by Cairo
He looks at me shocked, thrustin’ his hips upward, jabbin’ my pussy wit’ his chocolate cock. I toss my head back, shut my eyes. Cash’s face pops in my head.
Black muhfucka…you wanna fuck this pussy?
I let out a moan. Cash’s cock flashes in my head.
You wanna pump ya dick down in this wet throat?
I moan again, creamin’ all ova Alex’s dick.
“Daaaaam, baby…fuck…aaaah, shit…ya pussy’s so fuckin’ wet, ma…ohhhhh, shiiiit…aaaah, fuck…”
Alex grabs me by the ass, pulls open my cheeks. I lean forward, stop movin’ and let ’im punch my pussy up wit’ his dick as he rapidly thrusts upward.
“Ohhh, yes…beat my pussy up, muhfucka…yeah, yeah, yeah… right there…right there…I’m gettin’ ready to nut all ova that dick…”
A bitch’s in a sexual zone. My steamy pussy’s grabbin’ the nigga’s dick.
Cash’s face flashes through my thoughts. I buck ’n bounce up ’n down. Pull a titty into my mouth, lickin’ my nipple.
Cash’s is swingin’ his dick at me; strokin’ it and grinnin’ at me. I can feel my nut buildin’; feel it bubblin’ up from my asshole to my clit.
“I’ll slice ya muthafuckin’ dick off ’n ram it in ya ass…fuck you rough ’n hard deep in that fat, black ass of yours, nigga…a bitch’ll put a bullet in ya dome, muhfucka…”
I don’t hear or see shit. Just Cash and his fat anaconda-cock spurtin’ out a buncha dick milk. “Yeah, black, crusty muhfucka… bust that nut, nigga…I’ma split ya shit, muhfucka…”
It’s not ’til Alex flips me off’a ’im that I realize my hands have been ’round his throat, and my nails into his skin. “Yo, what da fuck was you doin’? You was on some real extra shit tryna choke a muhfucka out ’n shit. What da fuck you into, ma?”
“Oh shit…I-I-I’m so sorry. I got caught up in a role-play fantasy,” I lie.
He frowns. “Role play? That shit sounded like you was tryna take a muhfucka’s manhood, talkin’ ’bout cuttin’ off a nigga’s shit ’n rammin’ it in his ass and all kinda crazy shit like that. What’s really good wit’ you, ma? A muhfucka needs to know what kinda shit you in to?”
Fuck, shit…goddamn it! Bitch you gotta be more aware what comes outta ya mouth, I think, tryna explain my way outta the situation. I apologize again. Tell ’im that I got so caught up in how good his dick was feelin’ that I got lost in a zone; that his stroke game has a bitch comin’ outta character.
I kiss the fresh scars on his neck caused by my nails. Lucky for ’im his scratches aren’t as deep or as long as the ones I put on Tone. On some real shit, I feel bad for clawin’ this nigga up.
“I really apologize,” I say again, rollin’ back on top of ’im. His dick is still hard, stretchin’ the condom to full capacity. I can tell the muhfucka’s ready to explode; ready to spurt out a bucket of hot creamy nut. I reach underneath me, grab it and squeeze. “How can I make it up to you?” I kiss ’im lightly on the lips, then his neck, again. “Tell me how I can make it all betta.”
He grins. “You really wanna make it up to me?”
This sexy muhfucka, I think, noddin’. Bitch, keep it cute. You already know what it is wit’ this nigga.
He pulls off the condom, tosses it ova onto the floor.
I raise up, frownin’. “Muhfucka, I know you don’t think I’ma ’bout to let you run ya dick in me raw.”
He laughs, pullin’ me into his arms. “Nah, chill, ma. Ain’t nobody tryna go naked in you. I want you to lay in my arms; that’s it. Let a muhfucka hold you, aiight?”
He wraps his arms ’round me, and I lay my head on his chest, closin’ my eyes. I inhale his manly scent. It’s a mixture of sweat and cologne. He strokes my hair. And on some real shit, a bitch’s surprised at how good it feels to be in his arms, listenin’ to his heartbeat. Sumthin’ ’bout its rhythmic beat is calmin’.
Bitch, how da fuck you get here, goin’ from iggin’ this nigga to lyin’ in his arms?
Why da fuck you keep fuckin’ wit’ his ass when you know he ain’t no fuckin’ good?
“Yo, tell me ’bout ya life,” Alex says, disruptin’ the questions runnin’ through my head.
I look up at ’im. “’Scuse me?”
He repeats himself. “I wanna know how you grew up. Tell me ’bout ya fam.”
“There’s nuthin’ much to tell. Born in Brooklyn, raised in da projects, bred in da streets; pops in prison, moms dead. No brothas, no sistas. A bitch is solo.”
