Recollections of the Previous Night

By Paris Waterman

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"Center's sold out. I have four on the right side of the orchestra, um; row K, seats 4, 6 and 8."

She shivered as his hands wandered down the sides of her tank-top even as she reached her arms behind him and ran her long slender fingers up his back then raked them down knowing it would inflame his desire all the more.

"Are those seats together? I mean next to one another?"

She recalled being sleepy and tired and wanted him to go home so she could fall down and enjoy the silence; fall down and close her heavy eyelids. She continued fantasizing about sleeping even while he was stroking her breasts and tickling her nipples.

"Yes they are. You sit right beside one another. They're excellent seats, close just off to the side."

His kisses were special--long, wet and languid, lots of nibbling and sucking too. Really good kisses and she was so lost in his arms that she found herself taking a step back to lean on the wall while he touched her ... not trying to arouse her ... exactly.

"What else have you got? No balcony--we can't take any stairs."

But he was feeling his way through her clothing and down her legs. A finger traversing the cleft of her bottom made her moan into his mouth and a trickle of liquid seeped from her sex.

"There are no balcony seats--there is no balcony in this theatre."

She no longer cared that she was exhausted and needed sleep. All she craved at that moment was his touch—anywhere on her person, even her most secret parts; especially her most secret parts.

"Well how much are the tickets?"

Her sex pulsed and grew wetter. He was Black and that made him even sexier.

"Um, that will be sixty dollars."

And then--and then he heard her silent plea and his soft, yet firm hand slid the fabric up her leg and went right to where it mattered most.

"That's highway robbery!"

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"Next!"

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"Did you say something else about the tickets?" the young man said somewhat concernedly.

She was standing, legs wide apart, back against the wall with her pelvis bucking back against the fingers jamming in and out.

"What? Oh, no! That'll be forty dollars, please."

He had one hand up her skirt and fingering her and the other on a breast, while she shuddered and bucked against the wall as he straddled her legs with his and held her in place with his body.

"Here you are!"

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"Is there something about me you find funny?" a tall gaunt man in his sixties inquired.

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She gushed again.

"Got any orchestra seats left, say row ten or so in the center of the orchestra?"

"What I have are rows M and beyond off to either side. No center seats left. It's a good show and we've been selling out nightly."

She could still hear the sound of her juices dripping on the floor. She remembered being mortified. Mortified until he whispered: "I've never had a woman do that before."

"Are there any obstructions in any of 'em?"

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She closed the ticket window and hung the 'Sold Out' sign in the window.

But his cock was too, too delightful to compare or contrast. She only wanted to suck it. Not minding kneeling in the puddle of juices she'd left on the floor; not minding his holding her by the hair so tightly that her eyes watered. Not minding when his cum--all of it--hit the back of her throat, not caring that some slipped into the tiniest crevices between her teeth, or that some managed to seep from her mouth to drool down her chin.

When she rose up from the chair in the booth, she noticed the seat cushion had a huge wet spot in its center. She smiled, and remembered the previous night again.

12:40 am: the night's performance was long over, the theatre closed and Taylor made her way to Slim's pad on Clark Street, off The Five Corners. To her, this was definitely the Black part of Chastened.

She wasn't nervous. He'd told her it was safe and she wouldn't be bothered, 'Just take a taxi and get out at 61 Clark, it's a nice condo.' Those were his words and she believed him.

Throughout the day she kept returning to the sensations it emitted. Its clinginess triggered the memory of his hands on her. The new smell of the fabric mellowed as it pooled with the musk of her exertion; she was as anxious for him to smell her even as just the thought of him down there made her self-conscious.

Taylor, not having dated that many men-boys, for the most part-Slim was definitely her first real man, had no way to judge if she was late or had done something to displease him, and hurried inside his apartment when he beckoned her inside.

The floor lamp reduced the size of the living room to a lighted spot, and, without any prompting, she headed straight for it. He stood behind her, lifted her bag off her shoulder and dropped it behind him, not caring where. Taylor turned to look at him, but Slim remained just outside the light, his face obscured with the willfulness of a brat.

"No," he said, speaking for the first time, "Let's see what's under the skirt."

"Turn around, let me look at you."

She turned for him.

Taylor wasn't sure what to say to that, so she thanked him.

With one, graceful feminine gesture, Taylor peeled off the thong and tossed it to one side then stood facing him.

He noticed she's taken a razor to her pubic hair. "Trimmed your bush did you?" he said with a smile.

"Um, yeah, like that, um, only could you pull those cheeks apart for me?"

"Ohhhh, yeah, lovely!"

Isn't that what I want? Oooooohh yeah ... I want him to do me ... To do everything to me. Ooooh yeah ...

"Can I ...?"

