About Sappho’s Interim Affair: The Sappho Trilogy, Book 2

Excerpt

Inside Jackson’s Penthouse

“Take off your clothes,” murmured Sappho and, when Jackson obeyed, she led him to the Master Suite, hitched-up her dress, lay back on the bed, opened her legs into a wide-V and said, “go down on me!”

Jackson knelt at the foot of the bed and, ever-so-gently, leaned forward to taste her nectar; he started at her clit then ran his tongue around the circle until he caught her juices at the bottom and, from there, he opened his mouth, covered Sappho’s pussy, and sucked…

“Jackson, just follow my lead and lie on the bed!”

Taking orders were a first for him but he complied and Sappho spread his thighs; raised his regal-sized prong and licked the underside; his balls; the perineum between his sac and his asshole and, ultimately, his asshole.

Jackson was responding in the way men do and his kidney-wiper was already reaching for the sky but Sappho continued her arousal; nibbling, licking, sucking and probing.

He started to moan, even before she got to his dick, but he had his work cut-out to contain himself when Sappho inserted first, one finger, and then another, into his butt and started to frig his backside. At about this time she took his bell-end in her mouth; closed her lips around the red tip and, as her tongue found the eye, her hands took hold on the length and began a slow rhythm: up-and-down; up-and-down.

Jackson was wet from his own pre-cum and from Sappho’s saliva but he could feel her swallowing him deeper and deeper into her throat until her lips were flush with his belly. Then Sappho adjusted her neck, hunched her shoulders and Jackson experienced the ultimate when his scrotum exploded and he blew his load into her gut.

Still she kept going and, instead of softening, Jackson felt himself recovering: hard, once more, Sappho moved swiftly, climbed onto the bed, mounted him and sank herself onto his poker; still unfinished, she held his hands, looked into his eyes and clamped her walls around his cock.

“Urgh, Ga’ad! Sappho, you’re something else! I’ve said it before, and imagined it every day since we met, but you’ve just confirmed it: baby, you’re special! Please take off your dress; I’m going to serve you.”

As she stripped, Jackson watched her; seeing her unclothed for the first time left him muted and in awe: their activity had spun-off more fragrance and, as Sappho hung her dress over a chair, Jackson turned-down the bed before his muscular black body took hold of and entwined her smaller, but equally virile, white body and an orgy of monochromatic passion began that was neither wild nor lusty: but neither was it gentle…

Again, there was a grunt, a sigh and another splash into Sappho’s baby-making chamber but no relief: Jackson was a cross between a railway train and a record player; he just kept going on-and-on and round-and-round but, always, his mate took it.

Another ejaculation and another flip onto her back; Jackson was now lying on top of her, his hands under her backside, his lips pressing onto her mouth, his cock sawing its way into her belly and Sappho stretching her legs to lock around his waist: no relief; then came the coup-de-grace…

Sappho suggested a beer and something fast, like a burger, but she wanted to eat outside and Jackson was game.

“You drink beer?” he asked.

“Well, I prefer ale; Jonathan introduced me to English Ale and we’ve got Steam Breweries ‘round here: so, something along those lines and, after this afternoon, Buster, plenty of it!”