Her Exotic Billionaire's cruise pic
Her Exotic Billionaire's Cruise -
Mega Contemporary Romantic Suspense Thriller Novel

© Copyright Cupideros, Tuesday, November 10, 2015
10,012 words

Lydia Elish, Manager of a cruise ship travel agency, needs to hire someone new to solve her two biggest problems.  Finally, a young fuck stud, fresh after his college graduation, comes along and qualifies for the job.

Heart-shaped face, forty-one-year old Lydia tossed her Cosmo magazine on the floor on the opposite side of her queen-sized bed.  Hours earlier, she masturbated to an orgasm in the shower, but the need now arose again.  She wore a lace black bra over her 40D-tits.  Below her matching panty crotch steamed her saucy cunt juices, inspired by the young twenty-something men Cosmo flaunted in every magazine issue.  Did Cosmo editors understand the total abstinence of unfulfilled desires women her age wallowed in, endured on and off the pages of slick magazines, television and movie screens? Where were all the sexy forty-year-old women in the movies having great, hot, sultry sex, clump clomping like Mrs. Robinson; in her bedroom and shooing her young stud to just stay quiet so they can just fuck? Men fucked young women.  Fortyish women were not dead—and Lydia’s libido-wench desires yearned more than ever for throbbing embedded penis-staying-in-her-wet vagina satisfaction.  Slowly pushing herself up on all fours, recalling in her memory a picture of an Italian young hunk with dark hair, hot-and-bothered lusty eyes, and rippling smooth muscles, she assumed a kneeling position—on her knees and both elbows.  Her pink satin sheets wobbled in slow motion under the soft bedroom light as Lydia reached for something to ease her ache below her wet-shaven crotch. 

Several objects nestled between her mattresses, her purple six-inch dildo, her pink-power vibe, her silver ben-wa balls, but tonight Lydia wanted a familiar old friend.  Like most women, Lydia found familiar objects more erotic, secretive.  Any man standing in her bedroom, sitting or even lying on her bed, would never suspect she humped most of the beauty products in their sight.  Her gold lipstick, tapering to the smooth, round chevron tip, given by the new girl in the office, Stephanie; her thick, light-green lotion bottle, and even her black-marker Sharpie pen.  A woman never forgets some of her first inanimate lovers.  Lydia reached and picked up her black and silver hairbrush.  Each black bristle had a tiny white bead cap for smoothing out her long sexy platinum-blonde hair.  The handle measured only about four-inches long, was finger width, colored black and contained a small round hole on the tip perhaps for hanging the brush up on a rack.  Lydia did not know any women who hung their hairbrushes on racks, but she knew several, women who in their secret girl-only moments on the cruise ships confessed to fucking their favorite hairbrush to a crashing, intense orgasm.  Her girlcum juices collected in that brush hole as she fucked herself; sometimes it was her discharge, sometimes her ECM ovulation juices, and all the times her pussy lubrications.  Lydia rubbed down the handle kneeling on her pink satin sheets and conjured up the sexy Italian man in her mind again.  Oh, how easy it was for her.  The darker the man the faster her imagination created a series of lusty scenarios to fuck enjoy.
Lydia wiggled her tight ass a bit.  She moaned.  Using her freehand, she squeezed her 40D breasts once more.  She pushed the black finger-width, four-inch handle back toward her smoldering cunt.  Heat pouring out of her love slot.  Her inner thighs growing wetter by the minute.   She closed her eyes tighter.  The familiar object entered the quiet cove of her sex.  Recalling the stimulating cool black-hairbrush handle, Lydia sighed and arched her back deeply.  Her clit emerged for a peek at the carnal-estrus activities.  Slick in her juices, Lydia swished the black-hairbrush handle over her swelling outer and inner labias.  A click-click-squish sound reverberated through her quiet bedroom.  Lydia smelled herself.  Turning her face into her upper arm, her perfume and the imagined masculine scent of that Italian young man getting a darker and darker tan fused into her olfactory senses.  She bit her lip.  Now her cunt juices began to trickle downward from her pussy cove.   Lydia circled her hips in a lewd fashion.  She never labeled herself a nasty girl, but her black hairbrush circles, stirring up her nasty-lovely cunt juices, found a way to massage her clit pearl swimming in more of her saucy cunt juices.
Being a good girl, she never fucked a black man, and this is how Lydia made up for the inexperience.  The Italian young man developed a slightly thicker nose bridge.  His eyes turned from gray to a chestnut brown.  His black hair curled and grew shorter until he had almost a baldhead, but the tightly curled locks stayed unmistakably visible.  His muscles strengthened as the light reflected from his black skin’s smooth hills and valleys.  Lydia hated to admit to herself, but the black man now positioned behind her with his face inches from her sweltering soppingsex, just knew what to do sexually to get her off.  All black men simply knew how to fuck; more important, they knew how to fuck a white woman and make her theirs for life.
“Lick me,” Lydia said in a purring moaning tone, unmistakably needed for his soft-wet tongue on her now swollen sex.  The black man’s huge hands grasped the side of Lydia’s white buttocks.  Between her eager legs, his dark-hairless chest rose up and down in equal eager anticipation.  His breathing deep and languorous, he knew she would wait for him.  He did not try to pin her down or grab her throat and try to choke her into sexual submission.  Lydia hated men who did that.  Because, her black lover understood, and accepted she was his.  She waited open, her spread-inner labia, like pink taffy flopping over her engorged outer labialips.  His hard black-cock muscle strengthened by veins of passionate heat seeking a warm place to cuddle, bounced up and down in rhythm to his tongue’s long licks up and down her slippery pussy crotch.  “Oh, yes, yes!” Lydia moaned in passionate response.
Lydia pressed herself backward, driving the black man’s nub tongue into her hot pussy.  She rose on her hands.  Her diamond stud earrings glinted in the bedroom light as she tossed her long platinum-blonde hair back and it struck down on her back.  Not retreating as the warrior-lover he was, the black man stood his ground under Lydia’s humping assault motions, her white buttocks trying to pussy smother him; sucking him into her inner being if it could.  Feelings driving inside Lydia came mostly from her mind before, but now the black man pulled those carnal feelings from her body, too.  He refused to let her wallow in hypothetical frustration as his lips clamped firm and soft around her inner lips and pulled gently on them, sucking them into his hot-slippery experienced mouth; his tongue thrashed her swollen longer innerlabias in the perfect way.  Sideways at first, he thrashed them, before going random in different directions, up and down, slanting left and right, stopping sucking and pulling on her taffypink labias. 

