Succulent Read online

  Succulent

  Also by Zane

  Dear G-Spot: Straight Talk about Sex and Love

  Love Is Never Painless

  Afterburn

  The Sisters of APF: The Indoctrination of Soror Ride Dick

  Nervous

  Skyscraper

  The Heat Seekers

  Gettin’ Buck Wild: Sex Chronicles II

  The Sex Chronicles: Shattering the Myth

  Shame on It All

  Addicted

  Edited by Zane

  Caramel Flava: The Eroticanoir.com Anthology

  Chocolate Flava: The Eroticanoir.com Anthology

  Breaking the Cycle

  Blackgentlemen.com

  Sistergirls.com

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2008 by Zane

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ATRIA BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-6452-2

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-6452-7

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  Copyright Notices

  “The Quiet Room” copyright © 2007 by Michelle J. Robinson

  “Playas of a Greater Game” copyright © 2007 by Anthony Beal

  “Emma’s Triangle” copyright © 2007 by Tigress Healy

  “Beauty” copyright © 2007 by Wanda D. Hudson

  “The Best Psychic in Town” copyright © 2007 by Dina

  “Fondling My Muse” copyright © 2007 by Randolph Walker Jr.

  “Shiny, Nappy People” copyright © 2007 by A. C. Workman

  “Almost Identical” copyright © 2007 by Linda “Sunshine” Herman

  “Curiosity Stirred My Cat” copyright © 2007 by Tyanna

  “Katrina” copyright © 2007 by Samantha J. Green

  “The Hard-Boiled Dick” copyright © 2007 by Chris Hayden

  “Anais” copyright © 2007 by Gabriel L. Rogers

  “The Visit” copyright © 2007 by Memphis Vaughn Jr.

  “Riding the Friendly Skies” copyright © 2007 by Lesley E. Hal

  “Three Is Never a Crowd” copyright © 2007 by Audrienne Roberts Womack

  “Two Seasons of Dreams” copyright © 2007 by Kimberly M. Thompson

  “Breath of Love” copyright © 2007 by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  “’Til Death Do Us Part” copyright © 2007 by Leigh Langston

  “Modern Cinderella” copyright © 2007 by Alice Sturdivant

  “Daydreamin’” copyright © 2007 by Romeo Walker

  “An Arresting, Intoxicating Situation” copyright © 2007 by Jacquelyn A. Bryant

  “Head of the Class” copyright © 2007 by B. F. Redd

  “Devil’s Worship” copyright © 2007 by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “Mr. Everything” copyright © 2007 by Renee Alexis

  “Cougar” copyright © 2007 by Zane

  “Come See Me” copyright © 2007 by Zane

  “Trisexuality” copyright © 2007 by Zane

  This book is dedicated to “Aunt Barbara,” for showing up at all my local events, worrying about me getting enough sleep, and for being such a wonderful and supportive friend to my mother and the entire family. Thanks for being so open-minded and nonjudgmental. Those who choose to judge should first judge themselves; thanks for recognizing that. You are much loved and appreciated.

  Contents

  Introduction by Zane

  The Quiet Room by Michelle J. Robinson

  Playas of a Greater Game by Anthony Beal

  Emma’s Triangle by Tigress Healy

  Beauty by Wanda D. Hudson

  The Best Psychic in Town by Dina

  Fondling My Muse by Randy Walker

  Shiny, Nappy People by Been

  Almost Identical by Linda “Sunshine" Herman

  Curiosity Stirred My Cat by Tyanna

  Katrina by Samantha J. Green

  The Hard-Boiled Dick by Chris Hayden

  Anais by Camille Blue

  The Visit by Memphis Vaughn Jr.

  Riding the Friendly Skies by Lesley E. Hal

  Three Is Never a Crowd by Lotus Falcon

  Two Seasons of Dreams by Ahnjel

  Breath of Love by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  ’Til Death Do Us Part by Dangerous Lee

  Modern Cinderella by Alice Sturdivant

  Daydreamin’ by Romeo Walker

  An Arresting, Intoxicating Situation by Ms. Lovelie Ladie

  Head of the Class by B. F. Redd

  Devil’s Worship by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  Mr. Everything by Renee Alexis

  Cougar by Zane

  Come See Me by Zane

  Trisexuality by Zane

  About the Contributors

  Introduction

  Succulent: Chocolate Flava II has been a labor of love. I would like to thank the contributors for their patience and for allowing me to share their talent with the world. Erotica has truly exploded over the past several years, particularly in the African-American market. I am pleased that the surge has occurred and will continue to try to give exposure to those who deserve to be read in this genre. The pleasure that I derive from being able to give others the opportunity to shine is indescribable. It is an honor to do so and I appreciate all of those who may have submitted something but did not get selected. There will be many more anthologies to come.

  The success of the first Chocolate Flava surprised even me. It surpassed all sales expectations, as did Caramel Flava. It is my hope that you will enjoy this volume as well, because a growth has occurred. Many of my readers have expressed that Chocolate Flava was one of their favorite books. This will surely also become a favorite; it is definitely one of mine.

