The Man Handler

by Cairo

  And right now, I am hoping he was too caught up in trying to knock this pussy out the frame and busting his nut to remember half the stuff that came out of my mouth. ’Cause, baaaaby, last night, I was in rare form.

  I replay the scene in my head. “You gonna let me have this pussy, baby?”

  “Uh, mmm…oh…yes,” I moaned.

  He dug deeper, snapping his hips up against mine, hitting my spot.

  “Oh, Garrett, I’ll never get tired of this big dick…oh, yes… I’ve been missing this good dick…Oh, damn, Daddy, no one fucks my pussy like you…Harder! Harder!”

  “Yeah, you love this dick, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Garrett, you’re making my pussy cum…I love this big dick, baby.”

  “You want this big dick?” he asked, slamming it in and out of me, pounding the inside of my walls mercilessly. “You wanna make love to this dick?”

  “Mmmph. Oh…fuck!”

  He slowed his pace, pulled his dick out to the head, tip-drilled my slit, then slammed himself back in me with hard, deep, thrusts.

  “Yesssssss…Oh, yesssssssssss…I want this dick in me every night…fuck your pussy, baby…oooooh, yes…just like that…I don’t want you giving this big dick to anyone else, but me…”

  Ugh! And there you have it. Last night, I was saying mess like that and a whole bunch of other shit that has no damn value or purpose in the grand scheme of things. I mean, he didn’t say anything about it afterwards, but I know he damn sure was acting like he had hit the jackpot. Damn me! And damn him, for fucking me out of my damn mind!

  I glance over at Garrett’s naked body, shaking my head. What the fuck am I doing? I close my eyes. Try to make sense out of what transpired. But I can not. There’s no logical, rational explanation as to why I have this man still lying in my bed. And most, importantly, there’s no sensible reason as to why my pussy still feels sopping wet.

  I snap up in bed again.

  Realization hits me like a lightning bolt.

  “Oh my God!” I scream, feeling between my legs. I am struck by panic. Feel myself starting to hyperventilate. “GARRETT!” I yell, frantically shaking him.

  He stirs, but does not open his eyes. He moans something inaudible.

  I flip on the lamp.

  I shake him again. “Garrett!”

  “Yeah,” he mumbles, finally turning towards me, opening his eyes. He squints, trying to adjust to the brightness of the light. It is on him like a spotlight. “What’s the matter?”

  “You fucked me without a condom!” I shriek. “And you fucking came in me.”

  He stretches, and yawns. Scratches the side of his head, then sits up in bed. He is seemingly unfazed by what I’ve said. “I think we both got caught up in the moment,” he offers, nonchalantly.

  I jump out of bed, pacing the floor. “Caught up? Caught up? Are you fucking serious? What were you thinking? I never, ever, fuck without a condom. How could you?”

  “It’s not like you tried to stop me,” he snaps back, sitting up with his back up against the headboard. He watches me pace the room like a wounded lioness. “You are just as much at fault, and just as much responsible as I am.”

  In my head, I know what he says is true. I am totally responsible for what I allow to happen. I could have stopped him. But, I didn’t. I allowed myself to get caught up in the heat of the moment. Still, I want to blame him. Want to lash out at him. This kind of shit never happens to me.

  He blinks, the weight of his actions—our actions—finally hitting him. “Oh, shit. You don’t have anything, do you?”

  I stop in my tracks. In that moment, flashbacks of the first time I really took notice of my pussy runs through my head. I was twelve, sitting on the toilet with my legs spread open, and a mirror in my hand staring at it. It was then that flashes of those moments down in the basement watching my brother and his girlfriend took on a new meaning for me. Replaying their nasty deeds in my head caused an unexplainable yearning to sweep through me. And for the first time, I touched (I mean really touched) and rubbed my pussy, pulling open my thick, hairy lips until my insides got hot and wet, and started to tingle. I watched my finger slide in and out of my slit, wet and slick. I was so amazed and turned on by how it wrapped around my finger that I started to shake. I pressed on my clit, and almost fell off the toilet when a rush of sensations swept through me. In that one moment, I had experienced the joy of masturbation. After that, I spent every day after school locked in the bathroom, exploring new things about the furry little thing between my legs.

