Story Time with DNC: Office Extravanganza

Photo by Adeolu Eletu on Unsplash

It’s time for some erotic fiction. Let your Friday be full of great reads and incredible organisms.

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OFFICE  EXTRAVAGANZA

by DNC

“I’ll lock the door when I leave. . .don’t worry about it,” I yelled to Dora, the operations manager.

“Thanks, Nat. You’re the greatest,” she responded.

I had decided to stay as long as it took to complete my dashboards.  I walked back to my reception desk and unlocked my screen to notice that I had an IM up.

Marc:  You still here too?

It was the new guy. He was working late on his first week — poor baby.

Natalie:  Yeah. They work me to the bone every day.

Marc:  Man, they’re tough here.  How do you do it?

Natalie:  I just do it. Like Nike.

Marc:   LOL. Yeah I like that motto, in more than one way.

I sat back and wondered exactly what he meant. How many ways could you just do it? Was he flirting with me?

Marc was the new IT manager brought in to help with our computer chaos. He seemed quiet, even shy at times. Most of the ladies thought he was cute; twenty-six years old, five/ten with caramel skin. He was alright. Okay, maybe a little cute. Let me stop fronting; he was hot. It was the first time in a while that the office had had some eye-candy, but he was definitely delicious to the eyes.

Marc:  Hello!

Natalie:  My bad, I just got a phone call.

I lied because I didn’t want him to know that I was trying to figure out his comment.

Natalie:  What are you up to this weekend?

Marc:   I’ll probably go play some ball and then chill at home.  Maybe do some cooking.

Natalie:   Oh you cook?  Go ahead! I don’t know too many men that can cook.

Marc:   Oh I cook, girl.  I do it well, just like other things.

All the innuendos were starting to add up: I was sure he was being flirtatious now.  I crossed my legs and moved a little closer to my computer screen.

Marc:  What do you like to eat?

Natalie:  I love seafood, especially crab legs.

Marc:   I’m not really a seafood person, but I do love fish.  I’ll try anything twice.  I have a thing about having different textures on my tongue.

My mind shifted to wondering how much he would like the taste of me. What am I doing? Jon was at home. At this moment, cooking dinner waiting on me to join him. I refocused my mind and shifted the conversation.

Natalie:   So, are you watching the game this weekend?

Marc:   Yeah, but I think I’m going to come in this weekend and do a little work.

Natalie:   Yeah, I think I am too, because I need a head start on some projects for next week.

I thought it was a little funny how we both felt the need to come in and work on the weekend.

Not too many other people in the office like that idea at all, but I usually do.  I have a key and pass-code for every door in the building.

Natalie:   I’m coming in the afternoon on Saturday. If you want to come then I can let you in.

Marc:  Sounds good. See you at 1:00 on Saturday.

I was just getting back from a five-day vacation, so I had only been in the office three times since he started. Marc was a nice, hardworking guy. He had a genuine smile and spoke to everyone; even the “I hate my job every day” grouchy people.  It was refreshing to have someone else around who seemed to be as calm as I was.

On the ride home that night, I was thinking about whether or not we had everything for dinner, when my mind slipped back to the IM conversation I’d had with Marc.  I could just hear his soothing, mellow voice speak those words to me: “I have a thing about having different textures on my tongue.”

I felt a little moisture develop between my legs. Could I be attracted to Marc? Hell yeah, who wouldn’t be?  I told myself as I pulled up to my apartment complex.

***Bonus Scene***

That night, I’m not sure if I had a dream or a nightmare. Marc was inside of me, deep inside my pink walls, and I wanted him to go even deeper, but Jon was watching…

Read the full story with the bonus scene on DNC’s Patreon page, plus more exclusive stories. Keep the passion flowing.

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Short Story: Flying BAV

Photo by Sacha Verheij on Unsplash

Flying BAV

Hi. My name is Angela Simón and I’m a born again virgin. Now, before you go and judge my sanctify-ness you should know that this wasn’t a faith-based decision. Sure, I’m a child of God and I want to do my best to walk down the righteous path but that’s not why I’m a BAV.

I’ve joined the select group of BAVs who have decided to take control of their relationships by limiting physical interactions. Plus it just helps to keep things simple. And I’m not a BAV that waits until he’s all up on me, breathing down my neck, reaching up my thigh expecting for a fun time. No. I let every man who decides to look my way know what’s up immediately.

He’s either going to get the point or get away and I’m totally ok with either choice.

But when I met Raheem on a red eye to L.A., I damn near turned a corner and went down hoe-dom lane. Shit!

Raheem wore black and red glasses, a “You can call me King” shirt with a black, green and red book bag. He stood about 5 feet 10 inches or maybe even 6 feet tall, with Mahogany skin, you know the kind with a little hint of Red Cherokee in it.

It had been a while since I saw someone that made me stare, but this brother, made me want to climb over seats, stepping on bitches head just to say hello. But I contained myself and just prayed that he would sit next to me.

The only problem with that was the plane was damn near empty and we all could have a seat to ourselves. I look out the window to question God on why he would test my instincts like this.

I shake off the desire and look back up the aisle. Now only three rows from me, I wait for him to plop in the row in front of me, which was completely empty.

I catch a glance from him and see his beautiful hazel eyes shining back at me. Shit! I love men with all eye colors but there is just something so damn alluring when a man, especially a black man, has those exotic hazel and green eyes. It’s like being mesmerized by an 18-carat diamond—just fucking beautiful.