“I can dig it. Damn, sorry to hear ’bout ya moms, though.”
“Don’t be. She was already dead a long time ago.”
He strokes my hair. “Drugs?”
I shake my head, sighin’. “No-good niggas.” I’m relieved he doesn’t ask me to elaborate. He keeps strokin’ my hair. And it relaxes me. Bitch, keep it cute. Cut this nigga off now ’fore ya ass gets too caught up in his shit.
He holds me tighter, kisses me on the side of my head. The nigga is showin’ me the kinda affection a bitch craves. I swallow back emotions I ain’t tryna deal wit’. I lift my head from off’a his chest. Stare at ’im. He smiles. “Wassup, ma? You good?”
“Why you insist on fuckin’ wit’ me?”
“I ain’t tryna fuck wit’ you. I dig you; real talk.”
“How many otha bitches you diggin’? And keep shit a hunnid.”
“At this moment…only you.”
I smirk, rollin’ my eyes up in my head. “Yeah, right. Tell me anything.”
“Nah, true story. You got my full attention”—he grabs his hard dick—“and as you can see in more ways than one.” I suck my teeth, playfully swattin’ at ’im. I can’t front, a bitch’s feelin’ real comfortable wit’ this muhfucka. “I’m dead-ass. You got me wide open, baby. I’ve fucked wit’ mad bitches and plenty of ’em been bad as fuck. But there was always sumthin’ missin’.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“You.”
I blink, blink again. Surprised by this nigga’s answer. Don’t let this muhfucka gee you, ho. This nigga’s a master manipulator.
Ho, get ova ya’self. Let da nigga live. E’eryone has a past. You of all people should know this. “How ’bout you tell me ’bout all’a these hoes you been dickin’.”
“All of ’em?”
“Yeah…all of ’em from da last five years to now. You can start wit’ da most recent, then work ya way backward.” He laughs. I don’t.
“Damn, aiight.” He glances at the clock. It’s almost eleven at night. “Yo, we better blaze a fatty for this.” I laugh as he slips outta bed. Watch his naked, muscular body go ’cross the room. He takes a blunt from off the dresser, then sparks it. I sit up in bed, starin’ at his swingin’ dick as he comes back to bed. He lays ’cross it, takes two deep pulls, then passes it to me. “Da only reason I’m gonna spit shit raw to you is ’cause like I said, I’m big on you, so I’ma tell you shit I ain’t ever told anyone else.”
As we pass the blunt back ’n forth, he starts off tellin’ me how he got the name Daddy Long Stroke; tells me ’bout his days as a stripper, then starts rattlin’ off’a buncha states he’s had hoes in. And the ones he still does, fourteen. Fourteen?! Ohmiiiiigod this nigga is a travelin’ whore. He tells me e’ery way he’s fucked ’em; tells me ’bout the threesomes and trains he’s got down on; how bitches have paid for the dick; how they lace ’im wit’ wears ’n jewelry ’n shit. How he’s had ’em thinkin’ he was broke and homeless. He tells me ’bout some rich bitch he fucks wit’ out in LA who asked ’im to bust his nuts up in ’er so she can have’a baby; how she hits ’im wit’ five gees a month and keeps ’im on-call for when she wants the dick. He tells me ’bout some midget chick from Georgia he was fuckin’, then fucked ’er cousin in ’er own bed. Tells me how most of the chicks he’s met are either Myspace or Blackplanet hoes searchin’ for dick and companionship. Tells me ’bout all the psychos and stalkers he’s had. Tells me ’bout the restrainin’ orders; and e’e
rything else in between.
By the time this nigga finishes tellin’ me ’bout all’a his sexcapades wit’ these stupid ass bitches, we’re puffin’ our second blunt and my head is spinnin’ from tryna keep up. On some real shit, I’m surprised he tells me all this shit. I hit the blunt, then pass it back to ’im, lettin’ e’erything he’s said wrap ’round my brain.
I fall back on the bed laughin’ my ass off, imaginin’ this thick muhfucka bangin’ up a midget. “Ohmiiigod, I still can’t believe you actually fucked a midget. You’se a real nasty fucka.”
“They’re called lil’ people,” he says, laughin’ wit’ me. “But, yeah, I ain’t gonna front. I’ve been a wild cat when it comes to da pussy. Always prowlin’ ’n shit. But, I always keep it real wit’ them broads.”
“Mmmph. If them birds were stupid ’nough to catch feelin’s and get all caught up in you, then they got what da fuck they deserved. But, don’t eva think you gonna have a bitch like me stalkin’ or huntin’ ya ass down; not gonna happen.”
