Here is some sexy chocolate juicy stuff!

"Tyrone, get that for me will ya? Thank you honey." Ophelia grabbed the lavender chiffon scarf that Tyrone curve balled at her, and draped it round her shoulders, gazing at herself in the mirror, tugging it in various directions, each fussy pinch, pull and pluck to enhance a cleavage that already appeared to be buoying gratuitously out of her blouse like sepia mangoes.

"Got a special meeting?" Ophelia didn't detect the dry, bitter subtext stringing Tyrone's seemingly innocuous question together. He rubbed his shiny ebony temples as he watched her pick up her briefcase and rifle through it. His black brows knitted together.

"She's a bitch she's a bitch she's a bitch."

"Oh yeah, real special, uh- Mr Waterman and I are close to getting the Fisherhouse company to giving us the account for their new e-business ads. It's kind of exciting dontcha think? This could be the big one. I get a bonus if we nail it. Our shareholders will go berserk with joy. Probably not berserk, I guess it ain't all that exciting."

Ophelia turned and looked at him, her dusky face, sweet and heart shaped as a mouse gazing at him with wide exotic eyes broke into a devious smile.

"When I get my bonus, we'll cruise the Pacific, and you can paint something naked of me somewhere, maybe it'll even be your big break. Kissy kiss kiss." As quickly as she had adhered herself to his lips, she unglued herself, snipping over to the car with scissor-like precision. She got in, and drove off.

Ophelia was half-Korean, half-Jamaican, with soft-focused corkscrew curls, cock screwing puckered lips, and generous breasts. A petite curvaceous woman who had always had a surprisingly ruthless attitude for a dungaree-abusing, art school graduate, she had chosen to follow advertising whilst Tyrone, after art school where he had met Ophelia, had opted to 'suffer' for his art (whilst secretly dreaming of big bucks and eager naked models.) The results had been more dismal. Tyrone was Ophelia's big cocked parasite, attached to her only by his eight-inch appendage and calloused fleshy fingers. Seven years after graduation, and Ophelia was no longer starry eyed in love with Tyrone, the 'Black Byron', the 'Boy Medusa' (he'd had dreads, back in the day), the player with a paintbrush. When she looked at him, it was no longer with bedroom eyes, she simply looked tired, specifically, tired of him. He languished, he burned, he sculpted, he was as broke as fuck, and he had housekeeping skills of a Tyrannosaurus rex with extra tiny arms (he didn't do any.)

More ebony sexy phone slut's dirty talk will be here in a little while!