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“Probably the same thing you did,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “I told her we hadn’t really talked about it. I mean she already knows we don’t do anything without discussing it with each other, first.”
“I told her practically the same thing,” Paris mentions.
“I went down to the salon the other day to see Pasha,” Persia says, pouring another drink. “But she wasn’t in. Ghetto-ass Felecia was there, though, wearing this real cute blunt-cut, burgundy wig.”
“Popping her gum as usual, right?” Paris asks, reaching for the bottle, then filling her goblet to the rim. Felecia is also a cousin of ours.
My BlackBerry pings, letting me know I have a new
text message. I pick it up off the coffee table, glancing at the screen. It’s a text message from Irwin, six-three, two-hundred pounds of milk chocolate man meat with an extra-thick, curved, eight-inch dick that hits every angle of the pussy. He hits the spot every time.
I grin, reading his text message. “Guess who hit me up wanting to know if he can come through for a little role-playing?” I ask, glancing up from the screen. I don’t wait for them to ask. “Irwin.”
“Do tell,” Paris states, walking back over to the sofa and plopping down. “Oooh, he has some good dick, too.”
“What kind of role-play does he have in mind this time?” Persia wants to know.
“He wants us to pretend we’re strippers so he can make it rain on us.”
“And then what?”
“And then he wants to fuck the shit out of all three of us.”
“Well, shit. Tell him to bring his ass on,” Persia says, spreading her legs. “Let that nigga know we got all the pussy he needs to make it rain.”
I laugh, texting him back what she said. A minute later, he texts back: AND I HAVE ALL THE DICK Y’ALL NEED. LET’S MAKE IT HAPPEN. I’LL BE IN TOWN 1ST WEEK IN MAY.
I tell them what he says, texting him back to let him know we’ll be more than happy to make it happen. I toss my phone up on the sofa. “So what we gonna do about Pasha’s wedding? Y’all want to go, or send her a gift instead?”
“It doesn’t really matter to me,” Paris says, waving her hand dismissively. “But it would be nice to see all the family together.”
I agree, nodding. “True. Mom says Aunt Harriett is always asking about us.”
Paris shakes her head, laughing. “Yeah, I know. Probably so she can try to get us up in church with her so the pastor can lay hands on us. I can hear her now, telling the congregation that she has three heathen nieces in need of prayer.”
“Oh, please,” Persia says, sucking her teeth. “The only one she needs to get hands laid on is Pasha’s ass. I don’t care what anyone says, Pasha got some shit with her, too. Okay? Hell, she’s marrying a damn drug dealer, for God’s sake.” She pauses, pursing her lips. “You know. We need to call Felecia and invite her out for dinner so we can pump her gossiping-ass up with drinks, then get her to spill the dirt. You know she always has her nosey-ass posted up on Facebook and BlackPlanet, so I know she knows something.”
I laugh. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” I reach for my phone. “I’m gonna text her right now.”
“Tell her we can either meet up for drinks and dinner, or she can come here.”
“No, tell her to come here,” Paris suggests. “That way we can talk more freely.”
Persia agrees. “Good point.” She pours herself another drink. The three of us get lost in Eric Roberson’s vibe the minute his song “Dealing” starts playing. I lay my head back and close my eyes. I’m not sure where Persia and Paris mentally slip off to, but I imagine candles lit and my pussy being eaten.
Pain
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Come kiss my pussy,” I say in a throaty whisper, spreading open my legs. From soft gentle kisses to deep, tongue-probing French-kissing, I love the feel of a man’s tongue all up on it and in it. Damon walks over to me, kneels down between my legs and does what he is told, using his mouth and tongue to stimulate all the sensitive areas of my pussy and clit, circling his tongue all over and around it. We are in the Fuck ’Em Down room, decorated in red and black. This is our anything goes room. There is a 4-Point Sling Stand in the far left corner of the room, and a doggy-style sex machine—which can fuck you in the ass or pussy, with a waist bar in the right corner. Over on the other side of the room is a black leather sex swing.
Damon lays his tongue flat against my clit, then flaps it up and down, dragging it along the front and back of my sticky slit. I moan. “Mmmmm, yeah...just like that...Ohhhh, yesssssss...eat my pussy, you nasty fuck...mmmph...you like having a mouthful of pussy?”
He grunts, nodding his head. He tries to talk with his mouth full, but his words come out garbled. I playfully smack him. “Don’t talk. Eat. Lick. And stick. Uhhhhhhh...ooooooh...” He sticks his tongue deep into my hole, then jabs it. My pussy grabs at his tongue, pulls it in deeper.
“You ready for Mommy to fuck you deep in that hairy ass?”
He grunts.