For some reason, the black man always stopped at this point and pulling her wrinkled innerlabias between his plump black lips, back further and further, he let her swollen cunt flaps plop back against her drenched sex with a lewd slap, before rushing and sticking two-manicured fingers deep inside her heaving, stretching cunt. 
The move happened so fast it always drew a panting gasps from Lydia’s mouth, recalling in her pleasures of the present and past orgasms by forming a big O expression on her face.
Lydia came hard!
Now, his black hands, hands like midnight, lunged higher around the side of her chest and his hardness bounced rhythmic against her begging-inner spaces, her tush, her pulsating labias and her stretching-backward cunt hole.  Lydia detected the smell of her heated fuckhole on the black man’s hands as she lowered her face to her elbows again, giving him more access to her.  She put her libertine face into her upper arms as the black man entered her fully, after having some difficulty, of course.  Lydia kept her fuckslot tight, and her ben-wa balls kept her fuckhole tone and her wanton desire kept her fucksandwich closed to his intrusions until he won her over; his cushy-penis head bobbed against that aching—hard to reach gap near her cervix only a man’s cock, this black man’s strong cock touched with ease.
The black man began to thrust, but pound more accurately described the feeling to Lydia.  He also began to play with her bra strap, snapping them lightly, first the right, and then the left.  This annoyed Lydia, but the slight sting caused no visible damage and since he was giving her all of his hardcore pleasure, she did not mind returning a few softcore pleasures of her own.  He mixed the bra-snapping sensation with smooth rubs to her lower back, near the dimple in her lower back—reminding her of the days when boys snapped her bra when she suddenly developed into a full-grown woman at age fourteen.
Because she was on her hands and knees, the force of their merging drove the black man to grab, Lydia around her waist.  His thick fingers began to touch her clit from her Venus Mound and this always drove Lydia to grab his hand and pulled him down over her.  They humped against each other.  Rather, she pumped her tight ass backward, driving him further into her oily cunt, as she held his right hand forcing him to stay close so his balls smacked against her clit.  His hairless chest rested against her back and his sweet mint-breath reached her nose, as he gave himself to her repeatedly with abandon, until at last they came and he collapsed beside her spent, as she took all his manhood from his now-slackened big black balls.
Lydia laid exhausted the black hairbrush between her quivering legs.  Waves or orgasms wracked her body over and over in a wash of complete satisfaction.  Throughout her bedroom, the sweet scent of her pleased cunt swathed about as she pulled the black hairbrush from her boiling-cooling cunt and brought it to her lips.  Lydia always loved to see her juices, proof of her aliveness, her nasty desires, her desires, more raunchy than any Girls Gone Wild video on the market.  Pussy juices collected around the hairbrushes’ sides, and a treasure of fuckgrool pooled in the hole in the hairbrush.  Lydia brought the handle to her lips and tasted herself.  She smiled and licked and sucked off the hairbrush, until at last, no one knew if her hairbrush served as a hair grooming tool or a temporary dildo.  She plopped back down on her belly, smiling.  Someday, a man she trusted, a black man perhaps would learn her secret.  Or she might decide to tell him. 

Only right now, in her present job as Travel Manager at Exotic Adventures Unlimited, she did not meet many black men.  Black men hated swimming apparently.  Lydia tried to remember watching the Olympics.  She loved sports and the Olympics with their so-called squeaky-clean competition-for-competition were still her favorite.  And in all those years, no black swimmers or divers appeared in the Olympics.  She lay there wondering how to meet a black guy without going into some ghetto in her black Lexis and prowling like a junkie.  The thought repulsed her.  For now dark-Italian men, have to do. 
Lydia rolled to the dry side of her queen-sized bed and fell asleep.


Lydia awoke, grabbed her hairbrush and entered the shower.  Afterward, she dressed, her pussy still buzzing nicely from her orgasms.  Her face looked fresh.  Every orgasm seemed to turn back the clock of age, just a tiny bit, Lydia thought with a smile as she headed out the door.  First, she grabbed some breakfast at a local eater and hoped some dark-handsome young man discover her perky tits and the fuckblush showing all over her face. By the time she parked her car in the garage, visited her favorite restaurant for breakfast, and walked to work, her fuckblush always vanished.
“How may I help you miss?” said the sexy young hunk.
“I’d like bacon and eggs, side order of jam and toast, and grape juice.”  Lydia wanted to add “you” to the menu when speaking to the young hunk, but he obviously found her intimidating, in her makeup, glossy red lipstick, peach-pleated skirt, and a black stretch-cotton blouse restraining her bouncing 40D-cup tits.  He had a low voice.  A good sign.  She hated men with high shrill voices.  A man needed to be able to make himself heard in a room full of women, Lydia always thought.  On a cruise ship, a man’s voice carried further over the crashing waves, crowded ballrooms and theater productions, too.  Under her teachings, for just two months, her new male assistant would learned to pick up women without even trying, just by being himself and using his deep-masculine voice.
“It will take a minute.  Our cook is late.”
Lydia held her eyes on the young man’s blue eyes for longer than necessary.  “I have time.”
He turned unaware of her needs and walked away.
Lydia watched as the young man’s hard ass walked down the aisle to another white-tabled customer, a pair of businessmen in blue suits.  She bet the young man jerked off to porn girls and fantasized about meeting some horny slut who wanted to fuck him without waiting for the customary three dates.  Too bad, Lydia, shook her head, he did not see a fuck-ready slut right before his eyes, albeit in business warpaint and professional female attire. 
Men were mysteries of action.  Lydia ate her meal thinking of ways to attract a black man to the cruise ship business.  First putting in advertisement in a black college newspaper popped into her mind; then she rejected it because he’d probably get seasick or couldn’t swim.  It was as if expecting to find a black man playing polo or yachting.  Black men loved land sports and sports without animals involved.  She drank her grape juice thinking of black actors.  None of them swam either.  No black superheroes swam.  She needed some luck.  Stephanie knew a black man once in her anthropology class—that was a rare sight, she confessed.  Black men do not like cruise ships Stephanie admitted.  “Although, they do like pools.”
Lydia’s house, her backyard, had room enough for a pool.  She turned to the back of her newspaper and looked at the ads for pool installation.  Step one, build a pool.  Step two, invite a black man over.  Step three, push him in the pool and see if he could swim.  She giggled.  She would never do that.  Finally, she would teach him to swim as step four, after fucking him first.  “It’ll never work,” Lydia said to herself.  “I’ll have to settle for a dark Italian.”  Lydia paid her for meal, left a nice tip and headed for a walk to the office.


Outside, reengerized by food and the handsome-innocent waiter, she walked on to work; Lydia ignored another comment from a white older man, verbally ogling both her tight fortyish ass cheeks.  This happened all the time. In her younger days, she received the flatter nicely, said a simple thank you, and kept walking.  However, just entering her forty-first birthday, Lydia decided to switch gears.  None of the older men ever satisfied her anyway, despite what the cultural messages implied: An older man is good for a younger girl financially; she provided him sex and he provided her money.  Lydia wanted the man to provide her with sex, because she had enough money.  In fact, if the older men wanted to fuck as much as she did, she could easily ignore the fact he didn’t have any money at all.  Pausing in front of a high-fashion shopwindow, she eyed a sparkly black sequin gown on the mannequin doll.  Window-shopping allowed the dirty old fort to pass her by as Lydia preened her bra-length silvery hair and touched up her cherry-red lipstick. 

Earlier in her stroll to work, her honeypot under her long legs still percolated nicely when the young-hot hunk, fast riding, his bike for a courier service, nearly fell as he ogled her buttocks and 40D tits commenting, “I’d like to fuck that experienced pussy.” 

