Up Close and Personal

We're just a couple of freaks with the literary passion to make words jump off pages and into your panties. Sit back and enjoy some of life's erotic twists that you wish weren't just fiction...

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Melodi Roberts goes Inside-Out in Pink Noire’s Lounge…

“Underestimated is the first word that comes to mind when I hear the name Melodi Roberts.

This author, editor, and creative genius stormed the literary scene with works: If You Don’t Tell, and the “cherry-popping” tales, Untapped, just to name a few. Roberts unforgiving approach to express Black sensuality is a mere art-form — you won’t find blatant, glorified pornography in the confines of her work.”

blkluv colorkiss

Click the pic for the full length interview!!

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Sneak Peek: “Habibi” ~ Carla P. Morales

‘Habibi’

            “My story is a love story.  Two people who cannot be together, but whose love is a constant burning flame within, but manage to find their one and only chance to finally touch.  I chose to play this out between an Arabic man and an African American woman because it reaches back into my own heritage.  The ancient Middle Eastern stories of love and passion have always drawn me in.  It could be because those ancient flames burn within me and I feel most comfortable writing about love from an ancient Arabic perspective.  Last, but not least, I love exploring and playing with characters who live outside the mundane world; who live each moment of their lives in full tilt.”

 

The guttural buzz of Pamela Haddington’s alarm clock snatched her out of her sweet oblivion.  Her hands crawled frantically, like a spider, over the clock, searching for the off button.  When her fingers found the familiar protrusion, she slammed it down with her palm.

Rolling over, onto her back, and staring up at the ceiling, Pamela was already overwhelmed, and dreaded the prospect of another day of psychological warfare with her slightly conniving, and temperamental boss, Ari Perlstein. She worked five days a week, eight-thirty in the morning to four-thirty in the afternoon, at Philadelphia Public Adjusters, where she was the Operations Manager. Her only indulgence during her day was her trek over to the Mediterranean Paradise Restaurant, where Nadir waited for her daily.

Nadir, the owner of Mediterranean Paradise Restaurant, and the first man, in two years, who made Pamela want to spread her legs, wide, at the very sight of him, was a powerfully built Arabic man, who had a swagger that was damn near “Hood”.

Originally, he was from Jerusalem – a citizen of Israel actually – but, ethnically, he was a Palestinian, so that made him a modern day Philistine.  His complexion was hued with copper, his depthless, intense dark eyes were framed by lush, decadent eye lashes, and it was all topped off by his curvy, sensuous lips.  His brooding manner made him appear to be always in deep thought, simmering on something important.

If only Nadir were with her right now, his broad chest firmly pressing down on top of her breasts, as she welcomes the weight of his nude body.  His lips touch hers, kissing her lightly; his warm tongue coaxing hers from its hiding place with every noisy smack of their lips.  He lifts his head and locks eyes with her, his wild black curls, tumbling, around his bronze face. She caresses his neatly groomed beard, inching her fingers upward, towards his hairline, then, plunging all of her fingers into the silken mass of hair on his head.  She grabs fistfuls of locks, pulling him back down, towards her lips, and kisses him with an abandon of a ravenous animal.

Nadir, ignoring the brick hard flesh that gently bats against Pamela’s inner thigh, abruptly pulls away from her, smiling; not a benevolent smile, but the smile of a hunter who has finally entrapped his prey.  He presses his lips against her neck, sending sensuous chills down her spine, and an involuntary spasm at the mouth of her pussy. His velvety lips, walking the landscape of her body, find the chocolate brown towers of her nipples.  He unleashes his tongue, firmly licking each nipple, alternately, making them so hard that a delicious pain forces Pamela to moan his name, “Nadir!”

Her breathy sigh of his name causes him to look up.  “What do you want of me?” he asks, his heavy accent making him sound like a jin, or genie, ready to grant her wish.

You already know,” she says.

Tell me.”

Pamela wraps her fingers around his curls again, gently pushing him further down, until the lips of his mouth meet, and kiss, the lips of her aching pussy. He slides his large hands underneath her buttocks, and lifts her slightly, causing her thighs to open before him, revealing all of her hidden treasure.

His full mouth sucks on her protruding clit, gently at first, causing more blood to rush to her groin and engorge her pussy until it sits in front of her Arabian knight like a plump pastry.  An unexpected wave of indescribable warmth spreads from deep within her womb and flows toward Nadir’s beckoning mouth. She digs her hands into his hair, pulling his head deeper into her crotch, as she undulates harder, meeting his mouth eagerly.