“I don’t plan on givin’ you a reason to,” he says, climbin’ back into bed. He kisses me on the lips. “Yo, I wanna stay da night.”
I stare at ’im. Sumthin’ tells me to tell ’im, “Hell no!” But I don’t. “And do what?”
“Make love to you, hold you in my arms ’n wake up to ya sexy ass in da mornin’.”
Ohhhhkay, yes, a bitch is grinnin’. But, I keep it cute. “You can stay, tonight. But don’t think this is gonna become a habit. And, puhleeze don’t think you’re gonna eva get a fuckin’ dime outta me.”
He shakes his head, sittin’ up in the bed ’n proppin’ two pillows in back of ’im. “Yo, I don’t want ya paper, ma.”
“Well, good ’cause a bitch ain’t givin’ none out. So there should be no confusion. Now, tell me. What is it a muhfucka like you really want? And don’t playground me.”
He stares at me. “Nah, no playgroundin’ you; I’m dead-up.” The way the nigga is lookin’ at me is makin’ me uncomfortable. He’s lookin’ at me in a way I can’t remember another muhfucka eva lookin’ at me. He pulls me into his arms. “All I want is you, ma.”
I look up at ’im, squint my eyes. “I’m not on da menu.”
He leans in, kisses me on the lips. “Maybe not tonight you’re not. But, you will be.”
“Wrong answer, muhfucka.”
He laughs. “Yeah, aiiight; that’s what’s ya mouth says. But I’ma wait on you. And when you ready to serve it up to me, I’m scoopin’ ya ass up. And that’s on e’erything.”
He wets his fingas wit’ spit, then slides his hand between my thighs and starts playin’ wit’ my clit. I spread my legs wide, bendin’ at the knees. Give ’im full access to my wet pussy. The muhfucka slips two fingas in ’n slow strokes my hole ’n clit. I reach ova and start strokin’ his dick. Then lean ova into his lap and kiss the head of his rock-hard cock. I take ’im into my warm mouth, then suck the skin off the muhfucka ’til we both are moanin’.
When I’ve givin’ ’im all the throat work he’s gonna get, I pull up off’a his dick, and lay all the way back. Let the muhfucka finish stirrin’ my pussy. Let ’im strum along my clit ’til I buck my hips and cream all ova the nigga’s fingas.
THE FOLLOWIN’ MORNIN’ I WAKE UP WONDERIN’ WHY I’M NOT stickin’ to the script and feedin’ this nigga wit’ a long-handled spoon. I know his ass had no muthafuckin’ business stayin’ the night, but a bitch can’t front. It felt good havin’ a muhfucka in my bed, and it felt even betta bein’ wrapped up in a muhfucka’s arms.
“Yo, check it. I’ma be hangin’ wit’ my mans ’n ’em tomorrow night, but I wanna get at you on Sunday. Maybe we can go into da city ’n chill ’n shit.”
“I’ll let you know,” I tell ’em, eyein’ ’im as he goes in ’n outta the bathroom. “I have plans wit’ my girl, so it all depends.”
“Oh, word? What ya’ll gettin’ into?”
“Nigga, I gave you some pussy; that’s it. Not permission to be all up in mine.”
He laughs, comin’ outta the bathroom brushin’ his teeth. “Yeah, aiight. You talkin’ that shit now, but you already know.”
The nigga drops his towel. I ain’t gonna front. He’s lookin’ real comfy standin’ here butt-ass naked. And I’m not sure how I should feel ’bout it.
Keep shit real. You dig da nigga.
Yeah, I do. Still—
Bitch, take da shit for what it is. Da nigga got good dick ’n good tongue. Let ’im keep eatin’ ya ass ’n lickin’ ya pussy, then dismiss da muhfucka when you’ve had’a ’nough.
I’m sittin’ at the foot of my bed, watchin’ the nigga lotion his naked body, then step into his boxers. Droplets of water are still on his back. I wanna get up ’n lick the shit off’a the muhfucka. But I don’t. I glance at the clock. 8:47 a.m.
“All I know is it’s time for you to hurry up ’n bounce. I’ve had’a ’nough of ya cocky ass.”
He laughs, slippin’ his wife beater ova his head, then puttin’ on his jeans. He pulls out his cell. It dawns on me that I don’t eva hear it ring when I’m wit’ ’im. I contemplate askin’ the muhfucka why, but decide I don’t really give’a fuck. He walks up on me and pulls me up off’a the bed.
“Listen, I wasn’t poppin’ a buncha BS last night. I meant e’erything I said to you. On e’erything, yo, I’m feelin’ you.”
I keep my eyes locked on his. “Enough to give up all ya bitches?” I ask, raisin’ a brow.
