We hear a horn blow from a passing car and realize we must be more visible than we thought. I can feel your dick spread my pussy lips apart, switching the imaginary sign on my clitoral door from vacant to occupied. You put it all in and then pick me up and carry me deeper into the trees. The rain is still coming down. Cars and trucks fly by even faster on the interstate as the work traffic begins to die down for the evening.
You place my back up against a tree and begin to fuck the hell out of me just the way I like it. I reach above my head and grab onto a tree branch to get more leverage so I can ride your dick better, and ride it I do. You push my breasts together and suckle on both of my nipples in unison. I shake the tree branch so hard when you cum inside me that the water on the leaves splashes down on us like a high-pressure showerhead.
We are headed back to the car, about to get in and head home, when a state trooper pulls onto the access road. We scramble to fix our clothes real quick while he gets out of his cruiser. As I explain to him why we are there, making up a lie and telling him I am pregnant and had to pull over because I was nauseous, you kick a pile of leaves around in an effort to bury my panties, which are exposed on the ground.
He asks us for identification along with our car registration and then lets us go when everything checks out. He informs us that the access roads are for official vehicles only, such as police, fire trucks, ambulances, and such. He releases us with a warning. He probably suspects the real deal, but can’t prove it since he didn’t catch us in the act.
We get in the car and head home, stopping by a Chinese carryout on the way in. It is too late to cook dinner. After dinner, we take a long, hot shower together and make love for the rest of the night in our waterbed. The sounds of the water in the bed as you work my pussy over reminds me of the raindrops. I revel in the fact that you have made yet another one of my fantasies come true.
The Godfather
Out of all the men in the world, Norman was the last one I needed to get freaky with. He was the best man at my wedding to Tyler, and he is the godfather of our two kids. However, he is also too damn sexy for words.
In a way, I feel guilty about what I did, and in a way I don’t. Tyler has been ignoring me a lot these past six months or so. I have come to the conclusion his behavior is attributed to one of two things. Either he doesn’t feel as strongly about me as he did when we took our wedding vows, or he is fucking around his damn self. I tend to think it is a lack of feelings, because if he were cheating, he would be accusing me of cheating also. That’s how men do it. They accuse you of doing the same shit they are in an effort to throw you off the track.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband. I’m not even going to try to fake the funk about that. I fell in love with Tyler the first time I laid eyes on him, even though I had a slight concussion. I met Tyler when he hit me over the head with a hard-ass baseball at a college game. I was a cheerleader, and he was playing first base. I don’t know what the hell happened. The game was going smoothly, and we were winning 4—1. Next thing I knew, I saw the damn thing headed toward me, and before I could duck, I was ass out.
When I woke up, he was looking me dead in the eyes with a look of concern all over his face. “Are you okay?”
“Hell, no, I’m not okay! You hit me with a damn baseball!”
That was it! The rest is history. We started dating, started fucking, and ended up falling so madly in love that one day we went to the justice of the peace and got married. Norman, who has been Tyler’s best friend since kindergarten, was his best man, and Mavis, my ace boon coon, was my maid of honor. We got hitched and then went out and took a hell of a lot of tequila shots to celebrate.
In fact, our wedding night almost turned into a foursome until Tyler kicked Norman and Mavis out of our motel room. They’ve always denied it, but I bet the two of them went somewhere and sexed each other down. After they left, Tyler and I kept on hitting the tequila, but it became a bit more interesting.
We got butt-naked, and Tyler told me to lie flat on my back on the bed. Then he took the salt shaker, one of those cheap ones that comes in a set with pepper for about a buck at the grocery store, and got creative on my ass. He licked my left breast all over and then covered it with salt. Then he squeezed the juice from a lemon slice from the center of my breastbone all the way down to my fine pubic hair. He licked up some of the salt, took a shot of tequila and then lapped up the lemon juice, tracking it with his tongue until he reached the grand prize.
