by Zane
This was the last thing Joy expected to hear. “What?” she said, bewildered.
“I said, are you going to stand there, or are you coming in to join us?”
Joy was shocked, but she didn’t hesitate. She wanted to be the X factor in this sexy equation and La’Shon was giving her an open invitation.
Joy moved across the room and joined the lovers on the bed. Tony deftly removed Joy’s nightshirt, exposing her beautiful body.
“Lie down,” he said to her softly. La’Shon made room as Joy lay on her back. She was about to say something when Tony kissed her lips and said, “Shhhh, no words. Just lie back and enjoy yourself.”
Tony took Joy’s nipple in his mouth and sucked on it gently. A soft moan escaped her lips. La’Shon began to caress Joy’s supple body, kissing her stomach and taking her breath away. Joy squealed and moaned, enjoying the attention she was getting. Then she felt a hot tongue on her pussy. Joy looked down and saw La’Shon smiling up at her. She was between her legs, ready to take the game to a whole new level. Joy responded by putting her hand on La’Shon’s head and moaning loudly as La’Shon took Joy’s clit in her mouth.
Tony knew that this was a special moment and backed away to give the ladies plenty of room. La’Shon flicked her tongue back and forth on Joy’s clit, making her moan and cry out loud. This is what she’d been waiting for, fantasizing about for months. Now, at last, fantasy was reality.
“Oh, yes, baby, yes.” Joy could hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth. La’Shon moved her head faster and sucked Joy’s clit like a baby on a good pacifier.
“Ahhhh, I’m cumming!” Joy screamed.
La’Shon licked and sucked Joy’s pussy until she flooded her mouth with sweetness. Sweat rolled off her forehead, making her face glisten in the candlelight. She was trembling and could hardly catch her breath, but she was so satisfied. Joy was open now and ready for anything.
La’Shon took Joy’s hand and put it on Tony’s stiff dick.
“Would you like some of this?” La’Shon asked.
Now Joy knew she was dreaming. La’Shon was offering her man to her? This fine-ass hunk of chocolate with the redwood dick? This was a trick question, right? A breathy “Yes” was all she could muster the strength to say.
Tony reached into the nightstand and pulled out a Magnum. Joy watched with eager anticipation as Tony slipped the condom onto his dick. The big man positioned himself between Joy’s legs and rubbed the bulbous head of his manhood against her clit. Joy bit her lip and La’Shon rubbed her man’s back as he entered her.
“Oh, my God!” Joy cried. His dick had to be at least three inches around and eight inches long. It felt like it would never stop sliding into her pussy. Joy held on to Tony’s broad shoulders as he fucked her with long, slow, deep strokes.
“Oh, fuck!” Joy cried over and over again. Tony took his time and gave her all the dick she could handle. La’Shon held Joy’s legs in the air as Tony rocked her pussy. This was good. Oh, so good. But Joy wanted more.
“Come here, La’Shon,” Joy breathed. “Sit on my face.”
Now it was La’Shon’s turn to be shocked. She smiled at Joy and quickly did as she was asked. With one smooth motion, La’Shon positioned herself so that her pussy landed right in Joy’s hungry mouth.
“Mmmmm,” Joy moaned as she tasted her friend’s pussy for the first time. She swirled her tongue around La’Shon’s big clit, making her moan and beg for more.
“Yessssss!” cried La’Shon, loving the fact that her girl was eating her pussy.
In that position, the amorous trio licked, sucked, and fucked each other to magnificent orgasms. They were the first of many. That night, La’Shon, Joy, and Tony threw all caution to the wind as they enjoyed each other’s bodies. It was well past daybreak when they collapsed in blissful exhaustion. The noon sun sat high in the sky and found them still sleeping, a tangled mass on the bed. Joy was still smiling from the adventure.
After that night, Joy would no longer have to creep and peek. She was a welcomed addition and formed the third point to a very erotic triangle. As passion grew and lust turned to deeper friendship, La’Shon, Joy, and Tony proved that three really is a magical number.