  Then I think back on my first taste of six, thick inches of cut Indian dick. And let me tell you. Once I got past the smell of curry seeping out of his pores while he sweated, it wasn’t a bad fuck. Actually, he was exceptionally long-winded, and a real greedy fuck. Exactly how I like ’em. He’d bust one nut, change the condom and be ready for more. And he ate pussy which got him extra bonus points. Besides, at five-eleven, one hundred ninety pounds, he was fine as hell with a rich, deep, cocoa-brown complexion, smooth skin, big, brown doe-like eyes with amazingly long lashes, and a beautiful set of teeth. And I kept fucking him, serving him this good American grade-A pussy for about two months, until he propositioned me to marry his ass for five thousand dollars so he could obtain his citizenship, then turn around and send for his family. Wrong answer!

  I shake the thought, replacing it with a smorgasbord of cum-spurting dick, a kaleidoscope of images of men I have randomly fucked and sucked; assorted faces of men who have sucked and fucked and licked me every which way imaginable. I have had my pussy juices smeared all over so many faces, and wrapped around so many cocks, that I’ve lost count.

  “It’s a little too late to be asking that, don’t you think?” I ask, indignantly. “But, no, I don’t have anything.” The nerve of him! “I get checked out every three months. Do you have something?”

  I hold my breath. Wait for his response.

  He frowns, pausing. And this causes a wave of concern to wash over me, pulling me under and tossing me around. I wasn’t only worried about contracting HIV or AIDS, the Herpes virus was also rampant, as well as venereal warts. And I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of any of them.

  I shift my weight from one foot to the other, waiting.

  “Well?” I impatiently push, slicing into the deafening silence that has entered the room.

  “Hell no!” he finally snaps. “I get regular physicals, and blood work done. Hell, you’ve seen the results for yourself.”

  I silently exhale, relieved. He was right. I have seen his recent tests results, and he has seen mine. However, it was still a question that needed to be asked. And it is still a worry, one that doesn’t simply go away on words alone. You are only as good as your last test result as far as I’m concerned. And even then, there are no guarantees. I know I fuck a lot, so I have to always be extra-careful not to contract something.

  “So, what else you need to be worried about?” he asks, furrowing his brows. “You’re on the pill, right?”

  I stare at him, searching my mind for when I last took my birth control pills. Anytime I fuck, it’s always on my terms. Everything is always planned, always prearranged. I don’t do impromptu fucking. Don’t ever risk not having a supply of condoms readily available. And I am always armed and ready with my own contraception. And when I haven’t gotten my prescription filled, I only suck dick, or get fucked in the ass. Never, ever, do I—or have I—let a man stick his dick in my pussy, condom or not, without taking my pill. But, in a blink of an eye, Garrett has come and disrupted all that. And I have allowed him. I count in my head. One, two, three…Oh my God!

  “I haven’t taken them in three days,” I tell him.

  He stares at me, takes in my nude body. “C’mon back to bed,” he says, seemingly unbothered by what I’ve said as he pats the empty space beside him. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. Next time we’ll be more careful.”

  Next time? I repeat in my head. Nigga, there will be no m
other-fucking next time. I glance over at the clock. It’s now four-thirty in the morning. I have had enough of him for one night. Hell, for many nights. He has fucked out his welcome as far as I am concerned. Though our sexual tryst was consensual, for some reason I feel violated. “Garrett, get up and get out.”

  He stares at me, shaking his head. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything. He quietly gets up, and heads to the bathroom. I watch him as he makes his way across the room. His magnificent dick, swinging like a pendulum, glows in the aftermath of hot sweaty sex. He takes a piss. A long, angry stream hits the water, followed by a loud flush, then the sound of running water.

  “You’re a real piece of work,” he says, walking out of the bedroom. I follow behind him. He moves so fast down the steps I almost think he jumps down them to get to the bottom of the staircase. He picks up his clothes. I watch him slip into his pants, glance at his beautiful dick. He doesn’t bother with putting on his boxers. He shoves them in his back pocket, then slips his pullover over his head. “Whatever it is you’re looking for I hope you find it before it’s too late. ’Cause I’d really hate to find you ten years from now still chasing something you may not ever find.”

