Chapter One:

Man Dive

 

Clarice did a stage dive off the head of the bed, naked. She was standing over Marco, as he lay spread eagle on the satin sheets fondling himself while gazing up at her open-mouthed. She landed by his side and giggled, pushing her silky hair from her face.

"Thirds?!" she asked and demanded simultaneously.

He laughed and threw the sheet over her head. Clarice had a thrill of fear, the air stifling underneath. Then he kissed her eyes, mouth, and neck through the sheet. Tasting her smell, reeking of sweet wood in the crevices. Lust replaced fear as he left wet spots on the sheet. He focused on each breast, nibbling and teasing. Her breath grew husky. Marco moved down with his tongue over her belly. Once he reached the place between her thighs, the sheet there was already wet. He lifted it and went down on her voraciously, watching labia swell and clitoris stiffen once again.

Unable to take it for much longer, she rolled him off, and climbed on his caramel-colored chest, slid easily up in reverse cowgirl. Her thighs counted the squares on his belly as she passed. His firm nipples informed her she was nearing the target, and she dropped back so her labia could touch his lips again, and she could swallow his cock. As she closed her eyes and reciprocated, shivers went up her body from her soaked crotch. To Marco, the place between her thighs tasted like strawberries, his tongue licking and probing.

Clarice almost forgot what she was doing, almost. In her mind, she saw Marco laying on white sand; the water caressing his body like a billboard ad. She could smell the salt, his residual, her residual, and their scent, as he grew in her mouth. A spark in her clitoris made her arch her back, her lips falling away from his glans. They groaned together.

"Now lover, take me now," she begged.

Placing his muscular hands on her firm bottom, he pushed her down to his hips, then lifted her up onto his stalk, then eased her down again. The pleasure of penetration, exquisite. His hardness drove the air out of her lungs, and she squeezed him. Then Clarice romped and rode him fast, full gallop, absorbing his testosterone, his power, with each thrust, until she finished.

He had cum before, but not this time, and she dismounted, leaving him frustrated. He groaned again as she stood up and headed for the bathroom.

"Aren't you going to finish me?" he asked.

"Enough's enough, now get dressed and get out. Ciao Bello!"

He did this little homosexual moan, staring at his throbbing cock. She looked back over her shoulder once more, to enjoy the length and girth of him, then closed the bathroom door. She heard the hotel room door slam a few minutes later as she tested the bath water.

 

Chapter Two:

Taking Sugar from a Daddy

 

Clarice dropped fully formed on the great capitals of the world. In her twenties, she was the belle of the ball, the head of the harem, the juice for the justices. In Dubai, she shook the sheikhs, in Las Vegas, she kegeled the casino owners, in Paris, she parley-vous-ed the prime minister, and in Hong Kong she hung out the Huns to dry. Leaving them either drained or desperate. Clarice collected sugar daddies, like some kids collect baseball cards.

Playing her part, she could be whatever they wanted. Transforming herself into the perfect lover, be it concubine, shy schoolgirl, or dominatrix. In this way, she amassed a fortune by the time she retired at twenty-eight. She bought hotels instead of stocks and hired managers she could twist or mount at will. Passive income allowed her more active delights.

As an orphan, Clarice learned how to charm anyone and everyone. She developed the skill as a survival mechanism, but was not a sociopath. She refined it as a teenager, beginning her seductions while other girls played with dolls. Deprived of love, she designed her own. Fabricated it into the fine art of reward and profit. She learned never to ask for money or favors, but gave others the opportunity to reward her, ending up receiving far more than she expected.

Accompanied by her blossoming good looks, she bore with pride an irresistible and targeted technique in flirtation. Practicing it once more, she smiled into the mirror. Wearing a tight black dress that revealed more than hid her assets. Her blond hair, shoulder length, perfect for wigs, weaves, and extensions, now fell naturally. Her green eyes and height perfect for all her men.

Buttocks deliciously round and enticing, perfectly balanced by full breasts. She twisted and turned seductively to draw the wealthy towards her. Fixing her eyes and desire on a sugar daddy of her choosing, they melted under her wiles. The most steadfast and resilient man or woman could not help but to submit to their base desires with Clarice. She only improved with time and travel. Maturity gave her a strength that her lovers folded beneath, begging to submit.

Carrying over twenty passports, most legal, and most taken by force of will from the burning desire of her sugar daddies, she was free to cross borders whenever she chose. She would not brook abuse, but could dish it out masterfully. She trained with all the best masters of the sexual arts, seeking their knowledge. All reimbursed through their ultimate satiation. An example, bored Japanese housewives paid her to be tied-up and suspended on stage in Tokyo's red-light district. Clarice was one of the few women that could perform this service and drew sizeable crowds.