He would eat my pussy for a few moments and then do it all over again. It drove me crazy. By the time he finally fucked me, I had cum about six or seven times already. The sex between Tyler and me was always the bomb. Until recently, anyway.
Both Tyler and Norman are sexy in their own individual ways. Tyler is light-skinned with deep brown eyes. He’s five-foot-eleven and about 190 pounds. Norman’s about six-two, deep chocolate with light eyes and about 210 pounds. They’re both built like all hell, and to this day, they work out together three nights a week at the gym.
Fucking around with Norman was totally unintentional. I’m not going to try that old line and say he tripped and fell in. You wouldn’t believe that one anyway. But, on the real tip, I never meant to fuck him. I just wanted to help him through some rough times.
To make a long story short, Norman had been shacking up with this girl named Tracie, and it was all good between them. That is, until he picked up the phone one day and heard her making plans to bump coochies with another woman. When he confronted her and asked her was she gay, she took it to the bridge and replied, “Shit, I’ll be gay ’cause I’m happy as a faggot in dickland when a woman is eating my pussy!”
Needless to say, that threw him for a fucking loop, and he didn’t know how to deal with it, poor baby. He really cared for Tracie, and while it may not have been true love, his feelings were real, and he was extremely hurt. The hurt turned to devastation when she picked up less than a week after he caught her on the phone and moved in with her other lover.
Tyler wasn’t home the night Norman called to break the news that Tracie was gone. He had taken our two sons, Aaron and Courtney, to a college basketball game. Norman seemed so upset that I decided I better go over and check on him in person. On the way over there, getting sexed by him never crossed my mind.
Within five minutes after I got there, however, I knew my ass was in trouble. There was something different about Norman that night. He seemed so sensitive, so vulnerable, and so damn sexy. To me, nothing is sexier than a man expressing his true feelings, and that’s what Norman did that night. He laid it all on the line.
When he started talking about how he planned on asking Tracie to marry him and have his kid, we both started crying. He laid his head in my lap while I cradled him in my arms like a baby. I began to wipe away his tears with my fingertips, but he took my hand and started sucking on my fingers. I was too through. Damn shame he did that. He started to try to go for a nipple through my blouse, and I pushed his head off my lap, proclaiming, “I have to go!”
I jumped up from his leather sofa and headed toward the front door of his apartment. He was on my tail, literally. When I reached the door, unlocked it, and tried to open it, he pushed it back shut. He pressed me into the door, and I could feel his dick piercing the small of my back. It was hard, and it was very, very big. I know I should have insisted on leaving. In fact, I told him, “I should leave. This isn’t right.”
“No, this is very right.” He started sucking on my earlobe, drawing my hoop earring into his mouth along with the rest of it. When he stuck his thick, juicy tongue inside my ear canal, fucking was a done deal. He had found one of my spots. “Turn around, Janel.”
I turned around to face him, and before I made it all the way, he got down on his knees and started pulling my taupe gabardine skirt up over my thighs, exposing my off-white, thigh-high stockings with lace around the top and my off-white silk panties. All I could say at that point was, “Damn!”
He pul
led my panties down. I lifted up my legs, one at a time, so he could get them over my taupe pumps and completely off. He pushed my left leg up and placed it gently on his right shoulder and began to lick my pussy lips with his thick tongue. I was trembling all over, halfway because I felt guilty and halfway because I was feenin to see what was coming next.
I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Norman carried me back into his living room with my legs straddled around his waist. He sat me down in his leather armchair, spread my legs open, and placed one over each arm of the chair. He lifted my hips up, scooting them forward a little so that my pussy was on the edge of the chair. After that, boyfriend dug into his meal, and all I could keep repeating was, “Damn! Damn! Damn!”
I guess you’re wondering how I could let the godfather of my children suck on my pussy like that. Right? The answer is simple. It felt damn good. When he whipped his long, thick dick out, I didn’t fret about that either. I just put my lips to the shit and went to work on that bad boy. Tyler’s not hung like Norman, and I thought I was going to have problems taking it deep, but after a few moments of gagging and exerting much effort, I worked it like a master.
