Chapter 9
"Billy, what's the big deal? You never took me out to dinner before."
"I took you to Soul City, didn't I, black girl?"
"Sure, but that was just a coffee house! I mean, this place is a Russian restaurant, a real plush place ..."
He interrupted her by reaching quickly under the table and giving her snatch a good, hard squeeze, as if to tell her to knock off the jive, and just sit back and enjoy herself. As he slipped his hand underneath her miniskirt, he wasn't surprised to notice she wasn't wearing any panties, so he got a couple of fingers full right away. And, she was wet, too! He diddled her clit a few times, then probed inside her pussy with that long, strong forefinger of his, and she almost choked on her cheese blintz, the one she was just starting to swallow.
But she got the message, quickly gulped down some hot Russian tea from the samovar on their table, and sat there silently while he said, "It's not a Communist restaurant, they're not gonna nationalize your pussy." He paused, releasing her pussy, and putting his hand back on top of the table. "But I might."
She laughed appreciatively, while he dipped in-
to his borscht for a savory mouthful. Then, he said, "I brought you here for a reason, maybe two. Look around. Notice all these white chicks hanging around, you know, talking to those Japanese businessmen-type dudes? And I don't mean just in the cocktail lounge, either."
She glanced around; she saw what he meant.
"That is strange," she said. Then, she began to understand, as she added, "Billy ... do you mean to tell me that those girls ... are engaged in ..."
"Fucking for bread, baby," he finished the sentence for her. "Or, in your bourgeois brand of language ... prostitution."
"But ... how ... why ..."
"Ain't no big deal, Miriam. I know the owner of this place, and he just does this sort of shit on the side. He told me a lot of his Japanese customers have a thing about Western women, just like a lot of guys dig Oriental girls." He smiled inwardly as he said that. "So, he figured if he didn't take care of his customers, some other business dude would. And since he's got contacts with a lot of foreigners who five here, he just got himself set up to supply the dessert along with the main course."
She sighed, saying, "What some people will do for money."
"Yeah," he said. Then, he added, "Now that you've seen how one dude pulls in the bread, finish your dinner, 'cause we got some things to talk about later. I mean, some possible business that might be fat city for both of us."
She gave him a sharp, piercing look, and said, with a nasty edge in her voice, "If you are thinking of making me ..."
"Right on!" he interrupted her, on purpose, then
quickly continuing with, "No, sweetheart, no way. I ain't putting your ass out on the street, if that's what you mean. I'll make you for me, not some other dumbass dude just 'cause he's got big bread in his pocket." He paused, and reached beneath the table again, giving her another two fingers of action right in her snatch. "What I got in my pocket is what you want, anyway, and I know you dig it the most, Miriam. I know."
From the way her pussy twitched in response, and from the way her juices began to flow a little so his finger was wet when he withdrew it, she damn well knew it, too.
They finished their dinner.
When the check came, Billy whispered some words to the waiter. He bowed, departing briefly. When he returned, he showed the bill to Billy, and Billy held it up to Miriam so she, too, could see that the bill had been marked "Paid." He nodded, and left the waiter a generous tip as they left.
"It pays to have friends, doesn't it, Billy?" she said, winking slyly at him.
"It sure does, as long as they pay," he replied, laconically, patting her on the ass as they got into Sunny's car (who was, again, and conveniently, at work).
They drove to Miriam's place, and, as usual, the doorman, after giving the customary bow of greeting to them, paid no further attention. Billy figured Miriam must be tipping him heavy, to have him look the other way on her sex life. Or else she was letting the old Jap get a taste on the side. Who knows? Well, who cares?
They settled down on the sofa.
Miriam got some sounds on the stereo, and Billy
was slightly surprised to hear the ensemble shout of the Basie band come winging out of the speakers. Shee-it, he thought, I ain't heard the Count for years, wonder if he's still around, thought he'd retired on his royalties by now. He listened to the famous arrangement of April In Paris and the Count's well-known "One more once" to announce another final chorus. Well, if Miriam wanted to get into a "romantic" mood with songs like that, fine with him, make things all that much easier to manipulate her mind toward the business deal he had in mind.
She was now in the kitchen, getting something for them to drink. As he took off his jacket and shirt, thus becoming temporarily topless, he shouted, "Hey, Miriam, what part of Detroit did you say you're from?"
