Excerpt from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” from Black Satin

Excerpt from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” from the forthcoming compilation



Breakfast at Tiffany’s

  A Big Momma Thang

“Daddy can I have twenty dollars?” Shani asked me as she pushed away from the breakfast table and shrugged into her jacket.

I turned my head away from MSNBC’s Morning Joe playing on the counter-top TV to glare at my daughter. “For what?”

“I need it.”

“No, what you need is a job. You’re sixteen. McDonald’s is always hiring.”

“Daddy, come on. What if I get stranded or something and need money for a taxi? There could be rapists or killers or whatever out there.”

“Don’t try to play me,” I said. “You’ve got a ride—that big yellow school bus that’ll be here in a minute. And I’m not playing about a job. Your brother had a part-time job when he was your age.”

“Yeah well, he’s a boy,” Shani pouted. “He’s supposed to work.”

“Keep that in mind for those broke ass punks all up in your face trying to get some.”


“Don’t think I don’t know,” I said, and looked around from my chair as I heard Tiffany’s heels clicking on the tiles behind me as she entered the kitchen.

Now Shani changed tactics. She pleaded to her mother, “Ma, tell Daddy to give me twenty dollars.”

To our daughter Tiffany said, “You can’t even say ‘good morning’ to me before you start whining?” Then Tiff leaned over my back and slid her arms around my shoulders. I turned my head to get my good morning kiss.

I had to keep myself in check because Shani was staring at us, looking disgusted. I’m addicted to my wife’s full, cushiony lips for about ten different reasons, but I let our kiss end before tongues got involved.

Tiff trailed her lips along my cheek to my ear and whispered, “If you give it to her I’ll make you happy before we leave for work.”

My wife’s offer made it a done deal. I leaned and reached to my back pocket for my wallet, fished out a twenty and held it out. “Here,” I said to Shani. “You still need to get a job.”

Shani came over and took the twenty from me. Still looking disgusted she said to her mother, “What am I, your pimp?”

Tiff said, “What you’re going to be is a little girl going to school with a whipped ass if you don’t watch your mouth. And you can’t say thank you to your father?”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“You still need a job,” I said.

Shani rolled her eyes and turned away. Tiffany straightened up and went to the counter.

I checked Tiff out as she stood at the counter making a cup of tea. This morning she was dressed for work in a navy business suit with thin gray pinstripes over a white blouse. The skirt fell to just past her knees but had a split along the side that I knew would have the canines on her job drooling whenever they were lucky enough to see her stroll by. The suit’s jacket fell to just below her bottom but lay nicely over her backside curve. Tiff’s seamed silk stockings and black pumps with three-inch heels transformed her attire from a business ensemble into a ‘Don’t you wish you could fuck me?’ ensemble.
Two kids and twenty years have added about sixty pounds to Tiff’s sexiness. Now she’s a thick sister and fine as hell in an entirely different way. She’s added four digits and a letter to her bra size. Her waist has thickened up, but so have her hips and booty so she’s still rocking an hourglass shape. I really like that her legs, which used to be slender and a bit too muscular for my taste when she was a girl, have filled out. She’s lost the muscle and gained soft, sexy curvy femininity.

So just like two decades ago, when I look at Tiff I still have the same thought: I want her. I want her in the freakiest, filthiest, most depraved ways you could imagine. I want to do shit with her and to her that would make the devil blush. And after that I want to get really nasty with her. That’s what I was thinking as I checked Tiff out as she stood at our kitchen counter dipping a tea bag in a cup of hot water.

Tiff doesn’t do pantyhose, so as I checked her out I wondered if she were wearing thigh highs or was rocking garters under her skirt. And I wondered what happiness she’d been talking about giving me, and if it involved me finding out what was at the top of her stockings.

Shani was watching me checking her mother out. She grabbed her backpack and said, “I’m going to the bus stop before I vomit.”


KINDLE          NOOK


Black Satin Cover-250


Posted on June 28, 2013, in Books and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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