Portmanteau: No Sleep Til Brooklyn

An adult stories – Portmanteau: No Sleep Til Brooklyn by WendyTrilby,WendyTrilby This is my fourth portmanteau story. In this torrid tale you will find three stand-alone erotic short stories, all loosely associated with each other.

My portmanteau stories are not a series but rather a style of writing. You can read them in any order. Within a portmanteau story, you’ll find three stand-alone stories woven together, leading to an unexpected ending.

If you came here for a story, we’ve got three good ones. If you came here for erotica, the sex in these stories goes to 11.

Each narrative does its best to world-build before getting intimate to give context to the passion. Trust me, if you’re looking for it to get hot, it will get scorching.

I’ve posted this series under erotic couplings because the category covers the overall gist of the three adventures. However, each story within the episode is unique and could sometimes be categorized as something else.

Whatever your “thing” is when it comes to erotica, the Portmanteau Series will undoubtedly cover it. It is my bold claim you will find the sex in my stories some of the most intense, I believe, in all of Literotica.

Please note this story features intense sex filled with kink, intensity, and vivid descriptions of the sounds and smells of sex. It feels real because most of it is. This is the third rail hot.

And just there are no surprises (because these stories are full of surprises) here are some tags:

anal, cheating, Jewish, tall, anilingus, cunnilingus, blow jobs, food play, kinky, swallowing, cream pie, snowball, mature, thick cock, queef, voyeur, mature, romantic, hairy pussy, armpits, underarms, fetish

PORTMANTEAU: NO SLEEP TIL BROOKLYN

Wild Thing: The daughter of a Brooklyn Mafia Godfather plays a risky game of seduction with her upstairs neighbor while her boyfriend sleeps off his bender two floors down.

Every Breath You Take: A tall fit woman seduces a young chef in his own Brooklyn apartment, tempting him with sex acts he’s only seen in porn. But who is she really, and what does she want?

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face: A devout middle-aged orthodox Jewish woman seeks refuge from her abusive husband in the arms of a far more experienced non-Jewish younger neighbor, unleashing passions and aspirations she never knew possible.

The elevator was out again—for the fourth time this month—so it would have to be the stairs again. When Sophia was younger, she always took the stairs. But now that she was pushing eighty-five, the elevator was a friend to lean on.

Holding two grocery bags, she looked up the stairs and began the climb to the top floor of the high stoop four-story Brooklyn walk-up brownstone at 143 North 6th Street, known as The Beacon.

The small apartment building had four floors, with one apartment on each floor. All the apartments had the same floor plan – two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom. Despite the building being old, the apartments were very nice, and the neighborhood was great.

On the first floor, she could hear the loudmouth girl and her motorhead boyfriend arguing. What a pair! It would be nice if they would move, she thought to herself.

At the second-floor landing, she noticed the apartment door was slightly ajar. Inside, she noticed Aharon but not his wife, Rella. She didn’t know the man well but knew he was unpleasant. When Aharon noticed Sophia passing by, he slammed the door shut. She felt terrible for Rella. She was quiet and pleasant, but her husband was another neighbor Sophia could do without.

Sophia heard footsteps coming down from the third floor in a hurry.

Anthony Albano, who lived on the third floor, flew down the stairs late, as always. The handsome but chaotic young man was always in a rush, but when he saw Sophia, he stopped.

“Mrs. Katz, please let me help you with those bags,” he insisted.

“You’re late, Anthony. I can see from your rushing around that you’re late. Leave me to my bags. I’m fine.”

“I am late. But the cannolis will have to wait until I get you home. How was the market today?”

“Crowded and rude, but they had some filet on sale, which is a treat. I’m making a Béarnaise sauce, and I thought I might-”

Anthony interrupted.

“Béarnaise sauce is so difficult. One mistake, and you’ve made scrambled eggs.”

As a chef at one of Brooklyn’s only Michelin Star restaurants, Anthony knew something about cooking.

He got her to the door of her top-floor apartment; she keyed open the door and walked to the kitchen, where he put the bags on the counter.

The old two-bedroom apartment was spacious, and Sophia was the only person living there. The walls, which were floor-to-ceiling wine shelves, made the apartment unique. Aside from a couch, a coffee table, and a TV set, the room was entirely covered in shelves full of wine.

The rich smell of wine permeated Anthony’s nose as he looked around. His ability to smell intricate details was handy as a chef, and he was always given tasks that required a smell test.

Inside Sophia’s apartment, the smell of wine, primarily reds, was pleasant but almost overpowering.

As a chef, he always marveled at her collection. She claimed to know very little about wine and attributed the collection to something her late husband, Rolf, had amassed over the years. It was to be their retirement funds.

Rolf died a few years before Anthony moved into the building.

Since meeting Sophia, Anthony had gone out of his way to look after the elderly woman, helping her when he could. She was the grandmother he never had. She saw him as the perfect gentleman and worried about him as a parent might. They were the perfect match.

She would often thank him for his efforts with a bottle of wine. However, when Anthony began to notice that the wine bottles she gifted were frequently worth more than $1,000, he could not accept them. Later that night, there would be a knock on the door; Anthony would open it, and that $1,000 bottle was waiting for him.

“Sophia, I can’t let you just pan-fry that filet. It would be a crime, and I don’t think you understand how hard a Béarnaise is. I’m home early tonight. Let me cook them for you, or better yet, let’s grill them on the roof.”

Anthony knew that’s what she wanted. She was lonely and liked the company for dinner, but she knew he could not turn down a cooking challenge.

“I’ll bring the wine,” she replied.

“Please, nothing worth a small fortune.”

“You can’t take it with you so please let me enjoy it with company.”

“Fine, you do the wine. I’ve got to run. I’ll see you this evening.”

Sophia smiled. Anthony was her guardian angel, and she cared for him like the child she never had.

As Anthony headed down the stairs, he laughed at himself. Once again, Sophia had tricked him into cooking her dinner, but the payoff would be an expensive bottle of wine and the company of the only genuinely kind person he knew in New York.

As Anthony passed the door to the first-floor apartment, he was startled by the sound of something hitting the door from the inside. Concerned, he paused, wondering what to do, but then he heard Rosalie, the apartment tenant, let out a long moan from the other side of the door, followed by rhythmic creaking.

Anthony quickly realized she was not in distress but quite the opposite. It wasn’t yet 10 AM, and she was getting fucked against the door, most likely by her big boyfriend, who always parked his car in the red zone in front of the building.

The door muffled Rosalie’s voice, but he could hear her barking commands at whoever was riding her. Anthony was tempted as any man might to stay and listen, but he was late and let himself out the front door to find Rella, his second-floor neighbor, sitting on the stoop.

Rella was an Orthodox Jewish wife in her early 40s. She was attractive but always dressed modestly and wore a head covering. She did little to complement her many beautiful features.

Although she was shy, she always brightened when she saw Anthony.

“Mrs. Rothenberg, good morning!”

“Anthony, hello. Please, call me Rella. You make me sound sold old with the Mrs. Rothenberg.”

“Of course.”

Rella was sitting on the stoop listening to Rosalie’s fuck session, which was audible through the partially open window and open curtains.

“I hope Rosalie doesn’t keep you and your husband up at night with her…her noises,” Anthony whispered.

“She can be loud, but I applaud her passion. But when she has daytime sex, I come out here to make sure any children don’t hear it. I sing songs from the Torah to drown her out.”

As if on cue, Rosalie shouted, “Oh fuck, baby, fuck it so hard.”

“I hope you can sing loud,” Anthony said with a smile as he walked away.

Two kids came by heading to the park, and Rella began singing Ana Bekoa’h loudly, which did its job. The children moved on rather than hear songs from the Sabbath on a Tuesday morning.

Across the street, a casually dressed man walked up the steps of 144 North 6th Street, holding two Starbucks cups. He glanced across the street at Rella singing her songs of the Talmud and watched Anthony walk away. The man entered his building called the Normandy Arms.

Surveillance duty in Brooklyn had perks. There were great restaurants nearby that had curbside service. The apartment the FBI had rented was nice, with parking in the back.

Two of the four apartments in the apartment building they were surveilling had attractive women living in the units who rarely bothered to lower their window shades. Since the FBI had tinkered with the old building’s heating system, all the residents tended to keep their windows open, which made watching them all the easier.

FBI Agent Marty Bowden entered the third-floor unit to find his partner, Barry Rooney, watching out the window with high-powered binoculars. Four video cameras on tripods focused on each floor’s front bedroom window.

“What did I miss?” Marty asked as he checked the to-go boxes to see which was his.

“The third floor guy is heading out to his job. On the fourth floor, she’s examinig checking some wine bottles.”

“Can you see the labels? Good stuff?”

“No, not with these binoculars. On the second floor, he’s hyped up again. He’s been on the phone for an hour, getting agitated. The wife is sitting on the stoop singing or shouting.”

“She’s singing; I just heard her as I walked in. Some Hebrew song. Ground floor?”

“Fucking again. Well, at the very least, she is fucking him.”

Marty came over and took the binoculars to get a view.

“It’s ten in the morning. Didn’t Sorvino say they fucked last night?”

“That girl wants it, and considering who her daddy is, if she wants it, she gets it,” Barry added.

“Is Mrs. Bin Laden still singing?”

“You know she’s Orthodox Jewish, right? You might want to get a better nickname for her,” Marty remarked.

“Everyone gets a nickname. Her husband looks like a terrorist, so she gets to be Mrs. Bin Laden.”

Marty shifted his view to Rella on the stoop, who continued to listen to Rosalie have sex and occasionally sing when people passed.

“I think that Jewish lady wears a wig,” Barry said in passing. “I saw her come out of her bathroom after a shower, and she had black hair, but now she’s a light brown with blond streaks. She has black pubes, so the carpet should match the drapes. Should I log that in?”

“I told you, she’s Orthodox Jewish. The women keep their heads covered. Lots of time, they wear wigs for that. Don’t write it in the log, or we’ll have to explain why we are watching her when she’s naked, and Sorvino will get pissed.”

“She doesn’t shave her armpits enough,” Barry added, “the way that building heats up with the radiators broken, she must stink.”

“She doesn’t shave her pussy either. I don’t see you complaining about that.” Marty replied.

“Refreshing these days with all that bald pussy running around, Barry said. “I miss pubic hair.”

Barry’s focus went to the first floor window, where the woman they had labeled the Italian Princess stood naked over a man sitting on the couch waiting. She gyrated, gently fingering herself as he watched in anticipation. She then bent her knees slightly, bringing her pussy into his face. The muscular man wrapped his arms around her ass, pulling her open slit to his mouth, and began to taste her while she kept her balance by holding his head.

“I think she’s doing that cream pie thing ’cause I swear he finished inside her,” Barry commented. “I guess it’s an early lunch for him. Oh, wait, Mrs. Bin Laden is heading inside. She was definitely out there listening to the Guido girl getting it.”

Marty laughed. He knew they were breaking protocol. If anything intimate happened during surveillance, the procedure was to view it from a distance. However, since no women were on the day shift, he and his partner took full advantage of their surveillance gig and made sure to watch for any nudity or sex.

“When Sorvino was sick last week, I took the night shift. It was a porn shit show. The first-floor girl, she was doing anal while sucking her own nipples. I’m sure of it. The guy on the third floor was banging a black chick, and the second-floor girl was using a candle in her pussy to jill off at the same time. Freakin’ triple feature. Sorvino’s so lucky to have the night shift.

“What about the old lady on four?”

“She drank a bottle of wine next to the open window and just listened to all the fucking going on below her.”

By now, the couple on the first floor finished the sexcapade. The young woman got up and headed to the bathroom as her muscular boyfriend stood in the window, not caring who might see him naked. His post-ejaculated cock remained thick, dripping a mixture of cum, saliva, and female fluids. He stood proudly, looking at nothing in particular, liking nothing more than to show off his cock in this state.

“I’m going to miss this assignment when it ends,” Marty added.

Anthony stood over a charcoal grill on the building’s roof as the sun was setting. Rooftops around the area were known as tar beaches and a nice escape from the city streets below. The views were excellent, and the breeze was cooling.

Mrs. Katz arrived.

“I can smell that from my apartment.”

“It’s such a nice night. Let’s eat al fresco,” Anthony said, gesturing to an old table and chairs left on the roof for years.

Thirty minutes later, Anthony and Mrs. Katz ate the filets while sharing a bottle of wine. Anthony took a sip and savored the incredible flavor. He studied the label.

“Domaine Comte de Vogüé Musigny. What will I find when I Google this?”

“Sells for about $3,000 a bottle,” she replied nonchalantly.

“Why are we drinking it?”

“Because before tonight, there were only six bottles left in existence. Now, there are five. I own all of them. Do you know what they are worth now that there are only five? About $6,000 a bottle.”

“So, you just made $15,000 by us drinking this bottle?”

“I did. And thanks for the help.”

“Are you going to tell me how you came to have such a valuable wine collection?”