From her reply, he knew that was a rather affluent suburb, as he had figured. Sure, her parents must have bread; she didn't need her Embassy job, even, but he guessed she was one of the independent rich cunts who also wanted a career, that kind of shit.
She came back, wearing a purple kimono that really took his breath away for a few fast seconds. It was cut to just above the knees, and the way she'd fastened the obi around, it left plenty of her breastworks peeping out, her cleft looking as if it would just fit exactly the contours of his cock. As she sat down beside him on the sofa, she handed him a cup of steaming black coffee, with a thick cluster of whipped cream on top.
"I didn't want that much head," he criticized, staring sourly at the cream.
"Taste it first before you complain," she replied, sipping her own.
He did.
It was even more heavily laced with cognac; very fine, very expensive cognac. But, as he took a savory gulp ...
He suddenly discovered that she had very quickly unzipped his fly, and was busily engaged in giving him a different kind of "head." As if she'd taken his previous comment to heart. And, she'd first dipped his cock into the whipped cream, with just a touch of the tip into the hot coffee itself, so he rather quickly noticed what she was into.
"Far-fucking-out," was all he could say, for the moment, as her tongue lapped away at Number One, licking off the thick white cream and causing some other kind of cream to start forming back in his balls.
The band was into Jumping at the Woodside now, an old Basie riff, and she began to work out on his prick in fairly close time to the fast jump tune. She was kneeling in front of him now, and he was rubbing his hands through her lustrous hair as her talented tongue really moved right along, slurping especially hard in his curly pubic hairs.
He could feel his member getting stiffer.
He moved one hand down, as best he could, so he could play with her titties. He touched one, and he could tell the nipple was getting erect faster than his prick. He tweaked the nipple, feeling it respond; he rubbed the breast, feeling the skin textures change with each touch. He began to rub the cleft, and he could hear her breathing increasing in tempo as she continued sucking and licking away, for now her lips had enveloped the tip of Number One and were busily engaged in bringing it all the way back into her throat.
"I got a business idea I want to talk to you about," he said, nonchalantly, knowing she could hardly say anything in opposition at this particular moment.
As she mumbled something in her throat, he continued, "If I ever go back to New York, I want to go back with a lot of loot, because I'11 sure as shit need it when I do. And anyway, while I'm in Japan, I want to make some big bread for myself as an independent businessman, you dig? I ain't gonna work for no other people and let them make money off me, no way."
She seemed to nod her head in agreement. Or was that just a necessary reflex motion so she could get some more of Number One in her mouth? He could feel that it was digging right into her throat as it was, and the way her moist mouth membranes were enveloping it, he could feel those erection vibrations commencing full speed.
"So, I figure this way, there's a lot of us soul brothers and sisters hanging around this country now, especially this Tokyo town. So, maybe if you and I, we got it together and opened a club, I mean a real down home soul scene type of club ..."
She was really mouthing him now, and his cock was getting just about as stiff as a club as she continued working away. He could feel his balls buckling in his scrotum in that old familiar way, and his foreskin was pretty well peeled back by now. He wondered if she really wanted him to come right in her mouth or not. Well, it didn't much matter, because that was just about what he was going to do, anyway, if she didn't have enough sense to take him out in time first.
He continued to twiddle with her tits, feeling that fine breastwork responding, her skin becoming
slightly damp with perspiration. He took his hand from her head and picked up his coffee cup. He sipped some more, licking the last of the cream from the top and letting the coffee and cognac trickle down his throat. Mmmm, that stuff sure was good. One thing about Miriam; when she took care of you, you sure went first class.
He wished he could reach down and give her clitoris a good pinch, stick a few finger into her twitching pussy. But, not from that position, unless he really wanted to mess up his back muscles. Even the lotus position couldn't do him any better, from where he was at.
Finishing the drink, he turned his full attention to Miriam again.
She had most of him in her mouth and her fingers were fondling his balls something fierce. He could feel his sperm all backed up and he just couldn't hold it any longer. The way she was gobbling him, it must be she wanted to really give him head-and-a-half.
So ...
He came.
