The Punany Experience (22 page)

Korea lifted her hips a little. “Stick out your tongue,” she said.

Melody stuck her tongue out as far as she could and lay her head down flat so Korea could ride her tongue like a dick.

“Unngh…” Melody’s muffled moan urged Korea on.

“Yeah, yeah,” Korea was saying. “Fuck that pussy. Yeah…” She was getting so hot, she wanted to explode.
What the fuck am I letting Melody do to me? Damn
, she thought,
I’ve got to get in control
. “Suck it,” she said. “Suck my fucking dick.” She was bouncing her clit hard again Melody’s mouth.

The taste of Melody’s blood on her tongue excited her. She wished Korea would hit her. She had her own fingers deep in her pussy, pumping her palm with her clit and was cumming hard. “Hit me, Daddy; slap me. Slap me hard. I’m cumming.” Korea slapped her hard across her right cheek. “Again, Daddy; I’m almost there.”

Korea slapped her again, trying to control her own nut…then Korea felt the familiar quake of her love slave. Melody’s body was still convulsing as Korea stood up over her, jacking her clit off until she came hard and then pissed all over Melody’s face and chest. Melody sat up to collect the golden shower in her mouth. She swallowed as much of it as she could. She loved the hot salty taste of Korea’s pee and she loved the pleased look on her master’s face. She must have smiled involuntarily.

“What are you smiling about?” Korea asked.

“Nothing,” Melody answered timidly.

“Don’t lay they’re gawking at me like a fucking teenager. It’s not that kind of party. Do you understand me?” Melody didn’t answer her. Korea took her head by her hair and smashed her face into the wet rubber sheet and held it there. “Do you understand me now?”

“Mmmm,” Melody moaned, sticking her tongue out to lick up some more pee.

“You’re so nasty.”

“Only for you, Daddy. Only for you.”

Korea felt herself getting hard again. She rolled Melody over and straddled her ass. “Don’t you go getting ideas,” she whispered into the younger woman’s ear as she humped her. “I’m the boss, at all times. Say it.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Again.”

“You’re the boss.”

“I can’t hear you,” Korea said, shoving two fingers into her asshole.

“Ahhh,” Melody winced, as Korea shoved them deep into her. “You are the boss! You are the boss!”

“That’s right. And you will do whatever I tell you to.”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” Melody said breathlessly.

Korea was wet and sliding easily over Melody’s round ass as her body built up to a climax. She had three fingers digging deep inside of her little freak’s ass. Melody humped wildly against the pissy bed. Something inside her was stirring her to an insatiable longing. She had never felt this way before. She wanted all of her holes filled up with whatever Korea gave her.

“I, I, I’m cumming!” she screamed, bearing down until her pussy shot over every inch of space beneath her.

Korea’s climax came seconds later, and Melody convulsed and shuddered under her. Korea slipped her fingers out of Melody’s ass and fed them to her. Melody sucked greedily, moaning and basking in orgasmic aftershock.

“You are such a nasty little freak,” Korea said, climbing off of her. “I’m leaving now. Don’t think about taking a shower either. You just lay there tonight and think about how fucking nasty you are. I hope you don’t think I would ever make a bitch like you my woman.”

Oh, but you will
, Melody thought, rolling over onto her back. She closed her eyes and smiled at the possibilities.
Her uncle had been right about lesbians. A few more weeks, and she would be packing a UHaul and signing checks.

“There are towels in the linen closet in the bathroom,” she called out to Korea, who was running shower water.

Korea stepped out of the shower and put her suit back on. She stood in the mirror in the bedroom, looking for a comb on the dresser. There was a bunch of cheap jewelry, and even cheaper
perfume, a toothbrush with brown gel on it, weave glue, a curved needle with thread in it, and loose weave tracks of various colors and lengths. Korea picked up the only thing that looked safe to touch; a small pile of business cards. She thumbed through them. Underneath the business cards there were several ID cards, three for check cashing centers, two California ID cards and one Nevada ID. They all had Melody’s face on them. They all had different names and dates of birth.

Korea looked at Melody sleeping carefree on the pissy rubber sheet with shit breath. “No,” she said. “Just no.”