His dick was like a chocolate eclair. Chocolate on the outside and creamy on the inside. I contracted my cheek muscles around his dick, and all the blood rushed into it, causing the veins to bulge. I caught a good rhythm, and he started trembling, caressing the back of my neck with his fingertips and running his fingers through my hair. About fifteen minutes later, after almost developing lockjaw, he finally came. It was worth all the trouble because his cum was delectable.
I started taking my legs down, getting ready to get up and go home before Tyler and the boys beat me back. Norman stopped me. “No, wait, Janel. I’m not done with you yet.”
“This isn’t right, Norman.” I was putting my legs down while he was steady holding them open. “We can’t do this shit to Tyler.”
“Shit, we’ve already done it. No matter what happens from this point on, the dirty deed has already begun.” With my legs still spread out over the arms of the chair, he pushed my back onto the chair and started unbuttoning my blouse. “I’m a breast man.”
That was all he had to say. My breasts are another one of my spots. “Is that right?”
“Damn skippy!” He got my blouse all the way open and unfastened the clasp in the front of my bra. He started palming both my tits at the same time. I was a helpless victim, so I put my hands behind my head and enjoyed the ride.
Norman suckled on my nipples for a couple of minutes and then did some deep-throating of his own. He pressed them together and sucked on them both simultaneously. I was so mesmerized by the way he was giving my tits the once-over, I never even saw the dick coming until it parted the lips of my pussy and directed itself all the way in. Norman helped a little, but his dick had a mind of its own.
With my hips still hanging over the edge of the chair and legs spread-eagled, he grabbed my ankles and pushed them as far apart as possible so he could tear my little ass up. I had never been fucked like that before. My inner thighs were shaking more than they did both times I gave birth. Having his huge dick inside me was like having labor pains all over again.
Norman started fucking me so fast and hard, I could feel and hear his balls slamming up against my buttocks. I started screaming, literally, because I couldn’t handle the sex he was giving me. He had to let go of one of my ankles so he could cover my mouth before his neighbors called the police or alerted building security. That’s how much he made me lose it. I was a fucking maniac and started biting on his hand to muffle my own screams. He didn’t stop, nor did I want him to. He didn’t stop until I came about three times. Then, he exploded inside me like a Mack truck hitting a brick wall at 100 mph.
He lay there on top of me with his knees still on the floor and his dick pulsating inside me for a few more minutes before I whispered, “I have to go, Norman.”
He didn’t say another word while I got up and fixed my bra and blouse. I stopped near the front door to slip my panties back on, and as I headed out the front door, I looked back to see him sitting there in the armchair with his head buried in between his hands. For him, the guilt trip had already begun.
We have never mentioned it, nor do I plan to. I feel it’s for the best. Norman has yet to get in another serious relationship since Tracie, and I see the way he looks at me whenever he comes over. I’m just grateful Tyler hasn’t noticed it. As for me, I do have some guilt, but I just got caught up in the heat of the moment. With Tyler ignoring me half of the time, I look at it this way. If it had to be someone, I’m glad it was Norman.
Would I ever do it again? Absolutely not! Well, probably not. A girl has to have some scruples, you know?
The Barbershop
Enough was enough! I had tried everything imaginable to get the brotha’s attention short of hanging a Take Me, I’m Yours sign on my back. I first met Keanu when I took my little brother, Darwin, to the Cutting Edge Barbershop to get a fade one Saturday morning.
I sat there pretending to be enthralled in an issue of Sports Illustrated while all the men cackled on and on about this honie or that honie. Movie stars mostly who wouldn’t give any of them nuccas the time of day. I would gladly invest in a vibrator before giving it up to any of their busted asses.
