Gettin' Buck Wild: Sex Chronicles II

  After I issued him all his prison garments and such, I told him to take a hike. I was hot, bitchy, and sexually frustrated because the man I’d been shacking up with for over a year went on tour with his band. It would have been unfair for me to ask him to stay. He was talented on the real. Plus, I didn’t love him like that, so I said cool. I had loved men in my past but had never been in love. That is, until Dalton.

  He was the next one in line, and when I saw him, my first instinct was to yank him over the countertop and tongue his ass down. I wanted to suck his dick and use his cum as a facial and then a meal. I wanted him to fuck me like a computer with enough RAM to boost my ass up to the moon and back. But his ass was Prisoner #456912, so I figured I was shit out of luck.

  Things started looking up when I found out he was assigned to my cell block, though. I was on the day shift when he first came in. I used to spend my days watching him from my post on the top of the fence while he lifted weights, played basketball, and hung out in the yard. Watching him bench-press all that weight made my pussy wet. I wanted him to pick my ass up like that and fuck me up against a wall in midair.

  My paragon of manhood is so refined, he is a defiance against nature. Dalton is six-nine, and you know what they say about tall men; they go deep. He is dark-skinned with eyes that look like black pearls in the sunlight and has enough muscles to lend a dozen men some and still be built like hell.

  I used to masturbate so long imagining him fucking me that I would almost work myself into dehydration. I lost all interest in the men who were calling to ask me out, preferring to play with myself thinking about a convicted felon.

  There was one major snag. Since I was on the day shift, I could never get his ass alone. He and I had brief conversations, but not the kind love affairs are made of. So one day I marched into my supervisor’s office and put in a request to work the night shift, deciding that one must make sacrifices in the name of love. After a month, my request was approved, and I started working graveyard duty.

  That was only the beginning, though, because I still had to figure out a way to get at the dick. All prisoners are supposed to be on lockdown at night, so it was going to be a bit tricky. But there are not as many guards on duty at night, and there is less activity to monitor.

  There are two other guards, Ryan Sanders and Cameron Mays, who work cell block three at night along with me. Both are moderately cute, but I have no interest in them. The only way my plan would work is if I cut some sort of deal with them. I would do something for them, and they would do something for me, like turn the other way when I was doing my thing with my baby.

  The prison system is more corrupt than politics. All sorts of shit goes on behind bars. Guards sneak in everything from cigarettes to girlie mags to drugs, as long as they are getting paid. One night I approached Ryan and Cameron and told them straight up how I was feenin’ for Dalton’s fine ass. I asked them what it would take for it to happen.

  If you know anything about men, you can probably guess what they wanted. Yeah, they took turns fucking the shit out of me in a broom closet while the other one kept an eye out. After that, I had a clear path to the man of my wet dreams.

  The one good thing about cell block three is each prisoner has an individual cell, a rarity in the system today. It had to be that way since the cells were barely big enough to fit one man in them.

  The night after I fucked Ryan and Cameron, I made my move. I waited until about 2 A.M., ensuring most of the prisoners would be in the deep stages of REM. Then I walked the landing, got to his cell, and motioned for Cameron to release the electrical door of his cell.

  He was sleeping so peacefully when I entered his cell that I hesitated to even wake him, but I thought it over and decided I wanted the dick more than I wanted him to get his sleep. I used my nightstick and tapped him on the leg; he immediately jumped up. You learn to react fast in prison. For all he knew, I may have been some male prisoner who had paid off a guard to let him in to snatch some ass. That type of shit is common, but highly unlikely in Dalton’s case ’cause he is so fucking big.

  He was about to start swinging when he realized it was just little ole me. He knew the deal without me having to spell it out for him. In fact, he never even asked my first name until after we got done fucking the first time. He just knew me as Officer Johnson.

  I quickly took off my uniform shirt. He sat back down on the bed and started helping me with the buttons. Both of us had been checking the other out for a long time, and pussy is scarce in prison, so you know he was all about it. We managed to get my shirt off with mutual effort, and he pulled my bra straps down and started nursing on them bad boys; shit felt good, too.

  I whispered, “That’s what I’m talking about! I have been saving all this pussy for you!”

  That made him even hotter, and he started unzipping my uniform pants while he still sucked “his” tits. Uh-huh, I said “his” tits. These are Dalton’s tits, this is Dalton’s pussy, and this is Dalton’s ass; simple as that.

  He got my pants off with the speed of light and then threw me down on the iron bed. He reached for something off the bookshelf over his bed, and for a second, I thought he might be violent, and I was about to get something I hadn’t bargained for.

  Instead, his hand returned with a box of cough drops. I was lost, but not for long, ’cause he popped one in his mouth, pushed my legs open—putting one over each shoulder—and started eating me out with the cough drop in his mouth. I don’t know how to describe the sensation, but if you’ve never had your pussy eaten by a man sucking on a medicated cough drop, know that it is a must.

  Then he pushed my legs back farther so he could get at my ass and started eating it out also. I didn’t think I would have a hard time getting some from him, but dayum, brotha-man was ready to tear some ass up.

