Promiscuous. R. Moreen Clarke
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the bustle of morning latte and muffin traffic and the hurried rush of the lunchtime crowd. As she leisurely sipped her caffeine-infused mocha java latte and scoured the local newspaper, Deandra fit into neither of these categories. She stopped there several times a week after her five-mile morning run.
Tall and lean, she was a stunning woman with an olive complexion and greenish-blue eyes. All traces of the awkward teenager she’d once been were gone. Andie Moore had dyed her hair and changed her name in a determined effort to escape her past. Her thick sandy blond hair was pulled up into a ponytail and poked through the back hole of a green baseball cap as she bent over the society section of the paper, studying her subject with the intensity of a high-school senior cramming for her SATs. While she bought the paper regularly, only two sections garnered her attention: the society page and the business section. The society page told her what was happening and where for the local who’s who. The business section let her know who were the up-and-coming movers and shakers in town.
This day she made a mental note that it was the third time in six months she’d seen the name of Marshall James. On the second page of the business section was a photograph of him as he received an award for outstanding community contributions. He’d donated a very large sum of money to renovate the local gymnasium of the community center. Although it probably wasn’t the best picture of him, Deandra could still clearly see his strong jawline and warm smile, and more important, she immediately recognized the five-thousand-dollar Concord Saratoga diamond watch on his left wrist. The coffers were starting to run a little low and it was time to find another benefactor. Marshall James looked like he would fit the bill perfectly.
A shadow moved across her newspaper and she looked up to see a twenty-something dark Italian cutie standing next to her table. He had smoldering, dark eyes with long, thick lashes. “Scusami,” he began, and indicated the chair opposite her as though to join her.
In a glance Deandra took stock of him from head to toe. He was wearing a tight-fitting tank top, lightweight sweatpants, and well-worn joggers. If she were hornier this morning, it might be worth the ride, but at the moment she had much bigger fish to fry. She pointed to the seat opposite her. As soon as he sat down, she collected her newspaper and prepared to leave.
He grimaced as he watched her long, fit frame rise from her seat. Dressed in a green sports bra, white spandex running shorts, and a white thong providing a clear outline of her ass cheeks, Deandra was a toss-up between athletic sportswoman and sex kitten, all in one. She knew she had a body that men lusted after, and used it to her best possible advantage. Her potential suitor looked at her with a perplexed expression and spread his arms in the international gesture of misunderstanding.
Sunlight glinted off a silver key ring in his hand. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the Porsche insignia on his key ring. A quick scan around the parking lot revealed a gray Porsche 911 Carrera, and a change in Deandra’s afternoon plans. Perhaps this young man wasn’t quite the guppy she envisioned. She discreetly lowered her body back into the chair.
“Buongiorno,” she said, and smiled with a new appreciation for his potential as an afternoon playmate.
An hour later they were on their way to her apartment, so he could show his appreciation for her naked body. Paolo was lean and strong. As a long-distance runner, like Deandra, he had the stamina of a racehorse. He’d begun undressing her on the way up the steps to her third-floor apartment. She’d stopped in the stairwell and allowed him to pull her spandex tights down over her hips. His lips blazed a fiery trail across her satiny butt cheeks and his tongue snaked down the crack of her ass.
She grabbed the handrails to steady her weakened knees. As she neared the top steps, she’d bent over and put her ass in his face. Paolo eagerly obliged, and roughly dragged the only barrier between her and his hot, extremely long tongue—her white thong—down to her knees.
He spread her ass cheeks with his hands and slipped his tongue into her moist, wet pussy. Deandra purred in response. Neither seemed concerned that they were in the middle of a public stairwell. Paolo lapped her body juices like a thirsty man in the middle of the Nairobi Desert. When he replaced his tongue with his long, lean dick, Deandra’s mind was transported into another millennium. As strong as he was lean, he wrapped his arm under her rib cage and lifted her up off the stairs and carried her onto the top landing. The length of his ten-inch dick was still embedded deep in her pussy when he pressed her face against the closed door of her apartment and continued pounding her with solid, steady thrusts. The thumping of her body against the solid wood door finally brought a curious neighbor into the hallway below.
“What the hell is going on up there?” exclaimed the old man at the bottom of the stairway as he tried to peer into the darkened upper landing.
Deandra reached inside her bra and pulled out her apartment key. She leaned back away from the door, only far enough to slip the key in the lock. When she turned the handle, the door burst open from the weight of their bodies.
Paolo kicked the door closed with his heel and continued his plundering of newly discovered land. Still positioned behind her, he assisted her as she pulled her sports bra over her head. He cupped her large, voluptuous breasts in his hands and squeezed as though testing them for ripeness. He guided Deandra into the kitchen, where he pulled out a chair and sat down, pulling her into his lap.
Deandra screamed as the length of his extra long dick pushed up farther inside her body. He put his hands under her thighs and lifted her closer to his groin and eased the degree of pain she’d felt. It was soon apparent that Paolo was no novice in pleasing women, as he expertly slipped his hand between her open thighs and started stroking her clit.
Deandra jerked uncontrollably as she was overcome with orgasm after orgasm. Pinned on his dick, with his hands securely between her legs, there was no escape from the sensations he created. Wet, milky juices flowed from her body and gushed over Paolo’s long, lean fingers as he tweaked her clit. He then smeared the fluid across her breasts and across her open, panting lips.
He finally eased her off his lap and pulled her toward the couch. Deandra was relieved to be on her back for once, and opened her legs wide to welcome him back into her secret depths. Paolo eased between her legs once more and rode Deandra to several more climaxes before finally releasing his cum deep inside his newly charted territory. He stretched to his full height and flexed his muscles and smiled. He gestured toward the bathroom and indicated he wanted to shower before he left.
Deandra nodded her agreement and continued to lie on the couch, regaining her strength. She’d enjoyed her afternoon romp with Paolo; she hoped he’d show his appreciation for her time. When she heard the shower running, she fished his wallet out of his jeans. She found at least fifteen hundred-dollar bills and several 50s. She put the wallet, and the bills, back into his pocket and proceeded to her closet to retrieve a T-shirt.
Paolo emerged from the shower shortly thereafter and strode boldly and naked back into the living room. His hair was wet from the shower and its shiny, silken sheen reflected his use of her shampoo. His body was similarly covered with long, dark, fine hair, although there were thicker patches on his chest and pubic area. His face was handsome and he had dark piercing eyes. Adonis should have been so well put together.
After he dressed, he walked over to Deandra seated on the couch and planted a surprisingly gentle kiss on her lips. “Grazie, il mio amore,” he said as he reached for his wallet. He opened it, and seemed mildly surprised to see his money still intact. He pulled all the bills from his wallet and took one of the fifty-dollar bills out of the stack.
Deandra watched in silence. When he took the fifty off the top of that thick wad of bills, her heart sank. Did he think she was that cheap? Why should he pay her at all? Simply because she assumed he would reward her for her time and use of her body.
Paolo chuckled softly at the dismay evident on her face. He chucked her under her chin and pressed the wad of bills into her hand. The fifty-dollar bill he shoved in his front pocket. He said something in Italian, which was totally unintelligible to her, but it sounded so beautiful coming off his lips. Then with a wave and an “Arrivederci, bella,” he was gone.
Deandra gleefully counted the money he’d given her. She