“My late husband. He fancied himself a wine expert. Me, not so much. He was an artist, a sculptor. When he sold something, he purchased wine with the profits. But who cares about the wine? What do you want to do? Don’t tell me you like making pastries for that restaurant.”

“I came to New York to be a chef. I don’t mind the baking, and they treat me well at La Morra. But I hope to open a restaurant in Portland, Maine. I’ve only been there once, but I know the space and have a menu I know will work.”

“Then go to Portland.”

“I need the experience of working in New York, and I need to get backers to finance that dream.”

“A charming young man like you, you’ll get that money. I know it.”

Anthony and Mrs. Katz talked about his future way into the night.

Across the street, in the surveillance apartment, Agents Bowden and Rooney watched in boredom.

“Have the odd couple finished their dinner yet?”

“Just about. He’s helping her down the stairs. Hey, where is Sorvino? Our shift ended an hour ago.”

“I make it a rule not to question Sorvino. Ask your boss too many questions, and it never ends well.”

WILD THING

Friday was Anthony’s first night off in several weeks. All he wanted to do was watch the Yankees play the Red Sox. Cable TV in his Brooklyn apartment building was out, so he walked two blocks to the Piccolo Venezia, a nice bar and eatery on the corner. He took a stool at the bar, ordered an orecchiette with scungilli and neonata sauce and an IPA, and savored the food while watching the ball game. Sure, he was back in a restaurant. But this time, as a customer, not a chef, and all he had to do was savor the food, not prepare it.

The game was in the second inning, and he was on his second beer. The service was never fast at the Piccolo, but the wait was worth it.

Several mob-looking twenty-something guys came in and took up the rest of the bar seats. A meaty-looking guy had a seat next to Anthony, so he scooched over to give him space.

“Fat Tommy, get the fuck out of my seat,” a female voice said in a thick Brooklyn accent. Anthony turned to see his downstairs neighbor, Rosalie, pulling the big guy off the bar stool beside him. He readily complied and chose to stand. Rosalie turned to the big lug beside her and kissed him on the cheek.

“Sorry, I’m late baby. I had things.”

The big lug was her live-in boyfriend, Tommy Funiculi. He was huge and menacing and did not bother to return Rosalie’s affection.

She ordered a Bellini and then noticed Anthony.

“Hey, Anthony from the upstairs!” she said with a smile.

She didn’t know his last name and always called him Anthony from upstairs because he lived in the third-floor apartment of their four-story, four-apartment building. She grabbed Tommy by the arm.

“Tommy, look who it is. It’s Anthony from upstairs.”

Tommy politely smiled and lifted his beer, saying only “Saluda.”

Anthony awkwardly returned the gesture.

“So, Anthony from upstairs,” Rosalie started, “you got a date here with you? Don’t tell me you’re drinking alone.”

“I came here for the ballgame. Cable’s out.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Tommy pulled out the main box for the building. He’s got this thing where he thinks the FBI is following him. I assume you’re a Yankees fan.”

“Would you hate me if I said I was rooting for the Red Sox?”

“Actually, I might knife you. Fuckin’ Red Sox. What’s your problem?”

“I’m from Boston.”

“No shit. I love Boston. Tommy, you hear that? Anthony from the upstairs. He’s from Boston.”

“Albano,” Anthony added.

“He’s from Albano. It’s near Boston, I guess.”

“No. My name. Anthony Albano. So, you don’t have to call me Anthony from upstairs.”

“Italian boy. Nice. Where are your people from?”

“Palazzolo.”

“Sicilian. Madone. Let’s not mess with this one. A Sicilian. So, Anthony from Sicily, what do you do? What’s your job?”

“I’m a chef. Over at La Morra. I’m working on it anyway. Right now, they have me doing the pastries.

“I love La Morra. God, that white pizza. To die for. Oh, the desserts are good, too. Tommy, you hear that? Anthony from Sicily is a cook at La Morra.”

“Who’s Anthony from Sicily?” Tommy asked.

“Anthony from upstairs. Turns out he’s from Sicily.”

“Really? Off the boat?”

“No, my grandfather. I’m from Boston.”

“Oh, nice city, but the Red Sox can suck my dick.”

“That’s what I told him,” Rosalie added, “my big fat hairy Italian girl dick.”

Tommy turned back to his crew. Rosalie was one of those chatty girls who could rapid-fire questions, never waiting for your response before moving on. Within minutes, Anthony’s work history, dating history, and even the person from whom he got his first kiss were all on the table.

So, should I call you Rosalie from downstairs? You got a last name?” he asked.

“Rosalie Batrachia. I’m from here.”

“Batrachia. That’s quite the last name. What with the mob guy-”

“Vince Batrachia, he’s, my dad.”

Vince Batrachia went by many names, but the best-known name was The Godfather of Brooklyn.

Anthony gulped, realizing he was sitting next to a genuine mafia princess, and carefully thought of what to say next.

Fortunately, the Red Sox batter smashed a home run, and he stood up to cheer, then held it as Rosalie glared at him.

“Go ahead, you can cheer. That covers the spread, so it works well for pops. Hey Jerry, get me a tequila neat with a squeeze of lime and what every Mr. Go Fuck Yourself is having.”

“IPA,” Anthony replied. “Mr. Go Fuck Yourself?”

“Isn’t that what all you Boston guys like to say? Go fuck yourself?”

“Yeah, I guess we do. It’s kind of funny when you think about it. How do you fuck yourself?”

“I suppose if you had a real long dick, you could try to get it in your ass,” she replied.

“Now, that would be one long dick,” Anthony said with a laugh. “Is anal sex really considered fucking?”

“You ever been fucked in the ass. Anthony?” Rosalie asked with a matter-of-fact look.

Anthony shook his head no.

“Well, I have. Trust me, it counts as fucking. It should be called Fucking Plus because it’s even better.”

“Ok, then, I stand corrected,” Anthony said.

He was unsure how he got himself into an anal sex conversation with the real-life version of Tony Soprano’s daughter.

“Then we will assume a guy can go fuck himself,” Anthony concluded.

“I can lick my own tits,” she said with pride. “I’m talkin’ nipples here.”

Anthony gave Rosalie a good look. She knew exactly what he was doing, sizing up her breasts to see if there was any way she could get her mouth to her nipples. She had nice breasts, boosted up high, plenty of cleavage, but she didn’t seem large enough to get her nipples to her mouth.

“Don’t you say it. Don’t you say I can’t suck my own tits.”

“I was not thinking that.”

“Can you suck your own dick?” she asked with sincerity.

“I tried. Every guy has. Didn’t work.”

Anthony ran his hands through his hair. This was getting uncomfortable, and she was enjoying the hell out of it.

“Jeez, I gotta ease up on the IPAs; I can’t believe I just admitted that,” Anthony said with a blush.

“Well, if I were a guy and had a cock, I would fuck myself and everyone else I could,” Rosalie added while drinking her cocktail.

Anthony was enjoying the randy conversation but was also concerned about talking about such things with Rosalie’s goon of a boyfriend just a few feet away. But he was still engaged in a conversation, and the noise level of the now crowded restaurant kept any sounds of their conversation from drifting to prying ears.

Rosalie waved to the bartender and then pointed at her empty glass and Anthony’s empty beer glass.

“Hey, I’m gonna get a cannoli. I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist. You want to split it with me?”

“I make the cannolis at La Morra,” Anthony said.

“No shit. Are yours better than here?”

“Much better. The best in Brooklyn.”

The bartender placed two drinks in front of them.

“Wow, I’ve never gotten served that fast.”

“Because you’re not hot, like me. One cannoli, Tony. Two forks.”

Anthony took a good look at Rosalie. She was right about that. She is attractive, with an elegant neck and proportionately slim arms. Probably five-foot-six in height, she had firm hips that were augmented by a full round ass tapering to strong thighs all wrapped in skin-tight leather pants. She was neither thin nor thick, with soft edges that betrayed the fact that she had never worked out a day in her life. She had a Roman nose that she wanted fixed but never got around to doing so.

“You remind me of someone,” Anthony replied.

“Katria Kaif,” she responded.

“Who? I’ve never heard of her.”

“She’s like a famous Indian movie star. I can’t tell you how many Indian people have asked me for selfies. I used to explain that I wasn’t her, but now I don’t even try. I mean, do I look Indian?”

Anthony Googled Katria Kaif on his phone.

“Wow, she’s beautiful.”

“She is, she looks like me,”

“She does!”

“Ergo, you think I’m beautiful.”

Anthony tried to avoid complimenting another man’s girlfriend, especially when the guy was huge and stood ten feet from him.

“Wow looks like the place filled up,” he said, obviously changing the topic.

“Smart boy. He can’t hear you, but if he did, you could end up dead.”

Anthony’s face got serious. These were not the people he should be associating with.

The cannoli arrived and Rosalie started in on one end. Anthony tasted the other.

“Any good?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s good.

“Relax, he won’t kill you unless I tell him to,” she laughed. Anthony was unsure how true that statement was and how much hyperbole it was. This might be a suitable time to exit he thought.

“I got to hit the bathroom,” he said as he did a slight stagger away.

“You good? You need some help?” Rosalie asked.

“I think I can pee on my own,” Anthony replied as he wandered to the bathroom. His head was buzzing, and his feet felt like he was wearing clown shoes.

Rosalie watched him go, then turned to Tommy.

“Why you ignoring me all this time you jamook?”

“What? You were talkin’ to that guy. I was being polite.”

“I gotta pee.”

“Why tell me? You got dick I don’t know about needs holding?”

“You know what, Tommy? You’re a fuckin’ asshole.”

Tommy was about to take Rosalie’s statement and turn it back on her, but she stood up with an angry and severe look that caused him to rethink and back down. She was never to be questioned or crossed; and he knew that all too well.

“Yeah, that’s right, little big man,” she said as she wandered off.

The bathroom was single-seat type with a men/women icon on the door. Inside, Anthony closed his eyes as he took the longest piss in memory. He staggered left and right slightly from the strength of the IPAS.

Finishing up, he washed his hands and opened the door to see Rosalie waiting her turn.

“Oh, hey there-” Anthony said.

He never got a chance to finish his sentence as Rosalie pushed him back inside the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. Anthony found himself in a panic moment, unsure what was going on, but his cock seemed to know.

Not drunk enough to be able to blame the alcohol for their actions but certainly buzzed sufficient to let their urges guide their choices, Rosalie grabbed Anthony in a deep kiss, probing his mouth aggressively. Anthony picked her up in his arms, and she wrapped her legs around him. He then pinned her against the wall, pressing his rising erection against her body.

“You going to fuck me right here?” Rosalie asked.

She ground her crotch against his and returned to probing his mouth with her tongue.

Letting her slide to her feet, Rosalie leaned back on the wall, thrusting her pelvis as Anthony lifted her skirt, revealing her vagina and no panties. Her perfectly groomed pussy was trimmed back from the slit allowing her watering clit and labia lips to swell over her pubic hair and expose themselves to a potential mate. Anthony jammed two fingers inside her pussy, causing Rosalie to gasp and ride his fingers with pleasure.

A knock at the door told them this liaison had to end fast. She pushed away, taking Anthony’s fingers out of her pussy.

“Turn around. I gotta pee so bad.”

“I can leave,” Anthony replied.

But she had already lifted her skirt and sat on the toilet. She closed her eyes in ecstasy as she peed away the pressure on her full bladder. Anthony remained turned around as any gentleman might, letting this aggressive woman pee without staring at her. She finished, dried her pussy with toilet paper, and handed it to Anthony as she prepared to leave.

“I’m going back to the table and leaving,” Rosalie said, “you meet me down the street at the CVS.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Anthony. Anthony from upstairs. Look at me. Look at this woman in here with you. You get to fuck all this tonight.”

“But Tommy-”

“Never you mind about Tommy. You do as I say, and I’ll drain your balls three times before sunrise. Three times.”

She exited the bathroom. Anthony waited a few seconds and exited.

When he returned to the bar, Rosalie was standing to go as Anthony sat at his barstool.

“Tommy, I’m going home. I got a fuckin’ headache the size of New Jersey,” Rosalie said loudly.

“You need me to come with?” Tommy asked.

“No, you are the reason for this headache. Go out with your friends, do whatever the fuck it is you do. Hey, Anthony from the upstairs, one of these days, I want you to make me a cannoli.”

“Yeah, sure, any time.”

“You ever make a honey cannoli?” she asked.

“I don’t know that one. Sounds good.” Anthony said.

“I’ll get you the recipe,” Rosalie replied.

Tommy looked at Anthony.

“Hey, Anthony from upstairs, me and the boys are heading to the Center for the game. Why not come with? It’s a good time.”

“I don’t have a ticket,” Anthony said, trying to get out of going.

“This guy. We don’t need no tickets. We got a guy for that.”

“That sounds awesome,” Anthony replied, “but I have a date set for later. So, I’ll have to pass.”

“A date? Some nice piece of ass?” Tommy said. “The Jew girl from the second floor? Some big tittys on that one.”

“Rella? You do know she’s married.”

“That makes it better,” Tommy added. “Always bang chicks in a relationship. No strings.”