He faced her then crouched. Her skin was deeply tanned, he hadn't noticed that before. The light dappling through the lace on her garter belt picked up the fine hairs on the inside of her thighs.

"Where do you usually go to tan?"

He remained behind her, not wanting her to see the bulge in his slacks. Slim adjusted his penis, but it didn't hide the fact that he had an erection. In fact the front of his slacks now had a precum stain seeping through the material.

Instead, he excused himself, telling her to remain in that position, and walked into his bedroom and picked up a hand mirror his mother had left behind when she left for the hospital, never to return.

"Look'it yourself," he said, his husky baritone sending chills down young Taylor's spine. "Look in the mirror ... you see that juice drizzlin' from your pussy? You can't wait to fuck, can you?"

If I hadn't shaved, maybe it wouldn't be so fuckin' obvious ... she told herself.

Taylor was glad to do something that might take her mind off her vaginal problem. Reasoning that exposing her breasts would also move his eyes from there as well, she wasted little time in taking off the blouse and baring her smallish breasts to him.

"What are you?"

"I can ..." Taylor said mildly protesting, but not seriously enough to keep Slim from continuing his stripping of her last vestments.

"Left foot up, please," he said, and she complied. And then did the same with the other, leaving the stockings to puddle around her thighs like old socks.

Looking down, Taylor saw his face mere inches from her vagina. He sniffed her and she flinched.

"You're kinda like a piece of art. A masterpiece, you know?"

"I--I'm not just throwin' words at you, Taylor. You are a fuckin' masterpiece; a Michelangelo, you now?"

He backed away again, she turned to see where but he ordered her to look at herself. She admires her reflection although she's a little distracted by that rummaging sound he's making at her feet.

"Remember last night?" He asked, bringing her back to the moment.

"Well I ain't gonna accommodate you tonight."

"What are you going to do about that?"

"I won't tolerate no tears, Taylor."

"Sniff-sniff."

Taylor Laurent sat in the booth waiting for the clock to hit 7:30, when the ticket office for Cabaret would open.

Suddenly she was back in his condo the night before--against that very wall; the one with the Edward Hopper painting, New York Movie hanging so crookedly on it; the one behind her back when she enthusiastically kissed him good night.

Back to the booth and hoping that the first customer, a heavy-set woman with a fur wrap on a 92° evening stood waiting for the window to open. Hoping that she didn't notice that she'd just kissed him and licked his outstretched tongue with her own. And that the woman didn't hear you know, the little noise he makes that's both irritating as well as deeply arousing.

"Four in the center orchestra please."

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"That's the standard price per ticket. All tickets are orchestra, all tickets are $20.00."

His fingers danced on her clitoris--oh yeah, she definitely remembered THAT.

"Well I never!" the woman said, caustically and spun away in a huff.

"Two of the best seats you have left, please." A young man with his teenage girlfriend said.

He laughed on hearing her gasping for breath, and then sent a finger exploring past the entrance of her vagina. Her knees wobbled and she reached for his mouth even as he groaned with satisfaction. The next moment she felt and a rush of her own fluid moistening her leg.

"I have two located on right side of the orchestra ... row K, seats 4 and 6. No center orchestra left."

He added a finger and began to move both of them in and out of her at a faster pace.

She gasped ... and for a moment didn't know if she'd made the sound aloud or in her mind.

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"Thank you! Next!"

She giggled when her juices rushed from her cunt and soaked his naughty hand. She giggled when he laughed delightedly in return.

She giggled as the next person in line stepped up to the ticket booth.

"Oh, no! No, the young man before you reminded me of someone I know."

His tongue invaded her mouth to quell the giggling and set her pelvis to jerking back and forth against the unmistakable hardness of his sex.

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"No sir."

A flood of random thoughts raced through her mind as a perceived flood gushed from between her legs from his fingering. I've never made a puddle like this. Have I ruined his shoes? Ohmygodohmygodohmygod that—that—that's fucking wonderful!

"Well then, I'll take two of the closest you got."

She'd loved every second of it. Every-single-second. But then he'd stopped.

"Forty dollars, sir. Thank you. Here are your tickets, Sir. Row O seats 15 and 16. Enjoy the show, Sir!"

She gawked at him, not knowing what to do. She wondered if she should she tell him to keep going until she glanced down and saw he'd exposed himself. She hadn't thought they came that long. A moment later his hand was on her shoulder, urging her downward.

A blank face said something to her. She automatically said the correct thing, took their money and waited for the next person in line to step forward.

"Suck it!" he'd said as if he knew she would. Her mouth opened of its own accord. He had a slightly bitter taste and she found that odd, she'd thought that he would taste as sweet as his kisses. Who knew?

As the next person, a woman with a twelve year old daughter, smiled and said "I'd like two tickets for this performance, please."