  “Then I guess I’ll keep looking,” I huff.

  “Yeah, you do that,” he says, glaring at me. I think I see a hint of pity burning in his eyes. But I do not entertain it. There is nothing pitiful about me wanting to fulfill my sexual desires. As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing shameful in my actions. And I offer no excuses, or apologies. He opens the door, preparing to walk out, then abruptly stops and turns to face me. “And the fucked up thing is I don’t even think you know what the hell you want.”

  I say nothing. Just watch him as he walks out, slamming the door behind him. He leaves me standing in the middle of my living room, shaking my head. Good riddance! I think, cutting out the lights, then making my way back up the stairs. Just like the rest of ’em, he’ll be missing this good pussy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Fuck, I’m so damn horny! I know, I know, after that mess with Garrett a week ago, dick should be the last thing on my mind. But it is, damn it! I want a man inside of me, feeling my walls wrap around his dick as I pull him deep into my pussy. Then I want my wet pussy in his face while I’m sucking his dick, grinding my hole down on his mouth while he has a finger in my tight ass. That’s what I want tonight.

  I’m telling you, if I were into animals, I could fuck a horse right about now. I swear it’s nights like this that having my own man would come in handy. But, then I come to my senses, realizing how much work that would require and get sick to my stomach thinking about having one man crowding my space all the damn time. Ugh! Oh, well, I think, scrolling through my cell . Can’t miss what you don’t have. But you can damn sure use what you got, to get what you need, so let me see who I can call. Hmmm…Got dick?

  I decide to call Ian.

  But just as I am getting ready to dial his number, my phone rings. It’s an 860 area code, a number I’m not familiar with. But I answer anyway. “Hello?”

  “Hello, can I speak to Janaye?”

  “Speaking,” I say. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Q…we met a while back at Studio 9.”

  I smile. Lady Luck and the Fuck Gods must be smiling down on me tonight, I think. “Oh, so you finally got around to calling me; took you long enough.”

  “I couldn’t remember the last two numbers,” he offers. “I’ve been trying to get at you for a minute, ma. I tried every combination of numbers until I got you.”

  “Well, tonight’s your lucky night.”

  “Yo, that’s wassup. How ’bout I come through and scoop you up; you know, take you out to dinner and a movie?”

  Dinner and a movie? I think, shaking my head. Awwww, how cute! I can’t see myself sitting up in a restaurant with this young boy. But, I can definitely see him between my legs rocking this pussy. Of course, I’m not going to waste time telling him my no-dating rule. I glance at my watch. 7:18 p.m.

  “How about you come fuck me instead,” I say.

  I can see him cheesing through the phone. “No doubt, baby. Where you rest at?” I give him the address. “Bet, give me forty-five minutes, and I’m there. You want anything?”

  “Yeah,” I moan into the phone, “that big dick ramming in and out of my ass.”

  “Ah, shit. That’s what it is. You got my dick hard as hell.”

  “Just make sure it stays hard,” I playfully warn. “I don’t wanna have to throw your young ass out.”

  “Listen, baby girl, check this out. I might be young, but I ain’t no chump when it comes to pussy. I’ve been fucking since I was twelve. And the one thing I can do is fuck all night.”

  “That’s what your mouth says,” I tease. “Now let’s see if you can follow through.”

  “Well, I tell you what. I hope you can handle all this young dick ’cause I’m ’bout to come through and put it on you.”

  I laugh. “Baby, I was born to take dick. So, bring it on.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I drop my man off at his spot.”

  We hang up. I close my eyes, stretch my neck back and inhale, then exhale. “Bitch, I can’t believe you are really going to fuck that boy; he’s barely legal,” I say out loud.

  And, your point? I say in my head as I walk into my bathroom. I turn on the shower, take off my clothes, then step in. The nigga’s talking like he knows how to put the work in. So, hell yeah, I’m going to let him clock in. It’s not like his ass is under eighteen. Shit, he’s almost grown. Besides, anyone over the age of eighteen is fair game in my book.

