FillingtheVoid (5 page)

This!

This was what she wanted, what she craved. The position
didn’t allow her much mobility. She had to take what Jaime gave her and settle
on massaging his dick with her pussy. And that wasn’t the only part of him she
wanted to massage.

She wrapped her fingers around one of Jaime’s ass cheeks and
tried to squeeze that round, sculpted piece of magnificence without thick
fabric to impede her. Pure rock-hard, unyielding muscle greeted her. Unyielding
because he used all his force to drive her toward another orgasm. And she was
close again.

He worked the fingers of his free hand over her clit. He
knew. He knew she was close. Oh she loved it when her partners knew. Even if
the position didn’t allow her much movement she still managed to roll her hips,
to make sure Jaime’s dick was treated to all of her.

“So good. So hard. So there. There! Right there! Yes, oh
yes.” She screamed the words, which spurred Jaime faster until he grunted with
the exertion.

Her muscles tensed with her second climax. The power of the
sensation shook her so much her satisfied moans warbled.

Jaime pulled free a second before he had his own release.
His cum filled the tip of the condom. He must have forgotten he had it on or
else why pull out? Or maybe the sex had been so good he couldn’t stay in. It
was for her. Oh yes, she had definitely been missing out by not having Jaime
before now.

He shuffled away from her, easing her leg from his shoulder
to the bed, and sat on his knees. A long, tired sigh left him—that kind of sigh
after a job well done. And he had done her very well.

“About that landscaping,” he said in a breathy voice.

Naomie chuckled as she trailed her fingers through the sweat
decorating her body, not all of it hers. Considering how hard he’d done her,
the poor boy must not be getting any, which was a shame. That would explain why
he’d been so enthusiastic. She said, “Flower beds around the house and the
front walk and a shade tree in the backyard.”

“Type of flowers?”

“I’ve always wanted a four season garden.”

“Four seasons. Got it.” He played his fingers over her mons,
rubbing it as if he would go lower to tease her clit but didn’t. “I can start
on that tomorrow if you want.”

“You’re not busy? I thought you were in high demand.”

“The company, yes. Me, not as much as you might think. I can
come earlier, before my first job. Say around sixish?”

“If you want. I’ll be up.” Her coy reply belied her delight
at Jaime coming again tomorrow. She had wondered what excuse she would need to
get a repeat performance. His diligent work ethic—or maybe he wanted another go
at her—had offered the perfect opportunity.

“And it’s going to take at least a week to get everything
set up.”

“Of course. There’s no need to rush.”

He paused his fingers and cleared his throat. That didn’t
seem to do the job because he coughed a little. “And…uh…I might…this isn’t a
certainty, but I
might
—really big might—need to have a buddy help me
out.”

And just like that, Naomie was dancing with joy—on the
inside. Two young studs working out her sexual frustrations while Dane did
overtime. How had she gotten so lucky? If she wasn’t seconds from falling
asleep, she would have hopped up and kissed Jaime. He really did know how to do
a woman right.

She said, “So long as he’s as cute as you, I don’t mind.”
She stopped herself from saying the more the merrier. No need to have Jaime
inviting all his friends along for a ride. Naomie didn’t have issues with
gangbangs, she just preferred them with men—or women—she’d known for a while.
One awkward person could be handled. More than that was an annoyance.

Jaime smiled. “The girls don’t complain. I’ve been telling
him about you and he’s been begging to meet you. He’s a coworker and college
buddy.”

She made an affirmative noise, or she thought she did. Sleep
was pulling her down quick. A good lay always knocked her out.

“Naomie?”

She couldn’t open her eyes or summon up the strength to
answer him. The bed shifted and something soft enveloped her body. She thought
she heard a door close but it was far away and didn’t warrant leaving her soft,
cozy place to find out for sure.

A contented sigh left her as the world faded away.

Afternoon—Girl Talk

Naomie pulled her car in behind the ones lining the
sidewalk. Mia’s driveway was full. Hopefully they would be gone by the time
Mia’s husband got home or poor Quincy would have nowhere to park. But then
these get-togethers didn’t last long—two hours, three tops. With Mia hosting it
might go to four hours since her two kids were teenagers who could drive and
didn’t understand the concept of coming home right after school. To them that
meant nine o’clock. Later on Fridays.