This one snaggletooth brotha was sitting in the corner, waiting his turn and bragging about how he could turn Halle Berry out. I started to interject my two cents and tell his ass to get real. There he was in his plaid shorts, white sleeveless undershirt, black penny loafers, and white tube socks with red stripes, bragging and boasting about how he could fuck a sista so hard that she would beg for mercy. I started to tell him, “A sista will simply look at your ugly ass and beg for mercy.”
By the time Darwin finally got into a barber’s chair, I couldn’t take snaggletooth’s bama ass anymore, so I told him, “Negro, please! No one wants your skank ass!”
That did it! I had managed to be incognito up until then, hiding behind the pages of the magazine. Once I spoke some words, it was like every nucca in the place suddenly noticed there was pussy present. All of them except for Keanu. His fine ass didn’t even look my way. He was too busy shaping up this knucklehead who kept winking at me and doing that I-want-to-lick-the-lining-out-your-pussy motion with his tongue.
I don’t know whether the pygmy in Keanu’s chair drew my attention to him or the fact he didn’t so much as give me a sideways glance, but I knew right then and there I had to have it.
I’m not sure how many of you sistas can relate, but there are times when you see something you simply must have, and you know from jump that you will move heaven, earth, and any hoes lurking around out the way to get it. That’s how I felt when I first spotted Keanu.
About six-foot-two, café au lait, enough muscles to lend three other brothas some and still be the bomb-diggity, cinematic smile, neatly shaven, and bald as a baby’s ass. Not the kind of bald where the nucca’s head is shaped like a peanut or a gigantic, elephantine football, but the sexy kind of bald.
Before I could really get my erotic daydream going about his ass, Darwin’s head was cut and the barber who cut it was in my face, holding his hand out for his ten bucks. The one who cut Darwin’s hair, Randy, was not fine. In fact, his ass was not hitting on anything at all. His foul, au naturel breath made me want to shove a clove of garlic down his throat to improve the aroma.
When we walked by Keanu’s chair on the way out, I tried to give him the eye. You know, the eye that tells a man you want to give him a candlelight bubble bath and then lick his ass dry? He didn’t even glance my way. Now granted, I’m not the finest sista on the planet, but I was accustomed to getting mad play, and frankly, I was offended by the fact he didn’t even blink in my direction.
It was all good though, because by the time we walked the three blocks home, I knew Keanu’s ass was in for it. I was going to get that dick if I had to camp outside of that barbershop and kick tramps to the curb to
get to it.
The next day I waited for the shop to close. I was standing outside under a dim streetlight, with the hoochie dress of all hoochie dresses on, smiling and profiling for his benefit alone. He grinned at me and then walked in the other direction. I was about to follow him when this damn wino came up to me and offered to trade a half-empty bottle of Thunder-bird for a blow job. I missed my opportunity that night because I was too busy telling the drunken bastard to get the hell out of my face while Keanu was pulling out of the lot in his silver BMW Z3.
Okay, so maybe the all-out fuck-me-like-you-hate-me approach was a bit overkill. I decided to try the subtle approach next. I found out he attended Bethel Baptist Church and followed his ass there. I sat beside him in the pew, nonchalantly rubbed my thigh up against his, and even shared a hymnal with him while the congregation sang “Amazing Grace.” I thought I saw a glimmer of hope, but as soon as church service ended, he was ghost.
That’s when I began to wonder if my honie was funny, but I quickly decided even if he was a homie-sexual, I was going to bring his ass on back to the nana. He was mine, all mine. He just didn’t know it yet.
I masturbated day in and day out, thinking about Keanu. Something had to give. There are only two ways to deal with any type of frustration. You either have to accomplish your goal or give up on the idea completely. The same rules apply to sexual frustration. I was not about to give up, so . . .
One Tuesday night, I waited until he was in the shop alone. In fact, he had already locked up for the night. At first, I tapped on the door lightly, like a cat scratching to get in, which was not that far off base because my kitty was damn sure purring. When he didn’t answer the door, I banged the shit out of it until he raised the shade a little and peeked out.