Ah, Nadir…just like that.”  She sighs.

He licks and sucks, like a starved glutton, pushing his tongue deep into her slippery canal, finally pushing her over the edge, inciting the ring of muscles, surrounding his snake-like tongue, to clamp down hard, over and over again, until there were no more contractions left.  There was only quiet, the calm after a storm…

Pamela’s eyes slowly fluttered open.  She stared at the ceiling again, feeling more relaxed, and ready to tackle the day’s bullshit.  She removed her fingers from her soaked clit and thought of what it would be like to jump in the shower  with Nadir, after a good morning fuck.

She truly envied his wife.

 

***

Carla P.  Morales, a Philadelphia native, first began to take her writing seriously in 1988, a time of great struggle and hardship, when she was raising four small children on practically nothing.  During this time, she became a student at the Bushfire Theater of Performing Arts Writers Workshop, where she met her mentor, P.J. Gibson, a world renowned playwright who has won awards around the world, and has written for television shows, such as, The Cosby Show, and Women of Brewster Place.

Carla’s latest work is the full length play, El Bandido.  It is the journey of a prodigal son who has lost his way in the turbulent and exiting world of exotic dancing.  El Bandido’s most recent production was at Community College of Philadelphia in October of 2009.  This is her first anthology and she is the Founder/CEO of Landmark Productions, LLC.

Find her at: www.landmarkproductionsllc.com

Buy Untapped: http://www.naughtyinkpress.com/#!nis-press

First Issue Teaser ~ Little Black Book

Click Below to see what she’s reading…

T.R.A.N.S.

Here is a snippet of D.V. Hent’s story in

Untapped:

Twenty water candles led the path from the front door to my bedroom.

“Deb?” he called out, but between my closed door and my vibrator’s deafening hum, I barely heard him.

“Here,” I moaned as the buzzing tickled my pink, swollen clit and teased the throbbing as I slowly pushed it inside of me.

When Max finally made it in, his curios expression turned to a lustful glare as he saw me laying at the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but my red ‘fuck me’ heels while making love to my silver knight. As the vibrations grew more intense, I cooed as I pushed it inside of me and slowly pulled it out, causing my toes to curl and my clit to ache.

“What the fuck, Deb?”

He was slightly jealous and I knew it, but I didn’t care. I needed him to be inside of me. “Shhh,” I whispered. “Your patient is ready to see you, doctor.” Now smiling, Max tore at his belt, flinging it across the room as he watched me getting ready for him. “You like your naughty nurse, doctor?”

“The doctor has his own instruments, nurse. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to dispose of yours immediately.”

I turned my toy off and left it on the side in the bed, opting to finger fuck myself while he watched in amazement. Hearing his gasps excited me and before I knew it, I was tugging at my hardened nipples.

“Fuck,” I gasped.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked like an eager child.

Shhh.” I pinched both breasts before opting to push a couple of fingers inside of me. It’s was just a few inches deep, that’s where she found it. Once I hit the spot that Sabrina had found a few weeks back, my g-spot, I slowly massaged it. The pleasure was immeasurable and with his piercing hazel eyes staring at me, I yelled out his name and the orgasm quickly overwhelmed me. “Maxwell Arthur Silleti…oh my God!!!”

As I watched the goofy smile creeping across his face my body tensed, I began feverishly rubbing my palms against  my clit while pressing on my rousingly sensitive spot . The urge to yell was greater than it had ever been, but the will to resist it brought another climax immediately behind the one I was enduring. “Goddamnit!”

*Get Your copy of  Untapped: A Collection of Erotic Firsts

We’ve Moved! Welcome to the party…

This is our new Little Black Book site, hope you enjoy it!!

Here is an excerpt from one of the featured stories:

V.I.P.?
~Melodi Roberts~Roberts

“We gone do something different this year. C’mon, get dressed,” my BFF Samantha barked at me.

“I just wanna stay home tonight,” I whined. “Dominic is gone call me later.”

“No. We are not doin’ this Ayla. Your man—excuse me—fiancé is out of town making that money to pay for your expensive ass wedding. His job doesn’t care that it’s Valentine’s Day. It is what it is. Let him work. You’re coming out with me. I got a real nice, laid back place we can hang-out at for a few hours.” She grabbed the remote from my hand and clicked off the T.V. “Get ready, girl. No excuses.”

“Can you guarantee you’ll have me home before two a.m.? I told him that I might go out with your crazy ass. But I can’t be comin’ home at four in the mornin’, girl. You know he’s gonna call.”