“So, Anthony from upstairs. This girl you’re going to see. She hot?” Rosalie asked.

Anthony’s face turned red, and his expression was subdued. One thing was certain: he did not enjoy being caught in Rosalie’s game.

“Mind your own business, Rosalie,” Tommy added. “So, is she looking to get tapped? You gonna slip her the peesche?”

“Oh, I don’t know her all that well,” Anthony said, growing more uncomfortable.

“Sorry about Tommy,” Rosalie offered, “he was raised wrong. You have a nice date with this girl. Treat her like a lady, not like this coglione.”

Anthony nodded with a smile.

“But you should fuck her,” she continued. “That is probably what she wants. Fuck her hard,” Rosalie said as she turned to leave.

“Yeah, sure, thanks. Hey, I’ll see you guys around the building.”

Anthony tried not to watch her leave but couldn’t take his eyes off Rosalie’s ass.

“Hey, you checking out my girl’s ass?” Tommy said.

“What? No. Come on, man,” Anthony replied.

I’m just fuckin’ with you. Nothing personal guy, but you are not her type.”

“Tell me about it. Hey, I got to bounce. Thanks for the invite. Maybe next time,” Anthony said as he gathered his things to leave.

Fifteen minutes later, Anthony found Rosalie standing outside the CVS. He looked around to make sure none of her acquaintances were in sight. She didn’t care who saw as she wrapped her arms around him.

“I need some gummi bears,” she said, then dashed into the store. Anthony followed, found the gummi bears, and brought them to the counter.

The checker began to scan the items when Rosalie put a jar of honey and a bottle of Astro Glide lube on the counter.

“He’s going to make me a honey cannoli,” she told the clerk.

The clerk gave Anthony a lascivious look.

“Know what? Scan the lube twice, We’re going to need a second bottle,” she added.

Anthony’s face turned red with embarrassment, but inside, his heart raced.

Rosalie walked out of the CVS, making sure to swish her ass for max effect. The cashier gave Anthony a thumbs up.

Anthony spotted Rosalie outside and went to join her.

“Well, that was embarrassing?”

“What was?”

Anthony turned to see Tommy next to Rosalie.

“What was embarrassing?” Tommy asked, wanting in on the joke.

“I went in to get some aspirin, and there was Anthony buying condoms for his fuckfest tonight.”

“I would hardly call that embarrassing. Guy has to be careful,” Tommy added. “The girl could be a skank.”

“She’s not a skank,” Rosalie said defensively. “You think Anthony would fuck a skank?”

The three walked from the CVS to their apartment building, a block away.

“I thought you were going to the game with the boys?” Rosalie asked as they approached their apartment building.

“Too wasted, I think I’ll just go take a snooze. Hey, Rosalie, what say you give me a hummer so I can sleep.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes as Tommy pointed to Anthony.

“What about you? I thought you were going out to get laid?”

“I’m not so sure now. She might be busy.”

“Hey, pro tip for you, bro to bro. If she’s hot, jerk one out before you go out with her so you don’t cum too fast.”

“What if she wants him to cum several times? Rosalie asked. “Why waste one on the bathroom floor?”

The door to the apartment building opened, and Sophia, the elderly woman from the top floor, emerged. She was wearing a fashionable dress and holding two bottles of wine.

Tommy ran ahead and held the door open for her. She smiled at him and Rosalie.

“Anthony, I have to go to Philadelphia for two days next week. Would take any packages in for me?”

“No problem. Glad to.”

Sophia gave Anthony a big hug, which got a sour-faced reaction from Rosalina.

“You are the best—simply the best. I would bake you cookies, but since I know you can outcook me, I’ll pay you with wine.

“It’s really no big deal.”

“Well, I insist.”

Rosalie had enough of the neighborly patter and put an end to it.

“Hey, Anthony from upstairs, I thought you needed to prepare for your date tonight.”

“Right, yes. Thanks for the reminder.”

“We think he’s going to get laid tonight,” Tommy said to Sophia.

“Well, good for you,” the elderly woman said with a smile as she walked off.

With Tommy ahead of her and Anthony behind her, Rosalie bent over to fix her shoe, making sure the back of her dress rose, giving Anthony a glimpse of her naked ass.

Tommy fumbled for the key to his place as Rosalie remained bent over, displaying her bare ass to Anthony. She stood up and licked his ear behind Tommy’s back.

Anthony quickly up the stairs and practically ran into Rella, the woman who lived with her husband on the second floor.

“Hey, I don’t want to hear any loud sex sounds later on,” Rosalie yelled up to him. “Tommy here needs a good night’s sleep.”

Anthony gave Rella an awkward smile.

“She’s just kidding. I have a friend who might drop by later…”

“I heard noises”, Rella said, I came out to see what is going on.”

“I’m sorry. We were at a bar and had a few too many. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Good night.”

“You as well.”

“Have fun with your friend,” Rella said as she watched him go upstairs.

Realizing the chances of Rosalie actually coming up to his apartment were now unlikely, he continued his climb.

“Yeah, well, it might not even happen.”

In their apartment Rosalie pushed the staggering Tommy onto the couch then got a bottle of tequila and poured two shots, putting one in front of Tommy.

“Shots, baby?”

“I don’t know. I’m kinda…”

She sat on Tommy’s lap and held the shot to his mouth.

“One more for Momma. Will you?”

Tommy reacted to the word momma. If his friends had ever seen his oedipal behavior, when he would nurse on Rosalie’s breasts and call her mommy, it might let them know he had some unresolved mother issues. Rosalie was using those urges to put this baby to bed.

Pulling off her top, her firm breasts bounced down nicely. Her tits were not large, and her areolas were small, but her nipples were thick, red, plump, and pronounced. She held her breast in her hand, placing the nipple just outside of Tommy’s mouth.

She then retreated, held a glass of tequila, dipped her nipple in the drink, then thrust her Patron-covered teat into Tommy’s mouth.

“There you go, baby. Drink from Mommy.”

Tommy fed on Rosalie’s breast like a child. After he sucked the tequila clean, she would withdraw her breast from his mouth, dip it back into the tequila and then return it to his mouth for continued suckling.

“There’s my big boy. There he is,” she whispered as he nursed on her, all the while getting more and more liquor into his system.

Tommy was getting drowsy yet continued to try to suckle Rosalie. Just when he looked like he might stop, he rallied and sucked harder then lost steam again.

“Hold on, baby, Momma has to pee. When I come back, I got a surprise.”

Rosalie went to the bathroom, pulled out her cell phone and texted Anthony: coming up soon for my honey butter cannoli.

She opened the medicine chest and pulled down a bottle of Ambien, which she crushed into a fine powder.

Scooping the powder into the medicine bottle cap, she returned to Tommy, who was half in the bag.

“Hey, baby. How about a little coke to get that big prick yours hard?”

With that, she lay on the couch and poured the ground-up Ambien into the depression of her belly button. Tommy climbed on top of her, sucking the last of the tequila off her nipples, then licked down her torso until he came close to her belly, where he placed his nose over her and snorted back a bump.

“You left some, baby. Lick Momma clean.”

Tommy used his tongue to lick her belly button until all the white powder was gone.

Sitting up, he wiped his nose.

“Where did you get this coke? It’s got no juice,” he said.

But then the room started to spin. Slow at first, then picking up speed. Rosalie squirmed from under his body and helped the dazed and confused Tommy down to the couch. The Ambien, having been introduced to his mucus membranes, was working extra fast,

She laid him on the couch, making him comfortable, even removing his shoes. Knowing he was in twilight and heading to darkness, he would never remember this moment.

“You sleep now. I’m going to go fuck Anthony from upstairs.”

Tommy smiled as he drifted into the darkness of medication and tequila. Rosalie went to the mirror, adjusted her top, froofed her hair, and put on a thick application of red lipstick and began to remove her clothing.

Anthony had spent the last hour wondering if the liaison would happen. He opened the lube and decided to jerk off, then call it a night.

He began stroking himself gently, picturing Rosalie naked and sprawled out on the bed. He began to stroke faster when he got the text: coming up soon for my honey butter cannoli.

Anthony froze. Quickly putting the cap back on the lube, he ran to the bathroom and washed up, then ran around the apartment cleaning. He had just finished when he heard a knock at the door.

Anthony opened the door to see Rosalie standing in the hallway wearing only a skin-tight, wide mesh body stocking that hid nothing and black high heels. Panicked, Anthony grabbed her hand, pulled her inside, then looked around to see if any other tenants saw her, finally closing the door.

“Jesus Christ, you walked up here like that?”

“I did. And don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“What if someone saw you?”

“Who? The Jew lady? Her creepy husband? Who cares.”

Anthony opened the door, looked around again, then closed it and turned to find Rosalie behind him. She pressed herself against his body.

“What about Tommy?”

“He’s out for the night. I mean out out.”

“What if he wakes up?”

“And he finds you fucking me? He’ll kill you. But if you want me to leave…”

Rosalie adjusted the wide mesh body stocking, making sure her thick nipple protruded through the wide mesh. She then moved her body against his, twisting up and down as she kissed his ear and neck.

Writhing like a harem dancer, she gently turned away and let her ample ass move up and down his crotch. Beneath his jeans, Anthony’s cock was pulsing, begging for freedom.

Rosalie bent forward slightly to let Anthony get a better look at the curve of her ass. He stroked her skin over the mesh, but she wanted direct contact.

Reaching behind herself, she placed her hands on the wide mesh fabric covering her ass, grasped the mesh with each hand, and pulled. The thin fabric tore open along the back rise seam, revealing her naked ass and cheeks.

Anthony watched the reveal using his right hand to stroke her ass. With a smile, Rosalie straightened up and turned her body to Anthony’s. Moving in close, she began rubbing his cock over his pants.

Their breathing was heavy as their lips met, and their tongues explored each other’s mouths.

She was taking her time massaging his cock over his pants. He wanted nothing more than to pull his pants so she could work his cock. But before she did that, he knew he had to explain his cock to her.

“Before we go further, you need to know something about my penis.”

Rosalie stopped and looked at him oddly.

“I can feel a dick under your jeans, what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it.”

“It’s not small; I can feel that much.”

“No, not small. It’s thick. Very thick.”

I’ve had big dicks before, Rosalie said with confidence.

“I said thick. It’s very thick. Some women can’t accommodate the thickness. I’m just saying that so you can say no. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“Hey, Anthony with the thick cock, Molly Fitzgibbons put her whole fist in my pussy on my 20th birthday down in Cabo. I can take a thick cock. Now, let me see what I’m working with.”

Anthony sighed as Rosalie dropped to her knees so her face was at his crotch. She unbuttoned his jeans and peeled them back to reveal his boxer briefs, trying to contain his thick cock.

Pulling his underwear down, Anthony’s cock sprang free, almost hitting her in the face. As he described, his cock was thick around. Its length was a nice six inches, but his girth was impressive.

“Oh, my God. It looks like a can of beer,” Rosalie exclaimed.

Embarrassed, Anthony attempted to pull his underwear up and cover himself.

“Stop it. I want to inspect this thing. When I buy a new car, I kick the tires.”

Rosalie ran her hand up and down Anthony’s shaft, stopping to grip it. She was unable to get her fingers all around it.

“It’s like a can of Red Bull,” she said quietly out loud, still in awe.

“Between a Red Bull and a beer can,” Anthony added. “I’ve measured.”

“Well, this bad boy is definitely going to give me wings.”

Rosalie began moving her hand up and down the thick shaft, studying each pulsing vein. She opened her mouth and took in the fat mushroom cap, then swirled her tongue around the neck of his glans, tasting it.

She was confident she could handle it but wondered how much it would stretch her, but she knew the pain would be pleasurable.

“There’s more,” Anthony added.

“Christ, what?”

“If we fuck, then my cock will make your pussy make a lot of noise. You know-”

“Queefs? Your cock is going to make my pussy fart?”

Anthony nodded his head yes.

“My thickness traps the air. I just wanted to get this on the table so you don’t get embarrassed when it happens.”

“Anthony, with the fart-inducing cock, I’ve pissed myself during an orgasm. I can handle a little escaping air. Anything else you want to share?”

“No, that’s about it.”

“Good because now that I’ve kicked the tires, I want to take this thick beast for a ride.”

Putting her hands on his thighs, she moved her mouth over his cock sucking and teasing the thick mushroom cap down to where his pink foreskin transitioned to the darker skin of his cock. Her mouth accepted the beer can thick cock causing her to gag only slightly.

Anthony closed his eyes, amazed at her oral sex skills. Rosalie’s mouth ached slightly but quickly accommodated as she began to alternate from fast bobs to a slow slide; she never took her eyes off Anthony’s face. Each time she took him deep, she would gag slightly but never stop. She transitioned to just sucking his thick cap while using two hands to massage his shaft, with each hand turning in opposite directions creating a sexual friction he had never experienced. She pulled her mouth off.

“Don’t you cum yet. Not yet.”

Anthony wanted to cum now more than ever. To stave off a massive ejaculation, he moved away and sat on the floor, resting his head against the couch. His thought process was to have Rosalie sit on his cock cowgirl style, and he gestured to his pulsing thickness.

