by Cairo
I have received sixty emails from my various email accounts. But the one that is of the most interest to me at this very moment is from one of my old yahoo accounts: Nutcracker69. It’s an email from the screen name DickUdownallnight. I open and read it, slowly scrolling down through its contents.
Hey, baby,
What’s good with you? Just hitting you up to see if I can come through and dick you down and crack this nut down your throat like old times, baby. Hope this is your right email address.
I frown, then reread the lines, trying to figure out who the hell this is. I check out the screen name again. It doesn’t ring a bell. I try to think who had this particular email address. At least fifty, sixty, niggas, I think, shaking my head. But whoever he is, it has to be either someone I met online years ago, or someone I used to date—before I became anti-dating. And, obviously, it’s someone I’ve fucked—and fucked good. I continue reading:
I tried to hit you on your cell, but it’s the wrong number. And I see you done bounced from your spot over on Jefferson Ave.
Jefferson Ave? I think. I haven’t lived there in over four years. Hmmm. I close my eyes and try to narrow down which dudes from my past knew me when I lived in Elizabeth. I sigh, realizing it’s too damn many to try figuring out. I finish reading:
We need to talk, baby. Word up. I miss fucking that throat and pretty ass of yours. It’s been a minute, and I’m ready to tongue-fuck that hot pussy, then bang that fatty out. Holla back!
Marquise
Marquise? The name’s not familiar. And I’m really not interested in exerting any energy in playing the guessing game. Obviously, there’s a reason why this nigga hasn’t been able to get at me—I’ve moved on. He might have been one of those niggas who my girl Jaguar Wright sings about—a nigga with good dick, but no damn common sense. Humph.
P.S. in case you might have forgotten who I am, I’ve attached a picture to help jog your memory. Hopefully, it’ll get your sweet juices flowing, and have you ready to wet this dick!
Of course curiosity gets the best of me, and I press the little white ball on my BlackBerry, then scroll down to open attachment, and press. In less than a minute a picture of a chiseled torso pops up on my screen, I scroll down to see the rest of the picture. And almost fall out of my chair. In between a pair of muscled thighs is a long, meaty, reddish-brown, shiny dick with a bright red bow tied around the tip of its thick mushroomsized head. Immediately, I start drooling. But, unfortunately, I still can’t figure out who this mystery nigga with the mouth-watering dick is. So, what do I do? I press the button to reply.
I quickly type: Beautiful dick, but I still don’t know who this is. Of course, in my head, I’m wondering if he knows how to use it. I finish typing: A picture of a pretty dick tells me nothing about who you are, boo. So you’ll need to try again. And for the record, I’m not sucking dick, but I am serving up a deep dish of this hot pussy to a man with a long, wet tongue. If that’s you, then you need to hit me up with a phone number. I press send, then toss the device in my Tumi messenger bag.
If he replies back with a phone number, which I trust he will, I might call—and perhaps fuck—him. Then again, I might not. It will all depend on my mood, and what the hell he looks like. ’Cause for me, a nigga with a pretty dick is fine and dandy, but if the shit is attached to someone who looks like a fucking Troll doll or one of the Flying Monkeys, then you might as well keep it moving. I know, I know…we already had this discussion about looks not being everything. And maybe for you they’re not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Another week passes. The weekend is almost over. And baby, baby, baby…let me tell you. You don’t know how happy I am to report that today is the first day that my asshole doesn’t feel like it’s engulfed in flames. What a damn relief! Anyway, it’s Sunday, and rainy. What is it about the rain that makes some people horny? I mean, it’s been raining like cats and dogs all damn day. And I am horny as hell. Basically, any time it rains, it puts me in the mood to be fucked deep, long, and strong. I can’t explain it. It also makes me think back on some of my rainy day and night sexapades. Like the time it was thundering and lightning and pouring down, and I was getting fucked deliciously on the hood of an ex’s car. Or the time I was in the Bahamas on a private beach with this dude I had met in the middle of a rainstorm, and he ate my pussy, then fucked me until dawn. Mmmmph. Lord knows I love me some rain!
