Lucas and Olivia: Diamonds

This short story is an excerpt from the life of Lucas and his longtime friend Olivia Bettencourt. It occurs in time before the end of my novel The Professional. It’s not in the book, but is from a yet to be released tale titled Silk Chocolate. Lucas and Olivia are guest characters in the story.

Warning: This story contains graphic erotica and is intended only for adult readers.



Long Branch, New Jersey
Friday Evening


There are women, and there are women. That’s what I was thinking.

It had been a very pleasant evening. Good food (if I do say so myself). Good wine. And good conversation, with two beautiful women.


There are women, and then there are women.

Olivia Bell Bettencourt and her daughter Clarissa are women.

Being with women is always a pleasant experience. If you’re a man.

Don’t get it twisted. I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about the quality of time spent. It had been a pleasure tonight dealing with women who were completely being themselves, who were open but not transparent. There is a difference.

I love women.

A woman will look you in the eye when you speak to her or when she speaks to you. She’s confident because she’s a strong woman, secure in herself and who she is. But she doesn’t need to posture, doesn’t need the head-bobbing, finger-waving theatrics to impress upon you that she is a strong woman. She knows she’s strong. Therefore she’s not afraid to not act like a man. She doesn’t need to protect herself by trying to put you on the defensive. Because she’s not afraid. So she can be a woman. She can be soft and feminine because she knows that’s not a weakness when you’re not weak.

Maybe she’s handling her business, like Olivia Bettencourt. Maybe she has enough money to buy and sell a man. But she won’t tell a man that because it has nothing to do with her being a strong woman. If her wealth is something he needs to know about he’ll find out when the price tag is slapped on his ass.

Maybe she’s not rich. But it doesn’t matter because she knows she’s a queen. She knows that she is a gift, and that’s how she carries and conducts herself. She doesn’t have her nose up in the air and she doesn’t feel the need to tell a man that she’s feminine royalty. Because if she is that—if she really is that—then he will see her for what she is, if he looks with honest eyes.

If a man thinks that a real woman is “stuck up” or thinks she’s “better than” or for the truly ignorant, “acting white,” it’s because he’s failed to bring her down to the level at which he wants her, the level at which he feels safe dealing with her. That means he’s not really a man. A real woman can and will walk away from his insults and attempted denigration while wearing a smile because she knows that the issue is his, not hers. She has too much respect for herself, too much dignity as a queen and God’s gift to man to lie in the gutter when she can fly. That doesn’t mean that a black woman can’t be a “sista” and still be a woman. There are sisters and there are sisters, too.

A real woman will play her femininity off a man’s masculinity because that’s what they are; masculine and feminine, without it being a mind game. It’s just being.

I’ve known many women in my life. But very few of them were real women. This isn’t my indictment of females. It’s a hard world out there. Many men make it harder than it has to be for a woman. I’m just thankful that there are some real women out there who make life pleasant for a real man. I always try to return the gift.

Professional Women-Olivia-250Olivia Bell Bettencourt is a real woman.

Her daughter seems to be following in her footsteps.

So speaking as a man, it was a very pleasant evening.

After dinner we went out to the balcony with snifters of XO in hand to enjoy the ocean breeze. Olivia and I sat but Clarissa stood at the balcony rail, sipping and enjoying the view. She wore a white two-piece sarong set that caught the sea draft and flowed like fairy gossamer. The breeze made her ebony curls flow as well. Clarissa’s skirt hung her low on her hips; a centimeter lower and I’d know without a doubt if she’d been modest enough to wear panties tonight.


“Lucas, I can’t believe you almost committed to Michelle,” Olivia said.

I looked over at one of my oldest friends. She was looking at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She wasn’t upset or threatened in the least that I’d been checking out Clarissa. She knew her daughter was gorgeous. And she knew how much I appreciated a beautiful woman. And that was it. Period. Dot. End of sentence.

“Life is full of surprises,” I said. “But it wasn’t meant to be. Michelle and I are still friends, though.”

“And lovers?”

“I suppose if the mood hit us at the same time.”

She raised her glass to me. “Well good for you, Lucas. You and I, we aren’t meant for marriage.”

“Hold up Olivia; you’ve been married twice.”

Now Clarissa turned from the balcony rail, smiling. “Three times now,” she said. She held up a diamond-clad wrist. The rocks sparkled like white fire in the late day sun. “Mother found a diamond merchant in Portugal who amused her for a couple of years.”

I shook my head at Olivia. Bad girl.

Olivia smiled behind the rim of her glass. “I have a weakness for men who grovel and beg from their knees.”

“And who have Fort Knox-sized bank accounts?” I asked.

She grinned wickedly and said, “Oh right; that too.” Her smile reminded me of the young woman she’d been when I met her decades ago.

I’d just come back from a month-long job in Colorado and was enjoying some time for myself at a club in Asbury Park called The Cosmic Birth. Back then there weren’t too many sisters who had the kind of money required to pay for my services, so most of my work had been in upscale communities with horny middle-aged white women. I’d needed to get back with my people to recharge my batteries. So I was at the club.

I was just chilling, sipping on a rum and coke, enjoying the music and watching idiots trying to rap to this fine chick sitting at the bar. I thought she might be Puerto Rican, or maybe mixed. It seemed like there was an assembly line of dudes stepping to her and getting rejected. It was funny to watch; better than a television sitcom. And then after about an hour of that sideshow she got off her stool and headed my way.