Rosalie approached him with a smile.

“I’m not fucking you…not yet anyway.”

Again, grasping her torn, wide mesh body stocking, she tore the inseam, turning the sexy outfit crotchless and giving Anthony a perfect view of her pussy.

She had thick thighs. Her pubic hair was trimmed over her slit, and her pussy lips were the plumpest he had ever seen, rising from her midsection like a volcano.

Due to her heightened excitement, her pussy lips were swollen shut, but even so, the tip of her clit protruded. Anthony couldn’t wait for her to lower that plump target on his cock…but she didn’t.

Instead, she crawled over him, planting her knees on the couch; she hovered overhead and ran a finger down her wet sealed pussy, allowing it to open. Her thick secretions gently dripped down from her snatch, landing on Anthony’s face. His vision was fixated on her wet vagina and pulsing asshole hovering over his face and closing in. Rosalie smiled as she felt the cool of his mouth meet the heat of her pussy.

Slowly she began to slide herself back and forth, gently fucking Anthony’s face. Anthony’s tongue went to work parting those thick lips and feeling the warmth of her inner flesh.

Her right leg, which supported half her weight, immediately began quivering from the licks and probing. Anthony subdued her squirming by holding her thighs with his arms as he fed on her warm pink opening. She bucked back and forth, causing her anus to open and close as if it were gasping for air.

Anthony marveled at Rosalie’s flavor as her soaked quim flooded his mouth. She was clean and natural; his educated pallet could taste black mission figs, savory but with a slightly earthy flavor. He had always wondered why cooking with figs gave him an erection, but with his tongue deep inside this sexual goddess, he now knew why.

Rosalie was enjoying riding his face, making sure his tongue tasted every inch of her wet garden. She increased her movement so he could lick beyond her vagina and along the length of her perineum, dangerously close to her dark entry. Anthony’s tongue followed the line of her raphe and ended with her now gaping anus.

Her sweating thighs blocked his sight. Anthony’s tongue was his guide, and her flavors of fresh figs changed to the taste of dark coffee, cardamon, and pepper.

Savoring the combination of her pussy and ass, he tried to imagine a dessert he might concoct with these flavors. He could call it the Rosalie. Anyone who had experienced oral sex on a young woman would line up to taste this on the daily.

Rosalie sat up slightly so her pussy would grind harder into Anthony’s face. He secured her pronounced clit between his lips, sucking at it like an oyster. Her teeth were clenched. Her bladder was full, and she felt about to burst, but an orgasm was rising in her extremities and heading toward her core.

Motivated by her rising body heat and breathing, Anthony began to stroke his cock with one hand while holding her thigh, keeping her pussy in his face.

“I gotta pee,” she said in pain.

Anthony relaxed his grip but kept masturbating himself,

“Don’t stop,” she begged, I want to cum for-”

She could not finish her sentence as waves of pleasure from the arriving orgasm and waves of pain from her distending bladder fought for dominance.

Anthony continued his attack, fully aware she might let her bladder loose on his face. She ground down on his face, now using his nose. Her legs buckled, and her right calf cramped, adding even more pain.

She felt something coming. Pee or orgasm, she was unsure what her body was going to do first, and she hopped off Anthony’s face, running to the bathroom a few feet away.

Her pee was coming as she crossed the threshold to the bathroom. Still on her feet, a trickle began, but she held it back, causing her to stumble and nearly fall. Anthony’s two strong hands grabbed her and sat her on the toilet.

Rosalie’s eyes were closed as she began to urinate with the force of a fire truck. A few seconds later, it was like a train impacted the firetruck, and her orgasm hit.

In a state of delirium, she felt the pleasure of emptying her beyond-full bladder and experiencing an orgasm so intense she thought she might black out.

Opening her eyes, she saw Anthony standing before her while she sat on the toilet. He was still masturbating his beer can thick cock as he enjoyed watching her orgasmic writhing.

Rosalie opened her mouth wide and gave Anthony a nod while still rolling in her orgasm. He gently approached, sliding his cock into the wet warmth of her mouth. Still debilitated by her orgasm, Rosalie looked up at Anthony as he closed his eyes. She knew what was coming and relaxed her mouth to receive his load.

The last of her orgasm had passed, and she was able to focus. Sliding his cock deep into her mouth, Anthony felt her tongue pressing on the underside of his shaft. He erupted in her mouth, sending pulses of his hot fluid to the back of her throat. Emitting a loud groan of pleasure, Anthony felt her mouth filling with his cum and saw rivulets of his semen escape down from the corners of her lips.

Rosalie began to swallow the load, finally letting Anthony’s semi-hard cock free from her mouth. Cleaning the shaft, she was determined to make it shine.

Anthony staggered to the side of the tub and sat down exhausted. The two looked at each other, sweating and still numb from their matching orgasms.

“I’m so fucking hungry right now. I need you to make me pancakes,” Rosalie said.

She wiped the last vestiges of urine off her muff and then stood. Anthony staggered to his feet, and the two kissed deeply.

He could taste remnants of his semen on her tongue. It was warm and salty with a hint of metal.

“Pancakes, now,” Rosalie said, walking out of the bathroom, shedding her torn, tattered net body suit. Anthony obediently followed.

Twenty minutes later, Rosalie sat at the kitchen table as Anthony delivered a stack of lemon ricotta pancakes.

“Jesus Christ, you really are a great fucking cook,” Rosalie declared as she downed her pancakes.

“Hey, what about the Lord’s name and all?”

“Anthony, I just gave you a blow job as I orgasmed from your licking my pussy. On a toilet seat, no less. Do you think Jesus was there to see that? I don’t think so. The lord is not here right now.”

Anthony stabbed at his food. His appetite was waning as the post-sex clarity that he had just had sex with a mobster’s daughter while her mobster boyfriend was unconscious in the apartment downstairs.

“That. That was a lot of fun. Maybe we don’t tell anyone. I mean, keep it between us,” he asked meekly.

“No, I tell my dad everything at Sunday dinner.”

Anthony went pale.

“Relax, Anthony from upstairs. As far as anyone would ever know, the only reason I would come up here is for cooking lessons from a fucking great chef. I’m going to need this pancake recipe.”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

Anthony smiled and found his appetite returning. Rosalie had as much to lose by being with him as he had been with her. Well, not exactly. He would end up dead; she would get a lecture from her father.

“That bathroom thing.” Anthony started, “I don’t know what happened there. Have you ever…”

“Peed during an orgasm and a blow job? No. I may have fucked in a bathroom before, but that was new,” Rosalie said between bites of pancake.

Anthony smiled and ate a few more bites.

“That might have been the best orgasm of my life,” she added.

Anthony was certain it was for him.

“Makes me wonder if we could do better?” she said, licking syrup off her fingers.

“Well, it was kind of a happy accident, so perhaps we could try again. Take a little more time. Maybe?”

Anthony’s cock stiffened as the conversation drifted toward sex.

Rosalie started playing with her food, using her fork to draw lazy circles in the syrup.

“Breakfast was great. Now it’s my turn. I’m going to make you that honey butter cannoli.”

What kind of crust are you thinking?” Anthony asked. “I’ve got a great recipe. It’s all about the shortening and cold water.”

Anthony walked over to the kitchen shelf stacked with cookbooks and notes.

Rosalie picked up a honey bear, walked to the refrigerator, and bent over, suggestively looking for something.

“Found it!”

She turned to Anthony, holding a stick of butter, and threw it to him. Anthony caught it one-handed.

“Butter, yeah,” Anthony commented. “Makes for a flakey dough. What else?”

Rosalie then flicked open the top of the honey bear, put a dollop of honey on her fingertip, then put her finger in her mouth, and suggestively sucked off the sweetness.

Anthony began to suspect this was not going to be a traditional cannoli.

She put another dollop of honey on her finger, brought it over to Anthony, and slowly put it in his mouth. Anthony gently sucked the sweet thickness from her finger. She brought her finger out of his mouth and into her mouth, then planted her mouth on his; they exchanged the lingering sweetness of the honey.

Both naked, it was impossible to hide their heightening state of excitement as her nipples went hard, as did his penis.

Breaking away, Rosalie walked to the doorway and paused. With her ass facing Anthony, she took the honey bear and poured a thick dollop of honey on the small of her back, just above the spot where her thick ass cheeks began. The honey slowly dribbled along the curve of her ass into the dark crevasse between her cheeks. She bent forward, allowing her ass to flare so Anthony could marvel at the honey as it reached her puckernut, where it filled in the wrinkles of her knot and then continued down. She stood there until the honey flowed across her perineum, then began a painfully long drip from her body to the floor.

She then left the room, leaving a wandering trail of honey as a path Anthony should follow.

“Bring the butter,” she said from the bedroom.

Anthony followed her honey trail down the hallway and into his bedroom, where he found Rosalie perched all fours, facing away from him. Her honey-coated ass was up, and she leaned downward and supported her body weight on her arms.

Knowing Anthony was approaching, she widened her stance, and her asshole flared slightly, opening enough to see the dark passage within.

Anthony approached from behind, bringing his face to Rosalie’s ass and his tongue directly into her earthy darkness. She reacted with a slight flinch as his tongue pushed into her hole. Anthony could taste the honey mixed with her natural earth tobacco flavors and warm spices. The combination of them was intoxicating, and he spread her ass cheeks wider so he could taste her deeper. Rosalie’s pussy was watering and combining with honey and saliva. The thickened fluids dribbled down, staining the bedspread.

“Lick it deeper. I need your tongue deep in me. I need-”

Rosalie froze in pleasure for a beat, then rocked back and forth as Anthony continued to eat her ass. His tongue seemed to contact each of the millions of nerve endings around her sphincter, causing her to shudder.

Anthony rose from Rosalie’s ass as she sat up and began to lick his face, enjoying the mixture of her essence and the honey.

“Time to start baking,” she said with a devious smile and turned to pick up the long stick of butter. She handed Anthony the butter and smiled at the the confusion on his face.

She lay on her back, her legs opened and pulled back, exposing her perfectly hairless puckered hole.

“You like anal?” she asked.

Anthony nodded yes. He hadn’t done anal more than a few times, but the feeling of that tight canal compressing his thick cock was something he would never forget.

“Everything’s better with butter,” she whispered, handing Anthony the firm stick. Guiding his hand to her ass, she helped him trace a circle with the cold butter around her tight opening. The warmth of her body immediately began to soften and slightly melt the butter as it contacted her flesh.

She guided Anthony’s hand to the center of her ass then waited.

Realizing what she wanted, Anthony pressed the butter against Rosalie’s ass. The butter was firm but still too soft to open the tight muscle. Rosalie guided the stick of butter about three inches into her pussy, then pulled it out. Her body heat melted the shaped end into a blunt tip.

Anthony moved the rounded end back to her ass as Rosalie massaged her clit. Her sphincter began to pucker as she flicked her clit like a light switch. Anthony applied pressure, and the stick of butter started to slide in. Almost immediately, the right angles of the butter stick smoothed out as curls of soft butter peeled off, shaping the butter into a cock shape as it slid inside her.

The capillary action of her rectum muscles seized the butter. Rosalie’s outer sphincter closed and drew the stick inward. The stick of butter disappeared into her ass, and her sphincter closed right after it swallowed the end of the stick. Rosalie moaned as the butter stick inside her extended the walls of her rectum, and her body heat began to turn solid to liquid. A stream of yellow liquid butter seeped out of her ass and onto the bedspread staining it forever. She kept her eyes on Anthony, nodding at him.

“The recipe calls for more honey.”

Anthony picked up the honey bear and drizzled honey on his thick cock.

Rosalie pushed her ass open, and several spurts of melted butter gushed out along with dollops of softened but not melted butter, soaking the comforter even more.

The blunt end of the butter inside her poked out of its puckered gopher hole wanting to get out, but it was then retracted by her sphincter just as the tip emerged, keeping it trapped. Thick curds of butter escaped dripping down her ass.

Anthony stroked his honey-saturated cock. The honey was almost the opposite of a lubricant, so stroking it was difficult. He took the nipple tip of the honey bear, placed it into her ass, and squeezed it. The sweet honey mixed with the greasy melting butter and slightly changed its consistency from a very thin oil to something thicker and more luxurious.

“You need to mix it for at least five minutes,” Rosalie beckoned.

Anthony pressed his wide cock against her hind hole and felt her sphincter start to open again. A gentle push and his thick mushroom tip became coated with exiting melted butter, allowing it to slide inside her with ease.

The honey butter combo was the perfect lubricant and he found her rectum smooth and tight. He felt his cock greeted by the melting stick of butter. Rosalie moaned in pain and pleasure.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re not kidding me; that cock is thick,” she said, catching her breath from being widened by the introduction of his penis to her anus.

“Cream it,” she demanded.

As any good chef might do, Anthony pushed aggressively and he felt the butter turn soft, from solid to a thick silky cream that covered his cock from tip to hilt.

Thick ropes of honeyed butter escaped her ass despite an almost airtight seal from his cock.