Now there was an ogle Lydia appreciated.  Someone, who acknowledged, and accepted, a woman’s powerful sex drive, especially her powerful, older-sex drive.  Correlation between her sex drive and her age never make sense to Lydia, though.  She had always been a nympho.  Now at forty-one, she allowed herself to admit it her nympho status.  Most women, Lydia noticed, spent decades denying and stuffing their sex drives down under their stocking, panties as much they hid their nipples from public scrutiny. What was the point of breast without nipples anyway?  The hot-young hunk riding his bike for a courier service simply stated the facts.  Lydia looked deliciously hot for forty-one years old woman.

He wasn’t black, this courier stud, but his boner made his riding difficult, and what a powerful big boner the young courier hunk sported.  His blue-bike pants, stretched to the limit in his bent over position, left little to the female imagination.  His schlong measured in the foot category, his balls in the plums.  Lydia started walking again, trying to remember the courier service’s name on the back of his jacket.  There was a land sport, no animals involved, a black man might enjoy.  Maybe she could find a black man to courier something to one of her business outlet partners.  Oh, she’d have that black young man deliver something to her all right.  He’d be able to carry it up the mountainous streets of San Francisco all day and night.  He’d never forget to bring it to their naughty rendezvous at her high-price condominium in the hills either.  She would ease him into her newly built pool.  Life suddenly seemed a lot brighter as possibilities began to fall into place.  In fact, he’d always bring his package and deliver it to her gray tinted, two-sink bathroom as well—his cock and balls that is.  Turning over a new trend in self-awareness, Lydia’s mantra now stated, ‘I’m going out with younger men, not older men.  I will find a black man to fuck.’

Lydia reached her workplace, opened the glass doors containing the red-cursive script Travel Manager Exotic Adventures, Unlimited.  She went inside.  Ready to get busy, concerned and with the drop of comfort and a dream of vengeance against all older men, her bitchy attitude returned.  She knew the drill.  She had done the drill before, daily as she said her obligatory hello to Stephanie, her office assistant.  Lydia Elish slipped behind the partition screen in her office and changed into what was, essentially, a purple bathing suit.  

Minutes later, she lowered herself behind her big mahogany wooden desk, leaned her heart-shaped face back in frustration, and let out a frustrated sigh.  Today, she prepared to endure one young male potential travel assistant after another, who completely ignored her nymphomania come-ons.
“Stephanie, what’s the name of the local courier services?”
“I can deliver any package you want, Ms. Elish.”
“Yes, but you should not be rushed about, skipping breaks.  I forbid it.”
Minutes later, Stephanie brought in a list of courier services.  “I think Fast Package delivers best service for the price.”
“Thank you, Stephanie.”

Stephanie always did annoying things and this was one of them.  Efficient to an extreme, she rarely took a day off or called in sick.

As Lydia scanned the courier list, she decided, not only to ignore Stephanie’s suggestion, but also, planned to find her assistant a boyfriend.  Fast Package wasn’t on the back of the courier she saw, but who knows, maybe that’s where all the black men worked.  Lydia planned to call them at the end of the day. 

Lydia really liked her job, because it gave her subtle ways to interview males for the positions available.  One was the actual position at Exotic Adventures and the other a real position as her fuck studboyfriend.  First, she leaned over to show him where to sign his application; her bouncy 40D-boobs reveal a mile of tight cleavage inside her purple-halter-beach bra.  Her matching, briefs shrink-wrapped around her hips under her miniskirt beach wrap also gave him lots of eye candy for his lusty sweet cravings.  The skirt wrap, always tight, raised in a teasing fashion advertising her zero Kinsey scale heterosexual-trim thighs; Lydia’s shapely, slightly tanned thighs stayed on erotic display.  Her Victoria Secret beachwear became the perks in exchange for the extra work she did for the Travel Manager Exotic Adventure’s CEO, Jac Longstone, who took off on vacation this week.  Therefore, Lydia felt free to relax a little during the interview processes for her new, male travel assistant. 

In high glamour, travel selecting vacations, cruises, and tours for the rich and famous, few blacks worked and even fewer oversexed persons like her work there.  Or she just wasn’t meeting the young oversexed rich crowd.  Maybe that was the problem.  All the rich people got sex on the side, and she needed to find some poor male, intelligent and always horny, yet wise enough not to talk.  Lydia wanted control as much as she wanted pleasure.  She needed a fresh college graduate.  She needed someone with the same nympho problematic urges Lydia struggled with her entire life.

After three hours, all the applicants interviewed so far worked in the travel industry before; they'd figure out the job in a week, become bored, then start the political games trying to rise in the huge company, using her as their stepping-stone.  Lydia didn’t need drama.  Worse still, the male applicants exhibited no sexual impulses at all.  She wanted someone young, male, fertile, who needed sex as badly as she did.  She wanted someone who hadn’t had a human-induced orgasm in one-hundred-and-five days—not some male who counted self-fist fucking as sex.  This man of her heart’s desire needed a woman to cause his orgasms—not some celluloid one-dimension chick on a small or big screen or in a magazine or a billboard.

No this gentleman stud, whomever he was, and Lydia was convinced he was out there, wanted her for her talent.  And out of all her talents, Lydia knew how to orgasm—even that, to be honest, wasn’t the point.  Her sex obsession consisted of finding a man to make her orgasm!  To be more specific, a hot-black hunk making her orgasm—like the eager Italian courier man who nearly crashed because he wanted to get inside her white-tight panties under her peach-undulating skirt this morning.  Lydia longed for a man unafraid to show his hot desire for her body and love.

The number one-hundred-and-five bothered her at first when she finally counted her Daytime Calendar’s non-human-induced orgasms marks.  Had it been that long since she fucked a young man?  And it had been fourteen-thousand-nine-hundred-and-sixty-five days since she fucked a black man.  As a young college student, she and her girlfriends used to joke about all the boys drooling over girls in magazines they’d never have.  “We are right here available, waiting to be treated with respect, and fucked for fun, not as an interview for our MRS. Degrees,” they crooned in good humor mixed with frustration. 

Lydia muttered among interviews, “I deserve to come, get wet and squirt all over a young man’s face.  If men can get free Viagra on their health plans, I should be allowed to get a young man to make me orgasm without suffering a one-hundred-and-five-days delay.

Days like these never added up, however.  Viagra and a young man to make her orgasms blended the practical and the impossible.  You can’t get a young man to fuck you put on your health plan.  Nevertheless, Lydia wished she taken up that model scouts’ offer to do porn films—just for a day.  The model scout said, no one had to know, and she’d make a lot of money.  She’d learned how to spread her legs wide and take an eight-inch-throbbing-cock pole up her pussygash.   Her wet, slippery, girlcum juices soon coated his hard cockpivoting flesh, pounding inside her hungrysnatch bringing his boiling manseed closer to the volcanic opening of his twitching dick spurting, hosing down her clamping spreading wide-cunt hole.  However, the porn model scout offered poor salesmanship.  To convince Lydia, he should have offered she’d have ten orgasms a day at the hands of young studs fresh out of college. 

