Knowing he would go his way and think about our relationship and get-off again by just the thought was exciting for me. I did not have as great a need to satisfy myself as often as I used to, but I still would think about the things we did together and that beautiful black skin and find myself at my hands pleasure.One evening as we were driving to the parking lot, he said he had a death in the family and had to make a trip to Mississippi and would probably be there for quite a while to renew old acquaintance. He said we would just meet again by chance and that he would be in the "neighborhood" right after dark when he got back hoping to hook up again. He told me he would miss me and that he loved me very much. He had never mentioned any strong feelings like love, only sex and sucking me off. That evening was a very hot and steamy evening for us both. He tried to kiss me many times, I would turn away, but not knowing why. I would love to feel his black lips on mine, I guess I was just. "Candles," I told him. "Smells like bee's wax and soy."Sure enough, the stairs let out onto a corridor, the theme of stone floor and bare earth walls continuing with niches every couple of feet that held thick, flickering candles to light the way."I feel like I'm in a bad B movie," I muttered as Marcus led the way. "All that's missing are the lame traps and the brainless muscle guarding the thick wooden door." Keep your sense pealed; just because this is clichéd doesn't mean it won't work." Despite his own words, he walked sure-footed and calmly, almost carelessly, down the corridor, looking like he had every right to be there. I snorted and followed.The floor sloped down at an easy angle as we walked, the tunnel continuing to run ruler-straight for about three hundred feet before splitting off to the left and right.Sharing a "Now what?" look, we followed first the left and then the right-hand paths, finding the typical thick, wooden dungeon doors at both ends. Scent was useless, the.
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