He pushed inward, then gently pulled out. Rosalie moaned again

“More,” she begged.

He increased his cadence, getting faster with his pushing and pulling. Her ass responded with wet slurping sounds.

Hot melted butter surrounded the tip of his cock with several golden rivulets trickling onto the comforter. The amount of liquid butter and honey dripping from his cock and her ass tempted Anthony, and he withdrew completely.

His cock glistened with the golden liquids, and thick, soft chunks of semi-solid butter exited her ass like a golden cream pie.

Rosalie sat up and took Anthony’s cock in her mouth, anxious to taste the combination of savory and sweet. Churned butter and honey covered her face as she expertly sucked on the cock, taking care to use her tongue to excite the tip.

As much as Anthony loved the sensation, he was anxious to taste Rosalie’s creation and took his cock out of her mouth. Rosalie greedily chased the butter sauce to his balls, taking them one at a time in her mouth.

Anthony stood and masturbated himself as Rosalie turned over on all fours and flared her ass. Stopping mid-stroke, he bought his mouth to her ass. The liquified butter and honey that slathered her ass covered his face. His tongue darted into her slippery hole, probing deep inside. The sweetness of the honey and butter filled his mouth, but her natural essences of dark cherry and cinnamon remained evident.

Rosalie pushed outward from within, causing a river of butter to flow out her opening and down across her pussy.

“Mmmm, it’s cooking. It just needs one more ingredient.”

Anthony came up for air, using his hand to wipe his face clean. With Rosalie’s ass at his waist height, he grabbed his cock and drove deep in her ass again. The sweet lube creation was like silk as his cock push as far as it could, filling her instantly. More liquid butter spurted out.

Rosalie’s eyes went wide, not expecting such a fast and deep penetration. An initial element of pain quickly subsided and was replaced by pleasure. After catching her breath, she began to do pelvic floor Kegels, causing her canal muscles to ripple, milking Anthony’s cock from within.

“I feel it coming.”

Anthony began pounding harder. Usually, he was gently doing anal, but he had never been in an ass so well lubricated, and if her orgasm was coming, he wanted it to be a mutual event.

Their body temperatures rose together as sweat formed on their skin. Sloppy noises caused by air escaping from her were drowned out by Anthony’s groans and Rosalie’s moans. Sure, Tommy was two floors below, but if he were conscious, he would have heard this from the street.

Rosalie felt an electricity in her fingertips, and she grasped the soiled bedspread. That electricity began to cover her body.

Anthony’s orgasm started with his breath shortening and a stirring in his thighs, then finally racing toward his cock.

“I’m going to-, I’m going to-,” Anthony could not get out the words.

“Cum!” Rosalie screamed. “I’m cumming. Fuck, I’m cumming so hard…”

Anthony stopped pounding, his body shuddered, then his cock blasted his second load of the night deep into Rosalie’s ass. Despite having a cock, honey, and a stick of butter melting in her ass, Rosalie buckled as Anthony’s ejaculation spitting deep inside and filled her with warmth. Rivulets of semen mixed with butter and honey escaped from her ass, creating a sweat-sweet truffle butter pool on the comforter.

The two slowly moved to a halt. Anthony’s cock was still thick enough to remain inside Rosalie’s ass, and he gently removed it. A thick combination of semen frothed with butter dripped out, adding more of a mess to the bed. Trapped air pushed out along with gurgling bubbles that popped, spraying cum and butter about.

Anthony slumped on Rosalie, who dropped onto the massive wet spot on the bed.

“Your sheets are ruined.”

“They were from Wal-Mart.”

Anthony moved to the dry side of the bed, and Rosalie rolled over to snuggle next to him.

She looked him in the eyes and gently kissed him, leaving a trace of butter on his lips.

“I like you, Anthony with the thick cock.”

“Thanks. I like you too, Rosalie, with the great ass.”

Rosalie smiled.

“You will never fuck a better ass for the rest of your life.”

“I can believe it,” Anthony said.

In the apartment directly below Anthony’s, Rella, his neighbor, lay in bed alone. She was drenched in perspiration, and she gently massaged her pussy, having masturbated furiously to the sounds of Anthony and Rosalie having sex. She licked her wet fingers and drifted off to sleep.

Anthony must have drifted to sleep because he woke to find his face stuck to his bedsheets. The mixture of butter, honey, and human secretions did not make for a great sleeping environment.

He looked down at Rosalie, who slept on her side in a puddle of cum and butter, with more of both still leaking from her ass.

He gently woke her. For a moment, Rosalie was lost, unsure of her surroundings, but then she saw Anthony and looked at the mess she had been lying in.

“Let’s get showers, and I’ll change the sheets,”

Rosalie agreed and staggered to the bathroom, first sitting on the toilet to pee and push the rest of the honey butter cream pie from her ass.

Anthony marveled at her. He had never been with a woman so wild and had never tried any kind of kinky food play. She had brought out so many erotic feelings in him. His cock stirred as he watched her wipe the last of the butter pie from her ass and step into the shower.

The sheets were clean when Rosalie got out of the shower and dried off. Anthony washed off the sticky honey and greasy butter, then returned to the bedroom where she sat nake on the clean sheets.

“You enjoy yourself?” Rosalie asked.

“Do you have to ask? I don’t think I’ve cum that much ever.”

“Think you can cum again?”

“You want to go again?” Anthony asked, unsure.

“Every time I fuck, it’s always crazy fucking. My shrink says it’s my coping mechanism. Anyway, sometimes I just want to go slow. Do it right.”

“Make love, not fucking?” Anthony asked.

“Yeah, that. Just hold me, enter me, make me feel loved,”

“I can do that,” Anthony offered. Rosalie turned to face him as Anthony gently put his hand around her head and pulled her in for a gentle, long kiss.

Their gentle kiss became more intense as their tongues explored the warmth of each other’s mouths. Anthony pulled Rosalie against his body. He stroked her smooth skin as her pronounced nipples poked into his chest.

Laying on her back, Rosalie opened her legs and pulled Anthony atop her. Her black hair was spread out on the pillows like a spiderweb as Anthony grasped his cock and pushed it against her clean labia. A trickle of her moisture wet her opening and allowed Anthony’s cock to widen the entrance and pave the way for his girth.

Rosalie nodded. She knew he was going slow, but she wanted him inside her and closed her eyes.

Anthony plowed through the opening, feeling the elastic walls of her vagina distending as his cock pushed them outward in all directions.

“Oh, God, I’ll never get used to that thickness,” she loudly whispered.

Anthony’s penis slid into the hilt, resting there. He gently pulled out slightly to begin his tender cadence. Rosalie’s elastic pussy lips gripped his cock, refusing to break their suction. Despite him withdrawing halfway, her pussy grip held tight, stretching with each pull and retracting with each push.

As Anthony gently rode her, Rosalie found his left ear and explored it with her tongue, biting his earlobes gently. The sensation was overwhelming, and he could feel his cock expand.

Rosalie felt it, too, and responded with an unladylike grunt as he widened inside her. Despite his thickness, this was the gentle lovemaking she wanted, and she enjoyed each in-and-out thrust as Anthony rode her like a lover.

Rosalie groaned with pleasure, then pushed Anthony gently, signaling a position change. Anthony withdrew his cock, and Rosalie’s pussy let out a gentle pfffft noise from the escaping air.

Pushing him to his back, she straddled Anthony placing his turgid cock between her legs cowboy style, and then lowered her body, impaling herself with his thickness.

“Oh, this fuckin’ cock. Feels like you’re ripping me in two.”

Licking her fingers, she massaged her nipples as she sank on his penis, her vagina widening as it accepted Anthony’s erection. Anthony watched as she smiled, leaned forward, turned her soft left breast upward, and managed to get her mouth around her nipple just as she said she would.

Leaning forward slightly, the tight seal her elastic pussy lips created around Anthony’s cock opened, and air escaped from her pussy with a loud frrappp.

“Jesus, was that me?” she asked.

“I warned you about the sounds.”

“Christ on a stick, I just want to have soft, gentle sex and-”

Rosalie’s belching pussy interrupted her statement with a loud slurping frapppp noise. Almost immediately, she felt his cock thicken inside herself. His involuntary response to the sounds her vagina was making in response to his penis gave her a rush of excitement.

Rosalie said nothing and leaned forward to enjoy the ride when her pussy belched out another queef. Again, she felt Anthony’s cock react.

“Holy shit, you like it when my pussy farts, don’t you?”

The fact is, Anthony did. Usually, when his fat dick met a tight wet pussy, and the rhythm was right, the sound of a woman’s queefs was as much an aphrodisiac as her moans.

Rosalie moved her body as she rode Anthony looking for the exact position that would make her pussy talk. And then she found it. Leaning forward a few degrees and…

Frrrapttt.

Each time she rose, the air in her pussy escaped. Realizing she controlled the sound, not him, she began to play with each rise and fall. More noise, and she saw the enjoyment in his eyes.

“So that’s your kink, you nasty boy. All right. Okay. I wanted smooth, soft, and gentle, but if making my pussy fart gets you off. I’m down for that.”

Anthony’s face turned red. This woman was relentless and a hell of a good detective.

With that, Rosalie increased her cadence on Anthony’s cock, playing her pussy like an instrument. The sounds were loud and getting louder.

Pausing her ride, she looked down on Anthony with a smile.

“So, what position makes the most noise?”

“Doggy style,” Anthony replied.

“Ok, Anthony, who likes queefs, fuck me like a Labrador retriever,”

With that, Rosalie lifted herself off Anthony’s cock, releasing a loud queef of air that made her giggle.

Crawling over him, she positioned herself on all fours.

“You want to put your head down on the bed. No arms. Ass up, face down.” Anthony instructed.

Rosalie smiled as she positioned herself for rear entry into her wet pussy.

“I’m doing this for you, Anthony.”

Anthony was unsure how to respond. Should he say thank you? That seemed odd.

“You could say thank you,” she continued.

There was the answer.

“Thank you. I’ll try to make this good for both of us.”

“You better.”

Rosalie smiled as she reached beneath herself and parted her pussy with her fingers.

Anthony moved in on his knees, stroked his cock a few times, then used a free hand to open her pussy wide. Her pink hole was undulating wildly, looking for something to penetrate it. Anthony waited as her vagina flexed, and then he jammed his cock in fast, trapping air and catching Rosalie by surprise.

“Holy shit!” she screamed from being penetrated so fast and hard.

Ever the pro at fucking, she let her pussy latch on to Anthony’s cock and began to roll with his pounding rhythm.

The fact is, she loved doggy style, so this was a win for her.

Anthony did the driving by pounding against her, causing the soft flesh of her large, shapely tush to roll forward and back in waves.

At first, the only sound was the flap flap flap sound of his thighs on her ass, but then a quick crrrrrack noise from her pussy, and he knew it was on.

Looking down, Anthony noticed her moisture had turned viscous and creamy from his pounding. Right on schedule.

Anthony pushed deep then out and Rosalie’s pussy let a wet fraaapp.

Anthony’s cock drove in again.

Rosalie’s pussy responded with a long loud thrrrrrrppp followed by an involuntary groan of pleasure.

Each time he pushed into her, Rosalie’s pussy replied with a loud wet report, followed by Rosalie’s groan of pleasure.

Anthony smiled, knowing she enjoyed this odd sensation as much as he was.

Rosalie was not surprised how much she loved getting Anthony’s cock from behind, but the rush of air, the noise, and Anthony’s reaction were swelling her clit with excitement. This was new, this was weird, and she loved it.

Putting her hand back on Anthony’s thigh, she stopped his fucking action.

“I want to be in charge.”

With that, she took over. Instead of him thrusting into her, she rocked her ass back and forth on his rigid pole, controlling the cadence and manipulating the sound.

Anthony closed his eyes as she sank back on his cock, bringing him ever so close to cumming.

Rosalie had found his kink and, like the sex beast she was, she was about to perfect it.

Then, without notice, Anthony’s cock exploded in an orgasm. Usually, he felt it coming, but he was so lost in the sounds and the excitement he did not read his only body’s signals.

Rosalie smiled as she rocked her ass back and forth while her pussy milked Anthony’s cock. The gueefs quieted, but the wet sounds of fucking got louder. Anthony held her ass with his hands, and continued to dump cum deep in her pussy.

Realizing she had yet to cum, and never wanting to leave a woman unsatisfied, he resumed control driving his still hard cum covered cock into her pussy. Pulling free of her slit, her pussy expelled cum with a loud pbbbttt sputtering noise, and he went back in. The addition of aerated cum, fresh air, and pounding caused her pussy to create a symphony of sound, and now Rosalie was close to cumming.

“Harder…faster,” she demanded.

Anthony complied, and after six more thrusts and pulls, each accompanied by loud sounds, Rosalie was stiff from her third orgasm of the night. Her face tightened, and one might think she was in pain, but it was the opposite.

Anthony pulled out where he usually would stay in, knowing he could create one last loud sound. A loud braacck sounded from Rosalie’s pussy as a stream of cum both clear and iridescent, cascaded to the sheets.