  In my determination to shed the world of sexual oppression and repression, I am delighted to announce that Zane’s Sex Chronicles will premiere on Cinemax in April 2008. It has been such a marvelous journey and I am looking forward to the next leg: television and film. Addicted will be in theaters in 2008 and I want to thank all of you in advance for your support of both efforts.

  I do need everyone to do me a tremendous favor. No book, no movie, and no television show can truly succeed if people do not know it exists. Word of mouth is essential and I need all of you to ask everyone that you know to join my email list by sending a blank email to [email protected]. I want a million people on my email list; no, millions of people. For that, I need your help. Please spread the message to everyone you know. I would be deeply grateful for it.

  With that said, I want each and every one of you to realize that you are truly loved and appreciated by me. I hope that you enjoy Succulent, which could have been called Suck-U-Length because a lot of that is going on in here. Also, please look for four select stories from The Sex Chronicles: Shattering the Myth on audio. They are hot! You can purchase them as an audio download online.

  Remember to love hard but fuck even harder!

  Blessings,

  Zane

  Succulent

  The Quiet Room

  Michelle J. Robinson

  Patrice wasn’t sure which throbbing she wanted to quiet more—the throbbing between her legs or the throbbing in her head. For two consecutive weeks now she had awakened with a vicious headache, which today had progressed in sever
ity. Yet, despite the pounding in her head, she still got jittery between the legs watching that tall, dark, delicious man pass her desk. His name was Trevor and his ass looked like it was built from stone. Every time she saw his bald head she thought of how much she’d like to shine it with her own “special” lotion. Just as she was daydreaming about rubbing her thick, swollen pussy lips all over his face and head, she realized he was speaking.

  “Good morning, Patrice.”

  “Good…good morning, Trevor,” she stuttered.

  “Hot enough for you?”

  Patrice wanted to say, “Hot as a goddamned furnace—wanna blow it for me?”

  Instead she said, “A little too hot,” and left it at that.

  “Well, try to stay cool and let me know if you need a fan or something. I believe we have some extras in the storage room.”

  Trevor was the firm’s facilities manager and it was his job to make sure that their office ran like a well-oiled machine and that the partners, attorneys, and staff were comfortable.

  Her mind running on overtime, Patrice thought some more about his “well-oiled machine” and how much she’d like to grease it; that is, before reminding herself she was married.

  Trevor hesitated a moment, as if he wanted to continue the conversation, but instead wished her a pleasant day and continued walking.

  Trevor couldn’t help but notice feminine, felinelike Patrice. Her slanted eyes and agile body reminded him of a jungle cat that, when tamed, purred like a kitty cat. Years ago they had a phrase for women built like Patrice— a brick shithouse —and that she was; standing approximately 5'5", Patrice wasn’t a big woman, but those 38Ds, those shapely legs, that tiny waist and round ass, meant she seldom went unnoticed; especially not by Trevor. He often visualized the stunning contrast of his dark chocolate complexion against her light chocolate form.

  The stress at home was clearly beginning to get to Patrice, and this morning’s headache made it impossible for her to function at the most basic of levels. Since leaving work and going home was definitely not an option, she decided she would use her lunch hour to get it together.

  She had heard that there was a room in the office called the Quiet Room where you could go to nurse an illness or maybe even catch up on a little sleep if need be. As long as the room wasn’t occupied, it was on a first-come, first-serve basis. The key was kept at the receptionist’s desk, so Patrice went to retrieve it, hoping that no one else had.

  “Hi, Gladys,” Patrice offered with a smile.

  The receptionist at Perkins & Brightmon was a haggard old crone with a disposition to match. Patrice thought her face would crack, trying to play nice with the old bitch, but she hadn’t maintained her station in the corporate sector without her fair share of sacrifices.

  “Is there a key to the Quiet Room here?” Patrice asked.

  “Of course it’s here. Where else would it be?” Gladys answered snidely. “Sign the book and take the key that’s in the pocket. If the key is there, then it means the room is free.”

  Patrice signed the book that Gladys motioned to and took the gold key from the binder pocket. There was a spot for IN and OUT. She signed her name and jotted 1:00 p.m. in the IN box. As she walked away, she realized she had no idea where the Quiet Room even was.

  “Oh,” she uttered, not really wanting to ask the old woman anything further. “Where is the room?”

  “Go through the double doors; it’s the second door on the right.”

  Patrice found the room with little difficulty, stuck the key in the lock, and opened it. She walked in and surveyed her surroundings: beige walls, a brown leather chaise with a blanket and pillow, a small cherrywood side table, on which there was a silver lamp with a white shade. Next to the lamp was also a first aid kit. She opened it, seeking anything that might get rid of her horrible headache. Nothing.

  It occurred to Patrice that the only thing she probably needed was a short rest. Things had gotten so unbearable at home, and dealing every night with someone you despised could definitely be a contributing factor to consistent headaches. As much as she hated screwing her pot-smoking, nonworking, lazy-ass husband, Patrice was as horny as a fucking rabbit. She had taken to masturbating at every opportunity. Although she was horny—headache and all—she knew that this was neither the time nor the place for satisfying her basic desires. However, there were often things even your own mind couldn’t control.