That was it.  Simple.  End of story. 

But the model porn salesrep forgot all about the real reason behind sex—to get off!  To release energy into our universe, to cause a mutual reaction in another human being's hard, testosterone hormonestick.  She wanted the man's hips to pump hard into her circling white hip's raw motions of lust, for him to fill her with his energy.

Lydia pulled herself to her desk again.  She cleared her throat, “Stephanie, please send the next applicant in.” 
“Yes, Ms. Elish.  You may go in now, Jake.”
“Thank you Miss.”
“You’re welcome.  Break a pencil.”
“That means have success in the art business,” said plain Stephanie, in her sweetest voice. 

Plain Stephanie, her assistant, had men falling all over her.

Lydia didn’t understand it.  Finally, she did.  Guy’s knew Lydia had it all, the tits, long-throbbing perfect clit, a heart-shaped face, eyes that narrowed into that boudoir look, come-here stud and suck my cunt lips, lick my-puffy fuckflaps.  Lydia’s plump ass, if this were the Victorian era, she wouldn’t even need a bustle under her dress.  Men were just afraid of her plain and simple.  Every man assumed she had a thousand men knocking at her fuckhole door.  How close their assumption proved true, but then again none of the men were young hot hunks?  Lydia wished she had a thousand young handsome men knocking and entering her love socket’s tight, wet, juicyspace. 

Lydia smiled.  “Have a seat, Jake Simmons is it?”
Jake sat in the leather black guests chair opposite Lydia. 
Lydia narrowed her blue-bedroom eyes at the man.  “Tell me something about yourself," she cooed.
“I’ve held various positions on cruise ships in many international ports,” the dark handsome, twenty-year old began.
“Wait.”  Lydia’s finger combed her bra-length, radiant platinum blonde hair.  “Sometimes I forget my powerful presence.”  She had masturbated for two minutes under her desk earlier this morning between interviews—just to knock off the boredom a bit.  Her cunt dew linger subtly on her hand.  Lydia rolled her shoulders extending her amble 40D breasts.  Standing now, she wiggled her hips to shimmy down the purple-miniskirt beach wrap to give the young man an under view of her braless jugs.   She pulled out another blank application from her middle drawer.  “Please sign right there when you’re done,” she leaned over allowing her perfumed tits, her cunt scent on her fingers and long-platinum hair practically smacking the young man’s bulging nostrils into working in ways he never imagined. 
“Right there?” he stammered.
The young man never knew what hit him.  His eyes drifted up, higher and higher, until he starred at her boob cleavage.  Soon as he looked, Lydia had the advantage she wanted.  She snapped.  “What are you looking at my perky nipples and tits for?  Haven't you seen a woman or girl without a bra on?  For your information, Jake women hate wearing a bra.  Is that what you’d do on the tour job, the cruise job?  Can’t a woman dress for herself without some stud thinking she wants to fuck all the time?
“I apologize, Ms. Elish.”
“Get out!  You pervert!  And don’t flirt with my secretary when you leave!”
Lydia relished the sound of her office door closing.  “Of all the stupid things.  If a guy can’t control his lust in an office, how was he going to do so on the middle of a cruise ship full of ovulating women, and girls wearing skimpier swimsuit than her, women and girls flirting unconsciously for males to have a baby with without their being aware of their actions?” 


All Lydia wanted, needed was a happy ending, not permanently, just someone attractive enough to fuck and smart enough to read the signs of silence. 

“Any more applicants out there, Stephanie!”

Plain Stephanie came inside the office door and whispered, holding the door to Lydia’s office closed three-quarters of the way.  “One more.  I’m not sure he’s the type you’re looking for.”
“What is he an alien, with green skin? Tentacles arms?  Old as I am? What--Stephanie?”
“He’s fresh out of college.  He doesn’t know how to focus on-the-job hunt.  He’s smiling and laughing to himself over some stupid political cartoon in the Feminist Times.  And he’s black!”
“Really!” Lydia’s heart excitedly jumped.  “Send—you said fresh out of college--black?” she whispered.
“Correct, Ms. Elish, you’d have to train him all over in everything.  We’d be sued if he died because he can’t swim.  You have to teach him how to meet the clients.  Take him out to dinner and improve his social skills.  You’d probably have to take him to bed simply to correct his misconceptions about women with money, power and sex.”
“Stephanie!  That is enough! What do they teach you kids in those MBA classes nowadays?  How to sleep to the top of corporate ladders?” 

Privately, Lydia thought plain Stephanie was not as stupid as she appeared.  Stephanie possessed the savvy insight of a smart executive.  I bet she self-fucks herself into orgasms every night thought Lydia.  Another intelligent woman forced to live alone in the world.
Stephanie partially closed Ms. Elish's wooden office door, with the big-red cursive lettering: Travel Manager Exotic Adventures, Unlimited.  Stephanie turned to get the college graduate.  “Here he comes, Lydia.  Right in there, Troy Sullivan."
Lydia’s heart jumped, but not before her spreading fuckwings twerked and not before her clit started to peek out shyly and not before her lower-belly clinched. 

“Hi, I’m, Troy Sullivan.  I don’t know a thing about the travel business, but I know people.”  He shook Lydia’s hand, leaned over the desk and practically checked out her boobs in her purple-halter bra.

Lydia was pleased, finally, some decent male attention.  “Troy Sullivan.  That’s a handsome name.  Can you swim?”
“I know the freestyle,” he laughed.  “I’m no Olympic swimmer if that’s what you mean.”
“Can you tread water or do the breaststroke?”
“I can.  The breasts stroke is that weird stroke you move your arms in a heart shape.”
“My strongest asset is I’m all male and understand how to relate to the opposite sex.”  He sat back a little in the black-leather guest’s chair.  Almost impertinent, except he kept the most tantalizing, hot-eye contact, his brown eyes all on top of Lydia’s blue-boudoir eyes.
“This job,” Lydia started slowly, “calls for some long hours at times, and working in close quarters as my assistant.”

She didn’t expect Troy to lick her pussy right away.  Maybe she did.  Of course, she wanted his wide, thick hands around her heaving hips, his mouth moving up and down her natural 40D-boobs.  His hands, smooth, looking as if they never saw a hard day’s work in his life, soon find the top of her hot-wet thighs.  Black hands capable of gliding over the female’s fleshy white tender parts, leaving trembling and ecstasy in their wake as his black-lipped mouth sucked the sopping grooves between her for-boys-only legs. 

"Ahem, yes.  You have promising potential." 
Desire in Troy’s brown eyes lusted in the most professional way.  This Troy could fool even the watchful female matron escort of an all-girls catholic school.  Every time Lydia wanted to go on a tirade and berate him, he just stared at some part of her body, her wrists, her shoulders, hallow of her neck, her belly button, and Lydia melted again back into her seat. 

They say everything good comes in threes.  For example, in Lydia’s case the sets of threes centered on sexual orgasms.  She had three hot bathing suits to wear to the beach, including the one she had on; three past boyfriends who decided, they enjoyed younger women better. Three times, she tried to go on those dating websites for beautiful women forty and over.  Each time, the men wanted someone twentysomething.  Now Lydia wanted a beautiful young twenty-to-twenty-one-year-old male more than three times a night. 