Children.

Naomie couldn’t imagine hers and Dane’s. She tried not to
since it would never happen. Naomie couldn’t conceive. They’d found out after
three years of trying—okay so they had been having sex nonstop and figured she
would get knocked up eventually—and nothing had happened. A few clinic visits
and several tests later, the doctor delivered the most devastating news Naomie
had ever had in her life—unexplained infertility.

She was perfectly healthy and always had been, despite her
promiscuous lifestyle. There was no history of infertility on either side of
her family. She and Dane had tried every treatment and sought second, third and
fourth opinions. Five years later, they’d given up. It wasn’t going to happen.
The more they had tried, the more depressed Naomie had gotten until Dane
started worrying she might never come out if it.

Dane had enlisted the help of friends and family to convince
Naomie her life had meaning whether she had children or not. The weekly
girls-only get-togethers started as a way to get Naomie out of the house and
around the positive influence of her friends. Back then it had been every day
and nonsexual. Dane had bundled Naomie into the car and dropped her off with
Mia, Kristine or Arisa so they could spend the day together.

A few months and a reality check later, Naomie had overcome
her sadness. The daily get-togethers to pull Naomie out of her depression—both
one-on-one sessions and as a group when the women’s schedules allowed
it—graduated into weekly girls-only, this-is-why-husbands-suck gossip fests. A
few months after that, a little alcohol and too much joking around led to
kissing and then much more. The “much more” was around the time Fred decided
she should be part of the fun as well.

The men in their lives treated the time as sacred and only
emergencies ever interrupted. And no, the company picnic Naomie hadn’t found
out about until the last minute had not counted as an emergency.

She still laughed about the kidnapping and wished she’d had
a camera because Dane’s and his boss’s expressions had been priceless. Lesson
learned though. Dane never again forgot to tell her about a company function
and he’d resigned himself to attending alone if it fell on a Tuesday afternoon.

Naomie usually looked forward to Tuesdays. If not for Dane
throwing her entire morning out of whack, she would be more enthusiastic as
opposed to tired and resigned. Neither of which could be considered an
emergency. More like a personal problem she would have to get over. Besides,
this bit of normalcy might be what she needed to get her rhythm back.

Naomie pushed her car door open, swiveled so she could put
her crocheted-wedge-sandal-clad feet onto the curb at the same time, and rose
from her seat. She had to adjust her top—a blue drape-front halter that tied at
the back of her neck and hung loose. The seatbelt had shifted it off center and
she was half an inch away from flashing someone.

The soft silk brushed her nipples, which pulled a startled
squeak out of her. Her left nipple was still sensitive from Jaime’s earlier
attention. That was the reason she had chosen the loose top—so she wouldn’t
have fabric pressing against her. Nothing at all would be better but she
doubted the cops would agree. Public indecency, public disturbance and
endangering her fellow drivers—from men rubbernecking to see her—she forgot the
full list and didn’t feel like hearing it again.

“I thought I heard your car.”

Naomie raised her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes
from the afternoon sun as she turned to Mia. The woman’s dark-brown hair was
pulled into a ponytail high on her head and she’d finally taken Naomie’s advice
to wear something more suited to the occasion—a wraparound dress that dipped
low between her large breasts. Naomie would bet the dress was high in the back
thanks to Mia’s more than generous Latina ass—Puerto Rican to be exact, though
she had become an honorary Cuban when she and her family went to Disney World a
few years back.

Mia called from her doorway, “Hurry your late ass up
already.”

“I’m coming,” Naomie yelled back then stuck out her tongue.

“Come faster.”

“That’s not what you said last week.”

Mia started to respond but ended up laughing instead and
Naomie joined her. When they calmed down, Mia said, “Just hurry up. Everyone is
waiting on you and Arisa won’t let us even
look
at the cheesecake
bites.”

“Sorry. Sorry. I’ll be right there.” Naomie pulled her purse
out of the car, closed the door and clicked the lock on her keychain before
heading up the walk to Mia’s door.

