer?” he asked.

“Well, I prefer ale; Jonathan introduced me to English Ale and we’ve got Steam Breweries ‘round here: so, something along those lines and, after this afternoon, Buster, plenty of it!”

Chapter Three

Their First Evening Together

It was a sultry evening in the twilight so they walked, talked, found an al fresco place by the waterside and sat down. Table service came; first, they ordered ales and then looked over the menus.

Sappho chose a seafood salad followed by a burger, heavy-on-the-fries, and Jackson followed suit.

“Do you want an ice cream?”

“Yeah, let’s have one scoop of vanilla, one chocolate and one pistachio with butterscotch sauce!”

“Anything else?”

“Erm, yeah, another pint will go down well; hey, Buddy, don’t smirk: I’m eating for both of us ‘coz we’ve got a long haul ahead!!! So, join me, huh?”

“Ok, count me in! Ga’ad, Sappho, you are something else; I’ve never known anyone so real or so much fun to be around.”

“Jackson, you’re helping me and you’re something else, too; so, c’mon, lean over and kiss me!”

Once again, the Regional President followed instructions and, as he leant in, Sappho slid her hand along his thigh, touched the edge of his ball-sac with the tip of her middle finger and, to distract attention, hooked her other arm over his shoulder.

“Let’s finish eating then go: we need to walk-off a few carbs before we work-off the rest!”

They left the diner holding hands but were soon hanging around each other’s waist and their stroll beside the waterfront was cooling on the outside but warming on the inside.

They walked towards the apartment along a shoreline that dipped in-and-out of built-up areas, barred zones, inlets and coves and, on one of them, Sappho urged Jackson towards the railings.

This stand faced the water and, as he moved towards the ledge, she stood behind him pressing her body against his back; it only took a moment for the penny to drop as Sappho reached around and undid his zipper.

Soon, she’d scooped out his manhood, exposed it to the breeze, cupped his big black balls in her small white hand and had taken hold of his cock with the other: then, with her nipples spiking his spine, she started work.

There was no danger of them being seen so, after sliding along his member and feeling it fatten, lengthen and harden, Sappho gave a few long- and a few short-strokes before Jackson spasmed and splashed his coagulate over the edge where it landed in the water with a soft ploop.

“Now, that was original! Sappho, you just did a first on me and I love your mind; where in the hell do you get your ideas and what’ve you got in store for me? Am I safe in your hands, girl?”

“You’re my lover; there’s more where that came from and, pretty soon, most of it’ll be swilling ‘round in my belly. You wanna give it a go?”

“Sure; I wanna give it a go.”

More walking, less talking, more touching got them home where nothing much happened except Jackson spent the next six hours fucking Sappho in every-which-way.

When they woke, Sappho was sore: her pudendum was red and swollen and her man-hole was full of Jackson’s reproductive-lode; beyond, her groin was starched with dried semen and so were her breasts, her belly and her throat. Her back and her thighs were stiff and her arms felt as though she’d wrestled a horse; otherwise, it had been business-as-usual on her lips which had taken a lot of attention.

Jackson smiled as she surfaced; he’d been awake for a while; watching, waiting for her to come back into his world and his todger was behaving like a puppy-on-a-leash; straining to get a run at its new playmate!

“Down boy!” smiled Sappho, “there’s plenty of time for that; good morning, Sir Jackson, how are you today? Did your steed behave like a thoroughbred? Because you sure-as-hell behaved like a jockey!”

“Sappho, you’re complete and a fine addition to a stallion’s stable, except I have only one mare: and it’s you!”

They kissed for a while; held one-another close and wallowed in the comfort they brought to each other.

“Ga’ad, I’m glad I had those extra fries; are we having any breakfast?”

“Sure, let’s hit the shower and go downstairs.”

Sappho wore a flower-patterned micro-dress and trainers and Jackson took chinos, deck-shoes and a polo shirt then, over eggs, bacon, and what the Brits call a ‘plate of heart attack’, they drank lots of coffee and orange juice and felt the world-coming-to-rights again.

“Do you wanna overnight at Timber Lakeside? We’ve got a Lodge up there and it’s only an hour up the road?”

“Ok, that sounds pretty good. Y’ah, let’s do it!”

So, they backed-up to the Penthouse, stowed a few things and Jackson led the way to the Ferrari.

