Poly In The Dark
I sped down the stairs in an effort to avoid the voicemail picking up. By the time I reached the phone, it was too late. The voicemail picked up. I immediately hit the asterisk to avoid the voice projecting over the speaker. Jerod was asleep in our bedroom and though he was snoring loud enough that trees were probably being cut down, he was also a light sleeper. I walked into the den and closed the door gently before speaking. It was Mike and he wanted to ask if I was coming to his party at the new speakeasy. I told him I was having cramps and needed to rest. He was aware of how terrible my cramps were. He asked if I needed him to bring me some Alleve. I told him, not to worry but tomorrow we’d catch up. He asked was I sure, I didn’t need him and he would be more than willing to leave his party now and come rub my back. Damn! He gave the best back and booty rubs. No, thank you! He could sense something was off. I rushed off the phone and told him I was drowsy and wanted to go back and laydown. When he realized I was not going to let up, he said, “well…let me not keep you.” In a very snarky tone. I hung up the phone and walked into the kitchen to make some tea.
Jerod was a truck driver and his job would take him all over the country. Oftentimes, he’d be away for upwards of three weeks. I never planned on entertaining Mike but we grew close once I joined my neighborhood Cross Fit gym. He was one of the owners and quickly took a liking to me. He said there was something spectacular and exotic about Jamaican women. I ignored him because I was very happy at home. However, I grew lonely as Jay was away for weeks on end. I needed companionship. I never did anything sexual with Mike, he just liked to be dominated. Jerod was the dominant one in our relationship, so playing with Mike was fun.
I remember the first time I asked Mike if he would be interested in allowing me to dominate him. He, like most men, said you can do anything to me but the booty is off limits. No worries, I promised that I’d honor his request. It was on a Friday night; he came over after his last class at the gym. I told him to come sweaty, he chuckled. He told me, when I ordered him around it made him rock hard. See, he loved being dominated but didn’t know how to ask this of his previous lovers. He walked into the house smelling like Egyptian Musk. I could taste his sweat as it dripped off his biceps and cascaded down his arms. I told him to go upstairs but being a gentleman, he told me to lead the way. I walked in front of him, seductively as a Jezebel seducing her prey. He grabbed onto my waist beads, hoisted me into his arms and carried me into the master bedroom.
He gently placed me on the edge of my bed and began to get undressed. I became mesmerized by his delicious chocolate skin. I told him to lay on the floor and to not say another word. The only word I would allow would be our safe word, “Brooklyn”. I lifted his head off the floor and strapped on my blackout blindfold. He jumped, so I bent down close to his right ear and whispered, “don’t be a bitch! Be a good boy and play nice!” A grin formed on his face, making his dimples more pronounced. I grabbed my rope and told him to take my hand and use my body for support to stand. He obeyed like a good boy. I reassured him; he’d be rewarded for such good behavior. After I finished tying him up, I sat him down onto the pleasure chair. It had many parts, as this was the same chair Jay used on me. I allowed my whip to circle his back, then his legs, all the way to his now pulsating shaft. I found pleasure in seeing it ooze. The first lash was gentle but intensified greatly.
When my hands grew tired and the sweat blinded my vision, I paused to wipe away the wetness from my eyes. I told him he could release himself now and as a willing servant, he obliged. As his juices dripped from the edge of the seat, I began to untie him. Once no longer in submission, he stood, and reached for me. I jumped backwards. Did I give you permission to touch me? I will tell you when you can touch me. Today, you are not permitted. Were you not satisfied? Yes, he replied. Okay then, go rinse off in the shower. He wobbled to the bathroom, as his legs fell asleep from the hour-long session. We went about this for a few months. He knew I was hiding a secret but never asked the question. Why tell him I’m engaged. He was only a toy; my man was who had my heart.
I turned on the lights and grabbed the step stool from the pantry closet. When my right foot stepped onto the top step, I felt hands from behind hoist me into midair. His hands were firm and deliberate with their intentions. Jerod placed me on the edge of the counter. With lust filled eyes, he bent down on his knees, moved my silk robe to the right, licked his lips as he surveyed his mission. I tilted my head back, in a trance, almost unable to mask the moans. I belted out a loud cry, and tried to edge away, he locked my inner thighs more firmly. I couldn’t get lose from his grasp even if I wanted. I put my right hand on his silky bald head. He pulsated his tongue so magically, it felt like he wanted to massage my clit into submission. I gushed into his mouth, not clear as to what he was doing to my body. He moaned in perfect harmony; you would have thought he was the one experiencing this orgasmic realm. Before I knew it, he stood up, with his ripeness ready to enter. I felt him flip me over, with my knees now planted on the placemat.
