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don’t know how much more of this I can take. Her kiss, her touch, her presence is evoking feelings I’ve never experienced with anyone else before. How can a woman—okay, this female—I know nothing about send my body into a sea of pleasure, transporting me to a place of bliss I’ve never known to exist while stirring so many emotions in me?
    A moan seeps out of me as she fucks into the soft folds of my pussy with her skilled fingers. Her hand strokes—deliberate and purposeful—gliding in and out, sawing into my wetness, intent on bringing me to orgasm.
    I am besieged with hot desire. I want this . . . this androgynous boi -toy . . . this beautiful, sexy genderless being to fuck me, make love to me, to conquer and control every piece of my womanhood—my pussy, my clit. To turn me into her dirty, filthy little fuck-whore. To fuck my messy, wet cunt deep and hard until I am sore and my entire body goes limp.
    Oh, God, this is not happening to me. How can something so wrong, so deliciously sinful, feel so damn right? And . . . oh so fucking good?
    I break the kiss. Afraid of what may happen next.
    “What are you doing to me?” I ask breathlessly.
    “I’m doing exactly what you want me to.”
    She runs her tongue over her lips; her fingers continue stretching and curling and fucking into the throbbing ache and need pooling deep inside of me.
    “Oh, God, yes,” I whisper against her ear. My breath catches in my throat. Eyes closed, mouth open, I buck into her hand. A deep, muffled groan spills out of my mouth as I press my thighs together, clamping her hand, clutching her fingers . . . and come.
    “You like that, baby . . .? You like them fingers all up in that pussy . . .?”
    For the love of God! How can this stranger, this . . . this stud , know my body so well, better than any man I’ve ever been with? Without prompting, she knows where to find the hidden buttons to my erogenous zones.
    “Oooh, yesssssss . . . give me more.”
    She quickens her thrusts, her lips once again finding mine, her tongue twirling around mine. I had not expected this. But I am glad that she is here. Her fingers swiftly grazing along my walls, causing me to writhe in my seat as she finds my spongy hot spot inside of me.
    Over the music playing seductively low, I can hear the deliciously sweet, wet sounds of my pussy as she pumps her hand into me, the slapping noise of her cum-slick knuckles as they smack into my lips cause my cunt to pulsate. Wave after wave of silky wet passion splashes over her hand. My pelvis pumping and releasing whatever is left of my inhibitions out of me.
    I look up into the open sky and cry out.
    She waits for my body to stop shuddering and my breathing to steady, then pulls her fingers from my seeping heat and sucks them into her mouth.
    “Mmmm. You taste good.” She licks her lips. “That was the appetizer. Now”—she juts her chin toward something, someone, over my shoulder—“comes the main course.”
    I glance over my shoulder, looking in the direction of her gaze.
    There she is.
    My menu selection.
    The Pussy Pleaser.
    She is tall and lean and muscular with chiseled features. The African sun backed deeply into her flawlessly smooth skin. She’s an irresistibly breathtaking cross between supermodels Tyson Beckford and Alek Wek. There is nothing femme in the way this beautiful specimen who is the color of coal swaggers over to me.
    My God, she’s fine!
    “What’s good, ma?” she says, taking me in as she steps into my space. I wonder if she can smell my cum-soaked pussy. Her lips are beautiful; full, juicy, suck-able, dark-chocolate lips that look as soft as cotton. Her gaze wanders lecherously over my body, her eyes soaking in my curves. I stand, giving her a better view. Instinctively, I straighten my posture, causing my breasts to spring forward, the top of my chocolate areolas peering out of the neckline of my dress.
    She licks her lips, eyeing my ample cleavage.