Big Girls Need Dick, Too
Shane Allison
I had just gotten off work. I was hungry and sleepy as hell, hoping I wouldn’t nod off at the wheel on my long drive back to the sticks. I usually talk to myself, which seems to help in keeping me awake. I was trying to decide what I wanted to eat. On the side of town I was leaving, my choices were fast food and … fast food. If I ate another cheeseburger, another chicken nugget, I was going to seriously hurt somebody.
I’m trying to watch my weight anyway. Every time I look in the mirror I notice my ass getting bigger, a second chin coming in. The only exercise I manage to get is when I’m marching up and down the stadium steps of the movie theater where I work. I figure since I’m too lazy to get off my ass to join a gym, I might as well at least try to eat right, watch what I put in this cute, God-given body of mine. Damn, I miss New York. The two years I was there, I lost a shitload of weight. I walked everywhere and I was on a strict diet of tap water and bologna sandwiches.
Even though I didn’t feel like driving across town, I decided on Larry’s Giant Subs. I had a hankering for one of their infamous, oven-roasted chicken sandwiches. The one on Tennessee Street was closest. When I reached that part of town, the bars and clubs were letting out. Alpha male college boys and scantily dressed college girls stumbled down the strip. Cops and EMTs stood by for the intoxicated. Larry’s wasn’t full, but when I arrived, a few hungry coeds started to file in.
I ordered a six-inch chicken breast sub. I had this fine, brown-skinned brother behind the counter load it up with veggies, spinach, tomatoes, bell peppers, cucumbers, olives, the works, followed by a little salt and pepper and Parmesan cheese. I cheated when I had him draw a single line of mayonnaise along the sandwich to finish it off.
“Would you like to make it a combo, ma’am, or just the sandwich?”
I didn’t want any chips and wasn’t thirsty enough for a drink so I told him just the sandwich. I fished my wallet out of my purse and handed him my debit card. This drunken white boy, with blond hair and bloodshot blue eyes, bumped into me.
“Sorry, baby, my bad,” he said.
First thing that came to mind was, I’m not your baby and get your drunk, date-rapin’ hands off me. But “It’s fine, don’t worry about it” were the words that stumbled out of my mouth instead. I paid for my sandwich and walked out as more and more collegiate baby birds were stumbling in, chirping away about dumb shit that only baby birds chirp about.
I strolled along the strip, grinning and laughing at them making fools out of themselves, thankful that I was no longer a twenty-something. As I drove, my eyes caught sight of someone I knew. I wasn’t sure it was him at first, but the closer I got, the more of him I could make out, and sure enough … Brandon Mathis.
“Well, looka here!”
A smile stretched like taffy across this round, brown face of mine. He was clearly drunk off that fine, bubble-ass of his, stumbling down the street like some inebriated wino. I started to leave him alone, thinking that he would eventually get to wherever he was headed. But I thought, what if he gets hit by some kid, drunk behind the wheel? Or a bunch of rednecks wanted to mess with him, beat his ass, just for the hell of it?
Either way, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. I drove alongside him and let down the passenger side window. “W’sup, boy!”
He looked into the car at me. “’Sup, shawty?” His white teeth juxtaposed nicely against his black velvety skin. The peach-hued sheen from the streetlights bounced off his bald head.
“You want a ride?”
“If you don’t mind.” Brandon opened the door and got in. I noticed the large blistered symbol on the upper part of his left arm. I had seen the same painful-looking sign branded before on another brother’s skin. I recogniz
ed it as a symbol from one of the local black fraternities on the campus of Florida Southern University. Alpha Omega, I think. I had always wanted to ask Brandon about it when he worked at the theater, but we hardly said so much as boo to each other.
“Where you comin’ from?” I asked.
“I walked my ass all the way from Chubby’s. They had that Rick Ross concert over there.”
“I know. I wanted to go, but I couldn’t get anybody to cover my shift. How was it?”
“Keisha, it was off the chain.”
“Whaaat?”
“Ricky Ro-zay!” he yelled out the window.
“Stop, boy, you crazy!” I tugged at him, pulling him back in the car.
“You missed a good-ass show.”