He entered and I lost my breath for a brief moment. I yelled, “Daddy!” He replied, “Yes, Mama!” Be gentle. Please! He told me to shut up and be a good girl! I replied, “Yes, Sir!” Each stroke felt like a new tunnel was being drilled inside of me. It was surreal how large he was. My ovaries hated me days after each session. Before he released, he asked me where I wanted it. May I have a facial, please. He cupped my chin and made me kiss and taste all my juices first. His beard was fully coated, you could see it glistening. He pulled back from my lips, staring at me as if I was a prized possession. Then he painted my face like a masterpiece.
When he spoke, his words hit me as an unexpected jab. So, you want to tell me why you had to take the call down here instead of in the room? Before you speak, consider your words carefully. Don’t let this nice guy image fool you. Like I told you, I’m a Portsmouth dude, you can feed me your body, and food but never bullshit! You feel me?! As the last word left his lips, the doorbell rang. We locked eyes and the time stood still. Jerod narrowed his body as though he were going to make his way to the door. I put my hands up, blocked his step and hastened in front of him. As I sped towards the door, he grabbed my left arm, still sore from my tattoo the day prior. I screeched and saw white spots from the pain. All I knew was he opened the door and froze.
I made my way to the door and saw Mike standing there with a CVS bag. I stood there unable to speak, almost paralyzed in shock. Mike spoke first, “so this is why you didn’t want me to come over?!” I looked up at Jerod who was still standing there motionless. I feared what would happen next. Mike dropped the bag and stepped towards the top step. At this time, Jerod pushed me behind him and asked Mike to come in. Mike stood there in disbelief. Nah homie!! Who the hell are you? Jerod stood there in a mannequin form. I tried to speak but words seemed foreign.
Mike!!! I think its best you leave!
Mike, had rage in his eyes. Not until you give answers. At this time, I was unaware that Jerod had walked back into the house. All I know is, by the time I turned around, Jerod was running down the steps with his grey sweatpants, Lebron’s, Steelers hoodie and his pistol peeking out of his waist. Before I could close the door, Jerod gently moved me out the way and slammed the door behind him. My legs still wobbly from our session just minutes ago. Being unstable and his push was more forceful than he imagined. I got up from the floor, grabbed the door handle, and flung the door open. I saw Jerod and Mike about to square off. By this time, Ms. Roberts, the nosy neighbor from across the street was outside screaming. I leaped off the top step and fell poorly on my left ankle, which was still healing from surgery two months prior. The pain shot through my body like a bullet and I collapsed to the ground. Not again, Liz, get it together.
I jumped on Mike’s back and began clawing at his eyes. He pushed me off like a tick on a dog. I fell this time onto Jerod’s mustang. The alarm went off as soon as the thud of my body hit his hood. The alarm sound rang out like a smoke alarm to cooked bacon. It must have been 11:30pm by now, or so it seemed. Ms. Roberts ran over to my aid and asked if I was okay. I thanked her as she helped peel me off the hood like a wet leaf. I looked over and saw Jerod mounted on top of Mike and filling his body with blows. It looked like a Mortal Kombat scene; his hands were moving so fast. I swore I heard him say, “Hulk Smash” or maybe I was hearing things. I tried to pull Jerod off of Mike but as he planted each blow, blood flew in synchronized form. You could smell the blood, it was horrific. The final blow was so hard, his gun fell from his waist. Immediately, Ms. Roberts, screamed; “Duck! He has a Gun!!” I quickly retrieved the gun and made my way towards the steps. By the time I made it to the threshold, I heard the sirens. I ran up the steps, made it to my guest bedroom, squatted to the ground and found my safe. I punched in the code, placed the gun in the safe, locked it and ran back downstairs.
