Don't Tell Daddy (Sample)

I Just Died

I just died in your arms tonight. Don't want nobody to bring me back to life

 The Amarie song I Just Died played on Pamela's iPod. She was thinking of Bryan as she listened to the tune. Speaking on affair that was appallingly good, but that was clearly wrong. Died was once a euphemism for orgasm. She loved the play on words.

She was waiting for Bryan down in the basement. Heather and Jada were both asleep, and she was in his den. What they, the ladies, called the man cave. She was on the black leather sofa, lingerie under her robe. He told her to wear a pair of stilettos, so she did as she was told. 

The door opened, and Pamela's heart beat in anticipation and a little from the fear that it maybe wasn't Bryan. She lay completely still as the figure approached. "Mela," Bryan said huskily, leaning over the couch to lift her up and bring their torsos together. He kissed her, and she leaned up, slipping her arms around him. He pulled away and smiled at her. "Damn."

"What?" 

"Nothing. You just look good," he admitted.  

He studied her young body thoughtfully, giving his devotion to every detail, every curve, every inch of flesh. Her young, tight, hot body. Her inexperienced body. Losing her virginity had done very little by way of experience.

He lifted her up and pulled her to the bed near the window. He went over to his closet got something she couldn’t see. She watched, unable to really believe that this was happening. She had been crushing on her godfather for a few years now and here she was, sleeping with him. 

He locked the door, and went back to her. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, holding a canister. She shook her head no, and he smiled wickedly. "Come here, mami," he whispered, and she crawled over to him. He lowered his head and kissed her softly, wrapping his arms around her thin waist, his hands resting on her plump ass. Then he laid her back. "Have you ever heard of body paint?" he asked. She shook her head no. What the hell has she been doing with that young boy? He don't know shit. Whatever. I'll teach her.

Bryan layered different flavors of the paint on Pamela's body under the lamp light, flicking the brush across each plain of her body with such precision, it was as if he had known this body forever. As if this body had belonged solely to him.

Bryan admired his handiwork a moment, his eyes roving over the fresh and waiting body of adulterated art before he proceeded to lick it off from her neck down. He gently bit her nipple, his lips closing around it, and she moaned accepting the pain as her pleasure.

He licked the paint from her stomach, and she giggled, squirming from the tickle. His eyes watching her face, Bryan moved down and licked the paint that he placed on her juicy pussy and it was already melting away from her wetness and the heat emanating from her body.

He put his head in and stuck his tongue into her , then pulled it out, licking all around, and sucking on her clit, tasting her and the paint and unable to get enough of the sweet taste.

Floating on a cloud of pure euphoria, Pamela allowed her hand to caress Bryan’s soft waves before she was holding the nape of his neck, grinding against his silky tongue.

Bryan folded her outer lips back, licking her like a sundae. "Bryan," she whispered, feeling her skin heat up. 

Legs trembling, Pamela sucked in air. She drifted off into bliss, as she emptied the lust in her womb and Bryan lapped at her juices like a thirsty wretch who had found an oasis. She moaned and writhed. "Ay mis Dios. Bryan. Papi, papi," [BA1] she called out. 

Bryan trailed his way back up and kissed her, holding her warm body to his own, breathing into her, filling her with the very essence of life.

"I want to try it," she whispered, her breathing deep as she looked up at him.