Rosalie was still roiling in the afterglow of her orgasm as she dropped flat, face down, on the bed. Her pussy landed in the wettest of wet spots.

“Goddam, Anthony. What the fuck was that…”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were enjoining yourself. I didn’t…”

“Quit apologizing. That was fuckin’ insane. I didn’t even know that was a ‘thing’ and now, fuck. I gotta figure out how to ask guys to make me queef.”

Anthony dropped back on the bed and looked at the clock. The past twelve hours had been insane. Rosalie was amazing…but she was also the girlfriend of a mob leg breaker and the daughter of Brooklynn’s godfather.

“So, I’m going to go away for a while,” she said.

“Where are you going?”

“Can’t say. Actually, I don’t know. Have you ever seen The Godfather?”

“Sure.”

“Remember that part where Michael Corleone has to go to Sicily for a year?”

“Yeah, he killed a cop.”

“It’s something like that. Only I didn’t kill anyone.”

She checked her phone and then started to get dressed.

“You want to shower first?”

“I would, but then I would probably start fucking you again, and I’m already late. So, I’ll just have to travel with your cum inside me. Do me a favor; when you see Tommy again, tell him he can suck my big hairy cock. Will you do that for me?”

“Tommy’s kinda big and mean. Not sure that’s something I can do and survive.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he won’t be in a position to hurt you. Will you do this for me?”

Sure.

“Anthony from right here, that was some great fucking. If I were to stick around, we would do this every night. Maybe I’ll give you a call when I get back.”

Anthony decided he didn’t need more details as to why she had to leave the country and walked her to the door. Rosalie stopped, put her arms around him, and left him with a deep, passionate kiss. And then she was gone.

Returning to his bedroom, he looked at the mess he and Rosalie had created and started to strip the bed again, putting another set of sheets in a garbage bag.

Through the window, he saw a dark limo pull up, and Rosalie walked down the front steps holding a large Gucci travel bag. She looked up at Anthony, gave him a wink, climbed in the dark limo, and was gone. He went to bed smiling, but it wasn’t even an hour when he heard shouting and commotion outside.

Pulling on his jeans, he ran out of his apartment and looked down the stairwell. Several floors below, uniformed polices gathered outside Rosalie’s apartment.

Anthony ran down the stairs, stopping when he approached the melee. The apartment door had been rammed down, and the New York City Police were pulling Tommy out in handcuffs.

“Get the fuck off of me.” Tommy bellowed. “You know who I know? I know everyone that’s who the fuck I am.”

The cops were not swayed by his outburst.

Tommy looked up and saw Anthony on the stairs.

“Anthony. It’s Anthony, right? Where’s Rosalie? I need to find her.”

“I don’t know,” Anthony replied in truth.

“You gotta find her. Tell her I need her dad’s help.”

“Wait, she did tell me a message to tell you.”

“Oh, thank God. What?”

“She said you should suck her big fat hairy dick.”

Anthony freaked out and tried to make a charge a Anthony, but the cops held him tight. Moments later, they had him out of the building and loaded into a squad car.

A man who looked like he had slept in his suit approached Anthony.

“You live here?”

“Fourth floor.”

“You know, Miss Batrachia?”

“Only from the building. You know, hello and goodbye stuff. Is she in trouble?”

“I’m not sure. This isn’t my investigation. I’m just covering bases. Marty Bowden, FBI.”

Marty handed Anthony his business card.

“If the NYPD is here, why is the FBI?”

“I was in the area. Simply curious, that’s all. You remember something or see something, give us a call.”

Anthony studied the card and put it in his pocket.

“Yeah, sure.”

He turned to climb the stairs, smiling at whatever the hell in which he had just participated. Was it a set-up? Retribution? Whatever it was, Rosalie had used him, and he loved it.

FBI Agent Bowen took out his phone and speed-dialed someone

“It was unrelated. The mob goon on the first floor got swept up by the NYPD. I’m not sure of the charges, but we’re still good. Our operation is still on.

WILD THING

Wild thing, you make my heart sing

You make everything groovy, wild thing

C’mon, c’mon, wild thing

Check it, check it, wild thing

Wild Thing lyrics © Arlovol Music

THE FIRST TIME EVER I SAW YOUR FACE

I never thought I would like to live in Brooklyn, but when my work took me there, I became immersed in the Brooklyn lifestyle.

Coming from Boston, I was not familiar with Jewish culture, particularly Orthodox Jews and their devout customs.

I had been raised Catholic but hadn’t attended church in years. My religious beliefs were vague at best. One thing I admired was the devotion to faith my Jewish neighbors displayed.

Below me lived the Rothenburgs. The husband, Aharon, was a Jeweler in Manhattan, and his wife taught at the nearby yeshiva. Aharon kept to himself, never associating with goyum like me. Rella was different. She always had a kind smile, something pleasant to say, and enjoyed small talk. I often got the feeling she and her husband didn’t converse much, so she jumped at any chance to share a conversation.

Rella was in her mid-40s. She had some of the softness of an early middle-aged woman. She had a long face with dark eyes and poorly styled, frosted blond hair. To say she had a Jewish look could sound like a racist statement, but I found that kind of Eastern European look beautiful, so if I were to say she looked Jewish, that could only be as a compliment.

Rella was on the stoop. Typically, this meant the couple on the first floor was having loud daytime sex. Rella was always concerned that children could hear the audible groans and pornographic shouts of pleasure from the over-sexed couple. So, when they had sex, which was often, she would stand on the stoop and sing songs from the Torah.,

But the couple on the first floor had left a few weeks ago. He was on his way to prison, and I knew she was somewhere in Italy. The apartment was empty.

“Hello, Mrs. Rothenburg.”

“Please, Anthony, call me Rella. You make me feel so old with that Mrs. Rothenburg stuff.”

“I was only trying to be polite.”

“And you are. A wonderfully polite neighbor. There are so few these days.”

“The first-floor apartment is empty. So, what brings you outside tonight?”

“Oh, I do not miss those two. So much noise and the arguments. It was too much.”

“They could get pretty loud,” I said with slight embarrassment, knowing first-hand how loud Rosalie from the first floor was in bed.

“I told Aharon to call the building owner,” she replied.

“Aharon?”

“My husband, Mr. Rothenberg.”

“Of course. Well, I’m right above you, so hopefully, the only sound you hear from my apartment is the TV set.”

Rella looked at me with an all-knowing smile, and I wanted to ask what that smile intimated, but having had a few extreme guests in my bed in recent weeks, I felt it was best not to pursue that question.

“You are a chef, right?”

“I am. At La Morra. Well, right now, they have me baking. But I hope to get some of my ideas on the menu soon.”

“I don’t suppose they have a kosher menu there?”

“I’m afraid not. However, several of our Jewish patrons go for the lamb with fava beans, and as it turns out, our pasta is kosher. But our kitchen is not, so I guess that’s technically a no.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

“Are you waiting for someone?” I asked, unsure why she was sitting outside.

“Not really, no, but I am very happy to see you.”

I knew Rella was a little awkward, but her sentiment was kind.

“Same here. It’s a nice night to sit on the stoop.”

“It’s Friday.”

“So, it is.”

“It’s the Sabbath,” she said.

“That’s right, it is. I don’t know what the proper greeting is for a sabbath.”

“Shabbat Shalom,” she replied.

“Well, then, Shabbat Shalom.”

“I was making dinner and left the lights on in my bedroom and then the sun set. They are still on.”

I looked up to see lights in her apartment window on the second floor.

“So, they are.”

“They are on. I have to go to sleep soon, but those lights are on.”

“I can see that.”

At this point, I really needed to pee and hit the shower, so I started up the stairs.

“I can’t sleep with the lights on,” she added. “Can you?”

“Me? No, not unless I’m black-out drunk. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run to the bathroom.”

“Would you like to use my bathroom?”

I stopped to consider the nature of this strange request. Rella was inviting me upstairs to use her bathroom. What was that all about?

“It’s a floor below yours. Quicker to use it.”

“I think I can make it.”

Sensing an undefined need of urgency, I looked at Rella and then at the light in her apartment.

“Is something wrong? Something in your apartment?”

“Do you like rugelach cookies?” she asked.

“I do. I love it with coffee.”

“I know you’re a chef, but I think my rugelach is the best around. Better than Shoimes Bakery.

“That’s a steep boast. Sholmies is world famous. I’d love to try some of them someday-”

“Now. Come up and have some. I desperately want your opinion. It would mean the world to me. I mean, you being a professional baker and all.”

I wondered where Rella was heading with her insistence that I come to her apartment right now. I’m embarrassed to say, but I couldn’t help feeling she was somehow coming on to me, and as a guy, a woman coming on to me trumped everything, even the need to use the bathroom.

She was awkward because she had a sheltered life and had never ventured outside of the insulated Orthodox Jewish community in Brooklyn. But right now, she seemed determined to get me to her apartment.

“Sure, let’s try some,” I said.

“Yes, great. Mine is flakey and very buttery. You like butter, right? I know you do.”

The mention of butter gave me another reason for pause. A recent sexual encounter involved butter. A lot of butter. Was she implying something? Then again, cookies require butter, so perhaps she was just talking about cookies.

“Well, I use cream cheese in mine, which keeps the center moist. Melts on your tongue. Moist is always the best.”

There is no better word to describe a good cookie or cake other than moist. But when Rella said it, she lingered on the adjective just enough to make it sound sexual. Very sexual.

“Well, I really want to taste that,” I replied. “Lead the way.”

Rella opened the building door and started up the stairs. Despite her modest outfits, she always attempted to be stylish.

I tried to imagine her figure beneath the dress. Then, I remembered she was at least 15 years older than me and married. This made me rethink going to her apartment for whatever she had planned.

On the second floor, she stopped to open the door to her apartment, and I looked for a way out.

“You know, I think I’m just going to head up to my apartment.”

“No, you must taste my cookies. Each one is like a little cream pie.”

Her eyes pleaded with me to come inside.

Cream pie, I thought? Is she that innocent? Does she not know what that means these days?

“I don’t want to disturb your husband.”

“Aharon is in South Africa. Even if he were here, he wouldn’t be able to sleep with the bedroom lights on.”

There it was again; she was talking about the bedroom. She entered the apartment, and I followed.

Rella’s apartment was dark, lit by a few candles. The only light came from the bedroom, shining down the hall.

While the apartment had the same floor plan as mine, which was directly above hers, the decorations showed more taste and an adult style than my Ikea-decorated home.

“Very nice place.”

“It’s pleasant.” She replied, “Small, but I like it. It’s close to everything I need.”

“Do you mind if I use your bathroom? I really have to-”

“Of course, how rude of me. You know where it is. Oh wait, take a candle with you.”

Rella handed me a candlestick with a lit taper.

“The Sabbath,” she said. “We don’t turn lights on after sunset.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I replied, then entered the bathroom, which was similar to mine.

I placed the candlestick on the sink, then lifted the seat and pulled out my penis, which was semi-erect from wandering thoughts. Leaning forward so I would not overshoot the bowl, I produced a stream and breathed a sigh of relief as I urinated.

Exiting the bathroom, I saw Rella standing in the hallway, waiting for me. The situation continued to be awkward.

“This is the same layout as my apartment,” I mentioned. “Two bedrooms, right?”

“Aharon’s office is the other room. I would sleep there, but no bed.”

Rella entered the bedroom, where the lights were on. The bed was small, at best full-sized. There was a dress, a vanity, a closet, and some prints on the wall—all tasteful. The windows were open, and the shades were up.

“So, this is the bedroom where I sleep when the light is off.”

“Yes, it is, I said, unsure what to say or do next. I looked up at the ceiling.

“I’ll be sure to walk lightly. I never thought about someone living below me.”

“I never hear you walking, but the vents in the hallway and bathroom let sounds travel so I do hear the odd sound now and again.”

The apartment building had old-school radiator heating, but an exhaust duct was found in the bathroom and the hallway, which pulled air through a central duct to the roof and out.

“That older woman on the top floor,” Rella mentioned, “she’s loud on her phone.

“Sophia? She’s a little hard of hearing.”

“And the two who moved out downstairs-”

“Rosalie and Tommy.”

“They got into some pretty nasty fights.”

“Rosalie was quite the character,” I added.

Rella looked at me and again gave me that wry, intuitive smile.

“Yes, she was. Wasn’t she?”

I looked at Rella to see what she was getting at. Had she heard Rosalie and me through the vent? Had she heard Heidi and me? Both women were insatiable and had no concern about who could hear their moans.

I felt a warm heat on my skin, and my spidey sense told me this was a moment.

“Well, I am ready for bed now,” Rella said, taking off her earrings and placing them in a China bowl.

“I’ll be heading upstairs then,” I said politely.

“No, wait. Please, you can’t leave yet until…” Rella chose her words carefully. “Until you’ve tasted my cookies.”

I looked at Rella and went to a near-full erection. She may be awkward, but she had gotten me into her bedroom, suggestively talked about her “moist cookies,” and even hinted at hearing me having sex with Rosalie. This was going to happen.

