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The platinum moon over Holmby Hills, California, left streaks across the marble floor as Payton stepped through the French doorway of her husband's home office. Her Angel perfume announced her entrance and seduced him to close his eyes; anxiously awaiting her arrival. He sat facing his computer, his back to the doorway, and the smoke from his Cuban cigar danced a tango toward the vaulted ceiling.
The Mary Jane Girls' "Candy Man" played in the background as Payton began her cat walk. Once behind him she gently ran the tip of her tongue over the muscular curves of his broad shoulders; and that's when it clicked; the song playing on the radio was apropos because he was definitely candy. At six foot two, he bore the physique of a lifer pushing hundred-pound weights, with sensually forbidden yet highly desired rips and bulging muscles. His skin was the color of a smooth and sweet Sugar Daddy, complimented by the milk chocolate eyes of a Zulu king: strong, regal, and serious. He wore a low and sexy well-lined Caesar, and framing his succulent lips was a delicious shadow-box beard.
He was polished and powerful. Articulate yet able to bring it to whomever, whenever. Confident but not arrogant. He was bilingual but Hood was his native dialect. He was perfect but always willing to expound upon his perfection. And all of this is why Payton loved him--or maybe not.
Her feelings for him were more erotic; no, more adoring. But then . . . perhaps her feelings were actually quite simple: she felt as if she owned him, that he belonged to her in every way imaginable--from the spinning waves in his hair to his large feet that lived up to the myth. All belonged to her.
Payton felt she'd raised him, though she wasn't his mother--she was definitely his wife. And she wasn't a cougar--they were both thirty. However, Payton deserved the credit for finding him five years ago, when he drove a UPS truck and delivered packages to her corporate offices. She was the one who'd asked him out to dinner, compelled by the way his eyes smiled when he looked at her.
Though she could've had any man, she chose to save him from the trenches of Crenshaw and deliver him into the golden-gated community of Holmby Hills, California, because she wanted him--not because she had to have him. After all, she was not only swanky rich but was wickedly beautiful: a slender size six, five eleven with perfect posture and a Naomi Campbell saunter. She had eyes like brown marbles and skin the deep amber of the evening sun.
He'd become one of the talented tenth because of who she was: a strong black woman who pushed him to become the man among men. For all intents and purposes, he should've worn her last name. After all, Payton was the one who'd come from great stock, not him; his father was a mystery, and his mother died of a heroin overdose. His sister had too many babies, and his brother drove somebody's garbage truck. Needless to say, he didn't have a name until Payton gave him one. "Mr. Lyfe Phillip Carrington," Payton said, tracing his shoulders with the tip of her index finger, "I was thinking that a good boy like you deserves to have his fantasy fulfilled."
Lyfe opened his eyes and slowly turned in his burgundy leather wing chair. He stared at his wife, who stood before him in a cupless, glow-in-the-dark latex suit, with a slit that ran from her wet and warm pussy lips to her luscious ass. And on her feet were six-inch, extremely spiked heels that made her look as if she were walking on nails.
Lyfe attempted to contain himself, but he couldn't. His cock was so hard that he had to unzip his pants and allow his ten-inch endowment more room to expand. He stood up to drink Payton in full view.
She licked her lips and ran her hands from the latex hood that covered her hair to her breasts, where she toyed with her hard nipples. "You sit back down, baby," she said, and he complied. "I have a surprise for you."
Payton placed one of her legs at the side of Lyfe's thigh, revealing her swollen and dripping pussy lips. "I want you to sit here," she eased his cigar from between his lips and mashed it in the ashtray, "and watch this." She turned her head to the side and called over her shoulder, "Come to Mama."
An unknown and completely naked voluptuous woman stepped across the threshold, glowing in neon yellow body paint. Her E-cup breasts swayed as she placed her hands on her hips and headed over to them. She stopped at Payton and kissed her. "Now serve your purpose," Payton whispered. The woman then slid between Lyfe and Payton and kneeled. She dipped her glowing hands into Lyfe's already unzipped pants, removed his cock and began licking her way around the curved tip and taking him into her mouth, until she had deep throated all of his inches.
For a fleeting moment Lyfe wondered why Payton was really doing this, but as soon as the glowing woman placed a tongue vibrator in her mouth and electric sensations forced his body into a trance, he was no longer conscious enough to care.
Payton stroked the woman's long and silky auburn hair, "You're doing well, honey. A good job. Damn," Payton moaned, "you're sucking that dick real good. You know it's candy in there. Get that candy, baby, and find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop."
Lyfe couldn't figure out if he needed to scream or to pinch his arm and see if this was a wet dream, because hands down this had to be the chick who invented sucking dick; he had never, ever, ever had brain like this. "S*** . . ." he moaned, entangling his fingers with Payton's as they both ran their hands through the woman's hair.
Payton looked in Lyfe's face and knew he was about to cum. "The candy is for me, baby." She tapped the glowing woman on the shoulder. "I just wanted you to get the candy to the center." Payton kneeled before Lyfe as the glowing woman moved behind her and ran her wet and heated tongue through Payton's sticky butterscotch and around her clit.
Payton moaned as she blew Lyfe's throne, seducing his cream candy out the tip. She could feel the glowing woman's tongue licking her pussy and pushing into her wet valley like a dick. All Payton could do was scream and moan, and moan and scream as the woman ate her pussy with extreme intensity, even as Lyfe's cum filled Payton's mouth.
Once Payton was satisfied, Lyfe rose from the chair and she lay in missionary position on the floor, allowing his member to expand her walls and force her body into complete submission. He stroked Payton with all of his might, tossing one of her legs to the side of his neck, causing her to scream his name in octaves.
The glowing woman kissed Payton from her bottom lip down the neck of her latex suit to her nipples, where she coddled her tongue around them. After sucking her breasts as if she were waiting for milk to come she lifted her body into the airplane position where she was breasts to breasts with Payton, tossed her legs over Lyfe's shoulders, and pointed her sweet and silky pearl directly in Lyfe's face.
For a moment Lyfe didn't know whether he was coming or going. He was working his dick one minute and his tongue the next until he was finally able to maintain a balance, between licking and stroking, stroking and licking, until they were all cumming, creaming, and screaming in delight.
This went on until the wee hours of the morning, from both women gracing Lyfe with the best neck he'd ever had, where one sucked his dick and the other tea-bagged him--to the glowing woman riding him while Payton sat on his face and he feasted from her garden.
Once they were all done, Lyfe went to their master suite and fell asleep while Payton saw to it that the glowing woman left as easily as she'd come.
Afterward Payton slipped into the bed beside Lyfe and admired him, like one does fine art. She was happy to have him, her own personal reincarnation of Adonis, or better, Zeus--because as she traced the outline of Lyfe's muscular pecks down to his deliciousness, which had grown hard again, she knew that he had to be a gracious gift from the god of all gods.