He reached down as he did, grabbing both her boobs, getting a good grip on the slippery things and digging his fingers right into that soft, pliant flesh, as his Number One erupted, burst after burst, and he could feel her breathing going on so strong, her throat muscles really gulping and swallowing every liquid bit of his sperm. Strange sucking and moaning sounds—something like "Uh-uh-huh-mmmmmmm-uuuuuuh"—were coming from deep in her gulping, activating throat as she really gobbled down his continuous, almost spastic ejaculations.
Still holding on to her boobs as his movements
subsided, he kept on giving her a good, firmly held feel while she looked up at him with sheer sex in her eyes. She wanted more, no problem there, no mistake in reading her eyes or her face on that scene.
Slowly, she withdrew her tantalizing, sucking mouth, and let her lips curl around her tongue as it slipped out and licked the sperm off her lips. Then, she began to lick off his dick, her tongue snaking out and slurping up the loose, sticky liquid still clustered there. He fondled her boobs, loving the warmth coming from them, loving the way the skin and muscles responded to his touch, as she continued to lick him clean, like a cat working out on its own fur.
When she was through, he helped her back up, and as he did so, he undid her obi, so that her kimono fell completely open in front He placed a hand against her pussy; warm and wet, no question about that.
He handed her the cup of coffee, what was left of it. There was a small pool of melted cream on the surface, so he said, "May as well finish off all the cream, baby, go to it"
Laughing with her eyes, she slipped out her tongue again, and lapped the stuff right off the surface of the coffee. Then, she gulped down what was left of the coffee and cognac with one long hefty chug-a-lug, and, placing the cup back on the coffee table, she flipped the kimono from her shoulders, jumped up, and said, mischievously, "Come on, you beautiful black buck ... let's dance!"
The Count was into some fast-moving riff, and there was a tasty tenor soloist really raising hell with the blues, so it wasn't a half-bad invitation at
that. But, Billy really had more important business on his mind at the moment, so he was hesitant. Yet, she seemed so fiery, so come-on, that he figured, well, he could try a few steps and waltz her in the general direction of the bedroom, anyway.
He'd kicked off his shoes long ago; so all he had to do was pull off his socks and step out of his pants and shorts. That he did, and now, both of them gleaming black skin and brown bodies, soul people to the core, they were dancing and goofing around, no serious steps thing, just a bit of the mashed potatoes here and the monkey there, shaggin' and fruggin' and in general fucking off, as if they were at the Savoy Ballroom about a generation ago, or maybe an old-time Harlem rent party where nobody cared what you did as long as you paid your dues to get in.
Miriam was shaking her ass if she was trying to get rid of it from her body, swinging those highflying hips right and left, her trim torso insinuating itself into almost a question mark, her feet really swinging along the floor, her boobs bouncing like fresh fruit in the corner supermarket. Her hair, though, almost remarkably so, was still staying pretty much in place, though a few strands were slipping loose here and there. All in all, she looked more like she stepped off the back pages of Ebony or Essence, than her being some down home street chick just shaking her ass for the hell of it.
As for Billy, he was shifting along, almost shuffling, just taking it relatively easy, sort of shagging his way in front of her. His hands were doing some bird-wing motions, sort of casting spells over her, sort of signifying, as he bobbed his head and shook his shoulders, glancing down at Number One to see
how he was getting along and what he was making, if anything, out of all this activity.
Well, Number One was doing it's thing, too.
That is, it was flapping around a bit, like a moon rocket getting ready to take it, and getting just a bit harder, too, its length flaying around, its width starting to spread.
Now, Billy was working up a good sweat, too, with all that exertion. Much of it, to him, unnecessary.
So, he moved closer to her, letting his flying wang bang against her crotch a couple of times, giving her the unspoken word to get with it. She grinned, backed away, like she wanted to tease him. He reached over, grabbed her boobs, started dragging her toward the bedroom.
She didn't quite dig that bedtime scene quite yet, though. She smacked him on the cheek, her expression getting pinched and angry.
Well, old Billy didn't dig that kind of shit at all.
He let go of her breasts, grabbed her around the waist, and lifted her off the floor. He carried her over to the sofa and dumped her down on her back, then positioned himself so his crotch was right in front of her face.
And, he began to smack her in her pouting lips, her pretty face—or, as they say, right in the chops— with Number One. In fast-moving, quick-strutting motions, first one cheek and then the other, the sounds of those slaps mingling with her startled, animal cries and the roaring sound of the Basie band working out on a fast-moving, hard-driving Ernie Wilkins chart, with the trumpets way up there.