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In actuality, Slim was moderately wealthy and had purchased this fashionable condo four years earlier from the original owner, a very white couple. He was the only black occupant in the condo's association.

On getting out of the cab the surrounding area was quiet enough, she neither saw nor heard anyone and pressed the bell that read Pickens under it. The street light showed off her light weight jacket that served to cover the racy black blouse she wore whose halter was the only part than wasn't transparent. It was a new ensemble along with a pink skirt and a pair of knock-off Valentino heels she'd bought only hours before that night's show and she was wearing for the first time.

Slims greeting was indifferent, or seemed so, there were no comments about how good she looked, or hugs or even a kiss for that matter.

The hallway rug muffled the click-clack of her boots. He closed the door and followed closely; watching her juicy morsel of an ass work the dress, work him.

There was a slight pause when she didn't move. He didn't either and their world stood still. Slim nodded at her and recalling the previous evening, Taylor reached behind her, fumbled with the buttons on the blouse.

She bent slightly, casting a shadow on her cleavage as she threaded the button through its slit, and then unzipped the skirt allowing it to fall to her feet then stepped out of it, leaving her in garter-belt, thong, stockings and the pseudo Valentino heels.

A smile formed on her face. The nervousness that had caused her to break out in a sweat vanished, and the confidence only a young woman who knows she is prized filled her blood to its highest temperature.

"You have a lovely ass. Most women are always worried about their asses. 'Do you think my ass is to fat?' And shit like that. You, Taylor, will never have to worry about that. I'm telling you the God's honest truth. You have a fine ass. A classic ass, and what's more, twenty, thirty years from now it will still be a fine outstanding ass."

"You're more than welcome, Taylor. Now, if you'd be so kind as to take the thong off. Leave that belty thing on, I like that.

"Mmmm, yes, now if you could bend over and let me see that lovely peach of yours.

Taylor nodded, not sure if she should be proud or ashamed of the fact she'd trimmed all her pubic hair for him. "Um, I did that this morning, thinking of you," she said.

The nineteen-year-old complied, feeling like a contestant in a beauty contest, and had to keep from giggling at the thought of what he was seeing and thinking.

Dirty thoughts, he's having very dirty thoughts, Taylor told herself.

The garter belt fragmented her body and Slim took his time studying each sector.

"No, hold the pose a little longer, sweet thang ... a little longer," he said, moving around her; taking note of the boyish fingers resting on boyish hips; and that she was holding her stomach in.

One of god's greatest creations, he thought and smiled as he ran a finger along her tan line. He felt a tremor in her pelvis as he followed the tan line lower and lower.

"Norton Beach mostly, but sometimes I hang out at my girlfriend's pool." Taylor replied after taking a long second to compose herself. I must be dripping down there. He must see it, she thought embarrassedly.

His initial response is to leave the room, to put distance between them in order to maintain control, even though he wanted to take her then and there, from behind and listen to her scream and the sound of his own grunts.

He returned with the mirror, noticed that she hadn't budged, although you'd never know it to look at him.

"Slim, I ... she began, but couldn't find the words for her defense. She can't help but look into the mirror and see the glistening drops already formed on the outer lips of her labia.

"I'd take that fancy blouse off you, but I'd probably damage it. You better ..."

Slim crouched in front of her.

"Shush, I'm going to enjoy you and you are going to love every minute," he said as he unclasped a stocking from its garters, and did the same with the other stocking.

"No—no, I've got it, sweetie," he said as he carefully eased the lacy garter belt down over her hips and calves to her ankles.

"Now for the stockings," he said in a whispered tone. He was almost reverent in the care he took rolling the stockings down her legs leaving them pooled around her ankles until she bent over and after removing her knock-off shoes, pulled them completely off her feet and placed them with her shoes, garter-belt and blouse.

"No one's ever looked at me like this before."

Her body began to take on a deeper hue--her flush of embarrassment combined with her deep tan gave her a momentary sheen that caused slim to take in his breath.

Stepping behind her, Slim took both her breasts in his big hands and gently squeezed them. She looked down. It never ceased to amaze her how wonderful his hands felt on her breasts. His dark, rich colored fingers lazily stroked her nipples as if there were no point to it. But her nipples needed little coaxing; a reaction she sees makes him smile.

Whatever it is, she thinks, I'll find out soon enough, and loses herself by pivoting her leg inward and questioning if her thighs are too fat.

"I'll never forget it. I—I thought about it all day; I thought about it up until the moment you opened your door tonight."

"What?"

"N-Nothin' I guess," she said then sniffled.

"S—sorry, I can't seem to help my—myself."

"That's up to you," he said, pulling up a chair in front of her and sitting down. "Turn around again. I want another look at that ass."