  I felt like I was doing a public service or something. Like the movie stars back in the day that were flown in by helicopter to battleships in order to keep up the morale of the men who were away from their family and friends for an extended period of time. Well, Dalton was away from his normal day-to-day situation too, so I was just trying to keep him happy.

  I told him we had to hurry up because I knew Ryan and Cameron would be worrying that we would all get caught. I started working at his pants to get them off. I knew any man six-nine had to be fucking hung, and I was oh so right. They say the biggest functional dick on record is eleven inches, and I am ready to debate that shit, ’cause Dalton is packing more than that. His dang-a-lang is at least a foot, probably bigger. I know, I’ve had it all the way up in my stomach too many times to mention.

  It is mad thick, too. I nicknamed his dick “Shocker” because it can paralyze a pussy.

  When he whipped it out that first time, I wanted to run for the border. I started whispering again, “I can’t handle any shit that big!”

  He spoke for the first time. “You in here now; you taking all this!”

  With that, he rammed it in me, and I was frozen for a good two–three minutes. It was like all of a sudden having a contraction when you never even knew you were pregnant. I regained my composure and started grinding my hips upward onto his dick; not much, but I didn’t want to give the impression I am one of those women who just lies there. Never that!

  Dalton was tearing “his” pussy up when I heard some footsteps approaching the cell. I tried to push him off me, but he was too heavy and big for me to move him an inch. I was petrified, assuming one of the night supervisors must have somehow caught on to the shit and was about to embarrass my ass big-time. Not to mention getting fired.

  Dalton didn’t give a shit who was coming, since his only concern was cumming his dayum self. He was knocking the bottom out my pussy when I heard Ryan, who was standing outside the cell door with his back to us, whisper, “Come on, dammit! This is taking too fucking long!”

  Dalton was surprised to see that at least one other guard was in on it and probably flattered I would go through so much effort to get
some of his “stuff.” In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would say the idea of that made him cum more so than my pussy. He came so hard, it felt like he shot a gallon of sperm up inside me.

  Ryan raised his voice a little when he recognized the noise a man makes when he blows. “Okay, his bitch ass came. Let’s go, NOW!”

  When he said “NOW” so loud, I started beating on Dalton’s shoulders for him to get off before he fell asleep inside me. I hate when men do that foolishness.

  He got up, and I started grabbing at my clothes, throwing them on as fast as I could. That’s when he asked my first name, and I told him it was Phoebe. I told him, “I’ll be coming for that dick again!”

  He simply replied, “No problem!”

  That was how the love affair of Dalton and Phoebe began. Now, over a year later, with his baby inside me, the quick fuck we had the first time has turned into pure love. We go at each other every chance we get. I no longer fuck other guards to get at him because he is still running his drug business from the inside, and he gives me cash to pay them off.

  When he gets out, his ass is all mine, and my ass is already all his. Like I said, he may not be a superhero, but he is dayum sure a superman.

  The Dick You Down Crew

  * * *

  They were known as the Dick You Down Crew. Women across the nation spoke of them in whispers and sometimes even in code. Women who had actually experienced them sometimes resorted to speaking about them in tongues. There were three of them: the Wishmaster, the Lickmaster, and the Dickmaster. The Wishmaster was the one who granted your every wish and helped you to live out your every fantasy. The Lickmaster was just that: a master at licking you wherever and whenever it pleased you. The Dickmaster was, aw Lawd, what can I say? He was the master of pleasure, pure and simple.

  I saved up for eleven months to acquire their services. Once I hit twenty-nine, it became painfully clear that the man of my dreams was not going to come along. The thought of turning thirty without ever really having an earth-shattering orgasm was too much to bear. So I saved and I saved until I had accumulated the necessary five thousand to hire them for the evening. I know five grand is extravagant, but after all I had heard, I felt it was well worth the investment.

  I made the initial contact through their Web site, www.dickyou downcrew.com, and received an instant reply from an auto responder. It informed me that my inquiry had been received and that someone would contact me within forty-eight hours. I actually fabricated half the information on the form I was required to fill out. I don’t trust the Internet, no matter how secure they claim it to be. I am one of those sisters who prints out the mail-order form instead of ordering online at those e-commerce sites. Sure, I can get things faster if I do the real-time credit-card processing, but I prefer to wait the extra time and play it safe.

  I lied about my name. I said it was Chiquita Locksley instead of Laura Connelly—same initials but reversed. I used my free e-mail address instead of my regular one with my real name attached to the end of every message. I had to put down a phone number, so I put in my cell phone. If things got out of hand, changing it was nothing but a thing because less than a dozen people had the number in the first place. Besides, my live-in boyfriend would have had a fit if someone called me from dickyoudowncrew.com and left a message on the voice mail.