"You know there are six types of loves, Troy."  Lydia looked down bashfully.  She wanted this to soak into Troy's brain, every part of it.  "Playful love, friendship love, universal love, self-love," Lydia turned down the corners of her lips, "but not narcissism though, erotic love and . . .” Lydia tossed up her hands and stuck her chest forward, so her perkypoker nipples assaulted the stretchy material of her purple-bathing top.
"You'd be search for love-lasting love," Troy nodded.  "See, what good are all the rest, if you can't sustain it?  A man can come on hard and stiff, but last like for half a minute.  Long-lasting love provides magic, the ironcore ingredient to keep him going.  His magicrod is ready and able to stir up the most resistant cunt flower in the world." 

He smiled.

Lydia came.  Inside her purple-bathing suit’s matching brief, her wet spot made positive penetration through the stretchy material.  Cute, talented, and sexually sensitive, Troy made
Lydia relaxed.  This Troy was going to do just fine.  In addition, Stephanie hadn't understood a thing about the male sex, yet.  It'd take her a good fifteen years in the future for her to grasps Troy's talent.  A man needed to be more than just a hot fuck physically.  He needed to be a hot fuck mentally, too.  Of course, a woman needed to be more than just a hot fuck physically, but Stephanie’s inexperienced left her unaware of that as well.  In her forties, Lydia knew how to be interesting to a man’s mind and his body.  And her mind did most of the fucking and bed asking, although most young women and man find that even harder to believe.  The mind fucked, the body caressed.

Lydia said silently to herself, aha!  Aha!
Troy smiled wickedly and said, "Aha!"

Lydia got up, went around and asked him to stand.
He replied quickly, "If you’re game; I'm game."
"I'd thought you would be."  Lydia measured the top of his head to hers.  She stood one-inch smaller than Troy.  "The average woman listens better to a taller man, but this is changing, Troy.  Any man, who is talented in the right way, is always tall enough for any woman."
Troy put his hands around Lydia's hips.  "I usually measure a woman's height by her hips.  If her hips come right about here," he touched her hips and brought them close onto his monster-heat-radiating dick probe.  Lydia's sexy v of her divine triangle fit right onto Troy's burgeoning, self-humping-pole dick.

She leaned her face back and sighed.  "Yes.  Yes.  Yes!"
Troy reached over the top of her purple-halter bra.  His massive black hands, hot, electric sent tiny jolts of erotic urges cruising through Lydia's titracks.  He pulled out her white tits and without breaking eye contact, he, hard, suckled them—one after another.  Troy's tongue swirled around and around going over her boobflesh as if each time were his first.  His tongue stopped and tapped on her bead tips.  His lips pressed down and tugged on the protruding-pleasure-mini tubes. 

Lydia shuddered and came.  But hungrily, she denied Troy the pleasure of knowing his victory.  "Troy?" she groaned softly,


Lightly touching her collarbone, Troy allowed his fingers to gently flow down her shoulders as he stroked her bare-white arms.  Their skin tones contrasted.  He lightly continued tracing her chin, but again moved to caress Lydia’s arms, arms that had not seen any loving attention from a man in two-and-half decades.  Back when she first cuddlefucked-foreplayed with Skip "slippery fingers" for hours in eighth grade. Skip touched everywhere.  Spoiled, spread, stroked, Skip soiled her entire body using only his hands.  Lydia was no longer a virgin from that moment onward. 

Now . . . .

Now, she met another Skip "slippery fingers" a young black-college senior who burned all the porn rules books and returned to love and love touching, the natural way. 

Lydia pushed Troy against her desk.  She knelt on her knees.  "I am just the right height for this." 

Troy understood.

Lydia wet her lips and engulfed his pulsating warm probemeat.  His black cock was strong, sweet smelling.  Her mouth’s saucy sounds reverberated in her office.  Troy tried to speak Lydia noticed, but his mind kept forgetting the words.  He leaned his face back and relaxed.  Lydia swirled her tongue around this thick-veined black cockhead.  His hot cockmeat throbbed incessantly in her hands.  In her mouth, his dick cap danced on her agile-wet tongue and at the back of her throat.  The less he controlled her, the harder Lydia sucked to prove she had everything a girl his age possessed. 

Lydia loved her moment of triumph.  It wasn’t over but she reached the peak with his eager young black sex inside her white willing-wet mouth.  And as in her fantasies, Troy took his time allowing her to be the bad girl she always wanted to prove she was to the right man.  She felt him softly caressing her long bra-length platinum-blonde hair.  He moaned her named in whispers, over and over, every time she went down on him and came back up.  Lydia opened her blue eyes whenever she rose off his stiffcock and let her lips linger and suck softly on the tip of his dick flesh.  Her blue eyes loved the pacified expression of captivated lust Troy allowed on his face.  She controlled him and he received her lust with complete abandon.  His immaculate hygiene, strong hairy legs and his mint breath, all qualities proving to Lydia, Troy prepared for the interview in the one right way.

Lydia gulped and took Troy deeper, down, lower and lower into her throat, further than she ever taken a man.  She heard his audible gasps as her two lips touched the black-tight curls of hair at his crotch.  Her gag reflex disappeared.  She had done it finally while he sighed and teased her hair with both his large black hands. 

He had forgotten all about Lydia's age she knew; by the time she came up for air and wiped her lips, he succumbed to her mastery of his skin, black dick, and male senses.  Neither she nor Troy wanted to stop.  Not only eager herself, but also Lydia saw the passionate desire in Troy’s brown sensitive and knowing eyes as she switched places with Troy and crawled onto the desk on her hands and knees.  Lydia found his triangular face easy to stare at for hours.  His black nose more long than wide, but definitely African, reminded her of the enigmatic Sphinx statue in Egypt.  And enigmatic figures knew how to keep their mouth’s shut.

If he failed, she'd still not hired him.  Although, she'd make up excuses for him to come on cruises and fuck her every now and again.  But would he pass her test?  She made herself available to him, fully available as her knees spread wide on her office desk.

Troy placed his two palms firmly on her pale plumprump.  And Lydia's rump covered all her sex. 
Like every woman, Lydia viewed herself from every angle in the bathroom mirror after a shower.  She got down on her hands and knees to see just what the man saw when he approached her from behind to lick her sex or fuck her sex.  Moreover, she knew Troy needed to pry her plumprump apart to get at her taffy goodies.  Troy pressed using his thumbs and fingers making her soaked-purple panty beachwear seep through and through.  He sniffed.  He let his tongue lick up and down around the edges of her purple-swim briefs. 

Lydia listened.  Her frustration grew the longer he took; her desire increased the longer he played around deciding what to lick or fuck first.  Things might be different if she wasn’t a nympho, but that is what she was, a nympho who liked sex; no, a nympho who loved sex; not exactly right either Lydia thought anticipating Troy’s next seductive action.  No Lydia Elish needed sex and she was a nympho!  She loved to hear a man making love to her.  Her clit twitched several times when he sniffed her heated core.  He got off by sniffing her—it was lewd and naughty, it stimulated suspense feelings in and around her groin, but she liked it. 

