My eyes roved wildly over the apartment as I paced back and forth.
“That definitely wasn’t decaf,” I said.
“You don’t say,” Sherry yawned. She had stripped down to her sleeping clothes: a white tank top and soft cotton shorts. She was curled up with a woolen blanket covering her legs and Che Guevara delicately washing his paws in her lap.
“I told them three times,” I growled. “Decaf! Decaf! Decaf!”
“Maybe they couldn’t hear you. You should have said it a fourth time.”
Che regarded me with even less interest than my girlfriend. Sherry flicked the remote control from channel to channel as I walked a six-foot ellipse around the living room.
“I’m just about ready for bed,” she told me.
“Not me,” I snapped, and continued my pacing while she channel surfed.
“I think I’d better go to the gym,” I finally said.
“They close at ten on Sundays,” she told me.
“Shit! God damn it!”
Sherry looked at me with a faint smile on her lips. “You’re sure that wasn’t decaf?”
She turned off the TV. “Come over here,” she said, patting the sofa next to her. Che Guevara issued a fervent hiss and meowed discontentedly, then ran for the hills, darting across the living room toward the cat tree.
I looked at her with mixed suspicion and paranoia. “Why?” I asked.
“I’m going to hit you over the head with a flower vase and knock you out cold,” she said.
“Please,” I said, sitting next to Sherry on the sofa.
She was on me in an instant, bearing me back onto the sofa, crawling on top of me. She kissed me, recoiling just a bit when she tasted my tongue. Sherry hates coffee. She threw caution to the wind and kissed me harder, her tongue sliding against mine as she reached her hands down my sweatpants.
“I know what’ll calm you down,” she said.
“I doubt it,” I told her bitterly.
“But it certainly can’t hurt,” she said, pulling my sweats down. “Besides, your lips say no, no but your caffeinated cock says make it a double.”
She took my cock in her hand as it hardened, then bent forward and wrapped her lips around it. I sighed softly as her mouth began to slide up and down on my shaft. I was painfully hard in an instant, and as Sherry’s tongue swirled around my balls she stroked the tip of my cock with her thumb, caressing me in exactly the way she knows will make me come faster than fast. Her mouth worked around my head, her lips closed tight around it, and when she pulled back she moaned, her breath warm on my glistening prick.
“Come on,” she cooed. “Let it all out. All that naughty caffeine into your cock. I want you to come French Roast, baby. Come on, I can take it.”
Then her mouth was on my cock again, and my fingers were tangled in her hair as her head bobbed up and down. Long, low moans escaped my lips and I heard Sherry whimpering softly in the base of her throat. Her lips worked the head while her tongue lapped at the underside. Her hand began to pump the base.
Che was sitting at the top of the cat tree blinking in bemusement. He made eye contact with me and pawed the air.
Sherry’s mouth rose off of me for just an instant. “Come on,” she said. “Let it all out.” Her mouth came down over my cock again and she hungrily pumped it, sucking me harder than before.
I moaned, my hips lifting, and let go. Pleasure washed over me as I came in Sherry’s mouth, listening to her tiny whimpers as she swallowed and hungrily sucked for more. A big sigh came out of me as I finished coming.
Sherry snuggled up on top of me, cuddling close. She whispered softly in my ear.
“You’re right,” she said, licking her lips. “It definitely wasn’t decaf.”
I smiled ruefully.
“So now you’ll be up all night?” I said.
She giggled and kissed me on the neck.
“Yeah,” she told me, her fingers spidering up my stomach underneath my sweatshirt to tease my nipple. “But it’s not a problem, baby. Not a problem at all.”
Che jumped on top of us and began to knead Sherry’s hip.
Thomas S. Roche is a worker-owner at Good Vibrations and the author, editor or coeditor of 11 books, including three volumes of the Noirotica series, His and Hers.