On the way down in the elevator, Korea thought of how nervous Stormy must be right now, thinking she was in trouble. Korea laughed a little, thinking of how cute it was that she was trying to get a little career going. She would have to let her know she had forgiven her already.

S
TORMY WASN’T THINKING ABOUT WHERE
K
OREA MIGHT BE GOING
on Friday night after work. She was just happy that she would be able to have more time in Los Angeles and that she could still be home before she was missed. Korea left the house at seven o’clock in the morning. Stormy was on a nine o’clock flight.

Stormy planned to arrive at The Ethiopian Sea at five
P.M.,
and to be on the eight
P.M.
flight back to Oakland. First, she went to visit Sam, the man who lay in the hospital claiming to be sick from food poisoning, and threatening a lawsuit.

“He’s homeless,” said a voice behind her. Stormy turned around to see a woman holding a bottle of honey wine.

“I’m Amira David,” she said. “I own The Ethiopian Sea. The nurse outside said you’re some kind of reporter.”

“I’m Stormy Talbert. I’m actually a food critic. I don’t know what
I expected to find here, but, here you are. I’m reviewing your restaurant tonight.”

“Oh? We didn’t poison him, Mrs. Talbert.”

“Miss.”

“He ate from the trash sometime between Sunday night and Wednesday morning. We’re closed Monday and Tuesday. So you see, Ms. Talbert, the last time we threw any food away was Sunday night.”

This article is going to be a fine human interest piece
, Stormy thought as she listened to the entrepreneur explain that the man in the bed was just using the hospital for a clean place to stay. She said that the man sometimes did crazy things right in front of the police to get himself arrested for a clean cell to spend the night in. But to her dismay, some opportunistic personal injury attorney, who regularly visited the hospital looking for clients, had coerced him into making a bogus claim against her.

“I cannot believe Sam would do this to me, when I’ve fed him so many times,” Amira said nervously. “I only want to live the American dream, Ms. Talbert. Make sure you write that in your article, please. Say what you must about your meal this evening, but make sure that your readers know that this lawsuit could destroy my dream. No one knows what life is like in my country for women. In America, you can be a single woman without being frowned upon or thought to be a lesbian. You can be a woman who owns her own business.”

“I will find a way to include your feelings in my review, Amira. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Amira said, reaching for Stormy’s hand. “I won’t be at The Ethiopian Sea tonight, Ms. Talbert. I have to meet my attorney for dinner. But my staff will take good care of you.” Amira was still holding Stormy’s hand.

“Call me Stormy.”

“Stormy, I like that. Maybe I will. Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Call you?” The unexpected flirtation caught Stormy off guard, and made her blush. “I’m serious. I know a dark little place that serves the finest Godiva and coffee. Perhaps we could meet there later.”

“Actually, I have to be back in Oakland immediately after dinner. But I have your number,” Stormy said, finally, freeing her hand from Amira’s to fish for her business card. Stormy handed it to the smiling woman, who searched her eyes intensely.

“And now I have your number,” Amira said. She leaned over and kissed Stormy on the cheek and whispered in her ear, “They kill us back home.”

The hairs on the back of Stormy’s neck stood up. Amira’s words left an eerie feeling with Stormy that followed her out of the hospital and was with her for most of the afternoon as she meandered around West Hollywood until the restaurant opened.

Stormy was the first customer inside The Ethiopian Sea restaurant. Hartford was the second. It was a fateful meeting that would change both of their lives forever.

“I’m Berta; I’ll be your server,” a big-hipped woman covered in white said to Stormy as she led her to a lidded basket table and a small wicker stool, situated in a private area, framed by wooden beaded curtains. Incense burned, music played, and Stormy was instantly seduced by the tranquility. The waitress placed a red cloth napkin, a finger bowl, and a menu inside the basket table. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” Berta asked. “Our honey wine is very respectable. We make it ourselves, from local beehives. It’s unfiltered, organic, and great for allergy prevention.”

“Alright then,” Stormy said, “I’ll have a glass of honey wine.”