“Yo, I don’t have’a buncha bitches. I gave ’em all up a minute ago. The only one I’m still fuckin’ wit’ is my peeps in LA.”
“Ohhhhkay. Isn’t that da chick who wanted you to give ’er a baby?”
He nods. “Yeah, but I deaded that. Ain’t nuthin’ happenin’ wit’ that. I’m still wrappin’ it up.”
“Let me tell you this. And be clear. If I was eva to decide to fuck wit’ you on some solo type shit, that lil’ situation wit’ chickie would need to be shut down wit’ e’erything else. I don’t cheat. And I don’t share. So, understand this. If you know you ain’t ready to stop slingin’ da dick, then you need’a let shit play out da way it is.”
I step outta his embrace. “Yo, you think I ever wanted to be on some settle down type shit? I didn’t think I had it in me. Shit, maybe I still don’t. But I wanna try, if you let me. Look, this is comin’ from a cat who always thought relationships were overrated and monogamy was extinct. So for me to be comin’ at you thinkin’ differently is some major shit for me. That’s on some real shit.”
“Nigga, I ain’t tryna be ya experiment. Go get some practice playin’ boyfriend somewhere else before comin’ at me.”
“Yo, go ’head wit’ that silly shit. I don’t need to practice shit. I already know what it is.”
“Muhfucka, when you come to me, you betta come correct. And be ready to man up. Don’t come pushin’ up on me tryna bag a bitch, knowin’ you still stuntin’.” I walk ova to my nightstand. Open up the bottom drawer, pullin’ out two guns, my Colt Python and a Beretta Storm 9mm. “’Cause trust ’n believe”—I turn, aimin’ ’em at ’im—“I will take ya face off.”
He jumps back. “Oh, shit. You wildin’; for real, yo. Put that shit up.” I keep ’em aimed at ’im. I don’t blink. And neither does he. “Yo, Kat for real, yo. Put that shit up.”
“Alex, Alley Cat, Daddy Long Stroke and whateva else they call you on da bricks. This gun right here”—I raise the Python—“I use to play in my pussy so it ain’t da one I’d use to splatter ya skull. But make no mistake, this one right here”—I raise the KelTec chrome—“is da one I will use to light fire in ya skull if you play me.” I drop ’em on the bed, walkin’ back ova to ’im. I can tell I done spooked the nigga, but he keeps it cool.
“Yo, that was some foul shit, pullin’ guns out on a muhfucka like that.”
“And I hope I don’t eva have’ta again. Soooooo, before you start comin’ at me any more ’bout tryna wife me up ’n shit, you need’a think long ’n hard �
��bout what you sayin’. Now hurry up get ya boots on ’n bounce.”
The nigga steps up in my space. “I ain’t no pussy, yo. And I ain’t no confused muhfucka. I know what I want. And it’s you.” He snatches me up and starts tonguin’ me down. And I ain’t gonna front. A bitch’s pussy starts to pop. We kiss for a few minutes, ’til he unlocks his lips from mine and backs away. “Save ya bullets, baby, ’cause you ain’t usin’ ’em on me.”
I smirk, followin’ ’im down the stairs. “We’ll see, muhfucka.”
“Yeah aiight.” He leans in and gives me some more tongue, grabbin’ a chunkful of ass wit’ his hands. “You really think I’m bullshittin’ don’t you?”
“Nigga, what I think is you wanna get me wrapped ’round ya finga, but you see I ain’t lettin’ it go down.”
He laughs. “Yo, you funny bad. You know what, let me get some-thin’ to write wit’ ’n some paper.” I walk off through the dinin’ room and he follows behind me to the kitchen. I hand ’em a note-pad and pen. He writes sumthin’ down, tears the sheet of paper off’a the pad, then hands it to me.
I glance at it. It’s a buncha numbers ’n passwords. “What’s this?”
“It’s my passwords to e’erything.” My mouth drops open. This nigga done gave me the codes to his cell, Myspace, Blackplanet and Facebook accounts. “You don’t trust a muhfucka. You don’t think a muhfucka can be all ’bout you. You think a muhfucka still gonna be on some extra shit. Cool. Check da shit for ya’self, whenever you want.”
“Mmmph. I don’t need this.” I hand it back to ’im. “You givin’ me this shit means nuthin’.”
He sits the paper on the table, then opens the door. “Well, guess what, ma. For a muhfucka like me, you da first, so it means e’erything. If you can’t see that, then shame on you.”
He blows me a kiss as he walks out, beboppin’ it toward his whip. I stand in the doorway and watch ’im get in, backin’ outta the driveway before closin’ the door.
I scoop up the paper wit’ all his passwords, then take the steps two at’a time to log into the nigga’s shit to see what’s really good.