Naomie hadn’t meant to be late. She’d woken from her catnap
a full hour later than she should have. It was Mia’s ringtone that had gotten
her up since Naomie hadn’t thought to set an alarm.

Jaime had covered her with a blanket and then vacated the
house, leaving behind no trace of his presence. A truly considerate man. She
would have to reward him somehow—beyond having sex with him.

After apologizing to Mia and promising to arrive soon,
Naomie had showered, changed and headed over. She would need to clean up the
guest room and bath as soon as she got back home. But that was a worry for
later.

She entered Mia’s house, raised one hand over her head in a
diva pose and said with dramatic emphasis, “Fashionably late.”

Arisa, who had planted her petite, five-two Asian self
between the covered tray on Mia’s dining table and the other women, said, “You
are fashionable and you are late. You are however not fashionably late. You’re
just late.”

Naomie dropped her hand and her head. “I know. I’m sorry. I
got all into my nap. If Mia hadn’t called when she did, I would probably still
be asleep.”

Mia made a knowing noise. “Dane gave it to you that good
this morning, huh,
mamí
? Lucky you. He needs to teach my Quincy about
morning sex.”

Arisa said, “From what I’ve seen, no one needs to teach
Quincy anything about sex. I’m still amazed you two don’t have more children.”

“Oh yes, my
papí
is very good but he doesn’t do
mornings. No kissing, no cuddling—don’t touch him at all. He wants none of it.
But after work.” Mia scoffed with a shake of her head that set her ponytail
wagging. “That man will strip down and do me on the hood of the car for the
neighbors to see if I let him.”

“Like I said, I’m amazed you two don’t have more children.”

Naomie said, “Unfortunately Dane had to go to work early. No
morning sex from him.”

Fred stuck her tongue out, flashing the rainbow-colored ball
of her piercing. “So who did you get it from?”

Naomie shrugged as she tossed her purse toward the couch.
“As cliché as it sounds, the gardener.”

Fred snorted. “The gardener? Really? Who do you plan to do
next—the milkman?”

“If he’s my type and we had a milkman, I would consider it.”

“God, I love you. Come here.” Fred patted her thigh and then
opened her tattooed arms—full sleeves with a dragon on one arm and a tiger on
the other. She also had a yin-yang between her shoulder blades with a string of
Chinese knots connecting the symbol to her arms.

Fred’s love of all things Asian was how she’d ended up with
Arisa—third generation Japanese-American, born and raised in Hawaii. They’d met
during Fred’s vacation to the beautiful island state and hooked up again when
Arisa started attending the culinary school down the street from Fred’s tattoo
parlor—they also did piercings.

One year later, the ladies were living in unwedded bliss
with a baby on the way. Arisa had gotten artificially inseminated with their
son by Fred’s younger brother, who had hoped to do it the old-fashioned way and
had gotten shot down. Fred had made an honest woman out of Arisa last year once
the state legalized same-sex marriage.

The wedding reception had been a joint affair to celebrate
the union and their son’s graduation with honors. Though they didn’t say so out
loud, it had also been to celebrate their son leaving home. Fred and Arisa
loved their son but they had been counting down the days until they could stop
being responsible adults.

That meant being able to host girl talk, since they hadn’t
wanted to chance it while their son was still home. But their turn was next
week. Today was Mia’s house and Arisa’s cheesecake bites.

Naomie joined the ladies at the high-top dining table and
plopped down sideways on Fred’s lap. Fred hugged her, nuzzling Naomie’s neck
and flicking her tongue stud over Naomie’s earlobe. Naomie giggled while
pushing at Fred’s shoulder, pretending to fend off the woman.

Fred tightened her arms. “Don’t act like you don’t want it.”

“I want cheesecake, not you.” A statement that got Fred
sucking Naomie’s ear while inching her hand up Naomie’s stomach.

Mia said in her mom voice, “Ladies, dessert first then the
meal. You know the rules.”

Naomie shoved at Fred’s hands, trying to keep the woman from
fondling her breasts. “What Mia said. You heard her.”

