by Zane
Now, you know any man so gifted with his mouth eats the nana half to death. Chile, you ever seen them shows where big-ass, husky men have pie-eating contests? Well, there you go, ’cause Burton flows just like that. He eats and eats, and he does a good job, unlike this pit bull gnawing on my shit now. Sometimes he likes to put whipped cream, fat-free of course, and honey, which is naturally fat-free, on my pussy before he dines. I bought this baby bib I put on him so he doesn’t mess up his clothes. Sometimes when he’s sucking my ta-tas, I put a baby bonnet on him too. It’s too cute.
Norman is a nice gentleman too. He’s not married, but seriously involved with some socialite who thinks her pussy is the bomb but ain’t hitting on nothing at all. Now, Norman also has an oral fixation, but the opposite of Burton’s. Norman wants me to lick all over him. He loves to have his dick sucked day in and day out, and sucking dick happens to be my specialty.
He likes me to suck his dick with warm tea in my mouth, which can be kind of tricky if you don’t know what da hell you are doing. He likes me to suck it with ice in my mouth too. Norman has this thing for extreme temperatures. He even went so far as letting me pour hot candle wax on his dick once. He’s crazy, ’cause I would never let a man pour hot candle wax on this here pussy. That shit is just out of the dayum question.
Norman also likes me to bathe him. I run him a hot bath with honey and lemon and kneel beside the tub nude while I wash everything from his hair to his ass. He likes me to do it gently, like he is a newborn baby. I use a soft sponge and caress every inch of him, letting the warm water trickle all over his skin.
Norman’s my favorite client because he’s the most gentle. He’s gentle with me, and I’m gentle with him. I only charge him $100, since I like him. If I were to settle down, and that’s a big-ass if, I would want it to be with a man like him. Dayum shame his woman doesn’t realize what a good man she has. Sometimes he comes over and I just suck his dick for hours on end. He doesn’t even want to stick it in all the time. He just loves to feel my mouth and hands work their magic.
Now, as far as this thing between my legs at the moment, I hate him. He’s a fucking beast. I tolerate him because he’s dumb enough to pay out his ass for my services. His name is Luke, and he’s such a fucking idiot. He pays me $500 a pop. Dumb ass! It hurts sometimes when he fucks me because he’s so rough. He’s into bondage, whips, chains, dildos, butt plugs, all that. But the worst thing about him is the way he bites me.
He told me once that his teeth are so sharp because he used to chew on tin cans when he was a child. I’m telling you, chile, his teeth are razors. He bites me everywhere from my neck to my breasts to my pussy to my ass, and I can’t stand it. In fact, after he finishes doing his dirt to me tonight, I’m thinking of telling him never to come by here again. It’s just not worth it.
One time he took me to the basement of my building, down by the furnace, and tied me to the ceiling pipes butt-naked. For a few minutes there I was scared shitless after he stuck some sort of metal tube in the furnace until it got red hot and threatened to brand me with it. He put it down after he made me beg him not to do it and then just spanked me with a hand paddle instead. Then he fucked me from behind while I struggled to get my hands loose. That’s when I knew this mutha-fucka was crazy.
I guess that’s just a part of the business—taking the good with the bad. I know I can’t do this forever, since there will come a time men won’t want me cause of floppy tits and a sagging ass. I’ve been making some investments here and there, and hopefully, a few years from now, I can quit and do something legitimate. Still not working a nine-to-five though. Fuck all that!
I will keep my head up, though. There’s no danger of developing eyestrain from looking on the bright side of things. So men, bring me your dreams, and I’ll make them all come true. If you need some help locating me, let your fingers do the walking. I’m listed in the yellow pages. Just look for the Dream Merchant.
The Pussy Bandit
“I was always told to eat everything on my plate.
Well, the bed is my plate.
Ladies, may I fellate?”
