A JAMAICAN AFFAIR

D. Fostalove

Nelson sat on a chaise longue in the middle of the third-floor studio apartment as Jamaica wheeled two metal clothing racks from behind a curtained partition. He’d been a client of hers since she first appeared in a local alternative weekly five years prior. Although he knew their sessions were business to her, Nelson felt a special connection to the internationally known Dominatrix.

“Do you see anything you like?” Jamaica asked, as she lit another joint.

“I hate when you smoke.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Jamaica put the cigarette out in a nearby ashtray while Nelson sorted through a few outfits on the first rack before turning his attention to the second.

“This.” Nelson grabbed a black-and-beige striped satin dress. “With those tan stilettos I like.”

Jamaica glanced at the dress. “It’s a little matronly for our plans. Are you sure?”

“It’ll accentuate your curves.”

Jamaica then wheeled over a metal makeup case and opened one of the drawers, retrieving various shades of lipstick. Nelson surveyed the colored tubes in Jamaica’s outstretched hand before pointing out a vibrant cherry color. She asked if he’d like to see her with or without makeup.

“Without, but wear your dreadlocks up in a bun. You know how I like that.”

“Whatever you want.” Jamaica disappeared behind the curtain to change, reappearing moments later to model Nelson’s selections.

He loved what he’d chosen for Jamaica and held up two thumbs. “You look striking.”

“Thank you.” Jamaica glanced at the gold watch on her wrist. “We’re running a little behind. Are you ready?”

He nodded. She walked before him and spun around slowly, briefly modeling for him again.

“You’re so good to me.”

Jamaica winked and grabbed her keys from an accent table. “Let’s go.”

“No kiss for hubby before you head off?” Nelson asked as they exited.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Jamaica leaned down and gave him a kiss. “See you in two hours, okay?”

“Yep.” Nelson checked his watch. “Have fun, my dear.”

“Thanks. I will.” She smiled.

Nelson sat in his car thirty minutes prior to his date with Jamaica. He opened the email app on his phone and pulled up the classified ad they’d written together days earlier: Sheepish older business exec, younger jet-setting wife looking for aggressive buck to satisfy an unquenchable thirst. Scrolling down, Nelson’s heart pounded at the seductive body shots of Jamaica that she’d allowed him to take.

Closing the ad, Nelson found the email reply from “Brick.” When he saw the photos and response from the six-foot-three personal trainer who looked like he’d stepped right out of a prison yard instead of a gym full of suburban soccer moms, Nelson knew he’d found the man to satisfy Jamaica in a way he never could. They quickly called him, explained the details of their exchange, and made arrangements for Jamaica to meet him at a hotel downtown.

As Nelson’s mind wandered to Jamaica and Brick, he thought about masturbating but a knock on the window broke him away from his fantasies. He glanced up to see Jamaica waiting with a smile. Hand-in-hand, they entered the Moroccan restaurant and stopped at the host’s podium. As Nelson opened his mouth to speak, Jamaica squeezed his hand firmly. He flinched, remembering; he was to be seen but not heard.

“Reservation for two, last name: Cuckold.”

The hostess scanned a folder. “Yes. Mr. and Mrs. Cuckold, please follow me.”

Nelson almost laughed at Jamaica’s absurd humor, but maintained his composure as they followed behind the hostess who led them to a plush booth.

“I hope this is to your liking.” The hostess placed two menus on the table as they sat.

“Yes…”

Jamaica shot Nelson an icy glare. “The table is fine. Thank you.”

“Your server will be with you shortly.”

When the hostess was out of earshot, Jamaica scolded him. “Don’t speak unless granted permission. Understand?”

“Yes,” Nelson mumbled, loving how domineering Jamaica was.

“Good.”

The pair scanned their menus briefly before the server, a tall, bronze man, stopped at their table. He greeted them before serving traditional Berber whiskey poured from a silver kettle into two small glasses. “I’ll be back to take your orders.”

After a few minutes of silence, Nelson couldn’t contain himself. He needed to hear each sordid detail of her evening. “Please, Jamaica, don’t keep me in suspense like this. It’s killing me.”

Her eyes shot up from the menu. “I warned you. Speak again and I will tell you nothing.”

He suppressed the urge to smile at being completely controlled and lowered his eyes with a slight head nod.

The waiter returned then and asked if they were ready to order. “He’ll have lamb, prune, and almond tagine. I’ll have vegetarian couscous. Thank you.”

After the server disappeared, Nelson raised his hand.

“You may speak.”

“Please…tell me something…anything…”

She smiled, acknowledging that she’d stalled long enough. “As soon as I entered, he took me. Lifted my dress up, ripped my panties off with an angry fist, and jabbed his massive meat in my pussy.”

“At the door?”

“Yes. He pinned me against the door and fucked me with a hand over my mouth.”

Elbows on the table, Nelson leaned forward. “Did he at least speak first? Offer you a drink?”

“No. He literally pounced and knocked the wind out of me.” Jamaica pulled back the shoulder of her dress to reveal several marks. “He was so rough, biting my neck and my breasts. He even choked me from behind after he threw me over the luggage rack.”

Nelson felt himself stiffen below the table. He could vividly picture the brute fucking Jamaica throughout the hotel suite. He lowered one of his hands and rubbed it over his throbbing bulge.

“‘Scream if you like it, bitch,’ he said. And I did, especially when he…”

Nelson realized he hadn’t been breathing as he listened. “When he what?”

“He used my juices to coat his dick when he put it in my ass.”

“Wait. What?” He almost choked on the whiskey. “You let him…”

“With the way he fucked my pussy, I couldn’t deny myself the pleasure. He was so big and skilled. I needed him to stretch me out in a way I hadn’t been in a long time. Plus he promised to be gentle with my tight little asshole.”

Nelson leaned forward and whispered. “Was he?”

“Hell no.”

The waiter returned with their meals. He refilled their whiskey glasses and vanished.

“Did you come?”

“Did I?” Jamaica grabbed at one of her breasts.

“Repeatedly.” “Did he?”

Jamaica nodded. “All inside me.”

Nelson wiped his forehead, wet with sweat, with the back of his hand.

“If you behave for the rest of dinner, I may allow you a slice of my Jamaican cream pie.”

“Please don’t tease me like that.” The thought of tasting Jamaica, and the conquest who had ravished her both anally and vaginally, excited Nelson beyond words. He would obey each directive of hers for the remainder of the meal…but first he needed a release. He couldn’t contain himself any longer.

“May I please be excused?”

A smirk appeared on Jamaica’s face. “You may, but hurry back. There’s so much more to tell.”