Fred laid another kiss on Naomie’s neck and then leaned
back, ending her teasing. “You’re supposed to be on my side, baby doll. Us
black girls need to stick together.”

With a snort, Naomie said, “Not when you’re keeping me from
the cheesecake bites.”

“Always gotta leave a sister out there.”

Naomie found it amusing when Fred talked like this. It was
an affectation Fred did to remind people she race-identified as black. Fred
looked as black as Naomie looked white—not at all. The woman’s skin could be
described as dark fair, not even tan. She was lighter than Mia. But Fred
subscribed to the one-drop rule…on purpose.

She’d found out—after lots and lots of digging and hurdle
jumping—that her maternal great-grandmother had been black. Her grandmother had
married a white man and her mother had married a white man. The only indication
that there might be something else in Fred’s family tree besides white was her
shoulder-length kinky red hair, which most people took to mean she might be
Jewish.

After learning the truth, Fred had rebelled against her
family’s wishes to let it remain hidden. She’d started identifying herself on
all paperwork as black and if anyone asked she self-declared as black. When
Arisa had introduced her to Naomie and Naomie asked why Fred insisted—Naomie
hadn’t been insulted, just curious—Fred had said if lily-white, blue-eyed
blonde-haired bitches from California could claim Native American, then she
could claim black.

The answer had sounded so much like something Naomie would
have said in a similar situation that she and Fred had been close ever since.

Fred was a tactile person. She insisted on hugging and being
intimate with those she loved. That usually meant Arisa, except when Naomie was
there. Fred treated Naomie as a snuggle buddy whenever they were together. And
no matter the place or audience, Fred always had wandering hands. Her favorite
resting spots were between Naomie’s legs and cupping her breasts. According to
Arisa, Fred did the same with Arisa all the time so she was happy when Naomie
visited, granting her a reprieve.

Fred said, “So long as Naomie stays on my lap, I can wait.”

Naomie wiggled her ass on Fred’s thick thighs. “And where
else would I want to be? You’re the best seat in the house. My tushy has lots
of cushion.”

The woman was padded. Not fat, more like thick and
comfortable. With Arisa as a wife, it was a wonder Fred wasn’t bigger. But then
Fred said the only time she ate sweets was at the weekly get-together.

Fred tightened her arms again. “Oh, right there, baby doll.
You know what momma likes.”

Arisa crossed her arms with a sigh. “I should be jealous,
right?”

Mia said, “That is the natural reaction to seeing your wife
cuddling up to another woman.”

“Then why am I so turned-on right now?”

Fred grinned. “Because you know what’s coming. But first we
have to play like we’re civilized and actually talk to each other and pretend
like we aren’t just meeting up for a once-a-week orgy.”

Arisa and Mia asked in unison, “We aren’t?”

Naomie said, “You two are here for the orgy. I’m here for
the cheesecake.” She smacked the tabletop. “Let’s do this.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Fred beat the table in
rhythm. “Cheesecake. Cheesecake. Cheesecake.”

Mia and Naomie joined along, getting louder and banging
harder until Arisa yelled, “All right already. Damn, you’re a bunch of greedy
bitches. You only love me for my cheesecake.”

“You know I love you for more than that.” Fred wiggled her
tongue between the V she created with the two fingers in front of her mouth.
“And like Mia, I didn’t get any this morning.”

Arisa leaned over and laid a kiss on Fred’s lips. “Sorry,
honey. The shop had a thing. If I hadn’t gone to check on it, I would have had
to miss today. So which is worse—missing morning sex or missing this?”

Fred sniffed loud and shrugged in indifference. “Fuck it. I
can get morning sex any day of the week but Tuesday is the only time I can
watch you eat Naomie’s pussy.”

“That’s what I thought.” Arisa slid the covered tray in the
middle of the table over closer to Fred. “And pussy eating is later. Right now
is cheesecake. Voilà.” She pulled the top off.

Everyone did the requisite oohs and aahs at the bit-sized
cubes of cheesecake—all different flavors. It looked like thirty pieces, maybe
more. Every meeting had a different treat courtesy of Arisa. She had them on a
rotating schedule and Naomie loved cheesecake week the best.