codes: FF

by Joseph Brooke

OBA was a Somali, elegant, beautiful; a soft core
bitch and super mega Bright. She was compassionate,
6ft 1, 125 lbs. An ex female soldier of civil wars,
violence, genocide, and tragic death. She was East Africian. So
many years past, seemingly forever and unending.

Scars on her face, keloid art, small nose, delicate
high cheekbones, marked by an artists razor, odd,
aquiline and exotic for it. Perfection in beauty,
unless marred is never unique.

Mandal, was blond white, buzzed short, tall, 5-11,
120, slender cut, blue eyes. Sapphire blue, perhaps
one of the most exotic creatures to ever walk the
earth. She needed pain, to be subjugated, subdued; it
was her only outlet for her genius, troubled, out of
kilter brain, pain was her thing. Those character
traits would be up loaded by Oba, oh yes they would.

Mandal was 28, looked a boyish 20, for food never
interested her. Her body was thin, tiny breasts, no
hips, small behind that blended in to impossible long
legs. She was a fucked up beauty genius, built for
fucking, beatings, piercing, anything and everything.

She had been a misfit her entire life, drowning,
alone, a violent whore with a heart of gold. Never
having  been in love, well, first times, are fun time;
She just had never known it, yet now she was in
lovewith two remarkablr human beings.

She had entertained thoughts, suicide moments, every
morning with her coffee. Mal, the killer, artist,
complicated, cut from a slab of leather, her brand new
lover and Oba were trying to change that.

She was Mal's women, had known that the moment she had
meant the rough, twisted, tender artist of callused
working mans hands. He was tall, a master of ceramics,
paint, gold, death, great heart, talent, more fucked
up then her.

Oba, obsidian black, Mandal, the polar opposite. Bone
white, her facial features were delicate, scared,
crushing, men felt weak around her, off track, unsure,
she was impossible, complicated, mixed up sex girl,
passion, denial, she had murdered 6 men, evil
sociopathic violent men. She had been responsible for
others being killed as well. She was a solo Orca,
cruising the currents of a violent world, she was,
their Queen.

Oba, Mal, no different, knew that some men needed
killing. They were life time friends, soldiers in
Africa, Hashish smugglers, Ketama, Morocco. More men
had died, after, they moved stolen slag, Gems, Gold,
platinum, weapons in Europe and The Middle East. Both
were rich, humble geniuses, they saw Mandal as
something else, they both loved and adored her. Mal
had kick started the girls motor, Oba was ready to
push the peddle to see if the RPM's would blast off the

Mal was gone now, down, roaming the streets of London,
two cameras, Leicas, old like him, clicking frames,
eclectic mind seeing what few others ever saw. He was
a genius, a creator of death, life and the dark things
found within the crevices of life.

Never jealous, nor possessive, he had handed off
Mandal to Oba. He knew both creatures would enjoy one
another, Oba mostly, leading the way, for Mandel, ex
prostitute, grifter, homicide queen, needed Oba to
escort her to the next level. Mandal needed a safe
landing, to see the possibilities of passion that
awaited her. She was a virgin trick, inexperienced,
eager now. MAl had done that, breaking her body,
bending that will, creating trust, anguish, orgasms,
now; it was Oba's turn.

Dinner, had been a marvelous affair. After, Mal
departed, doing his thing, chasing death, as Oba had
led Mandel into the shower of the loft. She had begun
the process, discovery, finding what the girls
miraculous cunt needed, her endurance, the pain level
for the blond beauty aa well as her pleasure core.

After, cleansed, soap bubbles silhouetted on black
skin, blending into Mandels white. Oba had teased her,
played with her body, exploited it, here, there,
inside, outside. It was Mandel's first time being in
love, her insides had become luminous, nerve endings
glowing. Oba had slapped her, roughed her up, Mandal
had wept, had fallen into the Africans arms, and in
her mind she could not wait, not a second, not a
another bitch moment for the secrets of her body to be
revealed. She wanted it, to see what the Somalia women
would do to her next, once across the loft, near Mal's

Mandel knew Nada of clothes, nor fashion, was a gym
rat, a thug really, trapped in an impossible Eco
skeleton of beauty. She had allowed Oba to shop, for
her, buy her pretty things, sex togs, for their dinner
that night. She knew nothing of style, except her own
unique one. She had dressed Mandal and Mandal had
never been turned out like that before.

Pimped out sexy, rich, tight, classic, black Channel
skirt, hip, slit at the side, black silk Sara
McCartney body shirt, Manolo leather ankle boots, bod
built for classic clothes, and elegant white string,
ready, waiting for the wind.  Oba had scored, the
girls legs, thin, formless, went on forever, were a
miracle, Oba wanted to eat them, bend them around her
face, explore, be amazed again and finally. She
bought the togs for her because they made her muscled
and long legs even that more dramatic, Oba was hectic,
seeing her in the rags.

The shower, fucking incredible, girl had been
insatiable. Small ass, cunt, Oba had battered her,
fist fucked her, douched her on the toilet, cleaned
her out, girls night out, there was more. Oba knew it,
wanted it, Mandal was frothing, so excited, her mind
fueled up, those RPM's Oba was geeking for, reved now,
spinning thd dial. After, half way out the door, Oba,
smiles, turned, retreated back, then, another smile,
she had retrieved the black ankle boots, winked
mischievously. Her new girl pal smiled back, broken
heart for Oba, for Mandal, heart pounding, vagina wet,
mind lavish, she looked like a white ribbon she was so
petite, no form, emoting a raw emotion of sex,
alluring. Oba remembered, smiled, holding up the
boots. "Mustn't forget these darling" She murmured in
her British accent.

Oba was a drama queen, dramatic to say the least in
everything she did. She was in one word, a beautiful
women of little equal, classic, and she was focused on
one thing, one thing only.