I’m telling you. It really brings the freak out of me. Oh my God! There’s nothing sexier than lying up in bed being pressed down into the mattress by a wide-shouldered, strong-backed, dick-slinging man. And, last night—well, early this morning—that is exactly what I had in my bed. Baby, let me tell you. Up until almost five o’clock this morning, I got slayed lovely!
Last night, I made up my mind that it was time to recruit some new dick. So, after lying around the house most of the day, I decided to go out. I showered, put on a cute Baby Phat jean outfit with nothing underneath the jacket, and rocked a pair of four-inch Gucci heels. Sprayed some Pasha behind my ears and on my wrists, then gave myself the once-over in my floor-length mirror. I was satisfied with my look. My hair and face were tight, and the frame was right. Between you and me, I knew I’d have no problem getting some dick. Hell, I never do. Especially not with measurements like mine: A curvaceous 36-24-38. Yes, I’ve been blessed with nice C-cup breasts with large, Hershey Kiss nipples, a small waist, and a fat, soft ass. And being pretty in the face definitely adds to the package. Not bragging, baby; simply sharing.
Anyway, I figured the best spot to find some dick was to go to a titty bar. So I drove to Cinderella’s in Elizabeth, paid my money, ordered a shot of Henny, then perched my apple-bottom ass up on a stool at the bar and took in the scene. A few dudes tried to holla at me, but they weren’t what I was looking for. So I dismissed them. I mean, I wanted some dick, but a girl still has to be picky. I’m not that pressed to accept any ole thing. I wanted something tall, dark, and fine. The minute I spotted him walking through the door with three of his boys all dipped in jewels, I knew he was the one. I decided I’d have him in my bed before morning came. I eyed him as he walked around to the other side of the bar. I studied him, watched him toss a few dollars up on the stage at one of the dancers.
A smooth, brown-skinned chick with a small waist, wide hips, full breasts, and a face like Herman Munster was up on the stage shaking and bouncing her ass. A skinny chick was at the other end of the bar with her legs pulled all the way back over her head, giving everyone a full view of her pussy. Then there was another chick working extra hard to get a group of brothas to give up their dollars. Seems like the deeper you are in the hood, the uglier and rougher the dancers look. Some of them chicks really have no business being on stage with stretch marks, and razor, cut and knife marks all over their bodies. Ugh.
Anyway, I flagged the bartender and asked him to send my prey a drink on me. When the bartender pointed over in my direction, he raised his glass and nodded. I smiled. He whispered something in one of his man’s ears. They glanced over at me, but I pretended not to notice. Five minutes later, he approached me.
“What’s good, ma?”
I sized him up, licking my painted, glossy lips. He is five feet, eleven inches (I know this because I asked him) with broad shoulders, long, thick fingers, a wide nose, and big, brown, dreamy eyes. His smooth, flawless skin is the color of milk chocolate. Yes, he was definitely the one. After about ten minutes of small talk, I got right to the point.
“You, and what’s hanging between your legs,” I answered. Shit, I had no time for dilly-dallying. Like I said, a ho was trying to fuck. I told him straight out what I was looking for. He didn’t flinch. Just licked his lips, then parted a sexy, wide smile.
He shifted his weight from one foot the other. I guess he thought I was joking, because he stood there, looking me in my face like he was waiting for the punch line. When he realized there was none, he widened his smile and started rubbing his dimpled chin. Yeah, he was de
finitely the one. I let him know I was ready and that I had a wet, fat pussy that was throbbing for a stiff dick. You know some men bitch up when a chick like me comes at ’em direct. I was glad he didn’t. Hell, life is too damn short to be beating around the bush.
“Oh word? It’s like that?”
I nodded. “Sure is. You married?” I asked, looking him in the eyes. If his eyes shifted around the room, then I would know he was lying. They didn’t.
“Nah, baby.”
“You got a girl?”
“Yeah,” he said, placing his arm on the back of my chair. “But we in the middle of some shit right now. You got a problem with that.”
“Nope,” I answered. “Your problems with her are no problems of mine.” Then I continued my interview by asking the rest of my list of questions.
“Damn,” he said, laughing. “Am I interviewing for a position?”
I twirled my straw with my tongue, then slowly slid it into my mouth and sipped my drink. I licked my lips, then gazed back up at him. “Yes, you are. It’s for a position between these thighs,” I responded, swiveling the barstool towards him and opening up my legs for effect. “And the position requires someone who knows how to rock a pussy.”