As he opened the door Sappho instinctively raised her dress above her hips and sat with her bare backside on the seat. Jackson said nothing but, by the time he’d got round to the driver-side, Sappho had unzipped the front of her micro-dress, tucked-in the fabric, and let her tits fall out.

“That’s different?”

“Yeah, force of habit; your mare has been well-trained and thoroughly pre-conditioned: you’re getting the benefit. Do you have a temperature control for the seat?”

“Sure”

“Turn it down so you can slip into something cool at the other end!”

Chapter Four

A Weekend At Timber Lakeside

They went out of the city and joined the turnpike; Jackson drove well and Sappho felt comfortable so, after getting onto a country road, she reached across, unhooked Jackson’s belt, fished out his man-tackle, leaned over and popped his dick into her mouth.

It was already hard but he had staying power; even so, he managed to hold on for just five minutes while Sappho laved his purple-end, manipulated his scrotum and eventually induced an eruption of, well, how shall we put it, ‘magnificent proportions’?

Yes, that describes it because Sappho hadn’t deep-throated him and her mouth couldn’t contain the flood; so, it leaked out from the corners of her lips, ran down her chin and onto Jackson’s chinos.

She did her best to swallow what she could but, for once, the volume and the pressure overcame her and Sappho looked a little-bit sheepish at the stain on his pants.

“Sorry, Jackson, that’s never happened before; you can whip me, if you want!”

“What?”

“You heard!”

He reached across, took her hand, glanced at her momentarily, then returned his attention to the road and she saw the love shining in his eyes; afterwards, they went on in silence until they got to Timber Lakeside.

What a place! This was way beyond an Executive Retreat; every one of the Lodges was different; there were boutiques, tackle shops, bars and diners alongside some very fine restaurants.

“Sappho, I’m going to take you shopping because we’re dining out tonight; you see that place over there with the French name? That’s our venue but, first, we’re going to take a walk around, have a bar-b-que and, for that, you need some kit. When we’re checked-in, we’ll go over to that Outfitter, get you some jeans, a checked shirt and a pair of Roper boots; then we’re going to make a ‘Cow-girl’ outa ya!”

“Can I have a Stetson Hat and a big buckle on my belt?”

“Baby, you can have anything you want!”

That’s what they did; Sappho chose a Black Watch Tartan shirt, blue jeans, brown Roper boots, a beige-coloured Stetson, a tooled, brown leather belt with a boss that looked like a steer’s head; horns and all!

“You from Oklahoma?”

“No, why?”

“Well, they say only deer and steers come from Oakie; which are you?”

“Well, come to think of it; I ain’t no deer and I ain’t no steer: but, I guess I could be a doe!”

They laughed, hugged then Jackson took her, all clad ‘Oakie-style’, along the way to the boutique where he fitted her out with a dress and shoes; that’s all Sappho ever wore so, he got off lightly.

Even so, the shopping trip had added almost $18 000.00 to his Card.

Sappho looked good; the jeans moulded her figure, she’d left open the buttons on her plaid shirt and knotted the tails; the boots fit, the belt and the Stetson suited her and, complete with shades, they walked down to the shore, holding hands, and strolled along the shingle.

They came to a couple of large rocks that gave them cover when Sappho, turning to Jackson, said, “Here, let me make it up to you.”

She pressed him against a rock, knelt down, opened him up and swallowed him whole. No frills this time, and no spills, either, and then, as she kissed him, she passed over some of his semen.

Jackson never hesitated; he took her tongue and swallowed his fluid; wrapped his lips around her mouth and almost squeezed the air out of her as he lifted her off the ground to swing her around.

“We’re not finished; I promised you something cool!”

She undid her belt, slipped her jeans down as far as she could, faced the rock, spread her legs, raised her ass, and said, “Be my guest!”

Jackson took his time feeding his monster into her pussy because, even though she was slick, he wanted them to savour the rites of passage. So, he reached around, cupped her tits, then held her waist as he felt Sappho adjust her footing before he started slow; in-and-out, but no shaking it all about, and then, a hot blast streamed into Sappho’s cool box but, this time, all of his man-juice stayed inside; but only for a while.

“C’mon, let’s Barbie; it’s time to get something else into your belly!”

So, they cut inland, got themselves ‘back to the ranch’, walked over to the coals, piled on the salads, the seafood, the fries, then the steaks and found some chilled, steam-brewed ales but, this time, no ice cream!

It had been an exciting day and, with the promise of a long evening, they took a nap in the afternoon; lying in one another’s arms was as comfortable as it was comforting and, soon, both were asleep.