Across the loft naked, hand and hand, Mals sleeping
area, sky lights, wall windows, rain, London down
below, an artist visions. Sloane Square, The Kings
Road, industrial loft,through the ceiling to floor
window of the loft, neon glistened everywhere.

Finally, the side of the bed, Oba set her down,
smiled, leered at her white naked body, white cotton
sheets, my, my, a miracle of skin and cotton.
Oba, naked, bent at her knees, knelt before her,
almost in reverence, like an idol, Oba paying homage
to her cunt, beauty, beyond beautiful. Oba had never
seen anything like the girl before.

For Oba, Mal as well, it was about sensory exoticism,
eroticism, sexual symmetry, being a little bit selfish
as well, they gave more than they got.

Mandal, basically was a blank body canvas, both Mal
and Oba appreciated that. Her savagery, rawness, her
artistry, her pronation to violence, both as artists
they saw her as an unfinished painting. They would
recreate her within the colors, paints and orgasms of
there sexual imaginations. That's what they did.

Oba kneeling, Mandal staring at her shaved, high
African forehead, wide black eyes, like almonds,
placed one ankle boot after another on Mandals feet,
small feet for a tall girl. She was constructed
perfectly, yet didn't know it. Mandal stared,
remembered, ached in her tummy, felt tremours, still,
tried to put the jigs in the puzzle. Mal adored her
feet, like Oba, why, she didn't know. Oba laced them
tight, planted her hands on the floor, raised her
eyes, both amazing sets of orbs locked, loaded. They
were lasers guided on each other. The girls were ready
to roll. The fun was just about to begin.

Allowing a breath of excited air to escape her lungs,
Mandal reached forward, touched the strident scars on
Oba's face. Thinking that they were beautiful, she
murmured. "They are lovely."

Oba, feeling her own energy generating, for the girls
elegant face was also scarred, faded white against
white. Mandal had told her once that when she was a
thief, a whore, she had paid a man to beat her. It was
her only outlet between suicide and life, just to
relieve her from her grief thoughts that were
constantly raping her genius and unstable mind.

Oba had loved her for that.

Laying her black fingers on Mandal face, she trailed
along the light scars, then whispered. "Yes, as yours
are darling. Life lessons, yes?"

Understanding, Mandal lowered her eyes, shy girl,
allowed Oba to move her to the bed and lay her upon it
on her back, her knees bent, thighs parted, her boots
pressed against the floor.

Like earlier in the shower, Mandal reached her arms
behind her head, stretched, straiting her ribs, flat
tummy, concave, body coiling involuntarily, every tiny
muscle in her thin torso tensing.

Standing, Oba allowed her eyes to fall past her white
hair, down her body lithe, to her black ankle boots.

Her eyes glazing over, Mandal focused them, stared out
through the skylights. Black clouds, night rain,
mysteries soon to be exposed, lost, feeling, as she
had done with Mal, like a wild dog, which suddenly
unleashed, capable of anything.

Oba leaned in, tummy to tummy, breasts to breasts,
kissed her, lingered a moment, touched Mandals full
lips, inhaled her skin, she thought it held an essence
of earth and water to it. Smiling, she then
straightened as she murmured. "Music darling...Be Back

Turning on her black, bare heel, Oba danced across the
loft naked, stalled in front of Mal's state of the art
music system, found the remote, pressed the tiny
button. Several green and red lights flickered,
pulsated long the entire height of the system.

"Sade." She whispered.

The 10 ft. high CD changer slotted. The changer
clicked, roved, then racked to her words. "Perfect"

Sades voice drifted across the entire breath of the
massive artists loft as Oba turned, a naked black
child, a black widow moving to one thing and one thing
only, her lovely prey.

Turning, now a happy amazon, she skipped across the
loft. Once back, she saw Mandal stretched across the
bed, stalled out staring at her, ribs, skin, bone,
muscles, cunt, lips, unlimited possibilities,
delicate, fragile, powerful, she could only gawk at
the white shadow layered along Mal's white sheets. In
her her mind the girls white body seemed to meld
within the white cotton as if melted snow.

Oba had prepared Sake, it was time, it had cooled. She
knew it would be a perfect mix to what she had planned
for the beauty, thighs parted, pink cunt, anus
humming, Oba saw it all. Orgasms in the shower had
bonded them, now Mandal seemed almost dreamy, laying
there, humming to Sade, boots tapping the wooden
planks of the loft floor. Oba thought her heart was
going to fucking leap out her own mouth the girl was
so basic and sex innocent. "Innocent of fucking what."
She whispered

Bending to the end table, she sipped at some Sake,
moved to Mandal, straddled her, received fingers along
her face. Oba kissed them, her girl giggled. Sitting
on her tummy, Oba bent, pressed her African lips to
Mandals open mouth allowing the warm Sake to drip into
her throat.

Swallowing, Mandal murmured. "UMMMMM."

Oba, repeated the Sake exchange several times, knowing
it's buzz, it's gift, especially in her girl friends
now empty, tiny stomach, knew it would heighten
everything, the bidet sex had been a brilliant idea.
Sake, flushed stomach, wild maniac waiting for her
lumbar region to be reconstructed. "Fuck, what more
can a girl want"? Oba giggled to herself.

Feeling the warm Sake in her tummy, Mandal's body
trembled, as a sense of acute sensitivity plunged
through every membrane in her body. She was an
Incubus, and evil spirit, Oba thought, maybe a
Goddess, she was ready to evaporate watching the girl
emulsifying on the sheets, voodoo, mumbo jumbo, fuzzy
math, Oba was ready for the truth.