“That’s why I need to quit that shit. No social life.”
“That’s why I left, working every damn weekend. Is that where you comin’ from?”
“Yeah, I just got off.”
“You smell like popcorn.” I tugged at my shirt and took a whiff. Brandon started laughing. “I’m playin’, boo.” The smell of liquor and cologne filled my silver Charger.
“So, I heard you quit because of pencil-dick Chris.”
“That was part of it, but mostly because my grades were taking an ass-kickin’ because of the late hours.”
“So you don’t miss it?”
“Hell no! I mean, I miss you and the free movies, yeah, but not getting home late and, on top of that, tryin’ to study.”
I knew Brandon’s type. A player, a butch brand type of brother. To say that Brandon is fine as hell would be the understatement of 2012. I was always checking him out, swiping glances at his sinewy muscles, his firm booty. He would come to the theater when he was off, looking much like he looked that night in my car: muscles tight under a Hollister T-shirt, a pair of baggy jean shorts hanging just so, showing some ass under his boxers. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was doing it on purpose, teasing me, so I would walk around work the rest of my shift with a wet pussy. If that was the case, that shit was working. A day doesn’t go by when I’m not fantasizing about him booty-naked, fucking me stupid over the snack bar. I thought of how lucky his girlfriend was that she could have his dick whenever the mood struck.
“So where you stay?” I asked.
“You can drop me off at the Omega House. You know where that’s at?”
“Over on Wahnish Drive, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll point you to it when we get up there.”
Brandon went on about the Rick Ross concert. The alcohol on his breath was like a slap to my face.
Brandon kept grabbing his dick. I tried not to look, but it’s like I’m programmed to zero in on dick, especially when somebody like Brandon gave attention to it. The symbol on his arm, though, was enough to keep my eyes off what he had in those baggy shorts.
“I’ve wanted to ask you about that right there forever,” I said, pointing to it. “That must have hurt.”
“Hell yeah, but only for a bit. Alpha Omega for life, baby!” Brandon hollered, as he formed a symbol of his frat with his skinny fingers.
“How long you been a member?”
“Pledged my sophomore year.”
“What made you wanna pledge?”
“Had to keep it in the family, baby girl. All my brothers are Alphas. My daddy’s an Omega and my granddaddy. Omegas for life.”
“You oughta have that tattooed on your chest somewhere.”
“What? Omega for life?”
“F-o-u-r life. You know, a number instead of the letter, like Tupac.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“Um, jokin’, damn.”
“No, for real. I might do that shit.”
Dudes and the crazy shit ya’ll do, I thought.
“So what do ya’ll do, like sit around drinkin’, hazin’ brothas?”
“That’s what people think, but no. We do throw parties and socials and stuff, but we don’t let shit get out of hand. We don’t haze people. I know frats that do that, but we don’t. People have a lot of misconceptions about us. A good frat brother is a gentleman; you know what I’m sayin’? Leaders in the community.”
“I think people have that idea based on what they see in the movies,” I said.
“Some dudes only pledge ’cause they think all frats do is drink and party, but we—and I speak for all fraternities—we are more than that. Omegas have gone on to be doctors, lawyers, teachers, guys givin’ back.”
I could see that Brandon was passionate about what he was saying, and sounded hell-bent on squashing the stereotypes that were always a stigma on fraternities.
“You know what? I respect that.”
“That’s what we try to do. Educate.”
Brandon grabbed his dick again as if it was as common as batting an eyelash, pulling at it as if he sought to make room in his shorts due to its length. I wanted him to pull it out so I could go down on him right there in the car. Sleep was no longer on my mind, and neither was food. I wanted Brandon’s dick. I wanted him to fuck me.
We had reached the campus, slowly cruising past big, brick buildings named after historical black scholars. “It’s right up here,” he said, veering off our conversation.
I pulled into a lot and parked in front of a huge brick house. Big Greek letters were posted above the entrance of the frat house. I thought of all the hot black men that lived under its roof that pranced around half-naked behind those windows. Four men were sitting out front, looking at us suspiciously like hungry buzzards, wondering who it was that had driven up.