  I step into the shower, grab my Dial Tropical Escape body wash and lather up my body. When I am done, I rinse off, then remove the shower head, place it between my legs and allow the pulsating stream of water to beat against my clit and pussy lips, spreading them open and letting the warmth of the water tease me. I press the shower head up against my hole and wind my hips. I grind my pussy into the water. Yeah, I’m gonna ride the shit out of that young nigga. Wet that dick up all night. A moan escapes me as I feel the budding of an orgasm. I press down on my clit, then cum in a thunderous roar.

  An hour-and-a-half later, I open the door, wearing a black silk robe and a pair of red stilettos, along with a scowl. The nigga’s late, and I’m not pleased. He waltzes his fine-ass in like he’s got it like that. I take a deep breath. Think to tell him to go the fuck back where he came from for being so damn late. But the minute he grins and licks his lips, I quickly exhale and decide against it.

  “Rule number one,” I say, shutting the door behind him. “Be on time, or be turned away.”

  “Go ’head with that dumb shit, baby,” he says, pulling me into him. Ooh, he’s an aggressive motherfucker.

  He’s much taller than I thought. I look up at him, raising my brow. “‘Go ’head’ nothing. You don’t show up here late and then be nonchalant about it. I don’t know how the chicks you fuck with get down, but you don’t have it like that with me.”

  “Yeah, but I will,” he says in a cocky tone, grabbing my ass. “Damn, you got a soft ass.”

  I don’t respond. Instead, I sniff. Sniff again. This nigga’s been smoking weed. He attempts to kiss me on the lips, but I yank my head back, frowning.

  “You been smoking?” I ask, stepping out of his embrace.

  “Yeah, why? You got a problem with that?”

  “Yeah, I do. I don’t smoke. And the smell is offensive, so in the future—if you wanna get invited back, don’t do it.”

  “Oh, aiight. You got that, ma. Anything else?”

  “Rule number two—” he grabs me by the arm and pulls me into him again.

  “Listen, I’m here to fuck, not get lectured on your house rules. So what’s good, we fucking or not?”

  Oh no this little young nigga didn’t, I think, shut me down in my own house. My pussy jumps. “We fucking,” I say, sheepishly, taking him by the hand and leading him up the stairs.

 
; “That’s what it is,” he replies, slapping me on the ass, then palming it. “Yeah, you got a nice, fat ass. All that shit you been talkin’ got me wantin’ to beat somethin’ up.”

  “I hope you know how to deliver.”

  “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

  “We shall see,” I say, grinning.

  And the minute we step into my bedroom, I push his young ass down onto the bed. He leans up on his forearms. “Don’t get up,” I say in a sultry whisper as I untie my robe, then let it fall off my shoulders and drop to the floor. I am standing in front of him naked.

  “Gotdamn, you got a banging body,” he says, licking his lips and pulling at his crotch.

  I walk up to him, drop down between his legs, then reach up and unbuckle his belt. I unsnap the button to his jeans, then use my teeth to unzip his pants. He lifts up his hips and allows me to pull his jeans down around his ankles. He kicks off his unlaced Timbs and pulls off his shirt as I remove his pants from around his ankles and toss them over in the corner. He attempts to remove his black Polo boxers to release his already hard dick. Its weight is pressing up against the fabric of his underwear. But I grab his hands and stop him.

  “Leave ’em on,” I say, burying my face in the center of his crotch. I open my mouth and glide it along the length of his dick over his cotton boxers, wetting them up with my spit. I find the head with my tongue, then suck it over the fabric. His dick is deliciously thick. And its head is large and bulbous. I greedily suck on it.

  “Yeah, you want that big dick, don’t you?” he asks in a deep moan. I say nothing, just continue wetting up his underwear. “Ah, shit.”

  My pussy begins to tingle and my clit starts to fill with excitement. Unfortunately, I can still smell the weed, and it’s starting to make me sick. I know I’m not putting him out because I want to fuck him all night and taste my cunt juice on his lips and tongue. Yes, I plan on breaking my no-kissing house rule. So what!