Moving off of her torso, Oba sliced back to the end
table. She simply adored Fendi, so she again found her
black leather case, alligator, priceless, play toys,
other stuff, Oba adored the best of everything, that
is why she was there. In her mind the girl was fucking

A surgeon of sorts, yet different kind, Doctor Oba
sat, placed the leather satchel along side of her
naked lovers body, giggled. Surgery without a cut was
about to begin.

Leaving it closed Oba trailed her fingers to Mandals
bruised lips. She had roughed her up in the shower, it
hadn't mattered, the girl was insatiable. Then fingers
down her small breasts, her heaving stomach until they
came to rest just above that priceless cunt that Mal
had shaved earlier. Nothing in Oba's mind was nor
would ever be as beautiful as what she was seeing at
that moment.

Mandals tummy, breasts, pubic area were growing pink,
blood flow, movement, blue veins becoming evident,
transporters of such pleasure. The girl was hard wired
for sex. Mandal, breathing beginning to boil, bellow,
and Oba, she could see that she was ready, hoped the
darling kid would stay conscious through all of it.
Mal had warned her that when Mandal was at her
epicenter she would loose consciousness. Oba had
witnessed it during the bidet miracle. She hoped the
draling girl could hold on for dear life as she fucked
her up, drive her near sexual death, pleasure her in
her own unique way.

Eyes simmering, Mandal peeked, had to, watched as Oba
went lower, and finding what she was seeking, pressed
her fingers against her clitoris, pinching it,
forefinger and thumb, gently at first.

Mandels hips rose, jutted, trembled, she moaned.
Pinching harder, Oba, a sadist of wonder, watched her
girls face contort in eagerness which aroused her
further. Mandal, shoots of pain, joy as well as
romance, odd, real, moaning memories, vibratted on the
bed, a coiled spring ready to unwind.

There is in the world girls that are just plain sweet
tasting and now Oba knew that she must taste the honey
blond or her mind would begin to start malfunctioning.

Releasing her grip, Oba snaked off the bed, knelt
before parted legs, and then gently with her black
fingers spread Mandal's thighs apart. Further, wider,
she could see how wet the girl was, liquids dripping
down her calves. Obas hands shook as she laid them on
the girls heaving stomach.

Knowing she was completely exposed to the Africans
whims, her body tingled, her cunt ached, grew wetter,
her black boots tap dancing on the plank floor as she
suddenly felt Oba's breath on her vagina.

First times for wonderful times are always enchanting
times, was that way for Mandal. Fists gripping the
sheets, jaw clenching, teeth rat tat tatting, her hips
bucking off of the side of the bed, crazy girl was
zoning, the phone off the hook

Oba, fucked up, zoomed up, dizzy and with so many
fucking options, had watched as Mal had levitated the
girl, impaneled her with her fist, made the bitch feel
more in a few hours than she had felt in a life time.
Now Oba wanted to rumble with the white ice creme cone
melting and withering on the bed, did she fucking

Moving her tongue, teeth, lips, Oba began to bite,
kiss, revolve her tongue around the girls platinum
cunt, tasting, probing, fuck if she could she would
have stuck her head inside of the shaved blond and
never left, never, ever, ever, ever,

Stilted time, as Mandals stomach and breasts grew
pinker as Oba would peek over her vagina, veins
popping on Mandals forehead. Taking her black fingers,
she tweaked the girls erect nipples hard, not to hard,
then her lips, pinching them with violence, love,
enough pressure to sway the girls mood, just a little
bit. Mandals moans told her she was on line.

Gripping and re gripping the bed sheets, Mandal arched
her back, felt the waves growing in stature. Obas
breath, teeth, tongue, digging her boots into the
wooden floor, helium hips, into the air, shudders,
racked her blond noggin back and forth as she
orgasmed, groaned, reached forward, wrapped her hands
around the back of Obas head, slashed her cunt into
her face, held her there as she bucked, whimpered, and
then screamed, "FUCK...OOOOOOH, OOOH...OH...FUCKING

Oba catched and released, backed off, watched as
slender girl pulsed and vibrated, every rib struck
rigid, her face filling with blood as her tummy sucked
in and out, as urine splashed against her black skin.
Oba had been on mark. She was happy, the girls sex
software seemed downloaded perfectly.

Oba of course had been right, in her mind as she
stared at the whirling dervish on the bed. She indeed
had been the sweetest woman she had ever tasted and
for that delicious fact, Oba's own senses were
starting to overload.

Because Oba could multi-task, she turned the back of
her hand to the moist sheets, then roughly inserted
her long black finger into her girlfriends fired up

Instantly, Mandal went rigid, back bowed, her head
slashing back and forth, banging up and down as she
screamed, beating the bed with her white knuckled


Knowing that at times girls say the darnedest things,
and as Mal had heard those fateful words earlier, Oba
knew that in this case, "Stop" met "GO". Peering at
the barbaric creature on the bed, she appreciated more
athn most everything that she was witnessing.

Because Oba understood a women's complicated plumbing
as well as a Stanford Doctor might, she slammed her
fist, past the silk, deep inside, deep, to the wrist.
It was blow-torch hot, so fucking hot Oba winced,
tried to catch her own breath, which was swelling.
Mandal, mumbling gibberish, unable to support her
thighs any longer allowed them to flip flop to the
white sheets.

Oba, an experienced explorer of deviance of a sort,
and hip to what was going on inside the girl and the
effect it would have on her, reached to the left,
found a black cotton towel, and with fist inserted up
to her wrist in the blond, twisted it, lifted her
behind laying the towel under the girls rump as she
did. Instantly, a gush of wind blew past Mandals lips.
Moaning, she bit her own lip until it bled as her
Manolo's clicked wildly on the planks.

Easy, rough, hard, soft, violent it was Oba's way.

She had ripped up the girl in the last 24 hours and
the fact that Mandal had orgasmed twelve ways to
Sunday, first by Mal, though he had never penetrated
her with his penis, he couldn't, complicated head
stuff, and now by her. The African felt so aroused and
like some kind of tricked out electrical hub she felt
her body generating its own pulsed orgasm, and fuck,
she had just fucking begun.