He licked under the panty leg bands teasing her puffed, wet, engorged pussylips.  Her fragrance wafted throughout the room; he wanted to suck it all in through his nose.  Troy caressed her shapely thighs.  Lydia’s thighs shook ever so slightly in anticipation of penetration, of delight by tongue, to the taste of his fingers or by his now desensitized rockhard penis.  From between her eager legs, Troy’s stiff prick throbbed to a constant rhythm just as in her fantasies.  However, his physical presence reached her entire body.  In her fantasy, she knew he knelt behind her; however, in real life, she literally felt the heat of his entire body behind her.  His physical presence and what he might do increased the pleasurable uncertainty of their randy, ruttish feelings.  His balls hung tightly under his core, against his dick meat.  Her blowjob wound him up like a fine-tuned violin bow.  All the erotic notes he’d play on her labia strings became unimaginable to Lydia.

As Troy’s hands roamed free over Lydia's body, her desire for orgasms increased.  Climbing, soaring, reaching into that realm of multiple orgasms so rarely reached, Lydia loved how his black skin contrasted her slightly tanned white skin.  She loved how strong his arms looked even stronger as the white light reflected off the hills and valley of his muscles.  Most of all, he touched her silver-platinum hair, gently guiding it backward over her elegant neck.  He let his hands trailed down her back, over the purple halter. 
"I can smell your cunt in your gorgeous hair.  You've been naughty, Lydia Elish.  You've masturbated.  Did you come?"
"I couldn't.  I can't.  I am about to come—with you she lied.  I haven't come in one-hundred-and-five days, Troy."

"I feel like that sometimes, Lydia.  I’ll do something about that real-man-fuck drought.  Damn.  One-hundred-and five days.  You know a guy can fist fuck himself anytime he wants.  However,” Troy paused, he grinned as he studied the outer curve of her fuck hole facing that empty space before her ass hole, “fist fucking is almost worthless.  Celluloid girls only make you want a real live woman, Lydia.  I mark the days I’ve gone without fucking a real woman.  It’s been too long—and I’ve never fucked a white woman, Lydia.  In this way, I’m a virgin.”
Lydia confessed.  “I’m a virgin, too.  I’ve never fucked a black man, Troy!  I’ve always wanted to, though.”  Imagination took further flight in Lydia as she regarded her slightly tanned-white fingers.  On her left hand no wedding ring from a black man ever slid onto them, embraced it, secured her love, screamed to the world, ‘yes she fucked and married a black man so what!’
“I need a woman to come with me.  Fucking man to woman is the only twiddle worth indulging in.  We're kindred souls Lydia Elish--sex souls."

Lydia began creaming her panties again.  “Yes, yes!” She wanted to yell YES but Stephanie sat in the other room.  Lydia wanted to leave work and take Troy with her.  That being impossible she humped back slow and easy as Troy tapped her lightly under her crotch.  Each smack carried a saturation content of ninety percentage of the flimsy cloth’s absorption rate.  "Something is going to give, Lydia.  You're going to start dripping clear lines of girljuice all over your desk or . . . ."


"Or what Troy? Don't tease me.  I need you."

He guided the purple-swim briefs down over Lydia’s fortyish hips.  He let the material, soaked and saturated as it was, stay clinging up her clampingcooze, until it snapped out on its own.  Droplets of cunt sauce hit his wrists. 
“Awe.  Sweet!”  Troy licked it off.  He bent down.  Sticking his strong-wide bridge nose high into her quivering tush, his tongue licked underneath.  His tongue worked fast, then slowed, then stopped all together.  He paused and spun the tip of his tongue in small circles, each one growing larger and larger until his tongue swirled around her clit, inner labia and outer labia.  He kept focusing on one method and without warning changing up.  His ministrations on Lydia’s sex long enough to get her used to how to get herself off—then Troy changed his tongue’s attentions. 

This must be what blacks meant when they called black-and-white relations, swirling.  “Swirl away, Troy,” Lydia groaned.  If all the blacks-and-whites merged it be a poor thing, but Lydia knew something about God relished the variety and differences in the five races of people on the earth.  She knew that much; God or Goddess wanted separate races.  If it wasn’t for the separated races there be no divine pleasure in swirling in the first place!  “Fuck me, Troy!”

His jaw thrust forward and his clean-shaven face stroked her butt cheeks.  Nude now with her girlsauce clear and white all inside her purple panties that Troy left around her ankles, Lydia relaxed completely and came again.  She came right on Troy’s agile, unsatisfied licking pink tongue.

Not only, had the cums satisfied her, but also, they created the nympho desire in her for more.

On the lower part of her sex, he placed his entire mouth.  He French kissed her pussy from the side.  He let his fingers roam all over her plump asscheeks.  He plucked each of her four cunt flaps in between his manly lips. 

"You're ready for some good old-fashioned dick action now in a minute."
"Yes.  Yes.  Give me that young, fresh black dick action.  I want it all."  Lydia begged like a whore, a learned whore who wanted sex not for pay, but for one-hundred percent pleasure.

Troy kept darting, flicking his tongue at her sex, spending time dancing it around the top of her pussy by her clit, and waltzing his tongue down pass her pisshole to her juiceyportal of lust.  He finally allowed her to rest for a second.

Careful, slow, and in a teasing fashion, Troy put on a condom.  "We have to continue this miracle of affection, and that can't happen if you're walking around like a blimp on the cruise ships."

Finally, Lydia had the man she wanted.  He passed the tests.  He wasn’t into her asshole.  He didn’t follow the dictates of porn.  He fucked like a real man.  He licked her eager beaver first, before plunging his dipstick into the pussy recess of her tender being.  Lydia's heart opened completely.  Now she experienced the accompanying pleasure of her pulsating pussy opening wide as well.  Love.  Love.  Love.  She kept mumbling.

"Erotic love first.  Don't think you're getting away, Lydia. I want you for a long long time," he rammed his external-private self into her internal-private self and they found bliss as they, in a lewd and heated manner, humped lavishly against one another. 

She looked over her shoulder, over her silvery-platinum blonde hair, at his black-curly hair, shiny like some kind of black volcanic glass.  His brown eyes mesmerized by the beauty of her form.  He found it impossible to hold back his appreciation of her body, the body she let him use as she used his body in turn.

She imagined how radiant her wisps of flyaway platinum hair looked as she whipped her head backward, pushing--no, banging hard against Troy's massive, black-stay-hard sex.  He looked tough, sinewy and lean.  His grip against her hips left no room for her to thrust forward or backward, as he impaled her on his ramming-dick machine.  He only allowed her to lewdly twist, circle and churn the boilingsperm from his tightball sacs slapping, hard, rapidly, against her stiffening, shy, emerging clit.  All he allowed for her to-do was do what she desired most--to circle her ass around his throbbing dick.

Bang.  Slap-slap.  Swack-slap. Slap-swack. Swacht! 