He smiles. I smile. He looks at the row in front of me then lifts his carry-on in the ben above. I grimace from the lost opportunity but then he shocks me.

He sits in the aisle seat in my row.

Word!?

I smile at him. He smiles back. Then another smile grows between my legs. I cross them tight, hoping to make her chill out.

Hey, bitch we are BAVs now. Stop it.

I must have suffocated her enough because she calmed down enough for me to be able to reach under the seat in front of me to grab my water and Starburst. I really should’ve gone to sleep, but my imagination was ready to play.

I watched him out of my peripheral, hoping to catch a few more glimpses of his personality. He definitely wasn’t scared to show his pro-blackness because if you weren’t paying attention to his shirt or bookbag, you could have gauged it from his Africa medallion and in-flight reading, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual by Harold Cruise.

I love an aware black man. Fuck woke. I like them soaked in black pride.

Reminds me of my love for a good protest at my alma mater. It was a PWC (predominately white college) that like to have blacks on their team but not teaching in their classrooms or sitting in the administration. It took us four dedicated years, but we got the first black dean placed. Damn, I miss those days.

“Are you okay?” He asks. I don’t know what face I was making but I couldn’t imagine it being anything but of pride and power.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look like you were about to be sick?”

Word, I make the gage face when I’m prideful. I’ve got to do better.

“No, I’m good. Thanks for asking.” I wonder if it is my turn to ask a question or two but he beats me.

“My name is Raheem.” He reaches out his hand and I gladly shake it.

“I’m Carmen.”

“Nice to meet you, Carmen.”

“Nice to meet you to Raheem.” We turn back to look for the stewardess, but I had other questions I wanted to ask.

“Hey,” I yell, trying to grab his attention again. He turns back to me and I enjoy the stubble growing on his chin. “That’s a good book. I read it in college.”

“Oh yay. It’s my second time reading it.” Yas, to his continuous dedication to re-education. “I just wanted to scan it one more time. You know, keep my head in the right space.”

“No, I get it. Because ‘Either all groups image speak for themselves,’” he joins in “’ and for the nation, or American nationality will never be determined.’” We laugh and smile once more.

“I love that quote.”

“I love it too,” He responds.

The stewardess finally announces that the doors are closing, and we are preparing to take off. Now it’s time for their educational but dull showing of safety around the plan.

I hear the engine on my side rev up and the plan jolt back from the terminal. Somehow the exhausts creep through my window and I want to move to the middle seat. At least I’ll be closer to him.

But we’re all supposed to be seated, except he stands up and then takes the seat next to me.

Like minds, I see.

Once he has repositioned his things under the seat he leans into me.

“They are too loud and I would love to continue our conversation.”

I’d be lying if I said that he wasn’t making me glow, but he was. He was also making me question if I was going to still be a BAV by the end of this flight.

One then two hours pass and we were still talking about blackness. We’ve touched on college, now we’re talking about discrepancies plaguing the corporate arena. Soon the conversation shifts again, and this time to relationships. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to but I could feel that it was time for me to drop the “coochie is on lock” bomb.

“So, do you have a man?”

Right before I can respond, he stops me. “Wait, I’m not sure I want to know. I don’t want to be disappointed.”

“Well,” I continue anyway, “no I don’t have a man.”

“But?”

“But I am a BAV and that’s probably why.”

He sits back in his seat for a second, looking toward the front.

See I knew it. Well, it was nice talking with him while it lasted.

Then without looking at me, he leans in close and whispers, “No disrespect, but what’s a BAV?”

A high-pitch squeal slips out of me but his confused looked reminded me that I had some explaining to do.

“I’m a born again virgin.”

“Oh, shit. Word. Cool. I thought that was some new African religion I hadn’t learned about yet. I was about to Google that shit without you seeing.”

“Sorry, I forget that not everyone is verse in BAVism.”

“So, that’s why you think you’re single?”

“Yeah, you know guys, especially black men, just don’t understand it.”

“I hate to fall into that category myself but what does it really mean.”

“Well,” I take a sip before releasing the next missile. “It means that I won’t have sex before I’m married. I’ve had sex before and it has only complicated my relationships, then left me yearning for love. I mean I don’t blame myself, but I want to know that someone loves me for me and not because of the tricks I can do in the bedroom.”

“Oh, so you do tricks?”


See what happens with Carmen and Raheem on Pateron. Subscribe the Passionate Addict tier to read this full story, other short stories and view exclusive video.

 

She’s Been Picked up for Two Years Straight!

Yes, yes! Part II of my YA fiction story was picked up by Z Publishing. Yes, that makes two consecutive years that my short stories have been selected for their anthology. My first story, Beauty Hurts selected for their Georgia’s Emerging Writers: Anthology of Fiction series was published last year. This year, “What She Deserves” made it into their America’s Emerging Young Adult Writers: Deep South series this year.

I’m so blessed to have this opportunity to not only have a publisher believe in my work  but also to cross-over into another genre that I love. Purchase your copy, or any book, through the links below and I get see a few coins (God is grand). #SupportIndieAuthors

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Published 2019; Featured story “What She Deserves”

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Published 2018; Featured story, “Beauty Hurts”

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I appreciate you all and your continue support!

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