Mandel, gulping air, mind a test pattern, stoked in
another direction. Blood vessels engorged, her
breathing coming in gulps and gasps, tasting her own
blood and stomach heaving up and down, feeling so
calm, she no longer wished to be dead from the tip and
the flames of her hang gun barrel.

Closer to the beginning than the end, Oba's pressed
further into the flame hot mysteries of Mandal. The
pixie roved her arms behind her, stretched, pushed
against Obas fist, groaning, scratching the walls with
her finger nails. Obas eyes went oval, maybe raving
mad, knowing that ignorance is sometimes bliss, for
the heater on the bed had no idea what was about to
happen to her.

Wasting not a fucking moment, Oba felt her own blood
blasting everywhere in her body, brain, cunt, as she
leered at the ghostly colored girl beginning to wind
up again as she had witnessed with Mal earlier.

Knowing the girl was insatiable, filled with
melodrama, she smiled, as Mandal lit, sparked holes in
her brain, clear cutting her whacked out cerebellum as
she did.

Instead of backing away from Oba's thrusts with her
fist, Mandal began to match each push with one of her
own as her own. Her eyelids kept sweeping on and off
like one of those submarine guys blinking a hidden
code to a pal ashore.

In and out, a fly wheel of a fist, revolving her
fingers as she did, this way Obas way, as she touched
new places that even Mal had missed on his first swing
around the deck. Mandal felt it again, it was
magnificent, it was nearing, some place inside of her,
a paradox of hurt and nice. As if she were freezing,
her body shook uncontrollably as she gritted her
teeth, and then stuttered..."Ob, Ob, Ob, Ooooooh,
OOOOBA." as she bit down on her already busted and
swollen lips. A trail of blood began to trickle down
her chin as her entire body Tangoed to some hidden
whacked out drum beat in her mind.

Shaking out of control, she tried to close her legs,
found it impossible, for Oba would not take "NO" for
an answer. Her tendons were popping, sinew shaking,
every muscle stretched, corded, taught like some kind
of marvelous white fleck of opium, enticing,
addicting, her new junkie the African, as Oba dug a
simple degree deeper.

That was it of course and because Oba understood such
matters, she watched enthralled, frantic, as urine as
well as other fluids broke from the girls cunt mostly
being caught by the cautious towel Oba had quite
correctly laid under her rump.

Inwardly screaming, outwardly pleading, Mandal's eyes,
a myriad of fucked up roller rocking girl eyes,
tilted, shocked and bounced to the back of her head.
Her stomach muscles ground tight as did her cunt, as
she lifted up her butt, wanting it now, anything, more
anguish, more, more joy, any fucking thing, just more.
Again, her teeth were chattering, saliva and blood
trailing down her lips, she then, plunged into Oba's
black arms.

Whimpering, shaking, weeping, her hands, connected to
arms, as a militia of twisting vines clutched Oba's
shoulder, her blubbering face dug into the cleft of
the Africans neck. Oba simply held her tight in fucked
up awe, as Mandal trembled and tried to say something,

"Why...Why Oba...Ooooooh...Oh Please....Ooooooh Oba."

Not needing an interpreter, nor a linguist to decipher
her "Girl Speak" Oba felt her grip around her neck
lesson, then it released and Mandal fell backwards.
Oba gasped, liquefied on the spot, holding the bitch
queen along her spine, as she bent, arched, moaned
again like some kind sex promise neither could
decipher, white hair pressed against the white sheets.

Oba, wishing that she had one of those green bottles
of Oxygen, for her self, for the hyperventilating girl
bent like pretzel on the bed, covered in perspiration
sheening on skin, like some kinda erotic Venusian
alien, her legs wired to those goddamn boots was
driving her to the edge. Then, Oba, again on an optic
ether driven dragster fire, lazed her fingers along
her white breasts and undulating tummy, jerked them
back as if they had been singed. Standing, she simply
gazed at her, fucked up stunned by what she was

Mandal, her breasts and belly glowing red from some
unknown, internal self produced power source, seemed
to be humming and glowing, quite literally from it.

There was a bit of sadist in Oba, sweet stuff, hard
stuff, artistic savagery, a great trait in a lover
feeling that they were now in full creative sail
within what they were creating.

Wanting more like a L.A. skid row junkie, much more,
Oba boogied to the small end table. She took the
bottle of Sake, poured two small porcelain cups,
returned to her humming girl friend. Mandal's eyes,
wide open now, calming a bit, quiet, simply gazing out
through the skylight at the black night pressing
against the lofts glass panes, looking like blue gems,
a mine fire ripping behind them.

Gently, Oba glanced at her legs hanging off the side
of the bed, black ankle boots tapping the planks. She
was a selfish bitch. "Good" she thought, great idea,
the boots.

Glad that she had possessed the vision of the high
heels remaining rightly where they belonged, she then
took her by the scruff of her blond, lifted, then
guided a sip of Sake past her swollen and plasma lips.

Hot, like new semen, Sake in her throat, Mandal
eagerly swallowed. Oba seeing that she would perhaps
like more, and being the perfect hostess, allowed the
thirsty girl to finish every last drop of her own.
Matters were progressing swimmingly.

"Are you alright, darling?" Oba asked, her British
Colonial accent sweet. Standing, she returned to the
rice wine, poured more, sat next to her as her hands
unable to stay away, rested upon Mandals stomach.

Seeing tears, vagabond weepers falling down Mandals
cheeks, Oba lovingly touched them away, smiled as she
touched a thin blood trail tattooed on her girls chin.
She then brought a blood drop to her tongue, tasted
it, adored it, needed it, soon there would be more.