Their mutual sweaty sounds of love took over the room.  Her wet oracle, her happy valley took over and caused Troy's magictool to disappear, half forgetting and half remembering, fully remembering and half remembering his length as her girlcum soaked his manhood.  White-clear, ovulating juices smoothed and coated all over Troy’s condom.  Nature worked miracles.  She found the man of her life, a black man, during her ovulation-fertile time.  Her ladylove juices ran down her thighs.  Lydia reached under and swiped a taste of them, and gave a long audible, "Mmmmm."

Troy followed Lydia's lead, and swiped a taste of her joyjuice and said, "Yummmmmy."

"I'm going to hire you, Troy Sullivan."
"Go right ahead, Lydia, but I think we want more than private fucks.  I think we want to be together for a long, long time, night after night."
"I have to work, Troy," Lydia panted.  "You need to be there with me."
"Long as we can fuck outside work, too, Lydia."

Lydia grabbed both his hands and allowed her front shoulder to lie on her desk, fully prong and vulnerable now, she pulled Troy, harder and harder, against her dripping, slippery lovebox.  She rammed his body into hers.  He had nowhere to go as her grip on his hand fixed him against her copulating pussy slot.  His hard penis reaching that sweet gap Lydia found hard to satisfy for herself.  Her breasts rubbed against her desk.  Her stiffnipples suffering the silk feel of the purple bathing suit as their bodies humped and rock against one another.  Lydia arched her back driving black Troy further into her lovehole.  She enjoyed herself, her grip never forgetting the sucking in power of her own cunt, uterus clinching, and ever-hardening nipples that raked against her office desk through the thin-purple bathing fabric.  Her dream came true.  Her fantasy realized, the only thing left was consummation of their lust and love.


Troy moaned loud.
Lydia pressed a button under her desk, quickly.  The travel video, purposely prepared, of a cruise ship having a carnival began playing.  The noise drowned out their love sounds, but oddly enough allowed them to shriek even louder as they rode each other higher, harder, faster and both came!

Lydia started slipping down on her desk.  Her diamond-stud earrings glinted in the office light as she turned her head sideways to enjoy the cruise film and the rutting actions she performed on Troy’s girlshined slick black-pole fucker.  Her knees, soaked in their sweat, her girlfuck oils, caused her to sink lower and lower, her knees spread wider and wider. 

"Not so fast, my fortyish hot muffinfuck."  Troy grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto his thickhard meatcock.  He lifted her onto his waist.  His hard abs rubbed against her lower back.

This took Lydia's breath away.  One of her longest held sexual fantasies materialized, finally—he lifted her up and airfucked her.  She was gravity-fucking a young-hot hunk’s lovemeat. 
"You've got the strength of ten men," Lydia cooed seductively.  She turned back; her blue eyes narrowed into come-hither eyes.
"You keep looking at me like that and this day will never end." Troy chortled loud, over the audible sound of the video, the television screen on blank.

"You've convinced me you can control your lust, Troy.  You're hired.  You don't have to keep fucking me.  I just had to know.  Men go crazy around so much female flesh.  And ovulating women and girls don’t half know of what they are doing to unconsciously attract males at that time of the month.  It’s just the facts, more babies, more souls; nature’s way of keeping souls coming into the earth."  Lydia convinced by forty-years time and maturity and observation of her sexes half in the process of creation, if most women and girls actually thought of the cost and time and effort in rearing a baby, eight-five percent of them completely avoid pregnancy at all cost.
"My blackcock may be under the control of my hormones, but I’m in control of my blackcock,” Troy boasted.  "I am not driven by my hardprick, but my prick is driven-controlled by me!"

To make his point, Troy went into his piledriver motions, tossing Lydia high on his dick and letting her slide down over his energized manhood.  For two minutes, they airfucked.

Troy felt her slipping out of his grasp when Lydia, slowly, lowered her legs.

"Neat trick," Troy gasped.
"I want to fuck you face to face." Lydia turned around and pulled Troy to the black couch in the corner of the room.  "I want to see those lovely brown eyes, close in delight, as I pump the loveseeds out of your hot blackballs." 
"Does your plump pussy gourmet ever get enough of glistening steel-hard, manmeat?"

Lydia chortled.  "You are kidding? Never.  I'm a nympho, haven’t you realized that, black stud Troy.  But of all the cock I’ve ever wanted, blackcock topped my nympho list."
He flashed a wide happy-real grin, not one of those fake nice to greet you two-hundred-thousandth-passenger grins, "And I love how you worry me stiff, Lydia Nympho."

They laughed.

Lying down on the couch, Lydia rested on her back.  She raised her legs wide, careful not to hit Troy in the balls.  His stiffcock made the situation awkward as well.  She laughed and felt unashamed to want so much fuckdick from the young man half her age.  Her swim top was wet with good clean, fucksweat.  Her arms rested at her sides as she brought her head off the armrest of the black couch and smoothed her platinum-blonde hair behind her.  Her lower belly lurched in anticipation of more dick plowing to come, and her clit peeked out again for the third time to see the sensual activities.

"You're a high schoolgirl all over again, Lydia."  Troy lay between her legs, now flexed at the knees.  He starred at her hungry wet snatchflower, opening and closing.  The tiny open space of white-tanned flesh between her asshole and her fuckhole a delight.  Troy hated when doctors sliced that open space between a woman’s ass hole and her fuck hole to make it easier to get the baby.  Let the woman have time to have her freaking child.  How beautiful the plateau of flesh between the divine slot and the slot of Earth?  He noticed her pee hole remained visibly open, too. Nevertheless, again, her pussy slot aware, in need, gapped open and closed, drawing his attention as Lydia’s ovulation juices straddling across the front gate, as her for-boys-only pussy waited and wanted to be filled.
"That's the romantic part, Troy allowing your needs to be met by the right woman.  Older women are hornier than younger women."  She laughed confident and soft.

Troy sank in slowly, disappearing into the recesses of Lydia’s hot soft being, stretching her backward to accommodate his man-size. 

Until . . . .

They met in the center of their mutual universes of erotic love and pleasure.
"Troy, let's stay like this awhile. I love how you fill me.  A girl gets lonely having this gap between her legs."
"And a man gets needy not having someone to hold and hug him," countered Troy.


Linked and peaceful, ever so slightly, Lydia squeezed Troy's thrillscepter.
Likewise, ever so slightly, and often, Troy rocked his lovecandy cane into her aphrodisiac delight.

She traced her black-fingernail fingers around Troy's handsome face.  "You look like one of those African heroes in the myths."
"I feel like I'm making love to Goddess Venus."
"In a way you are, my Venus spot is holding your kindness and strength."
"You're poetic as well,” Troy said, leaning on one elbow, staring at his beautiful older lady’s blue-bedroom eyes.
"Don't get, too, relaxed, Troy. I want real things in my life, not fancy compliments.  Real touches.  Real kisses.  Real attention and real love."
"What's the difference between us?  I want those, too, from you, Lydia."

They hugged.