Jackson was first to stir and, after kissing Sappho, he woke her with a glass of chilled champagne; “Let’s finish it in the Jacuzzi, huh?”

So, he ran the hot tub and they got in amongst the swirl and the bubbles, sipping from their other source of bubbles until it had gone and, afterwards, they had a cool shower.

The sun was setting when it came to dressing and Sappho was thrilled to be wearing her gift again. Jackson had bought a close-fitting, black silk micro dress with spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline; it had no back and not much of a front, but it was elegant. Unbeknown to her, he’d added two more things to his purchase; first, some black, silk hold up stockings and, after slipping on her black leather 5” stilettos, next came, a white Cashmere Shawl. Sappho almost cried when she saw that but, before putting it on, he’d brought one more gift: a diamond encrusted choker and that did bring the tears to her eyes as he hung it around her throat.

“Darling, thank you, so much; this is wonderful!”

“Sappho, you’re very special; and you should know it.”

Meanwhile, as he watched Sappho adorn herself, Jackson had remained undressed and his excitement showed in the usual way; not because he wanted to fuck her, that was a given, but because he loved her and took his joy in her pleasure. Anyway, now he got on with the job and, soon, dressed in a black, light-weight, silk-weave suit, an open-necked white shirt and his ubiquitous black leather loafers, the black boyfriend took the arm of his white girlfriend and walked her over to dinner.

So far, they’d been well-fed but the purpose of this occasion was not to take on more nutrition but to enjoy a special retreat in an exotic place; so, they went straight to the table.

Already replete with Champagne, Jackson ordered two G and Ts, one each, this time, and they took the menus. Eventually, each chose the same thing; braised Asparagus with Hollandaise Sauce followed by grilled Salmon and, along with the sparkling water, a bottle of Sancerre.

They sat adjacent to one another rather than opposite and it allowed them to touch; sometimes inadvertently, sometimes on purpose but, most times, just because they couldn’t keep themselves from making contact.

The fragrance around the table was heady and, as usual, Jackson sat in the commanding place and the conversation ran easy. “Sappho, you did something for me this morning then you said something that surprised me. Did Jonathan ever make you do anything against your will?”

“No; in fact, although he was the Dominant, it was me who initiated most of our role-play. Ok, he suggested I might raise my skirts but I assume you’re on about the whipping?”

“Yes; how’d it happen?”

“Well, it’s not a long story but, we’d been playing and he slapped my ass. I guess it was the way I looked at him that made him ask if he’d upset me. I said, ‘Did you hear me complain?’ and it all went from there. He tried to counsel me but I realised I held a masochistic tendency and wanted it to be him who hurt me. You see, I was, and still am, in love with him and, somehow, it just had to be him who ‘broke me in’.

“He took the initiative to share me, yet we’d talked about it, but he chose the man and the moment; and it went off well.”

“I see.”

Unusually for Jackson in a public place, he took this moment to lean over to kiss Sappho. It was an elegant kiss and a delicate one on her lips but it was also packed with passion and no shortage of intent.

“Shall we go back to the cabin and have a night-cap?”

“Yeah; let’s go.”

So, they went back, lit the candles and burned logs in the grate; Jackson opened a bottle of Cognac, poured two big slugs into each of a couple of snifters and they sat down on a settee watching the kindling fire-up and listening to the crackle.

It was an ultra-romantic moment; nothing vulgar, just classic romance straight out of a John Doe novel; erm, well, maybe something along similar lines, but it was working for them: then Jackson got up for a moment only to come back with some dark chocolate truffles.

He opened the box, offerered them to Sappho who discovered they were frozen; nonetheless, she chose one, popped it into her mouth then held them out for Jackson. However, instead of accepting, he slipped from the sofa and knelt between her knees; instinctively, she parted her thighs and then he chose not one, but several chocolates and, without consulting her, inserted them, one after the other, into her conduit.

Sure, they were cold but Sappho went electric at this initiative; needless to say she collaborated by giving him all the room he needed, hitching-up her hem-line even higher and opening what there was of a bodice to squeeze her nipples, hardening and growing, atop a pair of pert tits.

Jackson was consumed as much as he was consuming; his tongue was working overtime in conjunction with his lips and he was sucking out Sappho’s insides along with the confectionery. Meanwhile, Sappho was experiencing all of the myriad sensations of a vacuum being pulled on her channel and the scrapings on the delicate membranes of her uterus as the truffles travelled along her canal to slide into Jackson’s mouth.

