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The next chick that calls in, Precious, says she’s been with her man for almost two years and he hasn’t eaten her pussy once. Won’t even lick it. But she sucks his dick on-call. And she’s getting frustrated with him always making excuses as to why he won’t chow down on her cunt.
“Damn, ma,” I say, shaking my head. “Sounds like you need a replacement, baby. Cat should be feastin’ on the cookie. His tongue, mouth, fingers working in sync to cause heat to flare all through ya body, baby. He should have you soaking them sheets ‘n’ the room should be flooded with moans ‘n’ the wet smacking sounds coming from his mouth as he tongues, slurps ‘n’ gulps in all them sweet juices.”
She grunts. “Mmph. Well, there sure isn’t any slurping or gulping going on over here. And these sheets are dri
er than a sandstorm.”
“I feel for you, ma-ma. My advice. Get you a real man. Real men eat the cookie. Next caller. You’re on the air with ya boy, MarSell.”
“Ooooh, daddy,” the caller seductively coos into the receiver, “you sound like you really know how to please a woman. Can I borrow you for the night?”
I chuckle. “Nah, beautiful. I’m flattered. But I don’t think my wife would approve of that.”
“Ooh, as sexy as you are, she’s more than welcome to come along for the show, if you need a chaperone.”
My dick jumps. I lick my lips, opening and closing my legs. Her voice is like honey, thick ‘n’ sweet. “Oh, word? What’s ya name, baby?”
“Anonymous,” she says. “And I have a question.”
“Oh, aiight, Miss Anonymous. What’s your question, baby?”
“I wanna know how can I get a taste of you? I bet you got that good nut. I’ll come up to the radio station ‘n’ suck your dic—bleep—and swallow your nut under the table. I’m playing in my kitty now imagining you sliding your tongue all up in it. I love hearing your voice on the radio. I tune in every Thursday night. But this is the first time I got up the nerve to call in. You keep my coño wet.”
“That’s what it is. Keep that thing soaked, baby. Thanks for the luv.” I disconnect the call. We go into a quick commercial break, then Kelly Rowland’s “Kisses Down Low” plays over the airwaves. Nina struts her fine-ass over to me, sliding her hips on the edge of my desk.
“You have so many callers on hold, you might have to split the segment,” she says, licking her lips. My gaze locks on the way her pink tongue slides over her full, glossy lips. I lick my lips and grin. Nina’s fine as fuck. Although I’ve never given her a dose of this dick, I know she wants it. And she knows I know she wants. I’ve caught her eyeing it on many occasions. But, as sexy as she is, as enticing as her plump ‘n’ juicy made-for-dick-sucking lips are, I’d never stretch her neck out or beat the box up. One, I love my wife too much to ever cheat on her. Two, I don’t believe in shitting where I eat. And, three, Nina isn’t Marika’s type. So, nah, I’m good.
“Oh, aiight. I’ll take a few more calls, then we can call it a wrap. We can do”—I slowly lick my lips, dropping my gaze down between her legs—“pussy eating next week. Is that cool with you?”
She smirks, getting up and heading back to the booth. “Whatever you want, MarSell.”
I grin. “Yeah. Daddy likes the sound of that.”
She laughs, flicking a dismissive wave at me. “Whatever.”
We’re back on the air in five…four…three…two…one…
“Aiight, my freaky peeps. We’re back.” I tell ’em we only have time for two more callers and will pick up the other portion of this segment when I’m back on the air next week. “Next caller. What’s poppin’…”
“Ooh, yessss, gawtdammit! Is this my sugah-boo, MarSell? Am I on the radio?”
“True indeed. Turn down ya radio, love.” I shake my head.
“Fuquan, turn down that radio, boo!” There’s a bunch of yelling in the background. “Fuquan! Don’t do me, gawtdammit! I said turn down that gawtdamn radio before I punch ya eye sockets in.” There’s more yelling, then she’s back on. “Okay. I’m back. Oooh, these bad-ass kids stay tryna do me. Is that better, sugah-boo?”
I frown. “Yeah, you good. Who are you ‘n’ where you callin’ from, baby?”
“Yes, Fahvergawd! This Cassandra Simms from Brick City, boo. Oooh, you do me right, gawtdammit! Every time I hear ya voice on the radio, you get my drawz real gooey. Yes, Fahvergawd! But y’all need to get y’all a new system ’cause I’ve been on hold for almost thirty damn minutes tryna get to you, sugah-boo. You coons done made me miss half the male revue down at The Crack House tonight.”
I chuckle. “Whoa, whoa…pump ya brakes, baby. You got through now. So what’s good…you suckin’ the snot outta ya man or what?”
“Ooh, niggah-coon, boom! You tryna be messy. And I don’t do messy. No, I ain’t suckin’ no coon-niggah’s snot. Well, not unless I gotta suck a lil’ dingaling for me a new handbag or some heels. Otherwise, my mouth don’t go on no wee-wee, sugah-boo. No gawd. But that ain’t why I’m callin’. So don’t do me.”
I raise a brow. This ghetto-ass broad. “Oh, aiight, then get to the point, baby. Why you callin’?”
She huffs. “I’m callin’ ’cause I wanna say somethin’ to that lyin’ bitch from East New York, Quita or whatever that lyin’ whore’s name is. Boogah-coon, boom! You better pop you a molly ‘n’ spark you a blunt ‘n’ get yo’ gawtdamn mind right. You ain’t the real deep throat diva, bitch.”
I blink. “Damn, baby. Why you goin’ in?”