I walked up behind her, turned her around so we were face to face, and moved in for a kiss. Rella’s eyes went wide, and when my lips met hers, she froze.

Instantly, I detected the lack of reception in her kiss, and I pulled back as she looked at me with a discomfited smile.

“Anthony, no.”

I stepped back, embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I-”

“No, no, it’s my fault,” she interrupted. I insisted you come up here, the candles; I take you to my bedroom-”

“And then you talk about your moist cookies.”

“Yeah, those are on the kitchen counter. No, Anthony, you sweet boy, I do need you tonight, but not for that.”

“Oh man, I am so confused. I mean candles and…”

“Candles for Sabbath. I can’t turn on the lights until sunset tomorrow, so I use candles.”

She could not turn on the lights, and that’s when it hit me: She could not turn off the lights either.

“You can’t turn off those lights, can you?”

Rella looked at me, embarrassed, saying nothing.

“You can’t even ask me to turn off lights. You can’t do it yourself, and you can’t ask. I can’t believe what I just did. Please, that was so wrong…”

She smiled, realizing I had now comprehended her true intentions.

“It’s fine. In fact, it’s flattering. I can’t remember the last time someone thought I was attractive.”

“You are more than attractive. And maybe we’ll laugh about it someday. By the way, the way you talk about your cookies, with their moist center. That’s pretty damned sexy.”

I walked to the light switch and turned it off. The room was only lit by candlelight now. I glanced at Rella, illuminated by the candle’s glow, and marveled at her natural beauty. But the embarrassment was overwhelming, and I only wanted to get out of her apartment.

As I walked to the door, she stopped me.

“Wait.”

I turned around to see Rella holding a plate of rugelach cookies.

“A thank you for your troubles,”

She handed me the plate, then leaned in, gave me a matronly kiss on the cheek, and whispered in my ear with a breathy voice, “They really are moist.”

Confused, I looked at her again, but she ushered me out of the apartment and closed the door.

I went upstairs to my apartment and put the plate of cookies on the counter. I needed a shower, so I let the water run so it could heat up.

I heard a weak moan as I walked out of the bathroom past the air vent. There it was again. Pulling a chair over, I put my ear to the vent and could hear the gentle moans of a woman near orgasm. With Rosalie having moved out and Sophia out of town, the only woman in the building was Rella. She was pleasing herself, unaware the very air vent she showed me was now carrying her moans of self-satisfaction through the building.

When she was done, I went into the shower and finished myself off, imagining what might have happened if she had not rebuffed my advances.

_______________________________________________________________

A few days went by. I heard Rella come home from the market and took the empty plate back to her.

She opened the door and immediately smiled. I blushed as the embarrassing attempt at a kiss came back to me.

“I wanted to return this to you. My mother had a rule that borrowed plates and dishes are always returned in 24 hours.”

“It’s been more than 48 hours,” Rella replied.

“I, umm, was trying to think of ways to apologize for my behavior-”

“No apologies needed. It could be my fault. I can see where the situation might look like I was trying to tempt you.”

“Still no, I was way out of line,” I said.

“I assume you Googled turning off lights on the Sabbath?”

“I did, and I understand you could not directly ask me to turn off the lights. You were pretty clear in what you were attempting to get me to do, but I suck at party games.”

“Well, if it happens again, I’ll invite you over for cookies, which will be our secret code for turning off the lights and leaving.”

Rella was about to close the door.

“So, a favor, please,” I asked. “Can I get your rugelach recipe? I think it would be fun to introduce it to our dessert menu at La Morra. I’m thinking of a black sesame Nutella filling with a hazelnut almond glaze drizzle, maybe over fennel ice cream.”

“Wow, that sounds so good, but it’s not Kosher. The recipe is yours; just let’s hope my bubbe never finds out.”

“Bubbe?”

“Grandmother. How do you live in Brooklyn but don’t know any Yiddish terms?”

“I don’t know any Jewish people.”

“You know me, so that’s one. Hey, let me cook you a Jewish meal. A traditional kosher meal.”

“I don’t want to put you out, but…”

“But nothing. Please. Aharon’s gone, and I hate eating alone. Let me make you a nice dinner. Traditional dishes. Or is the master chef afraid to try someone else’s cooking?

“I would be delighted. But I will bring the wine. I’m sure your cooking is excellent, but Manichevitz wine is not.”

“Manichevitz is vile,” she said. “Get two bottles of whatever you bring. How’s next Sunday night?”

We agreed to dinner this coming Sunday. I knew she was lonely and needed a friend, and she had made the friend part crystal clear. Nonetheless, I was excited about seeing her again and looked forward to a home-cooked meal.

Two days later, I was recounting my embarrassing faux pas to Sophia, the elderly woman who lives upstairs from me. Sophia had seen Rella outside on the night of the Sabbath a few times. She now knew to ask if everything was okay.

Sophia went to her spare room and returned with two bottles.

“Here are two bottles of 1966 Ghito Duaim. It’s the best kosher wine there is. You bring that to your dinner date.”

“It’s not a date. It’s neighbors having a meal together. I eat with you twice a week. Is that a date?”

“If I were 30 years younger, it would start as a dinner date but end up as something else.”

“Sophia.” I laughed, “are you objectifying me again?”

Sunday finally came. I arrived at Rella’s apartment a few minutes late to show it was no big deal. But the truth was, I was nervous. I’m not sure why, but I was.

Rella answered the door wearing an attractive dress with an open collar and a hemline that reached past her knees. Around her neck, she wore a shell necklace that I later learned was to hide her clavicle, where the line between modesty and immodesty is drawn.

I opened the wine and poured it into two glasses. We both smelled and tasted the wine.

“That’s amazing,” she commented.

“Sophia, from the top floor, gave me the bottles. She has an extensive wine collection.”

“She’s a wine collector? Are you sure?”

“Her entire apartment is floor-to-ceiling wine bottles. It’s the largest collection I’ve ever seen.”

“Wow, you learn something every day. I’m embarrassed to say what I thought she was into.”

I was curious about what she meant by that statement.

“You can’t just say that and not follow up. What do you think she’s into?”

“Ok, fair enough. Let’s have some wine, eat our dinner, and perhaps later, we can discuss the mysterious Sophia from the top floor.”

Rella brought a serving plate to the small table and lit a candle.

“This is prargiot. My mother’s recipe.”

“Chicken thighs,” I commented. Yes, I knew the dish.

She held my hands and bowed her head.

Usually, the guest will recite the blessing, but I’m guessing your Hebrew is rusty.

She bowed her head, I bowed mine.

Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam shehakol niyah bidvaro.

Rella smiled. See she was nervous that I might be put off by the religious nature of a simple dinner. In fact, it was the opposite, I was appreciated this peek into her culture and enjoying her company.

We quietly cut into our dinner. She watched me as I savored the first bite. I do this a lot. Much like a wine aficionado lets the wine sit on his pallet, I let the food sit on my tongue so my taste buds can adjust.

It was delicious. Savory and gentle. The marinade made it all the more tender. For something baked in an oven, it was outstanding.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“You know what. How is it? Be honest; you won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t like it. You might hurt my mother’s feelings.”

“It’s wonderful.”

A smile broke across her face, along with a look of relief.

“I don’t know why I was nervous. Well, I do. You’re a chef. You’re a professional, and I’m just a housewife with some old recipes.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. This is outstanding.

I was telling her the truth.

“Old family recipes are best. They are tried and tested over decades and criticized by the harshest critics possible – your ancestors.”

The tension was broken as we clinked our glasses. The conversation drifted to the pleasures of dining on a home-cooked meal, and we both settled on the emotional satisfaction it provided the chef and the diners.

She asked what brought me to Brooklyn. For me, it was the opportunity to work in a Michelin-starred restaurant; for Rella, it was her husband.

“Do you mind me asking where your husband is? I haven’t seen him around for a while.”

“He was in Europe and now South Africa. He won’t be back for another eight days.”

It’s ok, you having me in your home for dinner? He wouldn’t mind?

He might. But unless he asks if a man has been in our home, it is not a lie to not tell him.

“Besides,” I added, “it’s just dinner.”

“Yes, just dinner. Aharon is a jeweler. He’s not actually a jeweler; he deals in jewels and diamonds in Manhattan.”

Rella looked pensive.

“Can I trust you with something?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Have you heard of blood diamonds?” she asked.

“Yeah, aren’t they diamonds from the black market?”

“Pretty much. Mined by children, slaves, and hostages, sold by warlords below market value. They are bought by unscrupulous dealers and smuggled into the United States so they can be used for wedding rings, necklaces, or anything beautiful.”

“He’s involved with diamond smuggling?”

“Yes, for several years now. He used to make me travel with him. I would hide the diamonds in places the airport security didn’t look. It was degrading. After years of being his accomplice, I started refusing.”

“How did that go?”

“Not well. He got physical. That was a year ago, and he’s barely spoken to me since.

I felt bad for Rella. She was wrapped up in a horrible relationship, confined by religious laws, and had a general pall of sadness about her much of the time.

A low moan came from down the hallway. Rella’s face brightened up. She let out a laugh.

“Is there someone else here?” I asked.

Rella held back a laugh and whispered. “That’s Mrs. Katz upstairs!”

“Sophia? That’s her?” I asked with no small amount of confusion.

“It’s her, but it’s not her. She watches porn. A lot of it.”

“No, that’s not possible,” I said incredulously. “I know her. I make dinner for her at least twice a week.”

“Do you watch TV with her?”

“No, but she’s in her 80’s. I have a hard time believing-”

I was interrupted by another long moan that was followed by a quick set of grunts and guttural cries.

“Come here,” Rella said, taking my hand, pulling me down the hall, and pointing to the air duct vent outside the bathroom.

“Give me that fat cock,” could be heard clearly through the vent, along with some cheesy 1970s porn music.”

I looked at Rella, who was holding back a laugh.

“It sounds like her, but it’s a porn movie?”

She watches the same movies over and over. And yes, that’s her voice in them. I think she made porn movies when she was young. You’re her friend, what do you know about that?

“Not much. She’s very cagey about the past. She changes the subject whenever I ask questions about her wine collection.”

“Oh yes, keep fucking me so hard,” echoed Sophia’s younger voice.

“Oh my God, that is her!” I said, still bewildered.

“That cock is so good,” came the voice from the vent.

“Isn’t that what the girl from the first floor said to you?”

“You heard us?” I said with embarrassment.

“That and some other woman two weeks ago.”

“Oh no, not Heidi. You hear me with Heidi?”

“I heard things I didn’t know were even sex things.”

“Ok, I’m officially embarrassed all over again,” I said as my face turned red. “I want you to know, that kind of thing is not how I-”

“I have to compliment you. They enjoyed themselves. You must be very skillful.”

“I assure you my personal life is usually boring.”

Another of Sophia’s loud moans echoed from the vent.

“I am going to have to seal up that vent. I can’t believe you can hear me.”

“Last week, when you tried to kiss me, I was thinking how much those women enjoyed your, your…talents.”

“Please let me apologize again. I was out of line. And I’m sorry about the vent, the voices. You have to understand how embarrassing this is.”

I felt trapped. My face reddened with embarrassment and anxiety. Rella knew far too much about my recent exploits.

“Please, don’t apologize,” she said. “The truth is I wanted you to do that. I played the moment up and hoped you would make a move, and when you did, I froze.”

“You wanted me to kiss you?”

“I left the light on purpose when I saw you go for your run. I knew you would always stop to help a damsel in distress.

“But when I tried to kiss you-”

I got scared. If we are being honest, I didn’t want you just to kiss me; I wanted you to fuck me.”

I casually took a long drink of my wine, unsure how to reply. As I put the glass down, my hand was shaking.

“Okay. That was…very…to the point.”

Rella took a long sip of wine and then refilled her glass.

“I know I’m probably too old to be of interest to you. I’m plain to look at-”

“Stop it. Stop that,” I said.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you that. It was wrong. I’ll stop.”

I meant you should stop talking yourself down. Your age is immaterial; you are remarkably interesting to me, fascinating even, and you are incredibly attractive—a natural beauty that no amount of makeup can create.

“You think I’m attractive?”

“Of course I do. Hasn’t your husband ever told you that?”

“Maybe. When we were first introduced before our marriage.”

“You have an arranged marriage?”

Rella nodded yes.

“I only knew him for a few days before we were wed. And to answer your question, no, I did not love him, nor have I learned to love him. He’s not affectionate and has a passive-aggressive nature. Lately, he’s become paranoid, and I am fearful when he’s home.”

“Then why not divorce him?”

“Only my husband has the power to divorce. He can give me a Get. It’s a document that ends our marriage under Jewish law.”

“Does everything in your life have to be lived by Jewish law? I don’t know much about your religion, but I doubt women get the upper hand anywhere.

“We get to decide when and how to have sex. That is a power the Torah gives to women.”

“Well, ok, that gives you a hell of a lot of power. Probably more than you know.”

Rella looked at the younger man with wanting eyes.

“Can you tell me that again? The part about me being attractive?”