Then he started to use his teeth; nibbling the gossamer-thin petals of her vagina and probing her clit with a pointed tongue in a way that led Sappho from one climax to another because this assault on her nether regions was as intense as it was unending and she was in seventh-heaven.

Of course, it didn’t end there and, after unblocking Sappho’s freeway, Jackson continued his drive and fucked her. He stood without speaking, Sappho’s eyes watching him all the time, took off his jacket, his shirt, shoes, socks and pants, and, unleashing his trouser-puppy, witnessed it disappear into her tunnel of love, squirm its way in further, deeper and longer and then spout the contents of his ball-sac into her womb.

Nor did he stop there; he leaned in, met Sappho coming towards him and, still embedded in her body, sucked on her mouth so hard she thought he was trying to recycle his semen in some kind of ‘green initiative’.

But Jackson was just being Jackson and Sappho was glad; “Jackson, you’re my first, extra-extra-marital-lover and you’re one helluva fucker!”

The ride home was as much fun as the journey out and these guys had made it solid. Sappho stayed overnight and, as well as making out they talked, talked some more and fucked a lot more.

It was a cathartic experience for Sappho because, as well as opening her soul to him, she opened her legs for him and Jackson plugged the gaps. He did a great job helping her, comforting her and sating her. What he did was transform her addiction from one form of cock to another form of cock: his cock, black cock and lots of it.

At least he did his best and, when Sappho left his apartment at the start of a new week, her body was aching all over; her pussy was swollen, her tits were raw, her throat was dry, she could barely walk and her belly had been filled with spunk over and over again.

She loved it, she deserved it, she was getting it in spades and there is one more thing: before leaving Timber Lakeside they’d re-visited the Outfitter so Sappho could choose her crop.

Chapter Five

The Cocktail Party & Afterwards

“Hey, Sappho, it’s Jackson; can you take a call?”

“Sure, Jackson, it’s good to hear from you; what’s up?”

“Well, I called mid-morning to avoid any complications because we’re having a cocktail party and I’d like you to come along?”

“Sure; but it’s not tonight, is it?”

“No, no, it’s next Thursday but it’s a big-gig; Diplomats, Dignitaries-and-all together with a few Clients who’re heavy-hitters.”

“Yes, next Thursday is good for me: look; the kids have gone back, so, if you want, I can stay over: what’re you doing on the Friday?”

“Ok, I can do the Friday, but can you do the weekend, too?”

“Sure! Let me park in your underground and change in the apartment. I’ll take a cab to the Bank; 1800hrs, ok? With you?”

“Right; I’ll send a Limo for 1745.”

It’d been almost a fortnight since they’d been together and Sappho could feel the secretions starting to flow on the drive into town. In between times, she’d sunbathed and, because her gardens are secluded, had basked in the nude so there were no patches. Sappho wasn’t trying to match her boyfriend; it was just time to produce some Vitamin D.

Jackson’s allocation ran to five parking spaces; nominally, a mom and dad and 2.4 kids, but there were also a dozen visitor-places on each sub-floor; so Sappho slotted her Vogue next to his Ferrari and took the Penthouse-lift. He’d already set her up with security passes, keys and entry fobs and made sure she was recognised by Team Concierge.

She got there in good time; sat in the kitchen with a glass of mineral water and calmed down before heading for the bathroom. A hot shower followed by a cool douche did the job then she set-about getting ready.

It was an early summer’s evening and, as Sappho went into the bedroom to lay-out her clothes, she found a card and a package on the bed: the card read, “I love you!” and the package held a string of pearls.

There was nothing to stop her welling-up and she was glad not to have made up because the tears ran down her cheeks, over her chin and onto her breasts. She watched as one droplet crawled over her boob and hung on the nipple: “you’re going to quench my boyfriend’s thirst because, tonight, I’m going to give him something special!”

Then, after settling again, she laid-out her zebra-print dress; it wasn’t black-and-white, more midnight-blue and off-white with threads of ochre and azure running through the pattern. It was a mini-dress, close-fitting with a box-neck and over-the-shoulder short sleeves accompanied by flesh-coloured stockings with navy blue, high-heeled shoes.

Sappho always looks the biz and, in place of a jacket, she hung a shawl over her back as she got into the limo.