“What? Why? You think you missin’ out on somethin’ Y’all gonna fuck over the phone?” She chuckled, grabbing her leather jacket. “I have a little innocent fun planned for a few hours. It’s low key, nice crowd. You’ll like this place and I’ll have you back home at a decent hour and outta trouble. Okay?”

“Uh, decent for you is like six a.m.”

“More like seven.”

“Sam!”

“”Okay! Don’t be such a baby!”

I rolled my eyes, heading for the bedroom door. “This better be worth it.”

****

The brisk Chicago night air hit my face vigorously as we scurried to the en-trance of the obscure looking brick building on the west side of town. Samantha had never mentioned TLC’s before, but the bouncer at the door seemed to know her—as somebody else.

“Sexy Monique! Always a pleasure to see you and ya’ girls.” He gawked at her D’s as they sat taught in her black satin corset.

“S’up, Charles. This is my friend, Tina. How is it in there tonight?” Charles took a quick look behind him. The ambient light scuttled around in the backdrop, barely making it to the club door.

“Good enough for you, baby girl. Enjoy yourselves.” He stepped to the side, allowing us entry. I looked at Sam in disbelief.

“Tina and Monique, huh?” I whispered. “What kind of place is this that you can’t even be yourself?”

“Shhh—relax, Tina. This is a place where you can be exactly who you wanna be…” Samantha’s eyes wondered away, becoming fixated on a shirtless white man, his dark brown hair and beautiful gray eyes walking towards us, tray of Martinis in hand. She took two and slapped the guy on his ass as he walked away from us, nev-er breaking his stride.

“Uh—okay,” I stuttered. “What did I miss? When did you officially become Miss Freak Nasty of Chicago?”

“You have to be invited here—it’s exclusive. You know how I am, girl. A few months ago, I came here with a friend of mine. He hosts parties occasionally.”

She could sense my apprehension as she handed me a glass.

“Relax. These Martinis are pretty strong and they don’t taste half-bad either.” She sipped hers slowly, waving to a couple cuddling in the lounge on our left.

“What is this music? Techno?” I downed the Martini in one long gulp.

“C’mon. I’ll show you around.”

We wandered through the dimly lit dance room, stopping briefly to watch drunken patrons grinding and groping each other to heavy beats and laser lighting.
The D.J. switched up the music, and “Bottoms Up” blared out of the speakers. I was pulled onto the dance floor by ‘Mr. Big Shot’, a tall, stout brown-skinned man, his shirt partly open, tie undone.

“C’mere sexy and dance with Big Papa,” he said, drink in hand.

Already a few drinks ahead of me, he wasted no time feeling me up, his hands redirected away from my ass and breasts every two seconds. We danced to a few reggae songs and his sweaty lips landed on my neck at least three times during Dawn Penn’s ‘You don’t love me (No No No)’. I tried to dance away from him, but he pulled me back, grinding his warm bulge directly into my hips, trying des-perately to stir my sleeping kitty.

Finally giving in, I danced with him to the bar, where he bought Sam and me our next three shots of Patron.

“I guess I could come back here Monique,” I said, feeling my buzz start to settle in.

“I told you—it’s cool.” She fanned herself with some bar napkins.

“Now for my little Hollywood V-Day surprise,” she said, standing up. We walked over to a corridor behind the bar, separated by a red velvet rope.

“Hollywood, huh?” I could see champagne flutes, smoking cigars and hear low constant chatter as I peered into another dimly lit lounge area.

“V.I.P. tonight, ladies?” A tall, sexy chocolate sista stood in front of the rope, blocking my view and holding a red tube of lipstick in her hand. She recog-nized Sam instantly.

“Monique, hey! We missed you last week! I heard that you would be by to-night, so we reserved you a spot downstairs, second room on right. Have you ladies been stamped?”

“No, not yet. I’m sure you can hook us up, Nina.”

“Absolutely. Where do you want it?” she asked me, applying the cherry red lip-stick flawlessly to her full lips, puckering them. I presented the back of my hand to her.

She glanced at Sam, giggling. Nina grabbed my hand, pulling me toward her and planted a kiss on my right shoulder. As she released me, I looked down at my stamp, admiring the perfect shape of her lips. Cute.

Sam had already chosen her spot, rolling her head back and waiting. I watched as Nina place her red signature on Sam’s neck. Her sensuous mouth lingered there, her tongue playing on Sam briefly before re-leasing her.

I grabbed Sam for balance, my body unsteady from the alcohol, and closely in-spected her stamp. “On the front of your neck, freak?”

“Well, how would you see it if she kissed me on the lips?”