Smiling, though it was a fragile smile for Oba, Oba
whispered. "Mal is going to scold me. You must be
careful darling, unless, well unless it is something
that makes you happy."

Reaching up, she touched Oba's face, finger tips like
white wind, then closed her eyes, still barely able to
piece any words together, lips shuddering, she tried
her best.

"When...When you were hurting me, my shower...I...I thought I was
going to die...It was so wonderful, Oba...and...and
then this...Mal first and now you...I love the
pain...I don't know why, Oba...but...but I do...Is
that wrong?"

Touching her bleeding trembling lips, Oba's heart
broke, as she smiled and whispered. "Of course not
darling...We are all odd and true, we have different
things that make us happy. It is...who we are."

Closing her eyes for some time, Mandal felt more tears
welling again and to her surprise more arousal
suddenly stacking in her body.

Seeing Mandal's breathing begin to intensify and what
that signified, Oba touched her white eyebrows and
murmured. "Would you like more dear?"

Trapping a deep breath in her lungs, Mandal's body
shuddered as she exhaled and whispered. "Oh yes Oba,
please, much more."

Oba smiled, liked the reply, noticed as her girl's
brow crinkle as she out stretched her white fingers
and touched her face as she asked. "What about you
Oba...Cannot I pleasure you?"

Tilting her high forehead to the ceiling, Oba laughed
genuinely, gazed back, touched her face and said
gaily. "Darling, it is not like the movies. You give
me more pleasure than I have had in such a time. This
is about passion, care and understanding, artistry if
you must. You will learn, beauty, come here now, I
need to see that body of yours move again."

Reaching down, Oba slid to the edge of the bed,
wrapped her hands around the ex hitter's waist,
pulled, good, sitting position, closer now, that face,
those lips. Mandal supported herself with her own arms
wrapped around Oba's neck.

When an animal is trapped in a cage it's entire life
and staring through the bars that confine it, they can
only ever imagine the freedom and what that might mean
to them when finally free from the cerebral iron
rungs, this is what Mandal felt.

Oba's breath, pungent, warm, real on her neck, her
angular muscled arms supporting her, she felt as MLK
had said, "Free, thank God, free at last."

"Stand darling." Oba said, wanting to see it all. The
trip, the length of her torso, it ending in the black
boots she had so wisely purchased for her, selfishly,
lovingly, great vision, a future gazer, as she lifted
the blond feather to help her to her feet.

"I don't know if I can Oba?"

"Of course you can darling. Come now."

Oba lifted her, she teetered, Oba helped, pressed her
body against her own, waited, rested her fingers on
her rump, flipping questions and scenarios in her
mind. So many things do do, she waited, patient,
dreamed of sodomy, waited for Mandals leg muscles to
remember there purpose and, then, finding that Mandal
was stronger than she thought, backed away, not far,
simply gazing at the naked girl blazing before her on
her brand new black boots.

Mandals head spun, her loins ached, she scooped up
air, felt brave and comfy She gazed at Oba who was
glazing her eyes at the hyper-link connecting face to
toes, real advanced stuff, Quantum Mechanics, cruel
within its exoticism as Oba gasped, again. The bitch
had no idea how her virgin body affected other humans.

Clearly in new waters, Mandal, not embarrassed, not at
all and happy that Oba felt her so attractive, felt
that rare word ping her sonar brain, trust, so much
trust. Instantly she morphed from an unsure girl into
a heathen, mendacious girl, feeling, as she had with
Mal, for the first time, powered up, Lotus like, a
lime-light girl, she fucking loved it.

Lacing Oba with a hard stare, Mandal allowed her
fingers to fall between her legs, she moaned, just a
little. No pretend, no game going down, carnal, real
as she closed her eyes, reopened them as she glared at
the African with so much want, Oba felt a marvelous
fluid, like lava from one of the fucking Hawaiian
volcano's spilling down the inside of her  black

Sniffling hard, like a boxer, Oba tried to clear her
head. No cut man here, no referee either, no Lou Duva
to mend the cuts in her heart, she liked what she was
seeing, knew within the instant that the fun with
Mal's girl had just begin. What that promised was
endless in there scope in her mind. She felt like
screaming she was so jacked up

Pouting, quite naturally, Mandal's lips, already full,
almost illegal, still swelling, formed a little oval,
as she whispered. "What are you waiting for you black

Oba blinked, tilted her head, then smiled as she
whispered. "What do we have here now. We've created a
monster." As a tiny sensory rumble hit her loins.

A little more pout goes a long way when your the
sexiest bitch on the planet and though new to
everything, she was a brainiac, fast learner. No
pretender, no posing, maybe just a little, feeling it,
she purred. "You have no idea."

Oba tilted her head, looked at her standing there
pouting and thought for a moment. The world of
bondage, slaves, masters, head masks and everything
else was a silly one, mostly practiced by posers,
louts and inexperienced wannabes.

Oba knew that it was the mind, the imagination, that
cracked all doors to pleasure. She and Mal had talked
briefly about the girl about it. They were savants,
not selfish, unless it served a purpose. They were
fucked up Genies who could look in to Mandals brain,
rub the lamp, push the shit around, hit all the
buttons, reorganize it, use it, give it as well as
take from it.

Mandal, opposite side of the deck, now having her
feelings unleashed, first time, lucky time, lucky
girl, knew having stumbled upon Oba and Mal had been a
fucking lotto win. Big.payoff, no limits, no
boundaries, tripping cerebral money play, desires
fulfilled and her need for liberating pain and
pleasure knew no ends, or at least she knew of none,
She was a smart cookie and knew she was gang banging
with a new crew, cosmic space travelers of freedom,
and looking at Oba, she was winding up, and it felt

Mind, spring by spring grooving like a kids slinky,
Oba stepped forward, took her by the hand, leaned in.
kissed her deep, tongues playing, sets of full lips
ironed together, neither wanting it to stop, just to
fucking finally begin, again. Turning her eye balls to
her Fendi bag, Oba thought of a few things she had
squirreled away within in and that excited her

Lightening strike, off through the panes of glass that
made up Mal's loft, the flash, the neon, the  lights
of the Chelsea Bridge glistened in the dark off in the
distance of the night.

