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Zander
Damn, she’s got a fat-ass pussy! I was sitting at my desk at 10:15 a.m. with some morning wood that wouldn’t go away. Shit! This chick, Nadine, was making my blood boil. If I actually ever got my hands on her, she was getting the dick-down of the motherfucking century.
“Wes, you there?”
Aw hell, now she was bending over so I could view her pussy from the back. Umph! Umph! Umph! Wes Holmes pressed over some pussy? Never that, but … damn!
A tap came at the door. “Wes, you there?”
It never failed. Whenever I was locked away in my home office, trying to watch my morning virtual pussy, here Lisa would come.
“I’ll be right out, Lisa!” I yelled, though that wasn’t even necessary. As thin as our walls were in our crib, I could’ve whispered and she would’ve heard me. That’s why I always kept my speakers on mute. Lisa and I had enough damn drama without her knowing about my computer pastime.
Nadine was now sitting on her bed, playing in that fat pussy for me. She had her head thrown back and was holding her pussy open with one hand while digging herself out with the fingers of her other hand.
Yeah, pull all that juice out, baby! I licked my lips once … twice … three times. I wanted to taste all that, suck on that thick clit, and bury my nose in between her juicy pussy lips.
I desperately needed to jack off real quick and release my built-up nut but Lisa wasn’t about to leave me alone for another ten minutes and whatnot. She was excited about going to pick out a wedding cake.
I understood it was fucked up. Engaged to my college sweetheart, planning a big wedding because she insisted on one, and sweating Nadine’s pussy on the Internet all at the same time. It was never my intention but shit, reckless behavior rarely is intentional. I kept telling myself that it wasn’t doing any harm. It’s not like I could get to the pussy. Nadine lived in Jamaica and there wasn’t a chance in hell of me running into her ass in the dirty Bronx.
“Wes, the baker insisted that we be there by eleven. We need to go.”
I could hear the irritation in Lisa’s voice. I loved her and never wanted to hurt her but, truth be told, Lisa’s pussy couldn’t hold a candle to Nadine’s. Even though I got to fuck, suck, and lick all over Lisa’s pussy every night, Nadine’s was calling my name all the way from Negril. What was a horny Negro supposed to do?
“Give me two minutes, Lisa. I swear, I’m coming.”
Nadine was sucking her pussy juice off her fingers and I damn near could taste it through the computer screen. My eyes were as wide as saucers.
I wanted to tell her how I envisioned nailing her against the wall and pumping my dick into her from the back, but I couldn’t risk saying it out loud so I typed it.
BIGWES6969: Damn, you got a fat pussy. I wish I could take all that shit doggy-style.
Nadine must have heard a beep or something on her computer because she stopped playing with herself, licked her fingers again, and then typed back.
PHATNNEGRIL: Funny you should mention that. I’m coming to NYC next week for my job.
I damn near busted one right then and there. My dick got even harder as I scooted up closer to my desk. I took my dick out of my sweats and started working one hand up and down the shaft while I typed back with the other. Lisa was going to have to wait.
BIGWES6969: Damn, for real? When you going to be here? I’ve got 11 inches calling out your name.
PHATNNEGRIL: I know all about that horse between your legs. I’m coming to get it.
True enough, Nadine had seen my dick plenty of times. When Lisa was fast asleep, I’d be in my office jacking off on the cam and exploding all over the laptop screen. I couldn’t explain it but for some reason this chick had my nose wide open. Maybe it was the fact that she was out of range. A lot of my buddies were feeling the same shit; wanting to conquer some pussy that they couldn’t realistically get to.
It’s not that men are bad; it is the nature of the hunt. When we already have a woman that we used to think was the shit before we got her, then we want the next one. Let me try to explain. A man sees a Lamborghini Superleggera and says to himself, “Damn, I gotta have that sexy motherfucker!” He sacrifices and saves up to put a down payment on it, even if it takes years, and then he is beaming like a lighthouse when he pulls out of the lot. All eyes are on him as he cruises in his whip and every woman wants to fuck him because they think he has money. He gets so much pussy that he has to drink a gallon of water twice a day just to keep himself hydrated.
Fast forward a few months and the thrill is gone. He sees a Bugatti Veyron dip past him going 85 mph on the highway and all of a sudden, his Lambo might as well be a hooptie. He no longer feels like the man. So what does he do? He decides that he has to have a Bugatti and starts figuring out how much he can get for a trade-in. Or he desires to have them both; one to keep in the garage and the other to sport around in, depending on his mood of the day.
It’s the same way with women. Most men want a main chick or, like they say in pimponics, a bottom bitch. But we also want something in the garage to toy around with when the mood strikes us. And it is always, always about the hunt. When I was little, my mother made me read “A Sound of Thunder” by Ray Bradbury, a short story about men who always wanted to hunt the next big thing, so much so that they paid to time travel and go back in history to hunt dinosaurs. They had hunted, and killed, every modern animal in existence. They had to stay on a path and not disturb anything or it would fuck up the equilibrium of history. So they could only kill dinosaurs that were about to die anyway, from fallen trees or whatnot. One dude, Eckels, fucked up big-time and caused a snowball effect that changed the course of history upon their return.
I mention that to say that I realized good and damn well that making plans to fuck the snot out of Nadine when she came to New York could upset the equilibrium of my relationship with Lisa. As I sat there, whacking off, common sense told me that holding on to the Lamborghini that I had sacrificed so much for was the right thing to do. But glancing at the screen, Nadine had gone back to playing in her fat pussy … that damn Bugatti.
I could feel my cum building up, like a balloon expanding in a wooden box, and Lisa was tapping lightly on the door again.
“I’m coming!” I yelled out, telling the damn truth. I was coming, all right.