—The Pussy Bandit
No one knows his name or what he really looks like. In the middle of the night, he sneaks into his select choice of the evening’s dorm room, ready to strike. He feasts on his meal and then leaves as quietly as he came. He bequeaths a single long-stemmed rose on the pillow of yet another woman who’ll never be the same. The small New England university for women I attend is his hunting ground. Every student is his potential prey. No one ever complains, though. In fact, most women want him to stay.
We sit in our dorm rooms at night, giggling and wondering who’ll be next. We always make sure our coochies are clean in case it’s our turn to pass his taste test. It’s like jury duty. You never know when you’ll be called. Many of us lie awake at night listening for footsteps in the hall. Some call him crazy, others call him fine. I used to just hope and pray he would hurry up and get to mine.
You see, there are not many eligible black men in our small New England town. Often we find a few good men and have to pass them all around. Lots of women at the school wait their turn, saying, “Dammit! Hurry up and suck on this, you Pussy Bandit!”
I first heard of the Pussy Bandit my freshman year. I thought he was imaginary, an old wives’ tale, something for the freshman students to worry about, laugh about, joke about. It wasn’t until I was returning home late one evening from a midnight movie that I gave any credence to his existence. My roommate freshman year, Kelly, and I saw a man in black clothing climbing out the second-floor window of an upperclassman dorm. His face was covered with the kind of mask ninjas wear. He jumped from the window and landed on his feet behind a bush. He raced off into night, and to say the least, we were horrified. We rushed to the front door of the small dormitory and banged on it as loud as we could, almost knocking a glass pane out with our fists.
A girl on the bottom floor came out of her room with a short nightie on and opened the door for us. We both started yelling at her simultaneously, telling her what we had just witnessed and running down the hall toward the stairwell. She chased after us as we bounded up the stairs, rushing to the aid of what we just knew was a victim of some sort on the second floor. All sorts of bad things were rushing through my mind. Rape, robbery, even murder.
When we reached the second floor, I couldn’t help but notice the upperclassman who had opened the door was very calm while she followed behind us. She appeared to be giggling when she said, “Oh, calm down! It was just him!”
Kelly took the time out to ask her who she meant by him while I walked the hall, looking for the door that matched the window we saw him leap out of. I found it and started banging on it. A woman’s voice came through the door saying, “Just a second!”
She opened her door with a smile on her face, saying, “I’ve just been had by the Pussy Bandit!”
Kelly looked as if she might faint, and I said, “What the fuck?”
The upperclassman that opened the front door for us hollered out, “You go, gurl!” She pushed her way inside the other girl’s room, sat down on the dresser, and asked, “Was he all I have heard?”
Kelly and I went in too, sat down on the bed, and didn’t utter a word. We wanted to hear what happened as much as the other girl.
The girl, who was named Mandy, started telling the tale of how the Bandit had crept into her window and eaten her out like all hell. She was so graphic and excited about all the details, I could have sworn she looked like she was under a spell.
After that night, I was no more good. Having my pussy eaten is like winning the grand prize on a game show. Just about every other day, I would hear about a girl who was eaten in this dorm or that dorm. I knew my chances were slim, since all freshmen have roommates. I spent the remainder of my freshman year taking long walks in the courtyard late at night, hoping he would change his pattern and suck on me under the moonlight. Nada!
I went to summer scho
ol just so I could stay around campus, figuring my chances would be better, since most women had gone home. Boy, was I wrong!
He seemed to hit every coochie-coo on campus but mine. Kelly finally got eaten, afterward telling me she told him, “It’s about dayum time!”
Sophomore year came and went faster than the speed of light. I had my own dorm room then, and a lot of sleepless nights. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t say a thing if he would just suck on my bones like a chicken wing. Still, nada!
I went home that summer ’cause I had a work-study job. I worried about whom was getting eaten while I was gone. Geesh, my clit was so hard.
Junior year rolled around, and on my face there was always a frown. I started trying to calculate how much pussy there could possibly be in such a small town. I knew I would be much more healthy, wealthy, and wise if I could just get his lips between my dayum thighs. Still, nada!