Jackson was beaming at the doors when she got out of the elevator, more so, when his eyes settled on the pearls around her neck. They did an air-kiss, hugged, held hands and went into the Boardroom where his Partners were waiting for their Guests.

The Boardroom had folding walls that opened-out into something half the size of a Basketball Court; the mahogany-, walnut- and cedar-wood was well-appointed with brass fittings; the carpet was dark blue and the landscape-windows had heavy voile curtains behind floor-to-ceiling drapes.

Uniformed ushers and waiters littered the room: was this place fit for a king? No; it was a place fit for big-business; and then the guests started to arrive. However, they didn’t come up in surprise-mode: Investment Banks don’t like surprises; and, as every invitee registered at Reception, their name was sent up to alert the Partner.

Cocktail Parties have one goal; ‘meet, greet and leave your mark’ and, even though the guest list varies, the aim is always the same: ‘impress’.

Sappho charmed everyone from His Excellency the French Ambassador, with whom she shared his native tongue, to the Italian Charge d’affaires and his wife, where she exchanged a few words, in Italian, about Fine Art and, also, the Business Elite, where she and Jackson spent more time than usual, for a public social occasion, with both the Chairman and the CEO of a global corporation. Later, Jackson was to claim her charisma had smoothed the path for a $10bn rights issue, and her presence was not lost on his male and female colleagues, either, as eyes, ears and nether regions responded.

The party over, Jackson invited Sappho to supper; “Pasta?”

“Sure, you read my mind; can we walk?”

So, they left the Bank, this time arm-in-arm, strolled along to another of Jackson’s haunts where the Maitre d’ showed them to a secluded corner, piled the table with antipasto, took an order forsparkling mineralwater anda bottle of Chianti and handed over the menus. Tonight, food was secondary and they both went simple with spaghetti amatriciana sans parmesan.

They sat opposite one-another and, as their hands reached over the table, their eyes met: “How’ve you been? I’ve missed you!”

“I know, Jackson; missed you, too, but it was good to get your call. Thanks, by the way, for the pearls, they set-off my dress...”

“...and your suntan; nice combo!”

“You like it? Thanks, I like your dick!”

“Ok, it’s yours but tell me more about you; how’d you meet Jonathan, what’d you do together and, well, this is kinda private, but have you ever been with a Black man before?”

“Wow, an interrogation! Ok, we met on a Greek island; I was holidaying with the kids and he was with a pal; we were waiting for a bus to go to the beach and just got talking. He’s an interesting guy and we swam, had lunch and talked. Afterwards, I found his hotel and called him; we met at the local Agora and, afterwards, connected almost every day.

“We never had sex but he kissed me and we kept in touch until he invited me over. I couldn’t wait to meet him again after his calls prepared me; we spoke about ‘depilation’ and ‘no-bra-no-panties’ because he wanted me ‘100% available to him 100% of the time’. I kinda-liked his style so, he got what he wanted. We also talked about anal sex and, hey, this guy’s repertoire just blew me away. You know, I’d only known one guy, my husband, before him.

“Anyway, he met me at the airport; I was bare ass, wearing a micro-dress, no bra and sans pubes and we just kissed; long-and-hard. He never groped me, just held me and we drove out to a Scottish Castle. En route he slipped his hand into my dress and I almost choked; that happened a few times and when we got there, I fucked him in a chair.

“Afterwards, he took me doggy-style and, as he was kneading my asshole, I said, ‘You can go in if you want’ but he told me I wasn’t ready. After lunch, he prepped me and then he was never out of it; now, I’m hooked.

“The thing is, Jonathan always uses a condom, except in my mouth; I wish he’d get me pregnant! How’re we doin’?”

“Go on.”

“Ok, you’re interested in ‘Black cock’, right? Well, we’d spoken about a ‘threesome’ and, one night at dinner, the Maitre d’ came over and he was mixed-race French. I replied in French and he knelt down to my eye-level. When we’d finished talking Jonathan said there was a surprise waiting for him if he slipped his hand under my skirt. Ga’ad, I almost peed myself! So, there we were, in a Hotel Restaurant, people all around, and the Head Waiter is feeling me up. This guy just followed the line.

“He used his right hand, under the tablecloth, then onto my thigh; I opened a little bit and he just kept right-on going under my skirt, over my hold-ups and onto the flesh. Then his fingers found more flesh, no panties and no pubes. By this time, I was pretty-well gone so, I opened my legs and he put two fingers into my pussy and his thumb on my clit.