No more kisses for now, so Oba escorted Mandal to the
glass wall, takes her hands, raises her arms, slaps
the palms against the heavy glass panes. Reaching
down, she slides her fingers down Mandals ten story
legs, hesitates for a moment, then spreads her feet
apart, just a little. Mandal moans from the touch.
"There darling, that is a good beginning." Oba

Mandal, feeling dreamy, filled with alchemy, excited
and anxious, for it's a mystery to her of what was
about to happen. She remembered how Mal had handled
her, how Oba had used her so unusually on the toilet,
oh my. Her brain had blacked out. Orgasms did that to
her, shower was next, slaps, kisses, ravaged, and
after, now, almost drooling, gawking, leering out the
panes, Mandal, for an instant wondered how Mal and Oba
could find so much satisfaction pleasuring her alone,
clearly avoiding there own needs. She was a sweet kid,
so fucking naive, but that is what made her so

Knowing to keep her yap shut, more fantasizing, more
dreaming, more gazing out of the panes at the pretty
night, as sweet thoughts, banshee thoughts, mind
spinning, body steaming, waiting, waiting and of
course waiting.

Oba moved close, looked at her small spine, how it
blended into her nothing ass, and as Mal had done
lazed her fingers along her delicate back, down her
rump and finally along her stretched calves. Mandal
groaned, tried to remember, still had no idea why they
were so fascinated with her legs, for she did not know
her own beauty. This was who she was, raw, basic, her,
real and fucking odd elegant.

For the longest time Oba's fingers, fucking mind
travelers, hip hopped up and down her calves, her
thighs, teasing her anus, her cunt. Knowing soon, each
time she made a sweep, seeingher lovers body tingle,
grow, breathing increasing, fist clenching and un
clenching, a skin kiln of molten blood, ready to die
cast, would make something pretty.

Stalling out at her calves, again, Oba smiled at her
girls new found confidence and thought as she bent and
kissed her calves that she did not want to break her
will, not this first time. She would perhaps bend it a
little, maybe even to the breaking point.

Straightening, she stepped back so she could see her
full torso, stretching, cording, legs parted,
something dripping from her cunt as the girl seemed
lost humming along to Sade's voice filtering from the
speakers of Mal's loft. " A cool operator, she's a
cool operator." Both Sade and Mandal crooned.

Unable to help herself, Oba smiled, listened to the
cool operator body swaying to the crooners voice with
her hands pressed against the window panes.

"We will see." Oba whispered to herself.

Still mesmerized with the thinness and the height of
the girl, Oba's eyes roamed seemingly forever down her
legs to the boots. In her mind was quite clearly the
most sexual thing she had ever seen.

"Humm." Oba muttered, as she moved a step, then into
her Fendi bag, mostly filled with girl supplies. She
had purchased them in Kyoto as she began to dig
around. Dr.Oba was ready to begin.

Finding what she needed, Oba took a large, porcelain
jar of Green Tea enriched vit-E lubricant with
Japanese scroll printed on Laying it on the table, she
peeked at her girl who was swaying and whispering to
Sade. "Fucking Christ", she whispered as she decided
to hurry.  

In her other hand she held something else, had
purchased it in her favorite Geisha House in Tokyo.
Handy dandy stuff, for special occasions as the one
she now was deliriously drowning in at the moment. It
was not a fucking life preserver that was for sure,
though that certainly was open too conjecture.

Before any kind of penetration and of course the pain
and pleasure that ensues, arousal was essential and no
one knew this better than Oba.

Titillated by the sheer length of Mandals moving to
the dance bod, Oba stepped to her, pressed her body
against her back, free hand wrapped around her waist,
clinging on the her small breasts Clamping on to a
nipple, she pinched, harder yet, got a moan and a foot
stomp in reply, a turn, wild blue eyes, a kiss, Oba
was happy.

Placing her full lips along a delicate ear, Oba
whispered, raised the black dildo to Mandal's cheek,
massaged it, grazed it across her blue eyes and a
prankster, whispered. "Your in a bit of trouble now

Mandal's eyes ticked, blipped several times at the
dildo as Oba felt the girls teeth begin to chatter,
her body trembling, her nails clawing at the window,
breathing expanding, moaning. She kissed Mandal on the
cheek, got a fragile smile. "Fuck, I'm in love" Oba
thought in her mind.

The dildo was a marvelous one, a foot long, wide in
girth, ridged and it held a large knob on its end
resembling the tip of a man's penis. Oba held it to
her eyes by its carved, ancient ivory handle and
whispered further into her ear. "No passing out now,

Biting her bruised lips so that she could control her
banging lips, Mandal swallowed, felt dizzy, then
watched as the dildo disappeared from her sight. She
had ideas, but where it went she didn't know, though
that little mystery would soon be clear to her.

Being ambidextrous was a good thing, so Oba reached
over, unscrewed the lid of her favorite lube, dipped
her forefinger and middle finger into the lubricant.
Bringing her fingers between Mandal's legs, she simply
pressed them against her vagina.

Understanding the health issues concerning the order
of things, Oba had thoroughly cleansed her girl within
a marvelous toilet experience in Mal's bathroom
earlier. The blond cunt had all most lost her mind
ball bearings, passed out. it whad been good times,
yet proper decorum was always that and Oba was a
master of such knowledge. Rectum first was a no no,
Oba was a good doctor. The thoughts made her giggle
through the chain saw hacking timber in her brain

Wasting no time, Oba inserted her long fingers into
her vagina, which told her by the moan escaping the
girls lips and her body saturating and vibrating, had
been the right thing to do.