It was halfway through my senior year when he finally got to me. It’s time for the real deal, so fuck all this poetry!
It was winter break, and most of the students had already left for the holidays. I was one of the few ones left. I decided to stay and complete a term paper one of my English lit professors was sweating me for.
I worked on the paper until about 4 A.M. and finally had to lie down. I couldn’t keep my eyes open another second without propping them open with toothpicks.
I had been asleep about thirty minutes when I was awakened by the smell of his cologne. When I opened my eyes, I realized there was a slight breeze coming in from the open window he used to come in. I never locked my window. I didn’t want him to waste any time prying it open, if and when he ever got around to me.
I knew who he was right away. He was dressed very similar to the way he was the night Kelly and I saw him years before. He had on black jeans, boots, and a turtleneck. His face and head were covered with a ninja hood and mask. The only things visible were his eyes. They looked so serene and sensitive in the light of my desk lamp, the one and only light on in the room.
I spoke, even though I had sworn to myself I wouldn’t. “Are you really the Pussy Bandit?”
He put his finger up to my lips, and I could smell the scent of aftershave lotion on his mocha-colored hand. All he said was “Shhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
He reached into his rear jean pocket and pulled out two black silk scarves and a black blindfold. I eagerly raised my hands above my head so he could tie my wrists to the headboard posts of my bed. All the years I had heard about him made me feel comfortable around him, like an old family friend who showed up unexpectantly for Christmas dinner. Ironically, it was almost something like that.
He covered my eyes with the blindfold, making sure I wouldn’t be able to see his face once he removed his mask. He obviously couldn’t eat my pussy through the mask, so the blindfold was no surprise. I had heard the details from enough women to know what the deal was.
I could feel his soft hands on my skin as he gently pulled my black lace panties off. The only other thing I had on was a big T-shirt with an athletic brand label on the front.
Before I knew it, he began to dine on his meal. I knew immediately he was all the things I had heard and more. He gave my pussy a tongue-lashing it will never forget. I have had my pussy eaten a lot, mostly by men who had no fucking idea what they were doing.
Years of practice had given the Pussy Bandit the gift of a silver tongue and the ability to lick a woman’s belly button from the inside. His tongue was thick, juicy, long, and very, very hot.
He spread my legs open as far as they would go and then dove right in like a professional swimmer diving into an Olympic pool. He got straight tens across the board.
For those people who don’t know the award-winning qualities of a good pussy eater, allow me to enlighten you. First of all, a good pussy eater never, and I do mean never, gnaws on the clit. It’s true that clits do get hard, almost like miniature dicks. However, the clit is extremely sensitive and can’t tolerate too much direct stimulation.
So, all you men out there bragging to your buddies about how your woman tries to pull away from you while you’re eating the nana because it feels so good need to wake the fuck up and recognize. Half of the time, women are trying to pull away ’cause the shit hurts.
Secondly, the mark of a good pussy eater is the ability to get up on the Big G. You know, the G spot. If they can hit that with some smooth tongue action, all hell will most definitely break loose.
Last, but sure as shit not least, is the ability to interject toys and other things into the total pussy-eating experience. Like I said, the Pussy Bandit got tens all across the board.
He hit my G spot with his tongue, and I thought milk was gonna spurt out my tits, even though I wasn’t even producing any milk. Instead, so much cum came shooting out of my pussy that I was alarmed. I thought he had ruptured some hidden cum bank inside my coochie-coo or something.
I was squirming and trying to pull away, but not ’cause it hurt. The experience was nothing short of splendid. It was such a sensual experience, moans escaped my vocal chords and nothing at all came out. I just bit my bottom lip and decided to grin and bear it.
He got up from the bed and I heard him walking toward my private bathroom. I had no idea, nor did I care, what he was doing. I figured he had to take a leak, but he came back without doing that. Instead, I felt him lift my hips up and place a towel underneath my ass. I was mad wet and assumed he didn’t want me to soak my bed with cum too much.