A quick learner, she soon exceeded the techniques of her masters. Clarice trained her body through discipline to control and pleasure her lovers, transporting them to new levels of carnal satisfaction. She always left them hungry for more. They often spent their love lives seeking sensations and climaxes she delivered, but could never experience again without her.

That life was behind her now. She could receive pleasure or give pleasure as she chose, no longer a servant of love. Some folks shopped in grocery stores. Clarice shopped in the rarefied world of gigolos. She chose them over prostitutes, or even those that sought meaningful relationships. The architecture of love was a religious construct. Genuine passion was a complex system of manipulation exchanged between individuals. Sex a dance of pleasure and pleasuring.

 

Chapter Three:

Getting a Brazilian, or Two

 

Clarice, in her early thirties, was heading toward her sexual peak. She understood gigolos, picked them not just for their appearance but for their reputations. She knew what drove them. Understood their goals. As a queen in their domain, they were like her former sugar daddies, willing playmates when indulged but also disposable when not needed. One time she made a mistake with them, but only just once.

At the opening of her newest hotel in São Paulo, Brazil, attended by celebrities, local politicians, and the glam gentry, Clarice spotted two of her recent conquests mingling. Their eyes kept glancing at her even though they were busy trying to engage with other wealthy dowagers. Unfortunately, the bees they were attracting were overweight and unintelligent. Not that Evandro and Romulo had a problem with that, but they themselves found Clarice rare and irresistible.

The boys were unaware of each other, almost lost in the crowd of masculine and feminine beauty. If you knew gigolos, you could pick them out from the other gorgeous men the way they moved and flirted. Clarice subtly passed a room key to Evandro as she brushed against him, while talking with an influence peddler between faux sips of champagne.

Later, she entered the Mayor's circle, making sure they had refilled his glass, while his acolytes received fresh canapes. Romulo slid up beside her and casually threw his arm over her shoulder. Clarice shrugged it off, and gave him a warning look, while continuing to engage in cheerful conversation. To get him to back off, she slipped him another of her room keys, placing it in the hand he used to pat her bottom.

Joyfully, he headed upstairs. Romulo entered the honeymoon suite and dropped his clothes, positioning himself in front of the door, and worked on his erection. He wanted to be ready when she arrived. He heard the bump and grind music that circulated in the background while the bathtub filled.

Knowing the rooms were intelligent, Romulo figured she might have ordered it up for them, and ignored the rush of water. Evandro was just settling into the tub, after pre-oiling his magnificent body. If he had the length, Romulo had the girth. Being large, it took time for Evandro to come to full erection. So he worked the shaft with a practiced technique below the bubbles. He squeezed the glans purple to make it swell and burn. He knew Clarice would appreciate the convenience and the size of his manhood. The first time she saw it, her pupils told him all he needed to know.

 

***

 

When Clarice left the party to meet her lover, she winked at her new manager to be sure he indulged all those in attendance. Rooms, if they wanted them, party favors of any kind they needed or desired. Opening the door to the suite, she saw Romulo enjoying himself and licked her lips. It would be a night to remember.

The first thing she removed was her costume jewelry and her clutch, placing them down as she approached Romulo. He was panting quietly as she tilted her head back and sighed into his mouth. His mouth went dry as she pressed against his muscles and grabbed his cock, her fingers unable to meet because of his girth. He refreshed her with his lips and tongue as she stroked him slowly. He grabbed her bottom like he did at the party, and pulled her onto his thigh, feeling the heat between her legs.

Clarice immediately soaked her panties as she slid down him. The motion pressed out a long, sweet moan from her lungs as Romulo mashed her breasts against his chest. The sound alerted Evandro in the tub.

"You there, gorgeous?" he asked in Portuguese.

Romulo and Clarice froze in their embrace. She had forgotten about Evandro. She felt Romulo soften in her hand and squeezed down as he entered fight-or-flight mode. She tugged hard and fast to bring him back to full staff, but he was resisting her ministrations.

Clarice whispered in his ear, "It's all right, lover. I invited some entertainment."

His lack of response was answer enough. So she broke away from him and headed for the bath to slip into something more comfortable. She ripped away her wet panties and pulled her cocktail dress over her head, throwing it away. Dressed only in fishnet stockings and stiletto heels, she opened the bathroom door. Evandro smiled as his erection peaked above the bubbles.

"No shoes, no shirt, you get entry on this ride," he mocked.