Then, without fanfare or announcement, they began to fuck once more.  Almost as if they’d just met; their bodies now slicked with love-making juices, they fucked like as if they’d been ten years apart. 

Troy leaned down further.  He allowed himself his strong, sinewy chest to caress her 40Ds. 
Lydia allowed the pressure, interpreting it as comfort.  She rubbed his lower back and stroked his black bottom.  His black skin striking dark against her white skin. 

He gracefully smoothed her platinum hair from her face, to see, her beautiful-blue eyes.  Eyes wiser and more serene looking now, than before when he entered her travel office.  The travel video wound back to the beginning and started playing all over again: “At Exotic Adventures, Unlimited, you’ll see the world in more than twenty ports of call and sail the seven seas while enjoying the best time of your life ….”

Lydia nodded.  “It’s true,” she pointed backward toward the television screen.
“I’m happy right where I am, Lydia babe.”

They fucked softly, moving in minor motions slowly switching gears, increasing their tempo and fucking in harder, faster fucking.  Until in ten minutes, he and she were thrashing against one another as if each played beach volleyball and crashed at the net.

Lydia Elish went stiff and he kept ramming her lovely soft-core using his hard-core motions.

Easily in their mutual repetitious manners, together, they exploded into ecstasy and fell into each other's arms.  Lydia wrapping her legs about Troy's waist to keep him from falling-off the black couch.  This moment brought them together, beyond their earlier introduction, beyond the infatuations of newness.  People loved, people frolicked and people played, not Lydia and Troy--this meant something more, something lasting.

"Time to get up and do some paperwork, Troy," said Lydia. 

Troy rose and the condom dripped copious amounts of girllube.  Inside the condom, a four tablespoons of spermseed nestled in the condom's tip. 

They cleaned up, in the private bathroom, behind a cleverly hidden closet door. Troy sat and rested.  "You're in great shape for a forty-one year old."
"I should say.  That's what storing a lot of sex energy does for you."
"Tantric sex."
"You're, too, young to know about Tantric Sex."
"I've read far more than most men my age."
"We are matched well," Lydia said, pushing a fresh application toward him.  The other had his sweat, her feminine-perfumed sweat and her ladyjuice splotches all over it. 

Troy signed the papers, happy to join the Travel Manager Exotic Adventures, Unlimited. 
"When do I first start?"
"You just did, Troy.  I'll put this down on your pay card for the week."
Troy read the pay card, "Training. Learning how to handle himself around rich clients."
"They won't all be rich.  However, they will all have the same basic core XX anatomy.  That's what you need to observe.  You master helping women and you'll do fine on this job.  Listening is the key.”

Lydia looked over his finished application. "What's the problem?"
"I won't be some toy thing.  I want to be with you in a long-lasting relationship."

Lydia stared flabbergasted.  "You're, too, young to understand such talk."
"I am not, too, young.  You said so yourself!"
"Are we having our first lover's spat?"
"I think so," Troy insisted.
"Well, what do you think of that?  Our first lovey-dovey fight!  You want something I don't want or is it I want something you don't want?"

Troy hesitated.  "You are a wily dame."
Lydia leaned back.  "I've been around the block a few times at forty-one years."
"It's the latter."
"Troy, I want us to have a good working relationship, sexual fun and, as well, keep things going as in the manner it happened today."
"I want something permanent, Lydia; something visible love or marriage."
"You're only saying that because you don't feel in control."

Again, Lydia watched young Troy struggled sorting his feelings and his thoughts. 

"I feel like—I--we should be together," he paused.  "Wait Lydia.  And I want us to love."
"I'm not going anywhere.  I'm here for you, Troy."
"That's not enough."
"You want some more hugs.  I can get up right now, bend over the desk and let you do me, until your cockthrusts urges are sated."
"Stop being manipulative.  You know I mean, holding you, kissing you, and stroking you."

Lydia looked at the application.  "Do we need this application to keep us together?"
"It is not just an excuse, I want to work here.  I like traveling."

For the first time in her life, Lydia saw why men wanted younger girls; men felt at ease manipulating them; men used their wider breadth of knowledge to led the girls into doing things.  She knew how to run miles around Troy and it amused her.  She had control over their situation and affections.  A house with more than one master will fight divided against itself.  However, she didn't even need Troy, she wanted him, desired him.

"Do you love me, Troy?"
"Yes.  I love you, Lydia."
"Do you want to marry, Troy?"
Without hesitation, he replied, "Yes, if the sex continues like today."
"One can never guarantee to step in the same water twice, you know."
"I've heard the expression, but one can guarantee to fuck in the same pussy twice--I hope."

Both laughed. 

"That was the most ridiculous thing, I've heard," Lydia commented, and rose to file Troy's application.
"I think Stephanie--"
"Stephanie is a young girl; she is so caught up in the chase to have a baby, she couldn't care less what we do.  I'm so glad I am older and wiser now."
Troy thought about it.  "You're against a baby, but I am not."
"It's not happening in the next five years, Troy."

Their clothes had dried.

"When I am satisfied you'll stick around,” and she straightened her purple-halter bra.  "Now let's go eat."
He smiled at her and winked.
"Not that kind of eats."  She went around and sat on young Troy's lap.  "I'll tell you what, if in five years, I still don't want to have a child, I'll let you fuck whatever white girl you want to have a child."  She hugged him and kissed him on his lips.


"Let's go eat.  Show me more about the business.  I look forward to traveling around the world and fucking in the world’s most exotic places.  You promise me we'll do that, Lydia Elish."
She pulled Troy from the black-leather-guests chair in her office.  "I promise you'll have more than your share of those pleasures.  Come on now.  I need some fresh air."

They opened the door and blonde Stephanie hopped up. "I thought maybe something happened in there."
Troy said, "The cruise video is really loud, don't you think, Stephanie?"
"It sure is."  Stephanie gave a wry smile.  "I think you found your applicant, Ms. Elish."
"I did!  Troy Sullivan's going to be an integral asset to this organization.  Stephanie cancel the Fast Package courier interview I made earlier today."
“Yes, Ms. Elish.”
As they passed Stephanie to go to lunch Troy whispered, "Integral Asset" and winked.
"Come along Troy and if I ever catch you flirting with plain Stephanie, I'm going to fire you.  Understand!" said Lydia, without even looking back.
"Yes, ma'am," replied Troy as he ran to keep up with his new girlfriend, and nympho boss.

Lydia smiled sweetly.  Yes, someone she control, who loved to fuck and black, too.   Who says life can’t begin at forty-one?  Mine certainly is.  Any woman if she concentrates can find the sexual love of her life—it’s never too late.  “Troy next week I am taking you and Stephanie on a cruise with me to show you how things work.”
“What about our work here?” Troy asked as they left the building and began walking to Lydia’s black Lexis in the parking garage down the street.
“The Miami, Florida office will answer and do the bookings.”  She paused.  “Troy did I tell you about the swimming pool I’m putting in next month?”
Lydia continued, “The butterfly stroke requires all the sexual muscles—I’ll teach you that first.”
Troy flashed a big grin.
“I’m sure you catch on very easily, Troy.  I’m very sure.”

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