He smiled, nodding his head. “I see.”
“Yeah, I bet you do. But do you wanna feel?”
“Hell, yeah,” he snapped. “I’m down.” He paused, sipping his drink. “Listen, you got condoms? ’Cause I ain’t ’bout bringing no shit home, feel me.”
I frowned. “I don’t fuck raw, baby. I got a whole box, especially for you.”
“Oh, word. Then that’s what it is.”
I smiled. “And so it shall be.”
So after another hour of back and forth, and two more rounds of drinks, he walked out behind me, then followed me home in his steel-grey Jag. The crazy thing is, I didn’t even know the nigga’s name, or give him mine, until after we were done. I simply told him what I wanted, and how I wanted it, and he was more than willing to oblige.
As soon as I got him in the house, I attacked him like a wild, dick-hungry ho-beast. Pushed his ass down on the sofa, unzipped his sagging jeans, fished down in his boxers, then unleashed his big, juicy dick with the reddish brown tip. I’m not going to lie, I was so damn relieved his dick was meaty. A little dick would have only been an appetizer for me, so I was more than happy when I saw he was packing. My mouth watered, and my panties got wet while looking at it. The shit was eight inches soft, and eleven inches hard. I know because I always pull out my ruler and measure the dick to know what I’m really working with. I like to jot down their measurements when they leave for future reference.
Anyway, I lowered my pussy onto his face, then leaned down and sucked him silly. It was all good the minute he stuck his tongue in my ass, licked my pussy and sucked on my clit until I couldn’t take it any longer. Yeah, dude had a bitch begging him to fuck me. Mmmm. He flipped me over, strapped on a Durex, then dug my insides out like there was no tomorrow, and he did it doggie-style…exactly how I like it.
The dick was soooo damn good. He has rhythm like no other. Whew! The brotha even made his dick pulsate inside my pussy. No joke. I could actually feel his shit jumping inside of me. Now that bugged me the fuck out.
And the minute I started talking dirty—telling him how big his dick felt inside of me, how good it felt; chanting and moaning, telling him to fuck me harder—his thrusts quickened, and deepened. As soon as he was about ready to nut, I asked him to pull his dick out of me so I could jerk him off. I wanted to see how much he came. I got a thing with seeing all that white, stickiness shooting, spurting or oozing out of the tip of a man’s dick. Oh, how that drives me wild.
Of course, my fuck of the night obliged, and I snatched the condom off, jerked him with both hands, and was pleasantly surprised when his dick spurted a big load of thick, hot cream. If I would have known him better I probably would have licked it up, right down to the last damn drop. But there will definitely be a round two. I’ve decided to give Mr. Majestic five stars, and add him to my “charm” list. He’ll be filling someone’s spot real soon. Believe that!
Anyway, I am all fucked out from my weekend activities. And, today, I am curled up on the sofa relaxing. I plan to spend the whole day lying around the house and doing absolutely nothing. Well, that’s not completely true. In between masturbating, I will finish reading this book Dangerously in Love by this chick Allison Hobbs. Talk about a freaky, engaging read. Then I had the nerve to run out to Borders and pick up her other books Insatiable, Pandora’s Box, A Bona Fide Gold Digger, and The Climax.
I won’t go into details about the books, but DAMN her! What a freak! A few times, she had me slipping my fingers into my already cum-soaked snatch. Now this is one kinky chick. I’ll bet she’s probably a real greedy, dick-rider type chick. I’d love to meet her in person, and pick her freaky brain.
Anyway, let me finish telling you about last night’s adventure, and what I figured out by sitting at that strip joint for almost three hours, watching. See. I realize that the strip clubs are a ho’s paradise. Okay? Roll your eyes if you want. But trust me. Testosterone is everywhere. A plethora of dick and balls await you. At the bar, at tables, in corners, against the wall, young and old, there are men of all shapes, colors and sizes. Some who are there to have a few drinks, watch some ass shake, be entertained, then take their asses home. Others are there to get their drink on, get a few lap dances, maybe even some back room head, then take their asses home. And then there are the men who are there hoping to fuck. But, no matter what their intentions, at least ninety-eight percent of them are going to leave out of that spot wanting something hot and wet to slide their cocks up in—mouth, pussy, ass, or all three. Trust me, it won’t matter. And it’s a greedy, man-loving, dick-craving ho like me who’s going to be perched up at the bar, batting her eyes, licking her lips and marking her target for the night. Believe that!