Berta probably has fifty pounds of pure ass under those loose layers of white cloth
, Stormy thought, as the woman turned her bodacious hips around and released a curtain of wooden beads that boxed Stormy inside her private dining space. She pulled out a notepad and pen and began to write. She was thinking about Amira when Berta returned with her wine.
“It is a shame
,” she wrote in her little pad,
“that many women have to hide some of their best features to appease the insecurities of men. Amira David came to this country for one thing
…”

Stormy did not see him come in, but she felt him watching her. She looked up to find Hartford staring at her between the strands of beaded curtains that divided them. His face was clean-shaven, except for a slender mustache and two thin lines of sideburns that led to a neatly groomed goatee. She noticed his manicured fingertips as he popped Dabo Kolo in his mouth. Her mouth dropped naturally open as she watched him suck spices off of his fingertips with his full sexy lips.

“How are they?” Berta asked him, of the spicy pan-fried snacks, when she brought his wine to him.

“Addictive,” he answered. He smelled the sweet honey bouquet and sipped from his glass. “It is very good. Will you bring me the bottle and ask the lady to join me?” Hartford said when he caught Stormy returning his gaze. His smile was brilliant and white and he was…
out of his damn mind
, Stormy thought when he asked Berta to set them up
family style
. The term was common to Ethiopian dining and meant he wanted to eat off of the same plate with her.

“I can open the curtain between you,” Berta chimed.

“That would be fine,” Stormy said gratefully.

Hartford and Stormy both watched Berta’s ass as it shuffled around between them when she pulled the beads open and fastened them to the wall.

“What are you writing?” he asked.

“My thoughts,” Stormy answered, smiling. “I’m a writer, a restaurant critic, actually. How about you? What do you do?”

“I make music. I’m a producer.”

Stormy had come to the restaurant to taste the food and to write a review of it, she told him. She was determined to bring an international taste to T. Calloway’s online magazine that had, before her intervention, seemed content in collecting praise pieces on classic Southern cuisine. She wasn’t sure if Hartford had heard a word that she was saying. He was starting to undress her already, so Stormy decided this would be a good time to let him know she was in a lesbian relationship.

“So, do you cook, or do you just write about other people’s cooking?”

“I love to cook. My girlfriend says I do it very well…Cook, I mean?” she teased.

He smiled. “Girlfriend, girlfriend?”

“Yes, Girlfriend, girlfriend.” Stormy looked away and sipped her wine.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have thought…”

“You wouldn’t have thought what?” she said, surprising herself with her instant anger.

He was giving some stupid reason for his response, but she wasn’t listening. In a second, she was going to have Berta drop the beads. For the first time in her life, Stormy knew her worth and it could not be measured in gold alone, nor could it be measured by one man’s opinion. So if Hartford planned to cripple her because of her sexuality, he could just forget it.

“…so don’t be mad, lady. Like I was saying, I’m just disappointed that you’re taken.”

“Isn’t that a wedding ring on your finger?”

“What? This old thing? I might be having this thing melted down into a big fat X real soon.”

“Oh?” His words reminded her of Club X, and of Korea and her new fantasy, and she wondered…no, she could not go there. She changed the subject. “Thanks for the wine. What do you think of it?”

“You’re the critic. Tell me what you think.”

A recent article in the local paper she had picked up at the airport said The Ethiopian Sea was a “quaint little Bohemian favorite” because the wine was made from local honeybees whose sugary potion was good for your health. And unlike the California Napa Valley Chardonnay Stormy usually preferred with meals, that tended to make her tongue and lips pucker. No matter how much butter and oak flavoring the menu claimed, the honey in the homemade wine relaxed her tongue and warmed her cheeks with an incomparable natural sweetness that melted into the flesh of her cheeks with a pleasing ease. Still, it was hard to imagine consuming this wine with anything other than the food from the Motherland or a semisweet dessert. But she didn’t say any of that. She had learned that people were more comfortable with her if they thought they were smarter than her, so as she had with Berta, she acted uninformed, simply responding, “This wine is very sweet.”

“It is good,” Hartford said, sipping a freshly poured glass of the foggy topaz-colored brew.

After their food arrived, they ate in silence for a while. Stormy struggled to keep her notebook clean as she jotted down notes, and Hartford struggled not to eat too fast.

“So, what kind of music do you make?”