Never the boring type, Oba watched as Mandal banged
her forehead against the glass panes, no longer
singing, nor moaning. Deciding that she liked her
doing that, she began to dig her fingers deep, wet,
and then rammed her fist in. Mandal arched her back,
whacked her forehead against the panes, screamed,
screamed again, stomped her feet in a pique, slapped
her palm,s again and again against the window, tried
to climb through it, it was closed.

Like a fucking pneumatic drill bit and for several
minutes she worked lovingly on the girl. Mandal
stretched and banged the thick panes of glass with her
fists and then stomped her high heels on the floor,
which turned Oba on to a degree she had never
experienced before.

Throwing her head back, Mandal orgasmed, gushed a
breath of air and then slumped against the window and
would have crawled out of them if she could have.

Pressing her breasts and stomach against the window
panes and with Oba's free hand welded against her
spine, Oba then dipped the dildo into the creme.
Peeking at it and finding it perfect, she placed it
against the ring of flesh standing as sentry at her

Watching wide eyed and now feeling herself orgasm, Oba
inserted it into her rectum, partially at first.
Finding nothing to prevent her from doing so, she
pushed it the rest of the way in up to its ivory

screamed, as she slammed her palms against the glass
panes and her behind arched and her back muscles
corded and she stomped her boot heels on the wooden
planks of the floor. Oba, still pressing her free hand
to her spine, began to move the dildo in and out of
her body.

First entry, mind sparks, rotating bobble head. Mandal
saw them, acute pain, the dildo ramming against her
stomach, small girl, petulant, a lithe Preying Mantis
caught in an African Black Widow spider web. She
almost had fallen to her knees and vomited.

That quickly morphed, changed, such intensity, fucked
up carousel arousal as well as pleasure as her mind
and body strengthened, clarified, her brain
crystallized, bent knees, plunges and pushes, in
unison, pressing against each plunge of the dildo.

Oba, heart racing, brow pouring sweat, hands soaked,
saw it, felt it in her own cunt. Mal's girl was a
fucking ultra-light white Ermin, nothing more for the
moment that a fucking rabid bitch mammal, she felt
happy for that fact

Crazed her self, Oba continued for many minutes and as
each time her blond beauty shuddered, vibrated,
orgasm and banged her fist and stomped her boots, she
felt her to be growing stronger.

"Ooo...Oooba...Oooooh." ORGASM

Mandal ignited, scratched at the panes of glass,
whipped her head back and forth, twisted around,
leering at Oba. Dildo in her ass, her lungs pumping,
her eyes as a jackal sniffing blood, she jutted
forward, grabbed the stunned Oba by her neck. With
teeth barred, eyes stark, dilating, she crushed her
lips against Oba's lips, pouring her tongue into her
mouth, as Oba slipped her hands on to the dildo,
tasting the girls saliva, her passion, her fucking
unmatched lips, then she slammed the dildo in deeper.

Mandal ripped back, her eyes rolled, ticked,
flickered, and then she screamed, threw her arms into
the air, teeth clicking like a castanet, as she
slammed back into the heavy panes of glass.

Oba, eyes shocked, moved now, then stopped as an
Orgasm beat her body. Shivering herself, she hesitated
as she gawked, as Mandal, knees bent, waist bending,
Dildo lodged in her ass, hands on her knees, moaning,
hyperventilating, racked her head back and forth. More
moans, pleas of denial, Mandal began to weep, laugh,
lie, more shudders, Oba also needed more.

Oba, in control, barely, stepped to her, lifted her
chin, allowed the weeping girl to straighten. Her blue
eyes were gushing, blood stained along her lips, she
was trying to form words, but none came. Pressing her
body to Mandals, quacking face against her Nubian
neck, Oba whispered into her ear, "Are you fine

Jerking her face back, Mandal pressed her body against
the glass panes, sneered at her and seethed. "Just do
what you want to me you black bitch." Jeckle and Hyde
had nothing on this fucking gal.

Downer freak, mood swinger, complicated head case,
Mandal switched gears, chin down, moaning, more tears,
chin undulating. Oba, wide eyed and frantic, slowly
shook her head back in forth in astonishment.

"Oh my, oh me." Oba said in appreciation of her girls
new and improved demeanor.

Oba saw it, moved to Mandal, pleads on her stricken
white face, hermetically sealed brain finally stripped
wide ope. Oba slapped her, jerked her head. Mandal
jerked back, frozen ice blue eyes, daring, all fucking
in, do what you want, just fucking do it, nail gunned
in her defiant stare.

Oba slapped her again. Mandals head snapped, snapped
back, then she threw her blond head back, screamed,
nutted it back and forth as as if she were trying to
rid it of flames. Oba moved now, her own insides
bolted with fire, grabbed Mandal, twisted her around
and then violently slammed her against the glass

Cheeks against the neon kisses, palms pressed against
the panes, singing again to Sade, knees bent, ass
striking a pose, Oba wondering "What the fuck",
unhinged herself, wasting no time, not a fucking
second, Oba rammed the dildo in deep. Mandal gushed
out a groan, stomped the floor, bent her knees for a
deeper penetration. Oba, somehow through the madness
and on her own Orgasmic freaky head trip, wondered
what in the fuck it would take to make this girl
happy. Mandal tensed, went rigid, literally chewed at
the glass, threw her head back, screamed, orgasmed and
screamed again...MORE, PLEASE, OB, OB, OBA...FUUUCKING

Never denying a gal pal anything when they were having
a good time, OBA, hardly able to keep her eye balls
from popping out of their sockets, moved in, pressed
flesh against flesh, then whispered into her girl
friends ear.