As it turned out, he placed the towel there and then poured something cold all over my pussy. I felt something sting me on my clit and then recognized the smell of mint-flavored mouthwash as it hit my nose. He set his sights back on my pussy and began suckling on it again, tracing his tongue through the baby-fine hair on its lips. The mixture of the stinging feeling of the mouthwash and his powerful tongue made me cum again, even harder than the first time.
He loosened the scarves around my wrists, and I was praying he was only doing it to change positions or something. I hoped he would let me sit on his face for a bit, but nada!
I yelled out, “Wait! Don’t go!” I struggled to finish removing the scarves. I got them loose, jumped up off the bed, ripping the blindfold off in the process, and ran to the window. I got there just in time to see him hit the freshly mowed grass and run off into the night.
I had waited four years for him to pay me a visit, itching for the opportunity to brag about him just like all the others. I didn’t, though. I decided to keep the overwhelming experience between the two of us. Years from now, I’ll open up my college scrapbook to the page that holds a single wilted red rose—the rose the Pussy Bandit bequeathed on my pillow the night he showed me what a true pussy-eating was all about.
Alpha Phi Fuckem—The Convention
“Ooops, I’m sorry, Miss!” We both reached for the lettuce tongs on the supermarket salad-bar island at the same time. “Ladies first!”
“No, you go right ahead. I insist.” I was checking his ass out, and he was too damn fine.
He smiled at me, and I wanted to take a ride on his black pony. “You sure?”
“Yes, you were here first.”
He started getting his iceberg lettuce, and I kept getting my peep on. He was about six-one, 200 pounds of solid muscle with chocolaty smooth skin and was sporting the roundest, firmest butt I had ever seen.
“Can I ask you a question?” He looked at me, probably thinking I was going to ask him the time of day or something normal. He couldn’t have been further off base. The convention had snuck the hell up on me, and time was of the essence for me to find a playmate for the upcoming weekend. “Are you married?”
He blushed. “No, I’m not. You?”
“No.” We stood there smiling at each other, but there was no salad-fixing going on. “Engaged? Shacking up?”
“No. None of the above.”
It was time to go for it. Patricia already had her partner for the weekend, as did all the other sorors in th
e D.C. chapter. I had been so busy pulling long hours in the courtroom that I hadn’t had a chance to go dick hunting. “I see. I was just wondering what you’re doing this weekend.”
He started blushing even harder. I got the impression he was used to being the hunter and not the hunted. “I’m supposed to go over to one of my boys’ houses to watch the fight on pay-per-view, but that’s about it.”
“You can never tell with those fights. Sometimes they only last a couple of minutes.”
We were flirting, no damn doubt about it, but I didn’t want a man for a relationship. I had one of those already. However, taking him to the convention was out of the damn question. He knew my name and everything about me, and that’s against the rules. The sacred vows of Alpha Phi Fuckem must never be broken. Never!
“You’re so right about that! The last fight I saw only lasted a few seconds. If you blinked, you missed it.”
“Hmmm, I see. Well, the fight might only last a few seconds, but I can ride your dick all night long.”
He almost dropped the salad container he was holding onto the floor but caught it as it ricocheted off the edge of the counter. He cleared his throat and gave me the most perplexed look. “Is that right?”
“Damn skippy.” I didn’t have time for all the bullshit. Either he was going to be the one or he wasn’t, so I got straight to the point. “Listen up, boo. It’s like this.”
He was grinning like a wino that just found a bottle of unopened Mad Dog 20/20 in a garbage can. “Yes?”
“My sorors and I are having our national convention in Atlantic City this weekend, and I was wondering if you’re up for a fuckfest?”
“Excuse me?” He started choking. On what, I have no idea. “Did you say fuckfest?”
“Uh-huh. Fuckfest!”
He cleared his throat, wondering how he ended up having such a blessed day. “What sorority are you in? AKA? Delta? Sig—”
