Oya Calor
8 mins read
Published over 3 years ago

“Fuck,” sighed Carolina, massaging her temples and inhaling deeply. 

She was frustrated and stressed out beyond belief. Her psychotic landlord was like an ape cartoon villain, or straight outta Twin Peaks, anyway. Telling her black mold wasn’t toxic. Her boss was a coldly manipulative asshole who didn’t care about the quality of life of any of his waitresses, as long as they did more than they were paid to do. Her mother was on her case about making more of herself in this life, and her brother, her best friend, kept trying to set her up with his gay friend, which she told him was insensitive, but which he kept insisting was actually hilarious, and a good idea, as opposed to an unsatisfying one.

Alone in her apartment, she was unable to go back to sleep. It was her day off. She had been up till 3 looking for better work so she could hopefully quit her waitressing job and do anything else, fast. It was 6:30am. It was hopeless. She propped herself up, yawning, and grabbed her silky green robe from her chair, slipped it on, and just lay there in it, ‘cause it felt nice.

Today she would do something for herself. She would push all of her worries aside and get back in touch with what she needed. What exactly do I need, she wondered to herself as she stared up at the ceiling fan. Twenty minutes later, freshly showered, she sauntered around her bachelor apartment naked. She rolled a quick and dirty joint so she could have a toke or two and take the edge off. She smiled as she thought of the advice her mother always gave her when she was over-the-top anxious: “Have a glass of wine. Smoke a little something.” Not most moms, maybe. But it often worked. 

In her fave pair of very tight jeans with dramatic holes ripped in the knees, her red high-top sneakers, and a black V-neck t-shirt that flattered her immensely, she put the finishing touches on her “me day” look: two perfect braids in her thick black hair and two large, silver hoop earrings. Stepping out into the hot and humid overcast July afternoon, she felt like the city could be her friend. There was the threat of a storm in the air, which always made her feel alive.

She let a caramel latte percolate her half-baked mind as she strolled, sipping through the downtown core. That’s when she saw it. A wooden sign, sandwich board styles, unapologetically large and painted yellow. “FREE FORTUNES,” it read, in equally brash purple lettering. Smirking, she stopped in her tracks. Maybe this was exactly what she needed. Maybe this was a signal from the universe. Direct messaging. She went inside the small shop. 

There was a counter, dusty, wooden. And a gold bell to ring for service. No sign of anyone. She looked around. It was musty, like something out of Harry Potter. Shelves with books. Did people still read books? 


She looked up to find a man in his late thirties, dark wavy hair, dark complexion, maybe Indian? His face was extremely beautiful. Chiseled, as they say. And he was extraordinarily tall. He was wearing a gorgeous, deep purple button-up shirt with a very faint, silver swirling pattern on it. He had a very broad chest.

“Oh, hi,” she smiled. “This is an interesting shop you got here. I’ve walked by a thousand times and never noticed you before,” she said.

“So many people say that,” he said, locking eyes with hers and smiling enigmatically. 

“So what is it that you do here? You tell people’s fortunes for free? How do you make money?”

“Money,” he scoffed jokingly. 

“Does this office just appear spontaneously out of thin air every time someone with an existential crisis in full swing happens to walk by?” She was clever. Always clever, and quick. “Does it not need money because it only exists in my imagination?” And sometimes she was deep, too. 

“Hmmm, who are you?” he asked. “Actually,” he continued, without waiting for her response, “My uncle owned this place, before he passed on and left to me. He used to sell used books and records. And he would read people’s palms in the back room too. He called it Harry’s Truth Boutique. It was a really special place, but there’s no filling his shoes. I have a different talent.” He stopped there to tease her.

“Oh really?” She raised her eyebrows. She was teasing too, but was also most definitely attracted to the man, which she knew he could tell.

“Yes, really. I sit in a quiet room with somebody and after ten minutes or so I can tell them something integral about what they’ve experienced so far and what’s still on offer to them, from the great beyond.” He grinned slyly.

“Seriously?” She was both amused and intrigued. “I repeat my question. How do you make money?’

“I rely on donations,” he said. “I don’t demand any particular fee for my fortunes, and any client is free to receive my services without paying. But I accept any donation of any kind that my clients may feel inspired to give after receiving their fortunes. You’d be surprised how many people are inspired to let go of cash.”

“Huh. That’s pretty cool, if I do say so,” she said. “And inspiring.”

“Would you like to try me?” he asked. “You obviously came in here for a reason. “What is it?”

She felt disarmed, and was trying to hide it. Why did she feel so drawn to this man she had just met, and did he make everyone else feel the same way? 

Carolina wondered these types of things about the men she was drawn to, because she was a sunny, charismatic figure herself, and men usually fell for her rather quickly and pledged allegiance prematurely and unattractively. So she always checked herself when she found she was potentially on the other end of that equation.

“I came in here because frankly, I feel unsatisfied, misguided, and sexually frustrated,” she said, in the classically bold tone that her friends marveled at but could never project themselves.

“Perfect time to get your fortune read,” he said, turning the sign on the door to BACK IN 15. “Follow me.”

Following him into the backroom, she asked, “What’s your name?” realizing that she didn’t know, and feeling that was pretty silly, and that she felt she already knew him, or maybe it was that he already knew her… Either way, his name.

“Ivan,” he smiled, eyes a-twinkle. She noticed that like her, his jeans were very ripped. But his were black, looser than hers, of course, but not so loose that she couldn’t make out his fantastic ass.  

“Where are you from, Ivan?”

“Too many places to count,” he said.