  Surprisingly she drifted off to sleep almost immediately after lounging on the chaise and pulling the heavy gray wool blanket up to her chin. It didn’t take long for her dreams to take hold.

  “Drink it!”

  “Drink every last bit of it!”

  “Mine tastes just like vanilla milkshake, baby.”

  “Here it fucking comes. Open your mouth wide…wider!”

  “Ahhhh.”

  She sat outside at an ordinary sidewalk café in Paris, except, instead of being clothed in her usual fashionable best, she was completely naked, without even a pair of panties. And as she sat sipping a thick white liquid from a long-stemmed champagne flute, at least a dozen men of various colors and sizes stood circling her, their dicks in their hands, jerking feverishly. One, a tall, bald, chocolate, strapping brother with granite pecks and a cock that could bench-press a barbell, had maintained quite a rhythm, sliding his right hand up and down his burgeoning erection, allowing his pre-cum to lubricate his efforts. He aimed directly for Patrice’s mouth, hoping to make the money shot.

  “Open wide, sugar. You’ve never tasted joy juice like this before,” he uttered breathlessly.

  Patrice obeyed every word and kept her mouth as wide-open as was physically possible—anxiously awaiting her reward.

  All sorts of men were in the circle, some were white, some Hispanic, some tall, others short. Some looked like they spent hours in the gym while others were of average physical condition. But none of that mattered one bit to Patrice. Her focus was on their dicks and the circle-jerk that they were all engaged in.

  One short man with long, black, wavy hair, who appeared to be Mexican, gripped his café-au-lait cock so tightly she was sure the strangled look on his face wasn’t passion, but pain.

  “Fffuckkkk!” he groaned as he blasted Patrice’s swollen, ample globes with his sweet, sticky offering.

  She ran her index finger over her breasts and retrieved a dollop of cum. The paltry appetizer only left her more famished than before, and she lifted her left breast and began devouring what was left with her own mouth, enthusiastically lapping at her now rigid nipple with her tongue, nibbling and biting until her nipple was raw and her pussy sopping wet.

  While others aimed for the long-stemmed flute she was holding, still others seemed intent on splattering her pert, erect nipples with their cum, as she waited for each of them to explode one by one. Her dark chocolate man of steel appeared to be close to detonation, so Patrice removed her lips from her breast and opened up as wide as her mouth would stretch.

  “Here it comes, sugar!” he bellowed.

  His aim had a perfect landing directly inside Patrice’s eagerly awaiting mouth.

  “Drink it all!” he bellowed. “Don’t waste a fucking drop. You never tasted nectar like that, baby. Never!”

  As Patrice reached out in an attempt to milk Man of Steel’s cock of any remaining cum, it was as though an invisible barrier kept them from touching. This game had rules. She could watch them hand-fuck themselves and they could spew their lava at Patrice, but she couldn’t touch them, nor them her.

  However, Patrice enjoyed acting as “orchestra leader.” She pretended she was the leader, conducting the orchestra and the multitude of dicks stretched out before her, the instruments. As she barked instructions, she reveled in the overwhelming feeling of control.

  “Faster, faster,” she called out to a tall white man with a long dick that curved ever so slightly to the right. Patrice wondered what that curved cock would feel like bouncing off the walls of her cunt. As quickly as she noticed
this arched appendage and began fantasizing about what wonderful things it could do for her G-spot, she was distracted by a dick of modest length with more than impressive width. This display brought new meaning to the words beating his meat. The sight of his large, masculine hands wrapped around what could easily have been a tasty slab of beef made Patrice hungry beyond words. When his sudden forceful jet began gushing toward her, Patrice graduated from plain old hungry to ravenous. The crescendo of cum sputtering and spurting forth was her rewarding melody, but she needed more.

  Suddenly her pussy began to feel painfully neglected, and Patrice threw her left leg over the arm of the silver chair she was sitting in. She played with her protruding button of bliss. The hard metal against her pliable flesh only made her hotter. Her pussy was starving for one of these dicks to fill her up to the hilt; maybe even two or three. After all, she did have three holes to accommodate.

  To her right, a 6'9" Schwarzenegger look-alike, with the most beautiful chiseled jawline, cleft chin, and olive-colored skin, intermittently slid his hand slowly up and down his adequately sized cock, taking turns jerking himself off and slapping his cock against the flat of his left hand. It seemed as though each time he slapped his cock against his hand, he swelled to cum-inspiring proportions, causing Patrice to finger-fuck herself with mounting enthusiasm. He slapped, and she plunged first one, then two, then three of her fingers deep inside her pussy, flicking at her clit with her thumb and causing a rush of juices to flood the hard, cold metal chair she was now glued to. The suctioning noises of several hands wrapped around several cocks and the assortment of masculine grunts and groans that formerly filled the area of the café were now drowned out by Patrice’s moans and the slapping of one rapidly swelling dick against one open hand. However, the slapping sound suddenly changed to more of a knocking sound. Patrice assumed the heavy weight of his ever-expanding cock had caused the shift in timbre, yet the sound increased in such severity it was almost deafening. That’s when she awoke.