Of course, I knew Claude had sent a message the night before. It seemed that he needed to take care of some personal business, and check up on his many properties in and around town. Naturally I understood but because this particular message was so sweet, yet subtly torrid, I had to drop everything and make this a lunch date he'd never forget. The message read thus:
My dear Danisha:
For some strange reason, as I finished my evening duties, I thought of you. Perhaps it was that little ditty playing in my head -- I believe you sang that to me during your last visit. For the life of me I cannot recall the song's title, but I definitely remember a few lyrics. Now let me see . . . Something about "Baby, baby, when I lay with you . . . "
Darling, are you blushing? Perhaps you can reprise that sweet little piece on your next visit. Actually, I wanted to remind you that I'll be out for the few days -- I need to inspect my private properties before the winter sets in. Tomorrow, I will be at my private chateau. I'm quite sure that you have prior commitments as well, so please do not waste a time trip, as I'll be extremely busy. However if you DO manage to play a little . . . What is that word? "Hooky."
I love you, my sensual Nubian queen. How I wish, my love, I was you instead of . . . No Matter.
All My Love,
Claude
Now did he tell me "Don't waste a trip?" Hmm . . .
I knew perfectly well that Claude wanted me there. Why else would he mention that song -- "I Feel 4 You" -- I sang that to him on my last visit. And he HAD to mention the very line . . . 'baby, baby, when I lay with you'. Maybe I'm dreaming but, I may very well play 'hooky'.
And that's exactly what I did -- I made a few quick phone calls, canceled a couple of appointments, packed a delectable lunch, stopped at the market . . .
Oh yes . . . I had to pack a few 'extra' items.
As usual, whenever I traveled to the 15th, I had to let myself in. Claude wasn't around so . . .
In his private chambers, I laid out our noontime repast: a light menu of rotisseried chicken, a medley of fine autumn vegetables, warm bread, white wine, lemon-lime mousse, and coffee. I even brought a few 'extras': Candles, lotion, AND, of course, my best singing voice.
Well, he said he wanted to hear the song . . . Maybe I can 'act it out' for him . . . You know, so he can commit it to memory . . .
I sprawled across the floor and eagerly awaited Claude's arrival. According to the caretaker, Claude had been out in the stables all morning. Poor baby, you work so hard. Let me take care of you . . .
My watch read twelve thirty; I didn't panic for I knew Claude would arrive any moment. Just to ease the boredom, I got up and began to sing that song; I even danced around a bit. Whilst in mid-verse, or was it mid-shimmy . . .
baby baby when i lay with u
i feel 4 u...
there's no place i'd rather be
I can't remember if it was the aroma of the food, my singing, or my dancing, but Claude Frollo came running. Maybe it was ESP...
He greeted me with hands cupped around my breasts, a deep testosterone-charged voice pouring the sexiest sweet-nothings in my ear, a warm breath against my neck, a wet tongue in my ear, a slowly grinding pelvis against my butt. I felt the sudden hardness, that sudden surge of blood to the penis -- Hmm . . . Sugarbritches, you must have radar or. . .Let's eat first . . .Oooh. . .Claude? Baby -- It's Only Lunch!
"I knew you'd come . . . Ooh, my tender-lipped -- and they ARE ripe and tender -- My sweet blossom . . . "
Within moments, Claude Frollo was all over me. His tongue, his teeth, his hands, devoured and caressed every inch of me. Ooh, the mad rush of desire . . . That trembling, wriggling-in-anticipation feeling building inside me. Somehow, I detected that same urgency, that voracious, intense longing in Claude. To hell with lunch, he thought (Yes, there are times when I can read his thoughts), I want to satisfy THIS appetite! NOW!
With few words between us, we fell upon the cushions I had arranged on the floor. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire, a few impassioned words, and our rhythmic breathing which grew heavier with every passing moment.
"Ooh, Claude, make love to me....I don't care about lunch...Ooh, damn!"
His hands had, by now, reached under my skirt -- This was one time I DIDN'T bother to
wear panties, and Claude was surprisingly, yet pleasantly, shocked. "No
matter, my love. It certainly saves valuable time."
He emitted a dark throaty
chuckle, saying, "My dear Nisha, I must have picked up on your...um...wavelength.
For you see..."
At once Claude Frollo rose to his knees and, very deftly, and very sensually, proceeded
to strip off every piece of clothing. His body trembled and glowed with excitement, and
with expectant pleasure. My Claude, my sugar...Your body is so...It glows
like antique ivory...Lean, hard-muscled, like a dancer...
"No, Claude. I won't say your body's like a basketball star's; it's more rhythmic, graceful, even musical. Yes, a dancer's body," I said to him as he spread my legs. A wide grin stretched over his handsome face; even in the middle of lovemaking, he HAD to get in the last word.
"Danisha, never once have I considered myself a 'dancer', or an athlete for that matter. But I accept the compliment, my beloved."
During the next hour, Claude Frollo let me know -- and did he ever
-- the depths of his undying gratitude.
It's amazing what a little surprise visit, a nice lunch, and a few well
chosen words can do for one's love life.
"Oh my...Claude! Damn baby..."
Thus came the words as my body arched in Claude's amorous embrace, and thrashed
under his relentless pounding. As if by magic, my legs immediately locked around his slender waist; my thighs gripped him more tightly. My tongue
greedily licking up every drop of his sweet-salty sweat.
We seemed to climax in tandem
-- When I screamed, he screamed. When I thrashed and jerked about, he matched
my movements lick for lick.
And he held onto me as if he didn't want to let go -- not just yet.
Once Claude Frollo has found a good thing, no way was he letting it get
away.Claude murmured in my ear just before that final explosion, that he had found that 'good thing' in me. "I love you, Nisha -- Oh, you are so wonderful, darling. You are so damn good to me."
"Nisha! Oh, my darling...That's the way, love....Ooh, Nisha...Grip me...I can't -- can't stop...DAMNATION!"
Was I dreaming, or did I actually feel a torrent of semen course through my vagina and up into my feminine depths? Now I know a man deposits only so much during a love-making session, but Claude seemed to have a triple load this go-around. What did he do? Go on a 'no sex' fast? Stored it all up for lil' ol' me? Or maybe you're just EXTRA potent today, sugarbritches...
Later that afternoon, Claude and I fed each other a slightly warmed-over
lunch, and enjoyed the most pleasant conversation. Unusual, I thought, but we seldom discussed
the previous lovemaking -- After all, we practically attacked each other
like animals, then later behave as if nothing happened.
"Danisha, this is so delicious," cooed Claude upon tasting creamy citrus-kissed
mousse. He took the cherry from the plate, put it in my mouth, then proceeded
to retrieve it -- WITH HIS TONGUE.
"Claude Frollo! Not again -- Baby, we've barely touched our..."
"Now, now, my bubbly Brown Sugar -- After all, it was YOU who brought this
lovely repast...Danisha, it's only lunch!"
The NEXT time I surprise Claude Frollo...
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