The room smelled divine. Some sweet, fragrant herb she couldn’t identify burned in the corner. The first thing she saw was all the silky cushions. They were all over the red carpeted floor. Pink, orange, yellow, red, purple, magenta. It was like being in a fire, a fruit, an excited woman’s mind. 

In the center of the small room was a small, round, wooden table with a large black stone on top. The stone was half as large as the table’s surface. Smooth, polished, and like an egg slightly askew, it tilted slightly to the side while maintaining balance on its axis.

“The stone is so dark because it absorbs color to collect information,” he explained, as though she would know what he meant. But she kind of did.

“So you get your information from the stone?” she asked.

“In part, yes. But some of it I get from you directly.”


She sat down in front of the table, amid the sea of shimmering pillows, and leaned back against the wall. He sat on the other side of the table. He looked at her. 

“Just breathe, think whatever thoughts you’re going to think, and keep looking back at me,” he said. “But don’t say anything.”

She nodded, taking a very deep breath and locking eyes with this beautiful stranger, Ivan. She wondered how it would feel to grab his thick black hair in her hands, as he… Or how it would feel to be pressed into the soft floor, under the weight of his body. She wondered how he smelled. Probably sweet. She could inhale him into her. She breathed. She could feel her face, hot. His eyes were staring relentlessly into hers. Big, dark, lovely eyes that knew things, that were seeing things about her she didn’t necessarily want to share. She wasn’t even thinking about her problems anymore, she realized. She was thinking only of her body. And it was telling her to pause for a while, in this room, with this person.

She pretended it was a staring contest, because she couldn’t get through it otherwise. But then, he broke through. He really looked, and her eyes had no protectors up in that moment, because that shit takes energy. And she accidentally let him in. She felt like she was opening her legs wide, toes pointed at the sky, for him to peer inside and see what she really cared about, who she really was. That she wanted to taste him all over her. 

His eyes burned into hers. He looked like he was starting to sweat. But he took it like a man, and kept looking right into her gleaming wet pussy. At least, that’s how it felt. He looked thirsty, she thought.

After a while, he said, “All I can feel is your wall of desire. You’re opening up your body to me, but your mind is locked.”

“Oh, um…I—I guess you might be…right.” She realized there wasn’t much point in treading carefully. 

“Your desire burns so damn bright,” he grinned, still looking right at her, comfortable with it all. “It’s fucking incredible.”

“Well, if you’re seeing that, you’re seeing something,” she said, smiling.

“There is one way I can unlock your mind in a situation like this. But it’s controversial. And I’ve never tried it before.”

“What’s that?” she asked. She could taste him. In her mouth. Mmmm.

“You could let me fuck you the way you clearly need to be fucked. No doubt then your secrets will come tumbling out of you. The good news is, I can see exactly what you want, and exactly what you need.”

Carolina breathed deeply. Or rather, tried to catch her breath. Her heart was beating very fast. Her legs felt like mush. 

“Ok,” she managed.

“Ok,” he said. He stood up and completely removed his clothes, matter-of-fact-like. He was even more beautiful than she’d thought. Brown, beautiful hairy chest. Cleft chin. Those lips. He’s perfect, she thought, and her eyes moved down to gaze upon the thickest cock she had ever seen. Long enough too, but very thick. 

“Take off your clothes,” he said softly.

She obeyed, peeling off her jeans first. She stood before him, totally naked. She liked her body. Her small breasts, her muscular ass, her brown skin. And she felt particularly cute with her braids.

“Pretend you’re modest,” he said, looking at her. “Pretend you’re not a filthy slut.”

It was so out of nowhere. And she realized she was very wet. A rush of heat flooded her entire body, and pooled in her pussy. 

“On your knees. Open your legs, and put your hands behind your head.” He said it sternly, but not without affection.

She obeyed. 

He walked around to stand behind her. 

“Which hole?” he asked. “Which of your tight, little, wet holes should I fuck? You only get one. So choose wisely.”

She didn’t know why, but she’d been tasting him ever since she entered the room. “My mouth,” she said, before she even realized what she was saying. “Please.”

A brief look of surprise flashed over his face and was replaced quickly with understanding. His cock brushed her lips, massaged them left to right. Circled its way to the center and parted them. He pushed his way inside her. She right away felt the possibility of choking, of being too full, but she quickly relaxed her throat, breathing deeply through her nostrils. She let him push in. And he did. And then he grabbed her braids and fucked her mouth that way. Long, broad strokes to the back of her slick throat. She felt her legs sliding wide apart on the satiny cushions. She couldn’t stop it. 

“Fuck yourself. With your hand. Three fingers,” he said. “Fuck your tight little pussy while I stretch your throat. Do it.”

So she did. She slid her fingers deep inside herself and pretended it was him. She looked up into his eyes as she rode her fingers, deep and hard. She knew exactly where to rub. She stared into his eyes, through her tears, as she loudly sucked and sucked his cock and fucked herself. 

Oh god. 

Her pussy engorged. It was happening fast. She was spinning, she was clenching, she was choking on his cock while cumming violently all over the brightly colored pillows. At the exact same time, he yelled and came hard in her mouth and on her chest. As she fell, he fell to his knees and lay next to her. They both laughed, and breathed deeply. Moving in behind her, he drew her close, kissing the back of her neck. She turned around to look at him and he kissed her full on the mouth, tasting himself in the process. And he kept kissing her, deep and full. She melted into him. Danced on his tongue.

“So you know my secrets now?” she smiled.

“I’ve heard it can take more than one try to unlock someone’s mind this way,” he said, caressing her face.