When he was finished, he didn't say one word. He just grabbed her by the hair, right at the roots,
and dragged her along the floor into the bedroom. He had to say one thing for her, she had sense enough not to scream. She just let out some soft moans, a few quiet cries, as he dragged her, caveman style, into the bedroom and dumped her on the bed.
Then he climbed in with her.
He said, "Listen, baby doll, don't ever pull that kind of smartass shit with me again, or I'll stuff you into the oven and bake you white all over. I'll dump a hundred pound sack of flour all over you and you'll be a dumbass whitey chick again, like you wanted everybody else to think you was."
She started to open her mouth, but he moved Number One into position to smack her in the chops with again, and she thought better of it. Closing her mouth again, he continued, "Now, I'm gonna do the talking, you're gonna do the listening, and you and I are gonna get some serious business taken care of right now, you dig?"
She nodded, licking her lips, pain still reflected in her eyes.
"Now, like I said before, I think this town needs a real soul club, where we can bring in heavy dudes like Issac Hayes and Curtis Mayfield, and maybe even James Brown, if he doesn't try to rip us off too much. And a boutique attachment, a book and record store—shee-it, we could get LeRoi Jones to make the trip over here and read some poetry, do some plays. We got plenty of our people around here, plus the big bread whitey's gonna pay to get our shit, too. I think we can clean up, but it's gonna take some big bread to open up shop in the first place, and that's where you come in, sweet De-troit sister, you
dig?"
He could see her "breasts rising and falling, but he didn't know if that meant she was interested in business or fucking.
But he noticed her eyes seemed just a bit more calculating, as if she thought he was trying to rip her off. Which, in a way, he was.
But, not very badly.
"I see," was all she said, in a flat monotone.
He patted her affectionately on the ass, and said nothing for about a minute. He figured now was the time to be cool, to keep silent, and to get down to the equally serious business of getting a fine piece of beautiful black pussy.
Like, now.
Slowly, he moved so his crotch was right by her head. But he wasn't going to have her give him any more head. No, he was going to give her some, in a different way, in a different place.
In the ear.
He nuzzled Number One against her right ear-lobe.
He began to rub the tip against her earlobe, then moved it—it was still holding up pretty well— right into the very entrance to her eardrum, and began to massage her eardrum and outer ear membrane with his prick, rubbing it against them as if he was really trying to ram his member right into her head through her ear.
She began to hum softly, to twitch and react sexually. She was apparently digging this new sensation, and as he kept up his movements, he noticed she was moving her arms and running her fingers up and down his thighs.
In the background, the Basie band was into a rare Latin-flavored tune, and he noticed she began to
sort of jerk along, to move her limbs in tempo. He, of course, did the same with his dick.
Then, after a few more minutes of feeling up her right ear, he sort of stepped right across her, and did the same with her left ear.
She was really twitching now, moving her legs as if swimming, and he could tell her tits were bouncing along a bit, too.
He continued, not touching her anywhere else, just letting her touch him wherever she could. He was pleased to check out her reactions, for good vibes were what he wanted when he'd put the question to her again, only in a quite different form.
Now he was finished with her ear therapy.
He climbed on top of her, straddling her by her waist He let Number One down to nestle in that lovely, symmetrical cleft between her bounteous breasts.
It wasn't all that long and strong yet, but he just let it lay there, and he kept looking into her eyes, giving her his most soulful smile, his most passionate expression.
Soon, those boobs began to wiggle, to try and touch each other, as if they wanted to shake hands (or tits). He could feel them rubbing against his prick, and he could feel his prick beginning to stretch itself out, to become erect, inch by inch, with each movement of her lovely conical breasts.
She was wearing a kind of come-hither smile on her sweet round face, and those lovely brown eyes were flecked with pure passion. She could feel her clit trembling with great sexual expectation, and her juices were starting to flow like milk inside her passionate pussy.
He could see that, too, as he noticed her moving and grooving beneath him. But he continued his sit-in, or sit-on, letting Number One call the shots.
She tried to touch it with her hands. As she did so, he took hold of them and placed them back against the bed, saying, "No hands, baby."
She shrugged.