“Damn, this place is huge.”
“Wait ’til you see inside.”
I had never been in a frat house before. I expected the place to be in shambles—dirty clothes, beer cans, empty pizza boxes, like in the movies about frat guys.
“It’s late. I gotta be at the theater at eleven.”
“Girl, stop trippin’. Come meet some of the brothers.”
The men that were sitting studied me. They were of assorted tones: brown, dark chocolate, butterscotch, high yellow. There were men with braids, fades, and others with low haircuts, or bald to the scalp.
“This is Trey, Big Will, Taj, and Mike D. Keisha works at the movies.”
“’Sup?” all of them said.
“Can you get us some passes, shawty?” Mike D asked.
“Damn, you always tryin’ to get somethin’ free.” Trey grinned.
“Come by the theater. I’ll hook you up.”
Mike D was one of the cuter ones in the bunch, wearing jeans and a black muscle T-shirt. He had full, kissable lips and short hair combed in waves. He didn’t have anything on Brandon, though.
When I followed him inside, it wasn’t like I thought, but it wasn’t that clean, either. There were a few men, but none of them were half-naked. There were hardly any men around. It was Saturday, so I figured they were out at the clubs.
“That’s the entertainment room where we watch games, study, whatever. That’s the kitchen, and right there is like our romper room.”
As Brandon and I started upstairs, he kept yanking his shorts up over his booty, covering plaid boxers. “These are more rooms and bathrooms and this is my room.” Brandon’s was fairly clean. I looked at the bed and thought of all the women that were probably fucked in its sheets. “Sit anywhere you want. I gotta piss.”
I sat in the chair at his desk where an open math book lay. Posters of shiny, pricey cars and sports figures plastered the wall. A Rihanna calendar was thumb-nailed above Brandon’s desk. I heard the thick sound of piss splashing in toilet water.
“Oh, hey, you still with what’shername?”
“Who?”
“That girl you used to bring to the movies.”
“Janiece? Yeah, we on and off. Mostly off.”
“What do you mean?” I heard a flush and Brandon walked out with the clasp of his shorts undone.
“She trippin’, talkin’ about how I don’t spend enough time
with her and shit. All she does is nag me. I love her, but damn.”
I could see the frustration in his face. The first time I met Janiece, I could tell she was crazy, one of them clingy type chicks. Poor Brandon. Poor fine-ass, Rick Ross–loving Brandon.
“You want something to drink?” He walked over to the mini-refrigerator in the corner of the room.
“Does everyone have one of those?” I asked.
“No, my daddy brought this up from Miami.”
He opened it and took out two beers. Brandon twisted off the tops and handed me a bottle. I’m more of a martini girl, but whatever. We both took a drink. I veered the conversation back to the Alpha Omega Greek letter on his arm. “What made you want to do that to yourself?”
“I’m a member for life. I wanted something to show my loyalty.”
“Yeah, but damn, why not a T-shirt or something?”
“It’s just a part of who I am.”
“I read somewhere that branding was a form of ownership during slavery.”
“It goes further back than that. In Africa, some tribes would brand a boy as he entered into adulthood.”
“Well, you’re braver than me. I would have freaked out.”
“When I’m like, eighty years old, I want to look at it.”
Brandon sat his beer down at the foot of the bed and took off his shirt. Sweet baby Jesus, I thought. I tried not to stare. It was like my whole body had gone numb. Roll your tongue back in your head, girl. You could bounce a penny off that chest. Hell, fuck a penny, more like a wrecking ball. Once he took his T-shirt off, exposing his smooth chest, abs, and pecs, my pussy was aching for some attention. I don’t know what stopped me from reaching over and laying my hands on this delicious specimen of a man. I would be lying if I said I’ve never thought about Brandon’s dick size.
“I don’t remember you looking this tight,” I said.
“I started getting more in shape a few months back, doing crunches, sit-ups, liftin’ weights. I lost weight when I started playing football. I don’t eat fast food or fried food. I don’t drink sodas and if I drink juice, I get somethin’ with not a lot of sugar and shit.”