Another thing I will say is—knowing what I know now, if my man was tricking up his money in some titty bar every week, I don’t know if that would sit well with me, especially since I know what’s really popping off inside most of them spots. Besides the dancers, it’s hoes like me in those spots, swarming around like vultures ready to swoop down on unsuspecting prey. Hell, I’d let him go with his boys and all, but you best believe I’d be somewhere on the other side of the room, at the other end of the bar, dipped down real low, making sure his ass stayed focused.
I lay my book face down on the sofa and allow my mind to reflect on how good Majestic fucked me. There’s something about a man hitting this soft ass from the back, deep, that drives me bananas. Especially when he has a long, thick dick, digging in and out, nice and slow, then grabbing me by the hips or pulling my ass cheeks apart, or sticking his finger in my asshole. I’ll arch my back, swing and shake my hair wildly, then tell him to fuck me hard, to slap my ass. Mmmm. I’m telling you, fuck me from the back and watch me turn into a wild, freaky, ho-beast. And this morning, Majestic’s sexy-chocolate ass could have fucked me in every damn hole. I can go for another round for sure. But I will wait for him to call me. If he doesn’t, two more will. They always do.
My ringing cell snaps me out of my reverie. I glance at the screen. It’s Garrett.
“Hello,” I answer.
“How are you? I haven’t heard from you in a while, so I thought I check in on you to make sure everything’s okay.”
Didn’t I just speak to this nigga a few days ago? I pull in a deep breath. “I’m good,” I say.
“I was hoping to see you today.”
Hmm, thinking about my night with Majestic on top of the rain does have me wanting to ride a dick. And although my pussy is still aching, the fact still remains. Garrett always aims to please. Like I shared before, every time he’s inside of me, he strokes my pussy and clit just right. Not only is he good with his dick and talented with his tongue, he’s the kind of man who is obedient. He does exactly what is asked of him without complaint. If I w
ant my pussy in his mouth or his tongue in my ass, he does it and doesn’t expect me to reciprocate. Which is why I don’t mind sucking down his dick or gargling his cow-like balls because, with him, there’s no pressure. No fuss. Even though he’s not scheduled—in my head—for another dish of this pussy for a few more weeks, against my better judgment, I think I will invite him over for a treat. Humph…so much for lounging around today doing nothing.
“Hmm. Sounds like you want a dose of this good stuff,” I say, jokingly.
He laughs. “Well, when it’s good, it’s good.”
“Unh-huh, and haven’t you heard too much of a good thing ain’t always good for you?”
“I’ll take my chances,” he says.
“Well, don’t say you haven’t been warned,” I tease. “So what time you want to come by?”
“Your warning has been duly noted. Let me see,” he says. “It’s three-thirty now. How ’bout around seven?”
“Seven is good,” I state. “You feel up to doing a little role-playing?”
He laughs. “What you have in mind?”
“I’ve been a naughty girl, Officer,” I coo into the phone. “I need to be placed under arrest.”
“Is that so,” he says, lowering his voice. “And what should I arrest you for?”
“For wanting to swallow your fat dick down in my throat, then feel it deep inside my hot pussy,” I answer.
“That doesn’t seem like a crime to me,” he says, playing along.
“Well, it will be when I fuck you to death.”
He laughs. “Sounds like I may need back-up.”
“Baby,” I coo, “the only thing you need to back you up is this soft, fat ass. So, bring your handcuffs and that thick dick of yours. My tight pussy is wet and ready to be wrapped around your delicious cock.”
He pauses. I can tell his dick is hard, and I have him thinking. “Umm, let’s make it for six-thirty.”
I laugh to myself, telling him that the minute he walks through my door I want him to strip down naked, and come upstairs wearing nothing but his hat and his boots with his gun on his hip and his dick in his hand. “And don’t forget the handcuffs,” I add, running my hand over my pussy, then stroking my clit with my index and middle fingers. “I’m gonna have this pussy nice and hot for you.”