I walked out of the door and saw them restraining Jerod. Mike was apparently unconscious at this time. The paramedics were stabilizing Mike’s neck and asking Ms. Roberts if she knew his name. When she saw me, she pointed and said, ask her. One officer approached me, as the other officer put handcuffs on Jerod. I ignored what the officer said and made my way over to the other officer. Might I ask why you’ve placed handcuffs on my fiancee? Ma’am, your neighbor told me that this man beat up your significant other. Excuse me! Officer Alexander, is it? The man on the stretcher is the man who came to my home uninvited and threatened to shoot me. My fiancée is only doing what he felt would be best for our safety. All he knows is to protect those he loves. The same way he protected this county as a Marine for more than fifteen years. Please…PLEASE take off his handcuffs!
Ma’am, please step over here. Listen, the officer stated, “your neighbor said your fiancée had a gun and it went off and the bullet almost hit her. Now, from surveying the premises, I don’t see any evidence of this. Do you know why she would have reason to make such a bold accusation?” Though we have the right to bear arms in Virginia, they don’t condone reckless usage. I told him that Ms. Roberts has felt threatened by my fiancée as he is a black man who has an intimidating stature. She’s a Caucasian woman who is not fond of black people in particular. His eyes lit up, as if I touched a nerve. Listen, I know how to play the game and I was not going to let my man be subjected to the system. He served his country for more than 15 years; this is not how we repay him. Besides, it was my fault why all this bullshit was happening, I had to fix it. The officer told me to give him a few minutes so he could talk things over with his partner.
I stood there uncertain of the next step. I stared in the direction of Jerod and we locked eyes. He looked at me with such pain and regret. I motioned my lips, “baby, I am so sorry!” He shook his head as if he understood but it wasn’t enough to take away the embarrassment of having our neighbors peering their judgmental eyes at him. He had prided himself on never being arrested, considering how and where he grew up. It was my fault. Tears filled my eyes as they removed the cuffs from his hands. They talked to him for a while and before they got into their car, the officer looked at me then to Jerod. He said, loud enough for Ms. Roberts to hear, “thank you for your service.” Coincidently, tomorrow was Veteran’s Day. Jerod walked pass me, my hand slipped off his arm, as I tried to touch him. I looked at him walk into the house and into the kitchen. I turned around only to see Ms. Roberts closing her front door. I stood in the cold, feeling the brisk wind from the night graze my cheeks. It was then that I realized, all this time, my robe was open and my nipples were hardened by the cold of night. I walked begrudgingly up the steps, unable to fathom what awaited me behind those doors. I locked the front door and as I turned around my lips found his chest. I looked up at his massive 6’4 stature and felt the tears drop onto my forehead.
Before I could say a word, he grabbed my right arm and led me into the living room. I tried to flip the light switch on but his long legs were rushing me into the pitch-black room, at the same time my right knee hit the edge of my wooden coffee table. He sat me across from him on my vintage plush purple accent chair. In an effort to divert his attention, I rubbed my knees aggressively. The whole time trying to avoid making eye contact. It was dark but I could see right into his soul. He got up in such haste, I jumped as if I thought he would hit me. He went to turn on the lamp closest to the love seat. He walked over and sat between my legs. He angled the chair so my face could be within direct light.
We stared into each other’s eyes for a while. He put his head in his hands and began to rock back and forth. I pushed my chair slowly away from him but the legs made a loud screech as it rubbed against the hardwood. He flung his head up now with a devious stare. Are you shitting me? You’re seriously trying to edge away from me. He stood up and began pacing the room. The next thing I knew, the vase with roses he bought me last night was being smashed onto the glass coffee table. The water hit the side of my face, and shards of glass coated my left leg like stabbing needles. He stormed out of the room and walked out of the front door. I heard his engine rev and his tires howl out the driveway. I tip-toed over the glass on the floor and walked as fast as I could to the window. I could only see the tail of his vehicle as it turned onto Jefferson Avenue. I stood at the window until I heard his ringtone playing in the foyer. I made my way to my bag to retrieve my phone. I saw the caller id read, “Beloved”, I answered and heard heavy breathing. He yelled, “I’m not coming home tonight! Matter Fact, “THE WEDDING IS OFF!”. Before I could say a word, he hung up. I called him back to back, eight times in total. The final call I received the message of death, “Message 2391, the Verizon subscriber you are trying to reach is not receiving calls.” I was blocked!
Stay tuned for Part II
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