  I know. I know. I said that the man of my dreams had not come along, and he hadn’t. That didn’t mean I was determined to go without sex altogether. Puleeze, that was not even an option. I was living with Scott, and most of my girlfriends were crazy jealous—but if they only knew. Sure, Scott was fine, brilliant, successful, and drove a seriously fly car. The convertible Jaguar had always been in my top three for the bomb-ass-car-of-all-time award. That’s how he managed to pull me. I was walking down the street during rush hour, and he almost ran my ass over in the crosswalk. My first instinct was to cuss his ass out, but when he got out of the car and I got a look at him, the sun started shining even though it was forty degrees and dismal a moment before.

  He was fine. True, that. Six-one, tight body, deep chocolate skin, and a smile that could light up a room. Little did I know that he was seriously lacking in the sex department. The first time we threw down, I wasn’t even sure that his dick was in until he started yelling, “I’m cumming!” I wondered how the hell he could be cumming when I hadn’t even begun to get my freak on.

  It must seem strange that I ended up living with him, huh? Well, to be quite honest, Scott was good at some things, like sucking on my breasts—which happened to be one of the greatest turn-ons to me—and sucking on my toes. Besides, I adored his mother and the rest of his family. His sister and I had become the best of friends over the three years we had been together. Yet and still, I needed something extra in my life. I needed to be fucked six ways from Sunday.

  I only made thirty grand a year at my administrative job, but I managed to come up with the five thousand I needed. I asked Scott to cover all the bills for a few months, and he happily obliged. I think it made him feel more like a man, having a woman dependent on him. I realize my methods were shady, but hey, I needed the money before I lost my damn mind for real.

  For the next two days, I patiently waited for a phone call. One time my battery went dead on my shitty-ass cell phone. Why do they lie and say that a battery has a long life when they know it sure as hell doesn’t? As soon as I had it up and running again, I checked for voice mail messages, and there was a message from this dude named Joe. I didn’t feel like being bothered with his ass.

  Joe had been my first “creeping” experience during my lackluster relationship with Scott. He talked big game but turned out to be just that; all mouth and no action. I got naked, and he acted like a scared bitch. For a second, I thought the fool might have been a thirty-three-year-old virgin, but he got his act together and did a little sumptin’ sumptin’. Still wasn’t worth my time, effort, or ribbed condom, though.

  I was juggling three paper grocery bags and my briefcase up the stairs to our second-floor apartment when my cell phone rang, exactly forty-eight hours after I had hit the submit button on dickyoudowncrew.com. In my haste to catch the call, I dropped one bag and heard the carton of eggs splatter on the outdoor carpet.

  “Hello,” I breathed heavily into the phone in disgust.

  “Is this Chiquita Locksley?”

  What the hell was this? There was a woman on the other end of the line. Surely, she couldn’t be the Wishmaster or Lickmaster, and she damn sure couldn’t be the Dickmaster unless she was working with a strap-on.

  “Who is this?” I demanded to know.

  “This is Robin.”

  “Robin. Hmm, I don’t think I know a Robin.”

  Looking back, I don’t know why I was frontin’. The odds of some sister ringing my damn cell phone, having the wrong number, and happening to ask for my recently created alter ego were slim to none.

  “Once again, is this Chiquita Locksley?” she asked in a pleasant enough voice. “Did you fill out an information request form on dickyoudowncrew.com?”

  “Umm, yes I did.” I put the bags down and put my key in the lock, making sure to avoid stepping in the egg yolks that were all over the place. I hesitated for a moment and peeked over the balcony to make sure Scott’s Jaguar wasn’t in his assigned space. I didn’t want to go inside if he was home, because he was the nosiest brother on the planet. “I filled out the form, and I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

  “Sorry for the delay, but we get a ton of requests, and sometimes the staff gets a bit overwhelmed.”

  I managed to get myself and the groceries in the house, opting to clean up the mess in front of the door later.

  “Hmm, you have that many women asking to get put on, huh?” I asked, wondering if it was such a good idea after all. I mean, damn! How many sisters had these dudes knocked off?

  The sister on the other end of the line started laughing. “Well, the men are rather popular. It seems that the word has really gotte
n out lately.”

  “So, how much is it?” I already knew the price but decided to ask anyway, in case they were running some specials. In fact, I asked, “Are you running any specials?”

  She laughed again. “No, sorry. We just have the flat rate of five thousand a night.”

  “What exactly constitutes a night, and what services are performed for the five thousand?”

  I could’ve sworn I heard a lip smack on the other end of the line. No, she wasn’t tripping on me all of a sudden. We were talking about five thousand damn dollars.

  “Didn’t you read the description of services on the Web site?”

  “Yes, I did but it didn’t define ‘night’ to my satisfaction. Are we talking a certain amount of hours, sunset to sunrise, or what?”

  “You get eight hours. Additional hours are available upon request, but there is a fee.”

  “And how much are the extra hours?”

  “Five hundred an hour.”

  “Damn!” I exclaimed into the handset.

  “Is there a problem, Chiquita?”

  “No, no problem.” I collapsed onto the sofa, wondering if I was doing the right thing. After all, five grand could stretch a long way at my favorite mall. Fuck it, I was going for it. “So, when can I get an appointment?”

  “Hmm, let me check.”

  There was a brief silence, and I could hear paper shuffling on her end.