She came to my table, sat down bold as hell and said, “So what’s your story?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’re the only good-looking guy in here who hasn’t come on to me or even asked me to dance. Why is that?”

I was young and cocky then, and full of myself. I said, “I was waiting for you to come to me.”

My smart-assed comment didn’t faze her in the least. She said, “Well, here I am. So now what?”

“I get paid for my time.”

She took my drink, downed it, put the empty glass back in front of me and said, “So do I.”

“You’re a pro?”

“I’m a woman. Pros are amateurs. They get paid for the use of their bodies. I get paid for being me.”


“And what are you?” I asked, trying to get up off the canvas.

“I told you, I’m a woman. Now come on pro, dance with me.”

We danced. We talked. And then we left the club. She drove a red corvette convertible. After Prince released his song “Little Red Corvette” I couldn’t help but wonder if Olivia might have made her way to Minneapolis and turned that boy out.

I followed her to the township of Deal, an affluent seaside community. Olivia had the keys to an estate that she told me belonged to a “friend” who was out of town. We went in, and I stood in the foyer as she headed for the stairs. I was a little leery. Just because she had the keys to the place didn’t mean she was supposed to be there.

She stopped on the stairs and did some magic with whatever held her mini dress up. The dress dropped around her feet. She said, “Come on Lucas.”

“Wait, how do you know my name?” I’d asked. I was really leery then.

She smiled down at me and said, “I know people. And you have a reputation.”

That’s how I met Olivia Bettencourt.

She is one of the very few women in my life who can always get it for free. She’s worth every penny she doesn’t pay.


We spent another hour or so catching up and just enjoying each other’s company. Then Clarissa said, “I’m getting a little tired, so I think I’ll call it a night. It was very nice meeting you after hearing so much about you, Lucas.”

“Clarissa, the pleasure was all mine.”

“We must get together again soon, and get to know each other better.”

I made myself not read anything into that. But the way she was looking at me said that I could read anything I pleased. Clarissa was definitely her mother’s daughter.

To Olivia Clarissa said, “Mother, shall I send the driver back for you?”

“Tell him to pick me up in the morning here, at eight. I’d like to be in Manhattan by noon.”

One thing about Olivia and I: Some things are a foregone conclusion.


“Just lovely. Truly a Kodak moment. You know sweetheart, if you ever decide to advertise this would be the perfect image.”

I laughed. Olivia always made me laugh. We had fun when we had sex.

I was lying on my back on my bed. Olivia had used her amazing mouth, lips and then taken off her diamond necklace and wrapped it around my hardness like flowers around a Maypole. Crazy woman.

She looked at me with that mischievous glint in her eyes and said, “I wonder what it feels like to fuck a diamond dick?”

Crazy woman.

“Don’t you think that might hurt?” I asked.

“Oh please, Lucas. These are only quarter-carat stones. It won’t be any worse than a studded dildo.”

“Hell, I’m talking about hurting me!”

As Olivia swung a shapely leg over me she said, “I promise I’ll be gentle. And I’ll respect you in the morning.”

Crazy woman.

I watched her riding me, digging the way her body moved, the way she watched me watching her.

“How does it feel?” I asked.

“Mmm…like I’m fucking money…”

“Fucking quarter-carat stones, hmm?”

She licked her lips and said, “I was talking about your dick.”

“Well you know, a pussy as sweet as yours should only be fucked by gems.”

She grinned, gripped my shoulders and said, “Damn I love you!”

To thank Olivia for her sweetness I played with her clit and made her come all over her diamonds. She leaned back with her eyes closed as she writhed on top of me, moving her torso like a belly dancer as she came. I could see my jewel-encrusted chocolate moving in and out of her flowing creamy vanilla.

Okay, I have to admit, that was sexy as hell.

Like I said, Olivia is worth every penny she doesn’t pay.


“What’s your fee these days?” she gasped. She was still on top of me, grinding me deep inside her.

I told her my fee.

“You should charge more, Lucas. Those bitches are getting a bargain.”

I smiled up at my friend. “If I ever decide that I want a manager I’m calling you.”

That twinkle in her eyes again. She said, “Sweetheart, we’d drive the world into bankruptcy.”

She was probably right. Olivia is a smart and ruthless businesswoman.

She slid off me, unwrapped her cum-drenched diamonds from my dick and tossed them aside. She used her mouth to clean me off. I had to fight back a gasp as she used her lips and tongue like weapons, demonstrating how she makes grown men cry.

She stopped far too soon and said, “I want to show you something.”

She’d just been showing me everything I wanted to see: her mouth around me.

Olivia scooted down on the bed and said, “This is called Supta Konasana.”

I watched Olivia as she laid on her back, brought her legs up until they were over her head, spread them, lowered her feet to the sheet on either side of her head and grasped them. When she was done maneuvering, her body rested on the backs of her shoulders and she was ass up and spread open, presenting me two delicious options.

With Olivia in that position I was going to have to stand up to hit it right.

“You look hot, but aren’t you going to be uncomfortable?”

“Lucas sweetheart, you know you can have me any way you desire.”

Okay, I’m greedy.




Professional Cover-250

  1. Lucas , Lucas Lucas, what a man!

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