Clarice ignored his quip and climbed in, crouching, and aiming her pussy where his penis should be. She was about to complain when he thrust up into her, sloshing water over the sides of the marble tub.

She gasped and settled down on him, her pupils dilating. He was so big it was difficult for her to take him all in. She wiggled back and forth until their hips met. Evandro loved that she could take all of him. Few women could. They rested on each other for a moment, sharing the sensation, when Romulo stepped in catching them inflagranti.

"Hey man, she's mine!" Romulo yelled in English.

Evandro's eyes moved over Romulo's body, his full girth restored, glimpsing Clarice's breasts as Romulo entered the bath. "I think she's woman enough for both of us," he whispered.

Clarice moaned, whether from Evandro's small gyrations against her G-spot, or seeing Romulo over her shoulder.

"Let's move this to the bed," she purred before Romulo could come at her from behind.

Complying, Evandro did a crunch, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arm around her waist. Chest to chest, he stood, lifting them out of the water, her legs locking above his hips, his cock still deep inside her. As he slid against her labia, she could feel him pulse inside her. He stood, and she clung to him, adding her arms, as the water and soap slid off.

Romulo retreated to the emperor sized bed and pulled off the covers with a flourish. He grabbed some lubricant from the bed-side table and oiled his thick cock as it pointed toward the canopy. He rubbed himself slowly, savoring the sensation, watching the couple approach entwined, squeezing the base, making his glans bulge more.

Evandro carried her to the bed and kneeled on it, walking conjoined toward Romulo's erection. Each movement of his body shifted his cock in her pussy, tantalizing her. She tightened on him, earning Evandro's sigh, heightening the pleasure for both. Evandro laid on his back, Clarice on her knees, impaled by Evandro; she felt Romulo's glans tickling her anal ring.

Finding the pucker, he moved the tip of his cock around, making her flush, goose pimples rising on all of Clarice's cheeks. Shock waves of pleasure shot up her body from the over-stimulation of two men. Evandro held her tight, and kissed her passionately, making slight movements inside her, until she gasped into his mouth as Romulo penetrated. His girth spread her wide, the stretch exciting her into a kind of madness.

Evandro lay back and let her fall down on him, as Romulo moved forward, plunging in and out of her, building momentum. The man under her matched the moves of the one behind, only with shorter thrusts. Her orgasm spiraled up quickly from her belly, as the men's smells mingled erotically.

When she came, Romulo came, then pulled out quickly. He lay back, gulping air. Evandro wasn't near finished, but neither was she. Freed from being impaled on them both, she could move and dictate the rhythm. She slid up and down Evandro's body, enjoying his full length, their bodies pressing against each other intensely. He was slipping into a place of pleasure few men would ever know.

Clarice was gaining momentum. Riding up, then receding back from her orgasm, letting it build and build. She'd peak a little, a female version of pre-cum, then slow her pace, only to rise again to the next plateau. Her own magic was driving Evandro crazy. He thrashed, throwing his head from side to the side, as she rode him. Knowing he was close, she decided to cum when he came, and she didn't have long to wait.

He arched his back in tetanus, lifting them both off the bed. Only his heels and shoulders touched the sheets as he came into her. She cried out in the thrumming pulse, her womb vibrating, her body shaking, and she squirted on him as her sphincters let go. Her screams startled everyone in the room, settling only when he fell back.

Evandro slid out of her. Her thighs quivered from the strain of taking her own weight and her residual orgasm still pounding. Then she laughed, rolled off, and fell on her back.

Clarice was still trying to catch her breath when Romulo grabbed Evandro by his black hair. He pulled his head up, and slugged him hard, Evandro's head bounced off the bed. The man went from dream into a nightmare in an instant, and he leaped up, attacking Romulo.

Watching her two naked lovers fight might have been a turn on for some women, but these men were going at it with deadly intent. They gave up wrestling for purchase as Evandro, both sweaty and oil slick, slipped out of Romulo's grasp. Evandro fired his fists at Romulo's abdomen in rapid piston shots. As his head came down, Evandro's upper cut drove Romulo's chin up, over, and back.

He kicked out as he fell, his toe, then heel catching Evandro's chin, then his nose. They both hit the floor, knocked out cold. It horrified Clarice. She picked up the phone and called for hotel security to remove the bodies. Propping open the suite door, she headed for the bathroom.

When she emerged in a cloud of steam a half hour later, the room was empty. There were new sheets on the bed, and only the memory of what had happened left behind. It was a mix of pleasure and pain, a lesson she promised not to repeat.

She climbed into her Gulf 5 the next morning and jetted out of Brazil.