“More than attractive. You are striking. The kind of woman who would capture my attention in a crowd. A classic beauty. You want more?”

Rella nodded.

“You radiate both inner and outer elegance, and don’t get me going on your eyes. I’ve thought all this since I first met you in the laundry room last year.”

“You remembered that? We just passed each other for a moment,” Rella blushed.

“You brushed up against me. I could smell honey and anise. I thought you might have been baking that day. You left a pair of stockings in the dryer, and I handed them to you. Your hand was soft, incredibly soft. I even remember what you were wearing: a denim dress and a white top.”

“You remember all those insignificant details?”

“There are moments that burn into my memory. That was one.”

“I have a confession. When I heard you and those women having sex, I listened to it all. I tried to walk away, but I couldn’t. I wanted to be them.”

“They were very…”

“Loud? Intense? Sexy?” Rella asked.

“Kinky was what I was going to say.”

“I pleasured myself while you made love to them. I listened, and I made myself orgasm. Does that make me kinky?”

Now that she had admitted to masturbating to the sounds of him and other women, I was less embarrassed and more at ease.”

“I would not call what I did with Rosalie or Heidi to be making love.”

“I was trying to be polite,” she whispered. “I’m pretty sure the best word was fucking.”

“Yeah, that’s probably the best word.”

“That’s what I want you to do to me. Fuck me. Make me orgasm. Make me cry from the pleasure like they did. Will you do that?”

The last five minutes of conversation was making my head spin. When Rella vocalized her desire for me to fuck her, my cock was already swelling against my underwear, and I desperately wanted to adjust myself.

Yes, I wanted to have sex with Rella. More specifically, I wanted to fuck her mercilessly. But she was not like Rosalie. She was a kind, proper woman. She was vulnerable, and I felt guilty taking advantage of her situation.

“I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong. I want to. I mean, but you have a husband.”

“A husband who marries a woman so she can be a diamond mule? Do you know he married me, so I couldn’t testify against him if I’m caught.”

“Rella, you don’t know how much I want to do this-”

“I am asserting one of my few rights as a Jewish woman and determining where and when I want to have sex. I want to have sex with you. I want it now. And to be clear, I want you to fuck me, Anthony. Will you do this for me? Will you do this to me?”

My resolve was waning, and my desire to bed Rella was growing.

“How do we do this? Are there special things to do?”

“You mean have sex through a hole in a sheet? That’s not a real thing. May I see it?” she asked shyly.

“My penis? You want to see my penis?”

Rella nodded yes.

“I heard Rosalie say how big it was. Can I see?”

“It’s thicker than it is long. That can be an issue with some women.”

“Can I touch it?”

Rella reached out and placed her hand on my crotch, feeling my hard-on beneath my jeans.

I said nothing and simply nodded. She dropped to her knees so her face was level with my zipper.

Her hands fumbled nervously as she pulled my fly down slowly. My cock was pushing against my underwear, begging her to move faster.

She pulled my jeans down, then pulled my underwear down, and immediately, my fat cock flopped out, bouncing erect before her face.

She had me so worked up that my cock was like a Coke can with a pulsating red cap. I noticed how she shifted while on her knees. I could tell she was feeling her wetness.

She had asked to see it, and there it was. This was the key moment. She saw what she had come to see and could now leave it at that.

I was still gun-shy from my mistaken advance last week, and so I did nothing other than look at the woman on her knees.

This was her move, but Goddamn, did I want her to put my cock in her mouth.

Rella leaned in, extending her tongue, and began licking my cock flesh like a dripping ice cream cone. She then proceeded to give my penis a long slow lick from the base to the tip, bathing it in her saliva.

“You taste delicious. Like salt and soap,” she whispered.

I let out a groan of pleasure and placed my hands on Rella’s head. She swirled her tongue around the thick tip, then opened wide and sank her mouth on my cock, taking it halfway.

I was worried she might gag, but she paused momentarily to allow her jaw to adjust while she enjoyed the warmth of my veiny flesh as it heated her mouth.

Slowly she bobbed up and down, enjoying the sensation of milking my cock with her mouth and getting pleasure from each deep breath and gasp I made as she worked my penis gently.

I marveled at her gentle technique. The insides of her mouth felt like velvet, and more than once, burrowed down so my cock impacted the back of her throat.

Her hand massaged my balls, and I’m sure she sensed my orgasm swelling. The unexpected nature of this interaction and the quality of her skills quickened my heartbeat.

“You’re going to make me cum,” I whispered.

She looked up at me and gently pulled my cock out of her mouth, giving it a long lick leaving.

“Can you cum more than once tonight?”

I nodded yes. I was always good for two orgasms, at the least. And tonight, I felt like I could do more.

Rella placed my cock back in her mouth, making sure her tongue moved forward and back against the bulging spongy underside. She put her hands on each of my ass cheeks, pulling me into her mouth.

I could tell she desperately wanted me to cum. Knowing how sound travels in the building, I stifled my moans, attempting to keep quiet.

She pulled her mouth off and looked up at me with a subservient demeanor.

“You don’t have to keep quiet. There’s no one else in the building.”

I could tell she wanted to hear my moans. She needed to know if she was pleasing me.

I assumed her jaw ached as my thick rod slid in and out of her mouth, but she was here to please me and was not going to stop without a cum show.

I later learned Rella was a virgin when she married Aharon, but she had given blow jobs in college. However, she had never swallowed. As it turns out, oral sex is fine for Jewish women and men, but swallowing semen was not. So, she had been a spitter.

I didn’t know any of this, and she did not bother taking her mouth off my erection to ask me to withdraw when I orgasmed. I was about to cum, she was about to swallow, and none of that was kosher.

My cock began to get warmer. She took notice of how big it now felt. A few beads of pre-cum started to seep onto her tongue. I wasn’t sure if she knew that was just drips before the dam broke. I could sense her getting excited as the flavor in her mouth changed with the addition of the clear fluid.

I felt the hole at the tip of my penis enlarge and open as I erupted along the length of her tongue. She took my cock in deep, with zero intention of spitting. I was in bliss and began to pump spurts of thick hot cum into her mouth and down her throat.

Thick wads of my cum filled her mouth. This is when she began to swallow. My semen coated her throat and lingered. Strings of cum leaked out of the corners of her mouth as she obediently awaited permission to release my cock from her mouth.

I let out a loud groan that was undoubtedly heard through the vents. Rivulets of my cum had escaped Rella’s mouth and were now hanging down her jowls on both sides.

Slowly I removed my penis from her mouth, which dripped cum on her blouse as she licked and cleaned my cock with unnecessary obedience.

She rose to stand before me. She used a facecloth to wipe her mouth clean.

“Let me brush my teeth,” she offered.

I pulled her in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss, unafraid to taste my cum on her lips.

Rella melted in my arms. Despite having just ejaculated, my deep, probing kisses told her I had further intentions, as did she.

“I’ve never swallowed that before,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“No, I wanted to. I liked it. The taste was ok, but the feeling of satisfaction was amazing.”

“Whose satisfaction?”

“Both of ours. It was intimate. It’s not gross or wrong. To feel you produce that much was amazing.”

I looked at the older but less experienced woman with awe. Unlike my thing with Rosalie or Heidi, Rella was far more the type I could connect with.

“Let’s get more comfortable for the next round,” she said and took my hand to guide me toward the bedroom.

I lagged behind to pull up my pants.

“You won’t need those,” she said with her back to me as she moved down the hall. I obediently stepped out of my jeans and underwear, walking half-naked down the hall as I unbuttoned my shirt.

When I turned the corner into the bedroom, Rella was across the room, completely nude.

Her skin was a pale alabaster white, accentuated by black shoulder-length hair and dark eyebrows. She had a little extra weight around the middle, making her somewhere between soft and voluptuous. Her extra weight was evenly distributed with soft curves that accentuated her femininity and sensuality.

Her breasts were large, and the prominent feature of her soft, rounded appearance. Her areolas were dark and big, and her nipples were thick and swollen. She was a natural woman with a timeless appeal.

“I thought you were a blond,” was all I could say.

“It’s a wig. We wear them outside like the men wear a hat or a yarmulke.”

My eyes when right for her pussy. I could not help myself. It was a thick bramble of pubic hair, slightly overgrown and wild. This was new to me as all my encounters were clean-shaven,

Emanating from her thick pubic hair, was a small, unshaven treasure trail leading up to her navel. While her legs were shaved, the area around her thighs was not.

Unlike Rosalie and Heidi, who were groomed to the point of hairless everywhere but their eyebrows and head, the mature woman before me was as natural as I had ever seen and I could not hide my approval. My freshly drained cock began to stir and grow.

She stood in silence, waiting for me to make a move.

I know those other women had incredible bodies. I can’t offer you that. If my body doesn’t please you-”

“You need to talk a lot less in these moments,” I said as I approached her.

I pressed my body against hers, felt her soft, warm skin on mine, and pulled her into an embrace with a deep, passionate kiss.

Moving to her neck, I kissed, licked, nibbled, and explored her soft breasts. The moment was almost out of body. Her breasts were as soft as butter left out overnight, with a nice shape hanging down naturally, then hooking upward slightly.

I had that stirring in my balls and knew I was going to refract quickly from her blow job. But I still needed some time.

Pushing Rella onto the bed, I pulled her forward, opened her legs wide, then brought my face to her hair-covered slit.

Rella took a finger and slid it down her pussy opening it up for me to admire. Her snatch was sopping wet from her wanting, and I pushed her legs back, opening her slit wide to a pink canoe-shaped entry.

There is a certain smell women emit when they are ready to mate. It is left over from our pre-evolutionary ancestors. It is earthy and increases as body temperature rises. For the few who possess the ability to smell deep into the spectrum, it reveals a woman who wants to have sex. Rella was wanting.

I took a deep inhale of the pleasant smell of her vagina, then brought my tongue to her warm opening and did a long, intentionally slow lick upward until I found her pronounced clit.

Wrapping my left arm around her leg, I was able to wet her pussy while repeatedly offering licks with my tongue pancaked against her hot slit. The taste and smell were intoxicating and I buried my face deep, letting my tongue infiltrate her labia, wetting her insides for my cock.

Rella rocked with the motion as I lapped at her wide pink valley. Her reactions went from small to jerking as I danced across the numerous nerve endings around her.

I paused to catch my breath and see if she enjoyed it.

“Don’t stop. Please. I’ve never done this.”

I was surprised at the statement and fingered her pussy gently. A steady flow of her thick pussy honey saturated my fingers.

“He’s never given you oral sex?”

Rella shook her head no.

“He says it’s unclean to put his mouth on a schmundie,” she said between deep breaths.

“Then you’ve never had someone go down on you?”

“Never,” she whispered as she pushed my head down so I would stop talking and return to feasting on her pussy again.

Her taste was becoming more aromatic, and she began to water uncontrollably. As I licked at her pussy relentlessly, Rella put her hands behind her knees and rolled them back, exposing more of her pussy and the hair-covered expanse between her labia and her anus.

Her perineum was as ungroomed and wild as her vagina. The hair here was much finer. While she certainly had fingered herself in the past, I don’t think she was aware of just how erogenous the skin between her in and out holes truly was.

Through the hair, I could barely make out her puckered hole. Dropping my mouth to the bottom of her pussy where the fourchette of her vagina transitioned into her perineum, I began to lick and prod this previously unexplored area of her body.

The hair around her ass was matted as I licked it, swirling around the much darker skin of the deep inside of her backside, with my tongue gently moving in closer to her tight pucker. Her sphincter reacted to my probing and began to pulsate uncontrollably.

Rella let out a guttural groan that was most certainly heard through the vent pipes.

“I didn’t clean down there,” she whispered. “I didn’t know you would go there,” she said in a panicked voice.

She could have said no. She could have pulled my head away; instead, she pushed me down and in, enjoying my boldness and unconcerned.

I did not care. I was transfixed by her hair-covered pussy and ass and had every intention of tasing them both. I had never been with a woman so natural and so deprived of physical intimacy.

Her anus remained tightly puckered until the tip of my tongue reached the sealed center.

Rella’s soft belly rolled slightly as I delved into her ass with my tongue. Putting her hand on my head, she let out gentle moans of pleasure, and her soft breasts rolled back and forth.

“Make me cum,” she pleaded as she quickened her grinding against my face. She moved with intensity sliding her pussy up so I could concentrate on her ass, then she would pull her hips down so I could taste her pussy. She wanted my mouth everywhere all at once.

The mixture of flavors, the dark taste of cherry pipe tobacco down low, and the gentle taste of what felt and tasted like olive oil from her pussy created a mixture of flavors. Those flavors radiated to my brain, sending a signal to my cock, which was enraged. It was time to fuck Rella.

She made several high-pitched moans as she tipped her head up to watch me do to her what no man ever had. I could sense her orgasm was coming. I could make it happen or lay off and let it pass. I desperately wanted to be inside her, but we had the night ahead of us. I could tell she had never experienced an oral orgasm and chose to pursue her pussy and ass with abandon. She writhed in pleasure, and I grabbed her soft waist to control her.