"Oh, yeah... Just like that." Iris gripped the edge of the desk so tightly her knuckles were white. The dick so deep inside her was tearing her pussy up in a way she hadn't had in a while. "Take all of this." The unseen man behind her tightened his grip on her breasts and began to set a blistering pace. Iris struggled with sensory overload. If only the others in the room would stop talking, she could cum in peace.
Others? Iris swiveled her head to the left. There was a someone behind a camera in the shadows catching the action from every possible angle. She wondered who the hell had maneuvered her into shooting a porn movie with Beyoncé and, she looked back over her shoulder, some skinny white guy.
"I'm not finished yet." The white boy slurred and slapped her on her ample ass. Iris clenched her inner walls, forcing a guttural moan from him. "Then keep on riding, Daddy," she grunted. Faster and deeper, the white boy continued to push. Iris found herself approaching something she did not always see with Craig - an orgasm. Her ex was nowhere near as endowed as white boy. But more importantly, Craig was only about his own pleasure during their sexual encounters.
White boy bent his knees and hit that spot. If she could, Iris would have risen up from her position bent over the desk and run from the dick...it was working her over that good. But white boy anchored her in place on the desk with a warm, slightly roughened hand square in the middle of her back. He was surprisingly strong, Iris conceded. She began to race toward orgasm like Usain Bolt toward a finish line. A few more strokes and she would be over that cliff falling like a rock. So close... so close...
Iris was jostled out of sleep — and her impending climax — by a series of restless movements in the bed beside her. Damn Craig, awakening her from the most satisfying dick she 'd gotten in a while...including his. Craig? What the hell was she doing in bed with her ex? She had kicked him to the curb a few weeks ago. His perversions had gotten increasingly tiresome. He wanted a threesome. He wanted to swing. He wanted her to wear a strap-on. The only thing he hadn't suggested was that they have sex with a fuckin' goat. Iris was sure that given time, Craig would get around to asking for that, too.
Quickly she rose from the darkness of sleep. Iris had never been a heavy sleeper to begin with. A childhood with a elderly aunt with cardiac issues had honed that trait even more. No matter how deep her slumber, Iris could come instantly awake.
"...Forrest Whitaker!"
Iris' eyes flew open at the vaguely familiar voice. There sitting upright in bed beside her was the white boy of her porn movie dream. "Da fuck??" Instinctively her hands shot out and shoved him from the bed. He went tumbling pale white ass over head onto the blood-red carpeted floor. "Oh, hell naw!"
While Iris tried to shake her mind clear of cobwebs, her fuck-buddy-come-to-life began to pepper her with a rapid-fire series of questions. "Who are you? What are we doing in this room...in bed together?"
Iris grabbed onto the one question she also wondered...why she was naked in bed with a total stranger. And he was a stranger, despite his appearance in her dreams. "I was gonna ask you the same question!" She scowled when the naked stranger awkwardly positioned his hands in front of his junk as though they were just meeting for the first time. If her vivid recollections were accurate, there wasn't a single hole in her body that his dick didn't already know.
"Did you and I sleep together?"
His question was uttered with such disbelief that it angered Iris and she replied with attitude. "Based on all this dried cum on my thighs..." She threw back the sheet so that he could see. "I'm gonna guess so." She had no memory of how the sticky fluid that covered her groin had come to be, but Iris thought it was a safe bet he didn't either. And it didn't take a rocket scientist to guess.
An expression flitted across the stranger's face too fast for Iris to decipher. She tossed an insult about his masculinity his way and predictably he stiffened in offense. "Do you insult all your customers," he asked. "Or is it just me?"
Iris had enough of the stranger's insulting behavior. He acted as though he alone should be entitled to outrage over the situation they now found themselves in. Iris slipped into what her ex-lover insultingly called 'Sista/Girlfriend Syndrome'. Its symptoms (according to Craig) were: frequent twisting of the neck, aggressive pointing of the forefinger, and a sudden overabundance of attitude not unlike a hot flash. "Oh. No. He. Didn't! This skinny ass white boy did not look down his nose and call me a ho."
The white boy took a step backward. "Listen, Miss. My name is Darryl Pine and-"
Iris threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. She was completely naked. "I am going to go take a shower," she announced. The stranger's bodily fluids had begun to dry on her groin and pubic hair. Iris felt sticky and in desperate need of a thorough shower. Her upper lip curled in disgust. "I need to go wash all this sticky white boy off me." Deliberately, she chose not to deal with the reason for the tautness of the skin on her face.
Without a backward glance, Iris made her way to the bathroom. She did not bother to look for some type of covering for her body. She was not ashamed of her body. Perhaps more importantly, she didn't give a damn what the skinny white boy thought.
Fuck him.
End Notes: Iris Gifford