“He squeezed and I came! Then Jonathan invited him home and they both fucked me. One thing, though, Jonathan insisted on ‘condoms and no ass, no mouth’ for everyone except him. You know, having two cocks in me was so different; and JP, that’s the guy, did a good job.

“Anyway, I count JP as a ‘half’ but there were four more. They were full-on Caribbean and we met them in a club. They were in our place when we came off the floor and were pretty forward to begin with. Jonathan took it all very calmly until they got the idea he was ‘hands-on-capable’. Later, he told me he wasn’t worried about any steel, because he’d done some ‘CQC’, but what concerned him was that they might pack iron.

“They invited me to dance and groped me on the floor; I enjoyed it and, to cut short a long story, they swapped, groped me some more and invited us back to their alcove where they all fucked me; two at a time.

“By the way, they had four Caribbean girls with them so Jonathan made out, too. Later, we went back to their flat and, by that time, Jonathan’s mandate had gone out of the window and they all had my mouth, my pussy and, of course, it was open season on my ass; at one point, all four were into me.

“So, four-and-a-half black guys have taken my cherry and you, Big-boy, make it five-and-a-half!

“Do you think I’m a whore?”

“No, but what in the hell’s ‘CQC’ and did those guys use a rubber in your ass?”

“Close Quarter Combat; he spoke about the Military, ‘Air Services’, or something, and, yes, they did. By the way, Jackson, when we get home, tonight, my ass is yours and I want you to use a rubber; afterwards, if you have any plans to share me, you have to make sure they use a rubber, too.

“Actually, I did become a whore for one night; wanna hear that bit, too?”

“What? You got paid for sex?”

“Yeah; Jonathan lit the blue touch-paper and I went off with a bang. It was my idea but he did a pretty good job of reconnaissance; he took me to a Grand Hotel and sold me to a CFO. Doggone son-of-a-gun gave him two grand, sterling, for four hours of my time!”

Jackson had kept his eyes on Sappho and his fingers entwined with hers; most of the time he’d kept silent but he’d listened to every word and, all of the time, he had a raging hard-on. Now, his grip on her fingers tightened, involuntarily, until Sappho switched her gaze and his senses caught up.

“Sorry, my emotions are getting the better of me.”

“What is it, Jackson? I’m yours: all yours; do me, take me, use me and abuse me but don’t debase me: that’s our deal, isn’t it?”

Then something very strange happened; Jackson’s lip twitched, his eyes snapped shut and tears welled from under the lids; his whole body started to tremble and his fist closed around Sappho’s hand.

“Jackson! Jackson, come back; I love you!”

She had to work hard to make out what he was saying, because it was all muffled, but she heard, “Sappho, make me your slave; I’m in love with you and can never do anything other than worship at your feet. I want you to use me, abuse me but, please; please, don’t debase me.”

Sappho realised the problem and, in recognising that Jackson was having a crisis of confidence that could have a profound effect on his career, as well as his well-being, thought quickly and moved swiftly.

“Jackson, I love you: you are my man; I am your woman and I want you to break out of this reverie and go back to dominating me. I’ve chosen you because you chose me and I’m not going anywhere without you and anyone else who fucks me will only do so at your bidding.”

Her assertiveness surprised him but what got Jackson back onto solid ground was her unconditional display of love; so, the Regional President pulled himself together, smiled, thanked her and paid the bill.

“Darling; I’m going to nurse you through this.”

Jackson waved-down a cab and they drove home, in silence but not incommunicado, where they went straight up to the flat. Once inside, Sappho said, “C’mon, let’s take a shower together.”

There wasn’t much talk but they soaped one-another and dried off before Jackson turned down the bed and they embraced.

“Sweetheart, let me lead; I’m not going to hurt you, so just follow me, ok?”

“Ok.”

They lay together, hugging closely, and Jackson felt Sappho’s points on his Pecs, her arms around his shoulders, her thighs against his and her lips on his mouth. He could feel Sappho clinging to him all the way down his body and safety settled around him like a shroud when he sucked on her nipple.

“Jackson, I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do then I’m going to do it, so, just enjoy; you’re ok and, now, I’m going to blow you.”

Sappho moved down the bed and took him between her lips; she didn’t deep-throat him because she wanted him to get the full spectrum of sensations and, soon, he came off. A lot of it, as before, escaped her mouth but it didn’t matter; she took what she could and let the rest dribble onto his groin. Then she brought him back to hardness and mounted him; Jackson was reading the signs as she moved on him, rising up-and-down, ever-so-gently, until the warmth from another spurt emerged from his loins.