She began to twist her torso, trying to get those beautiful breasts closer together. He could feel that, to some small extent, she was succeeding, that things were going down in an all-right way. They began to push against his prick, and he could feel a small, soft pressure building up, as if his cock was caught between the jaws of a fleshy vice.
His foreskin was pulled back now, his prick pretty well laying straight and strong.
He had it pretty well where he wanted it now.
So, no more need to leave it there. Now was the time to put it where it should go.
And good old Basie was still blasting away in the background. Dig it, he thought, he's into The Kid From Red Bank, listen to that rhythm section leap, yeah, that's not only good swinging music, that's good fucking music, too.
He stood up, and climbed off her.
Then, he positioned himself right on top. So, he'd rather take a more exotic twist, normally; but, not this time. No, he wanted a straight-ahead, a straight-up-and-down session, so as to do some heavy talking, some strong rapping, just before he really got down to serious fucking business.
He straddled her, placing the tip of his prick against her clitoris. He diddled her, feeling her sensitive little organ respond with some fine feelings, and he could feel her body beginning to move be-
neath him. His skin against hers, he slowly lowered hhnself toward her, keeping his head about a foot or so above hers, looking down on her like a benevolent old dictator, thinking possibly of giving the peasants a few bread crumbs today if they only behave themselves.
She reached for him, and he let her get hold of his waist, felt her fingers slipping toward his ass. But, he didn't lay a hand on her; he had his reasons, and they were psychological and logical, very real reasons for not letting his hands work her over this time.
No, he wanted to make her work for it, to really go out of her way to get fucked this time. Besides, he wanted to do some heavy rapping, and the only thing he wanted to really get to her was what was now messing with her clit.
So, he moved his cock away from her clit, and placed it right at the entrance of her cunt
He laid it flat, waiting for perhaps a minute, watching the changing expression in her eyes, from wonder to concern. He knew she was thinking about what kind of shit he was doing, just letting it lay there. She probably expected he wanted her to put it in herself, so she reached for it, and again he stopped her, saying, "Like I said before, baby, no hands. I know what I'm doing."
"Well, I don't," she protested.
"Well, you will, when I'm goddam good and ready to tell you, you dig?"
The tone of his voice was tough, so she backed off.
Finally, he began to move Number One inside, pushing it straight down like a knife slicing into cheese. He could hear her grunting and groaning as
he took his sweet time about slipping it in. It was not so much inch by inch as quarter-inch by quarter-inch, for it seemed to her he was taking damn near all night to get himself inside her.
After what seemed to her an interminable amount of time, she could feel him inside, nice and snug, his fine wide prick really touching all parts of her pussy membranes. He could feel it too, and, as he leaned over, his lips not more than an inch from hers, he began to pump her, and she started to hump him, getting her body going into those most basic of movements.
When he could feel that he'd got her going, that she was coming to orgasmic bliss, he moved his face so he could speak directly into her left ear.
"Listen, baby, I want some bread."
She didn't say anything, at first.
"Some big bread, to open the soul club I was talking to you about. Now, I know your folks are loaded, and you've got plenty of relatives around. So, I figure if you give them the word that a brother needs that kind of bread, or tell them you need it for yourself, then you and I can really get some things swinging around here."
Silence.
For about twenty seconds, then she replied, "Hey, man, are you really serious?"
He gave her such a jab with Number One he could feel her backside bouncing right into the soft inner spring mattress, and she could sure feel his member almost ready to come right out the small of her back. She let out a wild cry, then he rammed it to her again, and between thrusts, he kept talking to her, ramming her first, speaking with her second.
"If you want to keep up with my fine fucking, soul sister, you'd better understand I mean serious business, ain't no jive about this thing at all, you better play along or I'll play somewhere else, you
dig?"
He'd got her too hot, she was coming now, he wasn't even ready, but that was all right, get her screaming, get her crying, she was choking on her tears, struggling to make up her mind, finally letting out a sad, sob-wracked "Yes ... goddam your lovin' black ass ... I got to have you ... you goddam black motherfucker ... can't get along without you now ... you beautiful black bastard! ..."
Call me what you want, cunt, just come up with the bread, he thought, as he began to pound away, knowing he too would be coming any second now.
Just in case Takitoshi didn't come through, he figured he now had an alternative, as far as getting the loot goes. And, that's really all he wanted, Miriam or not.
Insurance.