"Yes darling, of course here."

Taking Mandal's hand, she twisted it around, laid her
palm on the carved ivory handle, pressed her palm
against it. Leaning in, she whispered "Hold on now,
tight darling."

Giggling, her own breathing swooping in, out, like one
of those jack hammers they use digging up the streets
of NY, lungs replenishing, eyes watering, hands
soaked, wasting no time, Oba dipped her entire hand
into the jar of creme. With drawing it, she turned to
her singing girl, moaning, Mandal's own hand body
fucking it's self in the ass with a dildo, banging her
forehead against the window panes in cadence to Sade,
something Oba was becoming a little concerned with.

"Oh well." Oba thought. "Girls will be girls."

Looks, before the implosions, just because she could,
cunt, rectum, dildo, fist, Manolo's, "Fuck, Perfect."
Oba thought, "It's fucking really happening?"

It was unbelivable, the girls indurance, cheat looks
at the girls hand from Oba, pressing the dildo deeper
inside of her own body. Perhaps that might do it?

Needy now, herself, Oba moved Mandal's hand off of the
dildo, pressed Mandals palm against the window panes
with the other hand, wrapped her black fingers around
the ivory handle.

Completely crazed, knowing no limits, no line to
cross, the bitch obviously had none, Oba lowered her
hand. She balled her fist, small hand for a gal,
bunched it compact, fist, no time like the present,
clock count down, NASA stuff, roaring flames, deep
space, 3, 2, 1, whammed it into her cunt, up to her
black wrist.

"SWOOOOSH." The air blasts out of Mandal's lungs, her
entire body walloping against the glass panes, cheek
slapped against the glass, eyes blowing wide, leering,
promising to be good, anything, make it stop, make it
never fucking end, leers, weeps, and then a scream at
the pretty lights of London in the distance.

"Aaah, oooh...fa...fa...fuck...ooooh...God." Gurgled
out of her lips as she stood impaled by Oba's love for
her, immobile, barely able to breath.

Oba, moving down her list if things to do, dildo,
fist, her black eyes like a drunk cobra, blinking,
watching, until she herself thought she was going
insane. Never and never, for she was an experienced
party girl, had she seen anything quite so beautiful
and erotic before.

Mandal, remembering her prayers, felt it, again,a
rolling tractor trailer of blood free wheeling in her
cunt, was babbling something, trying to remember Oba's
counseling, she tried, really tried not to pass out.
But, minds explosions, fire flies birthed and dying in
legions in her brain, supercede a girls tried good
behavior as she totally made the transformation from
girl/women to a wild animal.

It was like giving birth, as Mandals lips engorged in
a pout.

"Push, Push, Push." Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh." The
oxygen kept blowing past her lips. Unable to move, she
orgasmed again, threw her arms into the air and
screamed as her body went haywire, tried to move, but
being struck deep from so many different directions,
she simply collapsed. The last thing she felt and
remembered was one last rippling orgasm as it split
across her limp body and brain.

A little worried that she had gone to fast, to far  to
fucking quickly, Oba pulled the dildo out first ,then
her fist just in time to catch the blond rag doll in
her arms.

Staring at the hyperventilating girl in her arms, Oba
now felt exhausted as another rare orgasms exhumed
from her body. Mentally, physically spent, she could
barely hold her, though she was a light as air.

Quickly she transferred her to the bed, made sure her
blond noggin was comfy on the pillow, lifted her legs,
laid her prone on the white sheets.

As if paralyzed, which basically she was, Mandal laid
as if she were coffin bound, hands draped across
breasts, eyes now peeking open again as she gazed
comatose out at the blackness of the night as her
teeth chattered away.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, bare feet planted on
the floor, Oba bolted her elbows to her knees, and
then flopped her black face into her hands.

Her thirst for Mal's girl had been insatiable, but
even for her enough was enough. She was spent, pleased
physically, yet not emotionally, for even for her, its
was nutso wacko, for she loved the girl, and she had
only known the blond Viking for three fucking days.

Mandal's eyes, blue like the flames erupting out of
the tip of a welders torch, blinked several times,
closed, opened as she stared at Oba drenched in sweat
hunched on the side of the bed, tortured face in her

She was soaked in sweat, body fluids, blood splatter,
as Mandal watched as sweat fell down Oba's shaved head
and down her narrow spine and behind and then melded
into the white sheets as she whispered to the African.


Lifting her head and finding it difficult to do so,
Oba turned and laid her fingers on Mandals belly,
which was still swelling and now just returning from
red to a rose color.

"Yes, darling?"

Barely able to form connected syllables, she
whispered. "Oba, ' I' I' I love Mal, I
think I'm in love with you too."

Exhaling her worrisome breath, she smiled a broken
smile, sighed, for the last fucking thing she wanted
to hear were those vixen lips, were those goddamn
words, especially from Mal's women and in her mind,
the most amazing creature she had ever met.

Grimacing, wincing, wanting to touch that naive cunt,
those lips and that super nova body one more time, Oba
lied. "Yes darling, that is wonderful. We will all get
a cottage in Surry. We all will live happily ever
after. Doesn't that sound nice."

"Fucking bitch, I'm a dead women." Oba's last thoughts
on the matter.

And that was it...

To be continued.

Joseph is a painter, ex master of
jewelry and ceramics and of course writer that has
lived in Paris, Milan, Dublin and London for 10 years.
He spent another 15 years travelling the complete
breath of S. America, Africa, Asia and the Middle East
as well as several islands in the Carib. He has had some
success as a screenwriter. Currently he live on a remote
beach in Zipolite Mexico, where he built a house. Joseph has
1000 poems and 6, 500 to 600 page novels completed. His
work is very erotic, very eclectic,  genius, exotically beautiful
and savage, and about  bi-sexual very troubled women.
Joseph writes only for women.