“Now, you’re ok and it’s time for you to take my ass. I don’t need any preparation but, if you’ve got a condom and some gel, it’ll help. I’m going to kneel, doggy-style, and wait until you’re ready. Take your time because your cock is enormous and, even though I can take it, neither of us needs any shock treatment; so, just take it easy.”

So, Sappho got off his dick and positioned herself, submissively, on all-fours in the middle of the bed: knees wide akimbo, elbows down, head up and spine arched into a concave that pushed her ass into the air and her tits out front. That, in itself, was an erotic sight and, on seeing it, Jackson recovered his hardness and came back with a tube and a small packet.

He started by holding her hips, using his thumbs to prise apart her bum cheeks and pointing his tongue into her backside then, when he felt her responding, he lubed her up by pushing two fingers, smeared with gel, into her brown hole and running the rest over his dick before squeezing a line on top and coating the sheath.

“I’m ready, darling, can you take me?”

“Yes, Jackson; I’m at your mercy, just plough your furrow.”

So his entrance began by opening her buttocks, gripping her waist and pressing himself gently against her puckered-starfish until it gave way.

“Are you ok?”

“Sure, just keep going, you’re my stallion and I’m your mare, remember?”

So Jackson ploughed on and, after a couple of inches, he stopped pushing to let Sappho come to terms with the intrusion and to allow him to experience the sensations spangling around his manhood. This was almost like a religious experience and he could feel Sappho’s muscles rippling along his shaft but he was only about a quarter of the way in. There was three times as far to go and he was desperate to get into her bowels.

So he tried to distract himself by reaching under Sappho and cupping her breasts; this brought him some relief and another inch, or so, into her rectum but, still, she remained supine.

He’d been on her ass for about twenty minutes when the rush came: all of a sudden, Sappho opened-up and Jackson found himself slipping in to end with his ball bag flush on her backside.

“Arghhhhh; I can’t hold it; geez; oh, God; n’ghhh; n’ghhhh; ohhhhhhhh,” as his semen flowed steadily into the pouch. After a few seconds, Jackson recovered his senses and, holding onto Sappho’s back, kissed all the way down her spine, cupped her breasts and rolled her nipples as he started a rhythm inside her bottom that wobbled her tits. In-and-out, ever so slowly, until Sappho started to respond and then he quickened his pace, rising onto his feet to straddle her rump and, hanging onto her shoulders, the black stallion rutted his white mare and shot another blast into the latex sac.

Still, Sappho took it: prone but not inert; silent but not unresponsive and accepting everything his black cock could pump into her white ass.

“Now, take off the rubber; don’t wipe your dick, come around, hold my head and slide it into my mouth; take me slow: go deep into my throat.

“There, Jackson, you can forget about being a tri-athlete because you’ve done me four times and rising; you’re an ironman and, now, you’re healed.”

Chapter Six

The Beginnings Of “Use and Abuse”

That’s why everyone loves Sappho: it’s simply because her humanity shows through and, whereas she’s openly compassionate, she couples it with supreme levels of eroticism!

It turned out that Jackson’s recovery was swift and her intervention had embedded Sappho even more deeply into his psyche and had opened the door to Jackson’s black meat becoming embedded more frequently in her ass. Now he had another avenue into her body Sappho felt his full length coming into her for the rest of the night where he spent the dark hours doing her bum-hole; again and again. That Thursday was the beginning of an ass-fucking spree that marked the transition in their relationship. It was also when Sappho grew totally submissive and began to worship at the root of his black cock.

She became adept at manhandling his phallus and moaning as she tongued his balls, wiping it on her forehead, around her eyes, nose, cheeks and lips, over her tits, under her armpits, past her navel, running it down to her belly and stroking it along her perineum from her asshole to her pussy before clamping it between her thighs and making him cum.

Their lovemaking was increasingly wet with semen, saliva, secretions, sweat, blood and tears lubricating the friction between their bodies because, on more than one occasion, Sappho was flogged.

Jackson’s bedroom was enormous with a super-king-size bed in the centre: so, after they’d exhausted themselves overnight in more conventional sex, one morning saw Jackson take a new initiative when he positioned a footstool in the middle of the bed. Then, in a major change of deference towards Sappho, he asked her to kneel over it, spread her legs, hang her tits over the edge, grip the base and hold herself still.